Into the Light

by Aurora Nova

Marcus of Whiterun, called Dragonborn, prepares to launch resistance against the final assault from the Aldmeri Dominion, to fight the Last Great War for the freedom of Tamriel. Fourth in a series; sequel to "Into the Maelstrom," "Into the Darkness," and "Into the Ashes."

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 6

[Author's Note: As I write this, it is my birthday today, the 12th of December (or, Evening Star, if you're in Skyrim), and to celebrate I am posting the next chapter of my tale. I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to The Oracle, Midnight and Crona at , for permission to include their contest entry 'The Old Gods' in my story. An impressive amount of research, imagination and consideration went into their pantheon of the gods of the Forsworn, and I am delighted to be able to use it here. Thank you!]

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"So, Arch-Mage," Madanach began. "Any ideas on where we should start looking for Thalmor encampments?"

They were seated by the fire in Breezehome, after Marcus and Dante left for Raldbthar. Alesan had already gone up to Jorrvaskr, after a bittersweet parting from his father. Tamsyn's heart ached for the young man, but knew there was nothing she could do about it. Alesan had made his choice.

She gave Madanach a rueful smile. "I was hoping you would tell me," she replied. "After all, it was your people who detected the strong concentration of magicka in certain areas."

"That is true," Madanach mused. "We could easily get in over our heads here, just the two of us. I think we're going to need some back-up."

"A large group of us tromping through Falkreath and the southern Reach is sure to garner unwanted attention," Tamsyn warned.

"Oh, I don't think we need a large group," Madanach responded blithely. "I'm thinking just one other – my daughter Kaie."

"Kaie?" Tamsyn blinked. "I mean, I'm sure she's an excellent warrior and all—"

"She's my second in command," Madanach said firmly. "And she'll be Queen of the Reach after me, if all goes well. Besides, she's at least as accomplished in magic as I am, and she's already received the blessings of the Old Gods, which is something we're going to need."

Tamsyn knew she wouldn't be able to dissuade the old Reach King. "If you're sure," she said doubtfully. "It will take some time for her to get here, unless you want to head to Bthardamz through Balgruuf's portal."

"That'll do, for a start," Madanach nodded. "And Kaie could get here within the hour, if she needed to. But for what we have to do, Bthardamz is as good a place as any."

Tamsyn was confused. "It's a thirteen-hour trip to Markarth from here," she pointed out. "Longer, up to Bthardamz. And there aren't any carriages that go that way."

Madanach gave a knowing chuckle. "We don't use carriages to get around the Reach," he grinned. "Let's head up to Dragonsreach and get over to my place from there. Then you'll see what I mean." He wouldn't say any more, and Tamsyn stifled her curiosity for now.

In a very short time, Tamsyn and Madanach stepped off the portal platform in Bthardamz. Tamsyn had never actually been here since coming to Skyrim, but she had played the game in her old life, and was familiar with the Dwarven architecture and the green, glowing vines that grew everywhere. Part of the ritual offerings to Peryite, Daedric Prince of Pestilence, the Reachfolk never bothered to remove the growths when they took over the ancient Dwemer city.

Madanach had been the one to go into the place and eliminate Orchendor, the apostate priest of Peryite who was leading his followers astray, much to the dismay and resentment of the Daedric Prince. The followers were left alone, unless they became aggressive. Most just wanted to return home to die, but Madanach knew that grateful people made the best recruits. He called upon his Hagraven Matriarchs to use their skills to cure the plague that beset the population of Bthardamz, and in return, they agreed to remain and help fight the Dominion and free the Reach from Imperial and Nord control. Oddly enough, their ability to projectile vomit a corrosive acid was viewed by the Reachfolk as something to be admired, rather than reviled, and the odd assortment of Bretons, Nords and Imperials were allowed to continue to worship Peryite as they saw fit.

Kaie approached them as they descended the platform.

"Da!" she exclaimed in delight. "I wasn't expecting you so soon! Is this a social call?"

"No," the old man said, hugging her, "it's business. You know the Arch-Mage?" He indicated Tamsyn.

"Yeah, we met at High Hrothgar," Kaie said. "Good to see you again, my lady."

"It's just 'Tamsyn,'" the Breton mage insisted. "And I'm pleased to see you again, too, Kaie."

"So, what's this 'business,' Da?" Kaie asked.

"Not here," Madanach insisted. "Go find Borkul and Elieshandra and meet me in my office."

Twenty minutes later Tamsyn found herself seated as comfortably as one could on a stone bench in a small Dwemer chamber at the top of the city. Borkul the Beast had been found, as well as an older woman Tamsyn didn't know, but who radiated illusion magic so strongly to the Arch-Mage that she knew the woman was a Matriarch.

"Alright, Da," Kaie said. "We're all here. Oh, Arch-Mage – I mean, Tamsyn – this is Matriarch Elieshandra."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Arch-Mage," the Matriarch rasped. "I've heard much about you." Illusion magic or no, nothing could hide the hiss of a Hagraven's voice if she hadn't made an effort to hide it. Interim Jarl Esmerelda was a past master of disguising her true nature.

"It's an honor to meet you, as well, Matriarch," Tamsyn replied formally, rising to greet the older woman. "Please…you don't need the illusion here, just for my sake."

The Matriarch's form wavered and dissolved into the more-familiar image of a Hagraven. "Oh, thank Jiae!" she chortled. "That spell takes so much out of me! But there are some here who find it more comforting than my true form."

"Well, then," Madanach began. "Let me catch you up on a few things." He told them of the quest Marcus and Dante had undertaken to find the Aetherium Forge, as well as their escape from a hidden Thalmor fortification in the southern Dragontail Mountains.

"Yes," Elieshandra mused. "You directed us to scry, to see if there were any more of those. We already gave you the report."

"I know," the Reach King nodded. "And now we have to go check them out, one by one, to see what we're up against. How far along in preparation are they? How many troops have they filled those places with? How ready are they to launch an assault against Skyrim?"

"That's a dangerous job, Boss," Borkul muttered. "You shouldn't be going out there doing that kind of reconnaissance. Leave that to Kaie and me."

Madanach shook his shaggy gray head. "Not going to happen," he frowned. "I'm the Reach King, and those bastards set up an entire enclave in a dormant volcano in our territory, with none of us the wiser! I'm responsible for all these people here, as well as all our people across the Reach. How long do you think it will be before the Dominion starts flying those airships of theirs, discovering our hidden camps in the hills? You think they aren't aware of the damage we're doing to them, massacring their patrols? I guarantee you, the only reason they haven't attacked us until now is because we've managed to hide our redoubts. If they're able to get even a few of those flying boats of theirs up into the air over the Reach, you can pretty much put us down as a footnote in history!"

"Madanach's right, I'm afraid," Tamsyn interjected. "We need to find out how ready the Dominion is to launch their final assault, and I'm worried we're running out of time. We don't have the support of Hammerfell or Morrowind yet. They haven't openly committed to our cause. I think that may be because they don't wish to bring down Dominion attention upon themselves. But it leaves us rather high and dry with only Cyrodiil, High Rock and Skyrim left to combat the combined forces of Valenwood, Elsweyr and the Summerset Isles."

"What about Black Marsh?" Kaie asked. "I thought they were tied to the Dominion as well?"

"Not exactly," Tamsyn replied. "They took advantage of the confusion after the Oblivion Crisis to secede from the Empire and invade Morrowind, which was going through some cataclysmic times of its own. They stayed out of the Great War mostly because of their independent nature. I can't see that they would necessarily join with the Dominion; Argonians tend to like their neutral status. But some of them would probably choose to fight with the Dominion, rather than for it, if it meant they could kill Imperials. There were some that did just that during the Great War, and the Dominion put them on the front lines at the Battle of the Red Ring. In their minds, it was better to lose a few Argonians than a few Altmer."

"If the Dominion runs true to their nature," Elieshandra mused, "they would launch a multiple attack on the Empire, on all her loyal Provinces at once. During the Great War, the signal was Titus Mede's rejection of the Thalmor terms of the White-Gold Concordat."

"We already know there have been multiple attempts on the Emperor's life," Tamsyn brooded. "And I worry for the man right now, with no heir named. A successful assassination would throw the entire Empire into chaos, and prevent the true heir from being able to successfully claim his throne."

"What do you want us to do, Boss?" Borkul sighed. "If you're bound and determined to go check this out, at least let Kaie and me go with you."

"Kaie is coming along," Madanach assured him. "But I need you here, Borkul."

"What?" the Orc scowled. "Why her and not me? Besides, she's a better diplomat than me!"

"She knows the Old magicks, old friend," Madanach soothed. "You don't. I'm going to need you to start moving people around. I want you to pull every able body out of Bthardamz and get them to our Redoubts in the southern Reach."

"Uh…Da?" Kaie hesitated. "Won't that call attention to us? All those people on the move?"

"That's where the Matriarchs get involved," Madanach said firmly. "Shadow walk them there."

Elieshandra gasped.

"Do you know what you're asking, Madanach?" she demanded, angrily. "Shadow walking takes a lot of energy!"

"Then you'd best get started," he shot back ruthlessly. "We don't have much choice. As soon as Kaie and the Arch-Mage and me have located a Dominion outpost, I want as many of our people as possible shadow walked there to surround the area and wait for my word. Once we're sure we've found them all, we attack and leave none of them alive."

Tamsyn gasped. She had no idea how many people Madanach governed in the Reach, but it was clear the Alliance had vastly underestimated his influence.

Borkul sighed. "You sure about this, Boss?" he asked, making one last gesture of protest.

Madanach nodded. "I'm sure," he growled. "This is our existence we're talking about. And I don't do anything half-assed. Now go on and make your preparations. Elieshandra, I'm going to need you to stick around a bit. Kaie, go with Borkul and help get people moving. I'll see you later."

"Alright, Da," she sighed, throwing a look of sympathy at Tamsyn, who didn't understand the glance.

"Now," Madanach said briskly when Kaie and Borkul left, "we've got a long way to go and a short time to get there. Tamsyn," he said, surprising her by using her name, "you're a very talented mage. Probably the most talented I've ever seen. But there's one area in which you are sadly deficient."

Tamsyn had an idea where this was leading, but had no idea where it would end up. "I'm assuming you're talking about the Old Magicks?" she surmised.

"Exactly!" Madanach beamed. "See, Ellie? I knew she was smart!"

"Madanach," Elieshandra hissed, "are you absolutely certain this is necessary? She's not even one of us! The Old Gods may reject her out of hand."

The Reach King shrugged. "If they do, we're no worse off than we were before," he said. "I'll vouch for her. That should count for something."

"You'd better hope it's enough," the Matriarch grumbled. "The Old Gods do not like being disturbed for trivial matters."

"I'd hardly call this trivial," Madanach protested.

"You might not," Elieshandra warned, her beady black eyes glittering in the light of the Dwemer lanterns. "But your opinion doesn't really matter, does it?" She turned to head out the door.

Madanach sighed. "Are you going to do it or not, Ellie?" he demanded wearily. "I can always ask Maiara to come up here and supervise."

Elieshandra's feathers fluffed out. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it!" she snapped as Madanach threw a private grin to Tamsyn. "I just need to fetch a few ingredients! I'll be back shortly."

"I don't understand," Tamsyn complained when they were alone. "What did she mean about disturbing the Old Gods? What's going to happen?"

Madanach sat down heavily on the stone bench and patted the seat next to him. Tamsyn obliged by sitting gingerly down on the cold stone.

"In order for us to do what we need to do," he said gently, almost father-like, "you're going to have to become one of us."

"I heard that part," Tamsyn said. "I just didn't understand it. What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," Madanach assured her. "You don't have to do a thing except keep an open mind. Elieshandra is going to perform a ritual to invoke the Old Gods. You'll have to inhale some rather noxious vapors, and you'll be transported – or at least, your mind will be – to the Evereach, where the Gods reside."

"Evereach?" Tamsyn asked. "What's that? I've never heard of that before."

"I'm not surprised," Madanach smiled. "It's our Afterlife; the place we go when we die."

"I thought Reachfolk believe in the Void, and join Sithis there," Tamsyn frowned.

"That's what we let everyone believe," the old Reachman said. "The truth – our truth – is more complicated than that, and we don't share it with outsiders."

"But you're going to share it with me," Tamsyn pointed out.

Madanach nodded. "Because I believe in you, young lady," he smiled, "and that brawny stud of a husband you have." His eyes crinkled. "I believe the two of you are our best hope of having an independent Reach and lasting peace. And to do that, you need to become a Forsworn, a Reachwoman. You're a Breton, so you're halfway there already. Once you're one of us, Elieshandra will invoke the Old Gods, and you'll have to inhale that gunk she brews up. It's pretty bad," he warned her gleefully, enjoying her alarmed expression.

"Then what happens?" Tamsyn asked, trying very hard to quell the feelings of anxiety that were welling up inside.

"Well, if all goes well, you'll be put on trial," he replied.

"I beg your pardon?!"

Madanach laughed at her indignation. "It's not like you've committed a crime or anything," he soothed. "The Old Ones will debate on whether or not to accept you. You'll have to be sponsored – that's where I come in. You see, whenever a child is born in the Reach, a ritual is performed to let the Old Ones know that the child is one of ours, and the father's blood is used."

Tamsyn's anxiety intensified. The Reach King had no idea who her father was, and she wasn't about to tell him. "Uh…Madanach," she said slowly. "I don't have any of my father's blood available."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I'm stepping up to 'adopt' you, if you want to use that term, and use my blood in the ritual. It binds you to me and my family, and allows the Old Gods to acknowledge you as one of us."

Tamsyn considered this. "What happens if the Old Ones reject me?" she asked.

Madanach shrugged. "If that happens, the ritual fails," he replied. "You'll inhale that nasty concoction for nothing, and you won't have the visions. You'll never stand in front of the Old Gods to have them determine your fate. For a Reachman, that's about as bad as it gets."

"And babies go through this?" she asked, incredulous.

Madanach laughed. "No, as I said, babies born in the Reach, to a Forsworn family, go through the birth ritual, which we'll do first," he explained. "After that, they're already acknowledged as part of the extended family. The second part you'll have to go through is rather like the ritual a Briarheart goes through, except we won't be ripping your heart out and replacing it. You'll still have the visions of the trial, though."

"Well, thank goodness for small favors!" Tamsyn breathed, unnerved. "It might help me understand this better if I knew more about the Old Ones," she continued. "Who are they? How did come to be? What do they represent?"

Madanach scratched his head. "Well, that's a lot to get into here, and we don't have a lot of time," he demurred. "Also, I'm no shaman, so I'm probably not the best person to ask those questions to." He paused and collected his thoughts. "Here's what I can tell you, in a nutshell. We have nine observed gods in our pantheon, the same as the Imperials did before the Great War. The chief of our pantheon is Jonvre, who created the Mortal Plane we live in. He's the god of life, time, creation and destruction. He made the world, so he can unmake it any time he chooses."

"A sort of Akatosh and Alduin rolled into one?" Tamsyn suggested.

"Eh…not really," Madanach replied, shaking his head. "I'd say he's more like Lorkhan, if I had to define him. He really goes beyond definition, though. The next most important is Neventer. He's the son of Jonvre, and holds sway over things like wisdom, magic, logic and other forms of guidance. He became incensed when he realized his father had tricked all the gods into creating this world, thus binding them to the mortal plane."

"What did he do?"

Madanach chuckled. "He blew up. Literally. Exploded all over the place, and where bits of him fell, there you will find sources of magicka. It's these sources of magicka that we Forsworn call upon, when we tap into the Old Magicks."

Tamsyn nodded. It wasn't the strangest explanation of magical energy she'd ever heard, but it ranked in the top ten.

"Then there's Kyvnath," Madanach smiled. "Goddess of weather and alchemy, and generally acknowledged at the Mother of all Nature. She's also known as 'Nirniel.'"

"Nirniel?"

"Yes," Madanach answered. "We Forsworn believe that each of the gods are planets we see in the night sky, and that Kyvnath is this one, Nirn. She's the consort of Neventer, and the mother to four of the other gods: Jiae, Drovveg, Halyn and Kavrud."

"I heard Matriarch Elieshandra swear by Jiae earlier," Tamsyn noted.

"She's the patron of the Matriarchs," Madanach supplied. "As such, she's also the goddess of necromancy – which we Forsworn don't have an issue with – as well as disease and sorcery."

"Disease?" Tamsyn perked up. "So that's why you didn't mind the Peryite followers here."

"Partly," Madanach agreed. "Also, because the more you know about a disease, the better chance you have of curing it."

Tamsyn nodded. It made sense. "What domains do the others hold?" she asked.

"Drovveg is the god of death," Madanach explained, "and he keeps watch over our Afterlife, Evereach. If one of the Reachfolk dies, it's assumed it was because they were weak, so our Afterlife is not an easy thing to endure. We think of it as a large rock with a single mountain on it, and the soul has to get to the summit of that mountain. But there are thick forests, catacombs of dead heroes, deadly monsters and rough terrain to overcome before you can get there. When you do, you've proven you're strong enough to return to Nirn."

"So, the Reachfolk believe in reincarnation, then?" Tamsyn clarified.

"A fancy name for being born again," Madanach mused, "but yeah, that's essentially it. Halyn is our god of the Hunt," he continued his narrative. "A lot of uneducated people think we just attached Hircine to our pantheon, but that's not true. Halyn may have started out his godhood by arbitrarily killing all of Kyvnath's creatures, but she was enraged by this and had the animals turn against him and kill him. After a while she relented and brought him back in a kinder, more enlightened frame of mind. Since then, he's been the protector of the beasts, and he taught us that we should only hunt in need, never to excess."

"What about Kavrud?"

"He's the god of war," Madanach said solemnly, "and a brilliant tactician and strategist. He was the one who taught us how to fight our enemies the way we do. Then, he left us on our own."

"He abandoned you?"

"Only the way a parent sends their child out into the world, expecting them to survive with the skills they've taught them," Madanach explained. "Kavrud only intervened once, during the First Era, when he gave a part of himself to a Reachman known as Faolan, the Red Eagle. It was Faolan, with his flaming sword, who drove back the invading armies of Cyrodiil and brought peace to our people."

Tamsyn knew this story. "Until Empress Hestra sent her Legions," she commented.

"Yes," Madanach replied, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I didn't realize anyone else cared about our history," he added. "Yes, Hestra sent her Legions, and Faolan Red Eagle fought them off, one by one, until he was beaten and overcome. In frustration, he went to the Matriarchs and requested they transform him into a spirit of vengeance. He slew thousands of Empress Hestras troops with his flaming sword, but eventually he was mortally wounded. With his dying breath he presented his sword to his followers, telling them that one day, when the Reach is finally free, he would return to lead us once more."

"Where is the sword now?" Tamsyn asked, guardedly, watching him carefully. She knew the answer, but wondered if Madanach did.

"Lost, ages ago," Madanach sighed. "No one knows where it is now, much less where the tomb can be found to return it to him. With that sword, I could have swept the Nords out of the Reach forty years ago!"

Tamsyn gave an inward sigh of relief. She could well imagine the damage Madanach could have done if he'd had such an iconic symbol of the Reach behind which to rally his people. They would have been unstoppable, and thousands – perhaps hundreds of thousands – of innocent people might have died in the ensuing bloodbath. Madanach was, after all, the 'loose cannon' she and Marcus worried about.

"You've told me about seven of your gods," Tamsyn said now, changing the subject. "There are still two others, if you have nine, as you said."

"Yes, of course," Madanach replied. He shook himself, as if to bring himself back from some distant time and place. "I haven't told you about Hithin and Geia yet."

"Gaea?" Tamsyn blurted, startled. That had been her old world. Madanach had pronounced it the same way.

"Geia is our goddess of life, love, healing and creativity," Madanach explained, unaware of her surprise. "She's the sister of Kyvnath, and generally known to be a benevolent goddess, but not without a darker side to her. When Neventer rebelled against his father Jonvre, Geia took Jonvre's side against her sister. She's a bit of an opportunist, and hoped to share in the absorption of the gods' powers, along with Jonvre. When Kyvnath found out, she was furious. But Jonvre had played Geia well, and ended up tricking her into giving up some of her power, just like the others. Jonvre, of course, was eventually defeated by Neventer, and because Geia had taken his side, she was exiled for a time until she completed certain tasks Kyvnath set for her: she was to create all mortal life on Nirn."

"I can imagine that took a while," Tamsyn smiled. "Who is Hithin?"

"She's the sister of Neventer," Madanach replied, "the goddess of dreams, prophecy and visions. I think you'd like her, since you're so good at Divination." He chuckled before sobering. "Her story is a sad one, though."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm," he murmured. "When she was young, she was attacked by a crow, which pecked out her eyes. But soon after, she discovered she had prophetic visions. This didn't sit well with the tribe in which she lived. They thought all the bad things happening were caused by her, so they threw her into a deep pit to die."

"How horrible!" Tamsyn exclaimed.

"Just when she thought she would die from weakness and starvation," he continued, "Hithin heard a slithering noise as something entered the pit with her. Terrified, she tried to fight off what turned out to be roots of some kind, come alive, which wrapped around her, binding her tight. They pushed into her empty eye sockets—"

"Augh!" Tamsyn cried in revulsion, but Madanach merely grinned at her.

"And afterwards she realized she could see again," he finished. "She got herself out of her predicament, but found she still had the gift of foresight. She made her way back to her village, and across the river, on a cliff, was a large tree that had not been there before. The villagers surrounded her in fear and awe at her survival in spite of them, and as they watched, the roots of the tree lifted, and the blossoms blew off the branches of the tree."

Tamsyn waited. Madanach seemed done with his tale. "I don't get it," she said finally. "Was there some significance to that last scene?"

Madanach scowled. "I would have thought you, of all people, would have picked up on the allegory," he complained. "Clearly the lifting tree roots symbolized freeing oneself from mundane bonds, and the petals blowing in the wind was the soul freed from its mortal husk. It was at this point that Hithin was ascended to godhood."

"I thought you said she was the sister of Neventer," Tamsyn pointed out. "Wouldn't that have made her a goddess already?"

Madanach shook his head in disgust. "I don't expect you to understand it," he muttered. "But you did ask!"

Elieshandra returned at that moment and announced, "Everything is ready, Madanach. I'll need to prepare her for the ceremony, so if you'll just—"

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," he grinned, good humor restored. "Arch-Mage, I'll see you in a bit."

Tamsyn watched him leave, only slightly nervous in the company of a Matriarch she didn't know. "What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Put these on," Elieshandra said, handing her a set of Forsworn armor. Tamsyn gulped. The furs left little to the imagination.

"I can't just wear my own robes?" she asked, hopefully.

The Matriarch shook her head. "You have to put your past life behind you to become one of us," she intoned. "That means you have to dress like one of us for the Old Ones to recognize you."

Tamsyn nodded. "Alright," she sighed, undoing the laces at the sides of her tunic. As a young woman in her old world, Tamsyn had spent her twenties in the psychedelic world of the 1960's, and had never been ashamed of her body. Since coming to Tamriel, she had been delighted to find she was once again young and – if her husband was to be believed – beautiful. Captured by the Thalmor and stripped naked four years earlier, she was determined not to be shamed into submission by them, and had eventually – with the help of the Grey Fox – managed to escape from imprisonment. Even the fact that she'd had a child in this world not long ago didn't induce any feelings of self-consciousness. She quickly stripped down to her skin and with Elieshandra's help, stepped into the Forsworn armor. In spite of her long, curving claw-like fingers, the Hagraven was quite deft at managing the fasteners hidden in the furs.

"That looks good," the Matriarch approved. "Now you'll need war paint." She turned and took up a pot of ochre on a side table and expertly applied it to the Arch-Mage's face. Stepping back with a clacking of claws on the stone floor, she nodded. "You'll do," she said finally. "At least, you look like one of us. It will be up to the Old Ones to decide if you belong. Follow me," she continued, leading Tamsyn out the door and down several flights of stone stairs to an area Tamsyn remembered from the game.

It was in the Upper District, and was a large central area with a basin that had once been filled with the green, glowing substance that fed the plague Peryite had inflicted on his subjects. Though the large green roots still wound around the surrounding towers, the basin had been cleared. Somehow the Reachfolk had managed to restore it to its original purpose as a fountain, and the sounds of splashing water was a delightful change from the hiss and grind of Dwemer machinery.

Madanach was standing by the pool, with Kaie and Borkul next to him, and as Tamsyn looked around, she could see a large cauldron had been set up nearby over a campfire, and something was bubbling away in it. Gathered on the steps and balconies surrounding the central plaza were scores of Reachfolk, with a smattering of a few other races besides – the remaining followers of Peryite who had been allowed to remain at Bthardamz.

As they approached Madanach, Elieshandra intoned, "I have brought before you, O Reach King, a supplicant who wishes to join our ranks, and become one with our tribe. Who among those gathered here today objects to this request?"

There was a quiet murmur of voices in the background, but none spoke out against Tamsyn. For many here, it was the first time they had seen the Arch-Mage, even dressed as she was like a Forsworn warrior.

"As there are no objections," Madanach said, "we will honor the supplicant's request and bring her into our tribe. But according to our laws, it will be for the Gods themselves to decide if she is truly one of us."

"She will require a sponsor, and a second," the Matriarch rasped. "Who among you speaks for her?"

"I speak as her second," Kaie said firmly. "I attest to her character, and her skill as a warrior. I have seen her wield her powers for the good of this land we love, and have watched her – through the scrying pools – as she has defeated enemy after enemy."

Tamsyn blinked in surprise. She'd been watched? And she hadn't noticed? How was that possible? She made a mental note to ask Kaie about that later.

Elieshandra seemed satisfied with Kaie's answer. "And who will sponsor this woman?" she asked now, in deep, formal tones. "Who will join their blood with hers, so that she may truly be bound to this land?"

"I will," Madanach said simply, drawing a sharp dagger from his belt.

Elieshandra gave Tamsyn a nudge from behind, and she moved closer to Madanach, who took up her hand. Holding it over a bowl, placed at the edge of the basin, he slit her wrist to allow a steady stream of her blood to splash into the bowl. Tamsyn gasped at the pain, at the swiftness and brutality of the gesture, but she didn't waver. When the bottom of the bowl was covered with her blood, Madanach released her hand, and Elieshandra stepped forward to press a healing spell over the wound, for which Tamsyn was grateful. She wasn't sure if she was allowed to do it herself, and was feeling a bit light-headed.

Meanwhile, Madanach had slit his own wrist, and was letting it flow into the bowl on top of hers. Again, he waited until it completely covered hers before retracting his hand. Elieshandra healed his wound as well. She then took up the bowl and swirled the blood together with the long claw of her forefinger.

"By this blood conjoined are these two people bound, as parent to child," she rasped. "Let all know that from this day, Tamsyn ní Madanach is a child of the Reach!" She presented the bowl to Madanach first, and he brought it to his lips and sipped before handing it off to Tamsyn. There was a curious glint in his eyes which she was unable to decipher.

Hesitating at first – after all, it was blood, and there could be any number of random pathogens hidden within – Tamsyn steeled herself and took a sip. Madanach broke into a wide grin and clapped her on the back as she handed the bowl back to Elieshandra.

"Well done!" he approved. He raised his voice and called out around the plaza. "Everyone! I present to you my daughter, Tamsyn ní Madanach!"

'Ní,' Tamsyn knew, meant 'daughter of' in the language of the Reachfolk.

The crowd broke out into cheers, and the first one to embrace her was Kaie.

"I finally got that sister I always wanted!" she grinned. Tamsyn laughed and hugged her back.

"We are not yet done!"

It was Elieshandra. The crowd backed away and quieted.

"There is but one thing more that needs doing before Tamsyn ní Madanach is truly one of us," she warned. "She must be accepted by the Old Ones. Come, child," she said to Tamsyn, and led her to the cauldron, which was still bubbling merrily away. She removed a handful of something from her belt pouch and threw it into the brew, and several people nearby shifted out of the way of the fumes that arose, purplish-blue, from the huge pot.

"Breathe," she ordered Tamsyn.

Madanach had been correct. It was foul-smelling, and she coughed and choked, but Elieshandra held her arms and wouldn't let her back away until, light-headed and fainting, Tamsyn slumped to the ground.

---

*She doesn't really seem like she belongs, does she?* Tamsyn heard a masculine voice say. She focused on that voice and tried to open her eyes, but quickly realized that she didn't really have a form here, merely an awareness of identity.

*She isn't,* said another, this one more feminine. *It's clear that she's one of THEM.*

Tamsyn attempted to bring her awareness around to where she perceived the voices to be coming from, but all around her it was dark. She could perceive nothing.

*Not completely,* said a third voice. *There is still something…mortal…about her.*

I can't see a thing! she thought desperately. How do I defend myself?

*You don't,* came the amused reply. *This isn't something you can negotiate.*

With a sickening feeling Tamsyn realized her thoughts were as apparent as if she'd spoken out loud. But she was determined not to be talked over.

How can this be a fair trial, then, she argued, if I can't justify my actions?

A ripple of amusement enveloped her.

*Look how she struggles!* said the first voice. *It's quite…charming, actually.*

*I think we've seen enough,* a fourth voice said in a bored tone. *Let's get this over with, shall we?*

*Not yet,* said a fifth. "I'm enjoying this. And we've had so little diversion lately.*

*It's not a diversion, Jiae,* a new voice said. *Mortals aren't playthings.*

*Aren't they, Kyvnath?* Jiae replied. *Isn't that why you forced Geia to populate Mundus?*

*Let's get back to the task at hand,* a stern voice ordered, and the other voices silenced. *This is a unique offering. For one of the Aedra to wish to be joined with us has never occurred before. We must consider carefully, lest we risk offending those who currently hold sway over Mundus.*

I'm not one of the Aedra, Tamsyn began, but was cut off.

*Aren't you?* It was the stern voice that spoke. *The blood of the Aedra runs in your veins, as does the blood of mortals. You are a unique hybrid, Tamsyn ní Madanach…or should I say, 'Julianos'?*

Fine then, Tamsyn thought with exasperation. If you acknowledge that I'm at least part Aedra, by your own admission it might be unwise to upset my father.

*Do not attempt to use our own words against us, mortal,* the stern voice warned. *We must be certain of your motives before we agree to allow you access to our powers.*

I only wish to live, Tamsyn said simply. I want the people of Skyrim to live and survive and thrive. I don't want to see us wiped out by the Dominion simply because we aren't Altmer.

*Are they still at war?* a new voice asked, curious. *They aren't very good at it, are they, if they still haven't conquered their little corner of Mundus.*

*Not everyone is as…devoted…to war as you, Kavrud,* Jiae replied in a sour tone.

*The child has a point, though,* a shy voice interjected. *If these Altmer are successful in their endeavors, they will exterminate all our people, and we will cease to be.*

*You've Seen this, Hithin?* the stern voice demanded.

*It is one of the future possibilities, Jonvre,* Hithin answered. *Even if they do not succeed in their war, their retributions against our people will be terrible. The day comes soon when our own existence will hang in the balance. I, for one, support the inclusion of Tamsyn ní Madanach into our tribe.*

*These are grave words, Sister,* the first voice said, and Tamsyn realized it must be Neventer speaking.

*These are grave times,* she replied calmly.

*Very well,* the stern voice, Jonvre decided. *We will debate this in the light.*

It was suddenly excruciatingly bright, and though Tamsyn had no corporeal form, she recoiled for a moment. When she became aware of her surroundings, she realized she floated in a semi-circle of other beings of light, brighter than the surroundings. She turned her awareness away, as it was too painful to look upon.

*I forgot how fragile mortals are,* Jonvre chuckled, amused. *We will take forms you may comprehend more easily,* he offered. His light, which had pulsed as he spoke, dissolved into the form of a venerable Reachman, and the other Old Ones did the same. Tamsyn realized she also had been given the semblance of her physical form, though she was transparent, and could see through her own body.

*Does this meet with your approval?* Jonvre asked in a condescending tone. Tamsyn bowed in reply.

It does help. Thank you, my lord, she replied.

The chief of the Old Gods was an imposing figure, burly and muscled, as most Reachmen were, wearing an elaborate mantle of dark furs over his hide and bone armor. The antlers on his helm were larger than any Tamsyn could recall seeing, and deep-set eyes burned out of the headgear to bore into her soul. She felt she was being measured, and the Lord of the Old Ones was not impressed with what he saw.

*Let us return to the debate at hand, then,* one of the women said, and Tamsyn recognized Kyvnath's voice. *It is two-fold. The first: do we accept Tamsyn ní Madanach as one of us. The second: who will be her Patron?* She was every inch the Forsworn shaman, in her leather and feathers, with animal skulls that adorned her belt, and beads of bone and shell that dripped from the gold eagle headdress crowning her head. She carried a spear whose tip glowed with a bright, inner light, and Tamsyn could sense the enormous power contained within it.

*We will consider the first part,* Jonvre decided. *What are the reasons for inclusion or denial, and what are the consequences of denial?*

*I should think the reason for denial has already been stated,* Neventer said. Appearing as an older Reachman, his long hair ringed his balding pate, and beads hung from his moustache that grew past his mouth on either side, joining his beard. The staff he carried twisted along its length, dividing into three spires that caged a glowing white orb. *You yourself suggested it would offend the Aedra if we reject her.*

*That's never been a concern of yours before, Jonvre,* one of the men said. He had been the one earlier to suggest ending the debate before it had begun. *If I recall correctly, you seem to have made a habit of flouting the authority of the Aedra in the past.*

He was younger in appearance, but resembled Neventer in his facial features. The antlers on his headdress weren't as large as Jonvre's, and the furs he wore were lighter and more mottled in color. A powerful Forsworn bow and quiver of arrows hung off his back.

*We aren't going to bring that into this debate, Halyn,* Jonvre said darkly. *The Aedra currently have more power than we do. To incur their wrath would be foolish. But there are ways to reject her without upsetting her father or his cronies.*

*How?* a female asked, curious. She hadn't spoken before, but she resembled Kyvnath so much that Tamsyn assumed her to be Geia, Kyvnath's sister. She had been the one who had attempted to betray the others, taking Jonvre's side in their ancient battle for supremacy. She was as fair as Kyvnath was dark, and as voluptuous as her sister was lean. Her hair curled riotously around her face, caught by a silver circlet, engraved to resemble overlapping feathers. She didn't wear the typical Forsworn armor, but instead was draped in silks of rich colors and intricate patterns, their sheerness leaving little to the imagination.

*By not using her divine blood as a reason,* Jonvre said simply. *Without it, she is merely a talented mage, but not really a warrior. The only reason she can hold her own in a fight at all is because she draws on the reserves of that divine power. You can see she's already tapped into it at least twice.*

Tamsyn was suddenly very conscious of the two locks of white hair on either side of her face, which suddenly glowed of their own accord as Jonvre spoke.

*This is true,* Jiae said shrewdly. *A true child of the Reach would not have to call upon the Aedra to help her win a fight.* Jiae was an intimidating figure in her own right; she resembled a full-fledged Matriarch of the Reach, though more full-figured, and without the crow-like legs. The power exuding from her was overwhelming.

Tamsyn felt her heart sink. Was she really any good at magic at all? Or had she leaned too heavily upon her divine origins to supplement her talents?

*No,* Kyvnath agreed. *A true child of the Reach would call upon her Patron. How is that any different from what this child has done up until now?*

*Ordinary mortals don't have a conduit to the Aedra,* one of the males said. He had not spoken before, and was covered in feathers as black and iridescent as a raven's. Tamsyn assumed he must be Drovveg, the god of death, as corvids often gathered around the deceased to scavenge.

*Neither do ordinary Reachfolk with us, Drovveg* Neventer replied, confirming Tamsyn's suspicions, and taking his consort's side. Kyvnath threw him a grateful look. *Not all the Reachfolk call upon us in battle, yet all are connected to the land. And all of them end up in Evereach in the end.*

*This one will not be coming to Evereach,* Drovveg insisted, glaring balefully at Tamsyn with deeply sunken eyes. *In my opinion, that is as good a reason as any to reject her. And it has little to do with her blood.*

*It has everything to do with it, and you know it, Drovveg,* Neventer scowled.

*I believe it may be unwise to assume the child has no talent beyond her blood,* Hithin said mildly, breaking through the antagonism between the two. She stared directly ahead of her, seeing nothing and everything. She was dressed in a simple robe of midnight blue, trimmed in silver, her long black hair caught back behind her neck in a plain leather thong. *She has already demonstrated an ability to reason outside the restrictions of magic. Who else has successfully created an enchantment that gives her the ability to fly, as dragons do?*

*That IS impressive,* Jiae admitted. *But one could argue that she has an unfair advantage. Her soul spent time in another realm; a realm of technology, where magic does not exist.*

*And yet,* Kyvnath reminded them, *rather than change our world to resemble her old one, she adapted what she knew to her new world. That shows initiative and imagination, as well as talent.*

There was a murmur of agreement among the divine beings, though somewhat grudgingly on the part of a few.

*Let us decide the first part,* Jonvre declared. *Do we accept Tamsyn ní Madanach as a true Child of the Reach?*

*Aye,* said Neventer, Kyvnath, Hithin and, surprisingly, Jiae.

*Nay,* answered Drovveg.

*Abstain,* Halyn replied.

*Kavrud? Geia?* Jonvre prompted.

Kavrud appeared deep in thought, frowning fiercely. Geia simply shrugged.

*I'm just waiting to see what the rest of you decide,* she dismissed.

*Typical,* Jiae snorted under her breath.

*You can't sit this one out, Geia,* Jonvre rumbled. *Make a choice.*

*Why? You let Halyn abstain.* At his glare, she capitulated. *Oh, alright! Fine, then. Aye,* she pouted.

*Kavrud?* Jonvre turned back to the god of war.

*There will be war, whether I say 'aye' or 'nay',* he mused. *The real question is whether our people will be better off with her, or without her.*

*I thought Hithin already made that clear, Kavrud,* Neventer said in exasperation.

*Hithin only shared ONE possibility, Neventer,* Kavrud pointed out. *There are always others. And who is to say which one will win the day? I vote nay. We do not need outsiders fighting our battles for us.*

*Jonvre?* Kyvnath prompted. *We have not yet heard your decision.*

*It matters little,* he replied. *Five of you believe we should accept her. That is a majority.*

*You are the chief of all of us,* Halyn pointed out. *Surely you could overrule the others?*

*I could,* Jonvre agreed, *but I choose not to at this time.*

*Then you agree we should accept her?* Neventer pressed his father.

*That brings us to the second part of this debate,* Jonvre allowed with a mischievous smile. *I will accept her if one of you agrees to be her Patron, and to be responsible for her actions.*

The others were silent, and Tamsyn had the feeling this was something they were reluctant to do, even the ones who had spoken on her behalf. It might have been one thing to agree to accept her as a Reachwoman, but to be answerable for anything Tamsyn did from here on out was quite another thing entirely.

Jonvre gave a smug smile, as if he knew this would be the sticking point.

*Without a Patron, it matters little if we accept her,* he gloated. *With no one to accept responsibility for her, we can reject her without fear of reprisals from the Aedra.*

There was silence around the semi-circle, and none of the divines would look directly at her, as if by doing so they would give a tacit acceptance of her as their protégée. Only blind Hithin stared with vacant eyes, but Tamsyn knew the goddess wasn't seeing her.

It was Hithin who finally spoke.

*I will guide her,* she said, and the others gasped. Jonvre frowned.

*Be ye certain of this, Hithin,* he warned. *If she misuses our gifts, or breaks our laws, it will be laid at your feet.*

*I am aware of that, Jonvre,* she replied calmly, though a slight frown of irritation creased her brow. *I will ensure that Tamsyn ní Madanach minds our ways.*

*Do any object?* Jonvre demanded. There was an almost hopeful lilt in his voice, and Tamsyn waited nervously. But silence descended once more, and Jonvre scowled.

*So be it, then,* he declared. *Tamsyn ní Madanach, you are, from this day forward, a Child of the Reach. Do not disappoint us.*

The images blurred, and lost shape as he spoke, and Tamsyn felt herself falling, though she had no corporeal form.

*Do not worry, Child of Mine,* Hithin's voice whispered in her mind. *I will be there to guide you, I promise.*

All went black, and Tamsyn floated for an undetermined amount of time before she realized she could open her eyes. The cavern over her head was laced with brilliant green roots, and towers of Dwemer construction edged into view. She was back in Bthardamz, if she had ever left it to begin with.

"Quite the trip, wasn't it?" Madanach grinned, helping her to her feet. "It would seem the Old Ones decided to accept you after all. Tell me," he inquired, curious, "which one was it who spoke for you?"

"I…I think about half of them did, at one point or another," Tamsyn replied, unsteadily. Her head was still swimming from the miasma Elieshandra had made her inhale. She glanced around and realized the crowd had dispersed. Only the Matriarch, Madanach and Kaie remained. "How long was I out?"

"A couple hours," Kaie shrugged. "That's not unusual. And Da, you should know better than to ask who her Patron is. That's rude!"

"Can't blame an old man for being curious," he said defensively. "And anyway, you're right. I apologize, Arch—uh, I suppose I should call you 'daughter,' now?"

Tamsyn gave a weak chuckle. "Just 'Tamsyn' is fine, Madanach," she smiled. "Unless you want me to call you 'Da', now?"

"Only if you want to," he said, agreeably.

"What happens now?" the Arch-Mage asked. "We still have a lot to do."

"We're already moving people into position," Kaie said. "We have many redoubts in the southern Reach, not the least of which is Lost Valley Redoubt. From those encampments we can move our people into position as soon as we find the Thalmor outposts."

"I'm not so sure we should be attacking them," Tamsyn said. "That might precipitate aggressions we aren't ready for."

"Tamsyn," Madanach said sternly, "this is what we've been training for, the last half-dozen years. If not now, then when? I'm not getting any younger, and I want to make sure my people are free from any kind of enslavement – Nord, Imperial or Altmer! If we don't take the fight to them, we run the risk of losing the element of surprise, and our momentum at the same time."

"I know, I know!" Tamsyn sighed. "I'm just worried that we won't be prepared for the backlash. Because it will come. The Thalmor won't take this sitting down."

"Oh, I hope not!" Madanach grinned.

"You can laugh," Tamsyn brooded. "But will Balgruuf? Will Ulfric? Will Tullius or the Emperor? What if the Dominion makes another attempt on Titus Mede's life, because we've stirred up a hornet's nest here?"

"That Grey Fox friend of yours, who pretends to be a diplomat, will have people in place to protect the old guy," Madanach said, confidently.

"I'm sure he does," Tamsyn acknowledged. "But will it be enough?"

---

Marcus and Dante returned to Windhelm after leaving Raldbthar, so the Dragonborn could deliver Aegisbane back to Clan Shatter-shield. Torbjorn was grateful to have his ancestral hammer returned to him – and the Dragonborn was grateful to unload the weight of it from his back. Torbjorn was so grateful, in fact, that he rather foolishly invited Marcus to "ask anything of me…anything…and if it's within my power, you'll get it."

"Well," Marcus mused, narrowing his eyes and rubbing the beard on his chin. "I know the Argonians you've hired to work the docks on your behalf are struggling. I've spoken to Scouts-Many-Marshes about this before, but never had an opportunity to discuss it with you. You're making plenty of money off their labor – more than enough to ensure they're making a decent wage. More money in their pocket means more money they can afford to put back into Windhelm's economy, which means you'll be making more money off your investments. It's what a responsible business owner and investor does. A stagnant economy helps no one."

Torbjorn was flustered. No one had dared speak to him about 'those beast folk' in this manner before. "A good Nord is worth seven times what an Argonian—"

"No," Marcus cut him off. "The Good Book says, 'the laborer is worthy of his hire.' Either cut the Nords' wages – which they'd probably keelhaul you over – or pay the Argonians the same as the Nords. In the long run, you'll make more money."

Torbjorn wasn't sure which book the Dragonborn referred to, but it really didn't matter at this point. He was more concerned about his out-of-pocket expenses and loss of profit. "No offense, Dragonborn," Torbjorn said skeptically, "but just how would you know?"

Marcus shrugged. "It's what I do in every Hold where I'm Thane," he replied. "I invest in the local businesses. You don't think I can afford to maintain a half-dozen homes on what I find digging through barrows and ruins, do you? Look, you said yourself you owed me a favor for returning your family's artifact. And I wasn't even going to bring up the fact that I discovered your daughter's murderer. I'm calling that favor in now. Pay your workers more. Do that, and we're squared."

Torbjorn glanced at his wife, Tova, who was standing quietly by, glaring at him. He knew that look. There would be no peace in his house if he didn't cave in.

"Alright, Dragonborn," he sighed. "You've got it. I'll pay the Argonians the same wages I pay the Nords."

Tova gave a slight nod and smile, and Marcus beamed. "That's all I ask, Torbjorn," he replied, satisfied. "I'll go let Scouts know."

The Argonian was down at the docks, of course, hauling heavy sacks of ore from one of the Shatter-shield ships to a pallet near the Argonian Assembly. His slitted green eyes widened in amazement when Marcus informed him of the good news, and the frill on the back of his head lifted in delight.

"You finally talked Torbjorn down?" he breathed, incredulous. "I can hardly believe it! This is fantastic! Finally! Perhaps now we can strive to get ahead here in Windhelm!"

"There's still a long way to go towards normalizing relations in Windhelm between Argonians and Nords," Marcus warned him.

"But it's a lot farther than we've come in a handful of years," Scouts grinned, showing all his teeth. "Here, I want you to have this," he continued, retrieving a satchel of potions from his workstation, and pressing them into Marcus' arms. But the Dragonborn gently refused.

"I didn't do it for a reward, Scouts," Marcus told the Argonian kindly, "but because it was the right thing to do. I'm only sorry it took me so long to finally talk to Torbjorn about it. I should have done this as soon as we talked last time."

"You were busy," Scouts said generously. "I understand that. You're the Dragonborn, and you have a lot of irons in the fire. Well, if you won't take these, please take this, from me, as a personal thank you." He pulled a silver amulet from around his neck and presented it to Marcus. "It's made in the traditional Saxhleel style of my people, and was given to me by my egg-mother."

"I can't take this!" Marcus protested. "Something like this should be passed down to your children!"

"Well, I don't have any of those," Scouts remarked. He paused, gave a wry smile and chuckled, "That I know of, anyway. Take it, my friend. It gives me great pleasure to know it now belongs to you."

Marcus accepted the amulet and put it around his neck, then shook the Argonian's hand. "Thank you, Scouts," he said sincerely. "I'll treasure it, always!"

He rejoined Dante Greyshadow, who had been selling off several of the items they had picked up in Raldbthar. The Guildmaster hefted a large pouch of coin at him.

"Here's your share," Dante said. "I kept the gold ingots we found, since I want to make some jewelry from them, so the difference is made up in that pouch."

"You make jewelry?" Marcus queried, lifting an eyebrow. He tucked the pouch into his backpack. Somehow, he didn't think Greyshadow was the crafting-type of person.

"I dabble," Dante shrugged. "I learned the basics from an old jeweler in Cyrodiil. It was mostly for the purpose of creating forgeries, you see," he explained, unashamed. "But now I do it mainly to enchant the items and sell them off in my shop."

Marcus shook his head. "Anything to make a septim, eh?" he commented, rolling his eyes.

"One does what one must," the Guildmaster replied guilelessly. "Now, where is this Forge located?"

"Let's head over to the Candlehearth," Marcus suggested. "I need food. I'll buy."

"I won't say no," Dante agreed amiably.

They found a table in a tucked-away corner upstairs in the Candlehearth, and after their meal, Marcus pulled out Katria's journal and opened it to her map of Skyrim.

"This should be the place right here," Marcus pointed, tapping the number five Katria had drawn. "Down here at the bottom of the Rift. It's not an obvious Dwemer ruin, but there's a scattering of stones and walls there, including a monument that has some kind of astrolabe or something on it. I've been by there several times, usually to clear out bandits who like to roost there. It's near where the Imperial camp used to be, before the Civil War was resolved."

"Think we'll have to excavate?" Dante queried.

Marcus shrugged. "I have no idea," he said honestly. "Like I said, there's not much there. I'm not even sure how we're supposed to use the pieces of aetherium we found. Tamsyn wouldn't tell me."

"Why not?" Dante asked, surprised. "I thought she knew everything about this little quest of ours."

"Oh, she does, trust me," Marcus said sourly. "She knows more than she tells. The only thing she would say is that we would figure it out once we got there."

"I guess we'll have to be content with that," Dante shrugged.

In the interest of expediency, in case the Thalmor were one step ahead of them, the two men left Windhelm after their meal and walked to the outskirts, near the stables, where Marcus called for Odahviing. The great red dragon soon appeared, and in a short time they were airborne once more, winging their way southward over the Aalto plain towards the Rift.

As they neared their destination, another dragon appeared in the skies. It was Firefall, Marcus realized, and he recognized Benor sitting astride the younger, smaller red dragon, who ducked his head in deference to Odahviing, who rumbled a greeting to his zeymah.

Benor motioned they should land to talk, and both dragons made lazy circles, descending into an open clearing to drop off their riders.

"Marcus!" the hazel-eyed Nord greeted him. He was wearing the lighter version of the Blades armor that had been redesigned to accommodate the dragon riders. "It's good to see you! I was going to put this in a report, but I'm glad I caught up with you!"

"Benor, this is Councilor Lance de Fer," Marcus introduced quickly. "I don't know if you've met him yet."

"I haven't," Benor replied, shaking his head. His once-shaggy brown hair had been cropped close to fit under the streamlined helmet he wore when riding, which had been fit with glass lenses, to allow the riders to keep their eyes open while flying. Marcus had simply gotten used to riding without one. Benor took the helmet off now, and presented his hand to Dante, who clasped wrists with him in greeting. "It's good to meet you, Councilor."

"What's your news, Benor?" Marcus asked. "Have you found anything in this end of the Jeralls?"

"Not in the Rift," Benor answered. "But as Firefall and I crossed over the border into Falkreath Hold, I saw something rather odd near the Pale Pass."

"Something odd?"

"Yeah, there was a lot of movement at night, through the Serpentine Trail," the Nord explained. "They kind of stood out against the snow."

"Serpentine Trail?" Marcus echoed. "I'm not familiar with that. Where is it?"

"It's west of the Pale Pass," Dante told him. "It used to be a way for smugglers to get their goods past the Pass and the Imperial Legion guarding it. At least, it was up until the Great War, when the fortress under there was attacked by goblins, and the whole place was sealed off."

"Goblins? You're kidding!" Marcus felt like an idiot for parroting everything related to him, but he'd never heard of goblins before within the context of Tamriel.

"Yes, goblins," Dante replied, slightly exasperated. "You've fought Falmer. You've been through an Oblivion gate and have seen daedra. Why should you doubt goblins exist?"

"I'm sorry," Marcus mumbled. "You're right. It's just that I've never heard them mentioned outside of fairy tales before."

"They're real," Dante assured him. "I've seen them. I made an attempt to get through Serpentine Trail, once, many years ago." He eyed Benor warily, unsure how much the Nord knew of his true identity. Seeing this, Marcus quickly changed the subject.

"This 'movement' you saw, Benor," he said now, "coming out of the Serpentine Trail? Which direction was it headed?"

"North," Benor said now. "They followed the road, in small groups of maybe a dozen or so that I could see, and they took the west fork around the hills. Almost like they were trying to avoid being seen by anyone at Fort Neugrad."

"And how many figures in all, do you think?" Dante asked.

"I dunno," Benor admitted. "I was kind of high up, on Firefall, y'see. I didn't wanna call attention to myself. I'd say at least a hundred or so. Maybe more, maybe less. But they all went to Helgen, then disappeared inside the ruined buildings. I stayed long enough to make sure of that."

"When was this?" Marcus asked.

"Two nights ago," Benor said. "I was heading out there again tonight, to see if any more would come through the trail and go up to Helgen…or any place else in Falkreath."

"And these are just the ones Benor has seen," Dante frowned. "We don't know how long they've been doing this."

"Tamsyn and Madanach may be walking right into a hornet's nest," Marcus worried. "I should let her know. Thanks, Benor!" he said, staunchly. "Keep an eye out for any more troop movements – from a discreet distance, of course. The Councilor and I have something we need to do first, but as soon as that's done, we'll head to Falkreath and see about joining Tamsyn and Madanach."

Benor returned to a waiting Firefall, and soon the two were aloft, winging their way back towards Dragonpeak Eyrie.

Marcus tapped his ear bud and concentrated on his wife.

"Tamsyn? Are you there?"

"I'm here, my love," came the reply. "What's up?"

Marcus relayed to her what Benor had told them, and Tamsyn promised she and Madanach would be careful.

"Kaie has joined us as well," she informed him.

"Madanach's daughter?" Marcus blurted in surprise.

"And my second in command," came Madanach's voice faintly over the ear bud. "She insisted, and I think it's a good idea."

Marcus nodded. "I do, too, Madanach. You guys be careful. We don't know what's going on, but it looks like things are heating up."

"Oh, I sincerely hope so!" Madanach replied, and Marcus could hear the grin in his voice. "This ought to be fun!"

Marcus shook his head as he signed off. "That man has a strange definition of 'fun'."

He made another call, to Balgruuf this time, and informed the Jarl of Whiterun of what might be happening on his southern border.

"Into Helgen, you say, Dragonborn?" the Jarl queried.

"That's right," Marcus confirmed. "Those tunnels and caves under the keep could hold an entire army down there and we'd never know it. And the fact that they're sneaking in there under cover of darkness isn't a good sign."

"I'll send more troops to Riverwood, then," Balgruuf promised. "They'll likely be the first place to get hit, if the Dominion tries to push into my Hold."

"Good idea," Marcus agreed. "The Councilor and I will finish up as soon as we can, then I'll head over to Falkreath to see what's going on there. I'm worried Tamsyn and Madanach might have bitten off more than they can chew."

"Good luck, Dragonborn!"

Marcus ended the connection and turned to the Guildmaster, who was scowling at him.

"You're going to walk into Falkreath without back-up?" Dante frowned.

Marcus sighed. "As much as I'm getting used to having you around, Greyshadow," he said, "I think you're going to have to head back to Cyrodiil as soon as we're done here. I think the Dominion will be making their move very soon." It worried him, letting Greyshadow head back alone, because a lone Dominion assassin could end the Guildmaster's life and dash all their hopes with it, but the Breton man couldn't stay here. He needed to be close to his network.

Dante nodded. "You're right, of course," he agreed. "I have good people protecting my grandfather…some of my best, in fact. But he still hasn't named an heir, and that is a critical weak link in all of this."

It's not your grandfather I'm worried about, Marcus thought, but said nothing aloud.

"How much further?" Dante asked now.

"Not much," Marcus replied, consulting his map. "We should be able to get there from here by walking. Shouldn't take more than a quarter-hour. With any luck, the dragons scared off any bandits."

"Oh, I hope not!" Dante grinned. Marcus rolled his eyes.

"You're as bad as Madanach," he said sourly.

There were bandits, as Dante had hoped, and the two men could see them battling the ghostly figure of a Nord woman as they approached. But ruffians like these were really no match for a Nightingale and a Dragonborn. When it was over, Katria approached them.

"You made it!" she crowed. "And you brought the shards!"

"They're all here," Dante assured her, patting his haversack. "What do we do now?"

"This is all that's left of the Dwemer city of Bthalft," Katria said. "Not much to look at, is it now, for as important as it once was."

Indeed, there wasn't much left – at least, above ground. Marcus wonder if, like many Dwarven cities he'd been in – particularly Blackreach – there was more under the surface. What they could see was limited to a few stone arches, a sort of plaza area, and a central pedestal on which rested the astrolabe Marcus had seen in the past, the few times he had been here.

"Take a look at this device, here," Katria invited, leading them to the astrolabe. "The gear in the center is just about the right size. Try putting the shards in and...we'll see what happens."

Marcus shrugged, and Dante pulled the four pieces from his haversack. It took some doing, to put them in, not only in the right configuration, but also in the correct order. Two of them wouldn't quite fit on the bottom layer, and needed to be swapped with the two on the top. When that was done, the ground trembled, as it had done back at Arkngthamz, and both men froze, ready for action. But nothing happened.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Dante queried, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

"It has to be," Katria insisted. "There's no place else it could be, according to my research. Try…taking it out again?" she suggested.

Marcus did, and a sudden violent tremor shook the area.

"Everyone! Get back!" Katria yelled, and they all scrambled back to a safe distance off the plaza.

With a loud roar and whoosh, the center portion of the paved, circular area lifted suddenly into the air, and Marcus couldn't help letting out an appreciative "Whoa!" at the cleverness and ingenuity of the Dwemer.

Inside the newly-formed tower was a typical Dwemer lift.

"Come on!" Katria said gleefully. "Let's see where this leads to!" She hurried into the lift and waited for them, shifting her balance excitedly from one side to the other.

Marcus made sure they were all on the lift platform before throwing the lever, and down they went.

A long way down.

Just how deep the lift went would forever be a mystery. They stepped out, and Dante pulled at the collar of his armor.

"Whew! It's warm down here!" he exclaimed. "I haven't been this warm since Hammerfell!"

"That took forever!" Katria agreed. "How deep are we?"

"I don't know," Marcus replied, "but it looks like there's a set of stairs down this way."

As they approached the top, a brazier ignited. The two men looked at each other.

"I swear I didn't step on anything!" Marcus protested, raising his hands in defense.

"Just another funny quirk of the Dwemer, I'm sure," Katria said. "They tended to automate just about everything in their daily lives."

"Which means we should be prepared for anything," Dante cautioned, drawing his sword, Inferno.

They descended the long flight of steps, which led to a land bridge over rushing water scores of feet below, spanning the distance to a pinnacle of rock where a partial wall sat to one side. Surmounted on the wall was the iconic bust of a long-forgotten Dwemer, and in front of that sat a stone table. Bits of dwarven metal and pieces of automatons rested upon it, along with two coins. They were not septims.

"I'll be damned," Marcus swore softly, picking them up to examine them. They were made of gold, but were octagonal in shape, with a stylized Dwemer profile on one side, and a geometric design on the other, which all of them had seen on small pieces of plate metal used in making the animunculi – including a piece of which lay on the table with the other items.

"These are old!" Katria whistled in envy. "At least four or five thousand years! I've only ever seen sketches of them before."

"I think this one will go in my private collection," Dante grinning, tucking it into his belt pouch.

"I've never collected coins before," Marcus agreed, "so this will be a first." He secured his safely in his pouch as well, and the three made their way across the second land bridge that connected the pinnacle to the main complex. The sounds of the roaring water echoed deeply in the vast cavern, that was so enormous they couldn't see the roof of it over their heads, or tell how much further in any direction it might have gone.

The approach to the Forge, if that was that this truly was, was impressive. Duals flights of stairs climbed past a central monument with the same astrolabe featured as they had seen outside. On raised daises to either side were oversized statues of Dwemer spheres. Behind this, another dual flight of steps with a center ramp led up to the main edifice. Both men eyed the ramp suspiciously, but nothing activated.

"Problem?" Katria asked, innocently.

"No," Marcus denied, swallowing hard. "No problem at all."

"Why would you ask that?" Dante countered, but he, too, took a deep, steadying breath before starting the climb.

Neither one saw her grin behind their backs.

The stairs led them to a courtyard with benches and a small garden area that featured one sickly yellow, nearly-dead tree. A large, towered building loomed at the far end of the courtyard, the façade of which looked very similar to the one in Arkngthamz, complete with Dwemer busts and resonators. Here, however, there were only two of the spinning activators, and no signs of anyone having failed to open the bronze barred gates, though Katria tried.

"Door's shut tight," she announced. "I bet those Resonators would open it, though."

"Go ahead," Marcus invited the Guildmaster. Dante pulled Zephyr off his back and nocked an arrow.

"Which one first?" he asked.

"I don't think it makes a difference," Katria shrugged.

"Are you sure?" Dante frowned. "Mistakes like this can be costly."

"I don't see any kind of hatch for machines to come out of, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's part of it," Dante muttered drily. "Okay, here we go."

He pulled back and hit the first resonator on the left, then the one on the right in rapid succession, then swiftly sheathed Zephyr and pulled out Inferno again in a matter of heartbeats.

With a whoosh of steam, the mouths of the busts opened, spilling water into the pools below them, and the gates pulled back, allowing them access. Otherwise, all was still.

They silently entered and descended a sloping hallway which turned sharply to the left and continued down.

"The air here..." Katria murmured. "It feels different. Almost like..."

She didn't finish her thought, as they came into another large chamber, that sweltered with heat. The reason was obvious. The entire area had been built over a lake of lava. To either side, stairs climbed up to a partial mezzanine, but it was the machine in front of them, at the other end of the room, that immediately caught their attention. Situated on the edge of the worked stone, with a grate of bronzed metal embedded in the floor in front of it, it defied description. Huge turbines, fitted with pipes at least three feet in diameter, were flanked with pumps and pistons which remained unmoving, as they had for thousands of years. More pipes and valves ran along the stone facing of the mezzanines, and superheated steam rose in waves from under the grating, distorting the images of what they could see.

"This has to be it!" Katria exulted. "The Aetherium Forge!"

"We can't cross that," Marcus coughed. "We'll be parboiled before we get halfway there!"

"See if you can't find a way to shut off the steam," Katria advised, coughing as well, though Marcus wondered how it could affect her, since she was a ghost. Perhaps she was having sympathy symptoms, knowing what this must be doing to her two living companions.

Marcus and Dante split up, each heading up the stairs to the upper levels. Finding the valves, they turned them, the metal squeaking as if long unused, and were rewarded when the steam began to dissipate, though it was still hotter than Oblivion in the chamber. As the two men rejoined Katria, the pipes and valves on either side of the first floor Forge area glowed with electricity.

"Now what?" Katria groaned irritably. To be so close, and suffer yet another delay!

"Get ready!" Marcus snapped. "Looks like the traps are still active in here!"

The first wave was a series of Dwemer spiders that scuttled and leaped, clawing with their metal pincers or shocking them with bursts of electricity. Marcus tried very hard to watch Dante's back, mindful of Tamsyn's warning. He stayed close to the Guildmaster and endeavored to keep from stepping out onto the grating where magma bubbled not far below the floor. The heat didn't help. It made fighting just that much more difficult, and both men were sweating profusely, and panting for air before the first wave of spiders had been defeated. Steam was beginning to billow up again, and they both bolted for the shut-off valves, spinning them viciously to quell the superheated fog.

The next wave of automatons rolled out, quite literally. The spheres were larger than any Marcus had seen before, and there were too many of them.

"Pull back!" he yelled.

"Where?" Dante demanded. "The stairs retracted into the wall as soon as we spun those valves!"

"Stick together," Katria urged. "We can do this!" She slashed out with her ethereal blades, and by focusing her will, she smashed one of the spheres against the stairs. Another caught her from behind, and in two strokes, she had vaporized. Marcus knew she'd be back, but it meant they wouldn't have her assistance in this fight.

Grimly, the Dragonborn and the Nightingale fought on, back-to-back, against the spheres and spiders that kept coming. The piles of debris at their feet continued to grow. At length, there was a pause. The steam was boiling away again, but it seemed the automatons had stopped. Both men pulled restorative potions from their satchels and downed them swiftly.

"We still need to stop the steam," Marcus said wearily. He ached all over, in spite of the potions, and Dante nodded his head bleakly. His armor had been slashed in several places, though he had at least been able to heal his wounds.

"I'm so sorry, Marcus…Dante," Katria apologized as she reappeared. Dante gave her a weak smile.

"Can't be helped," he allowed kindly. "It just means you get to stick around for the next act."

"Can we make it to the Forge yet?" she asked.

"Not quite," Marcus said. "Or at least, Greyshadow and I can't. We've got to turn those valves again. And who knows what else this place is going to throw at us?"

"I don't know about you, Dragonborn," Dante said sourly, "but I'm a bit reluctant to turn that wheel again."

"I know what you mean," Marcus nodded. "I'm a little bow-shy myself, but it's got to be done."

They rose and separated once more, giving each other a nod across the room as they threw their weight behind the valves. The wheels screeched, the steam subsided once more, and for a long moment there was silence.

A tentative smile broke out on Marcus' face that was quickly chased away when something ponderously heavy thudded from the direction of the lava lake.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Katria cried, pointing.

It was a Centurion. But it was the largest Centurion any of them had ever seen. It rose like an Atronach made of Dwemer metal that seemed somehow untouched by the infernal temperatures in which it resided.

At first, Marcus thought it would not be able to clamber into the Forge chamber, but he quickly realized with horror that it was ascending some sort of ramp built into the side of the stone for that very purpose.

"How in Oblivion are we going to stop that thing?" Dante demanded.

"The same way we do the smaller ones," Marcus shot back. "We whittle him down to size! FO KRAH DIIN!"

The column of frost sped towards the gigantic metal monster, but dissipated in the heat before it could hit. Marcus realized he would have to get closer, and that was the one thing he didn't want to do!

"Ranged attacks!" Katria shouted, drawing her ethereal version of Zephyr, and peppering the gargantuan automaton with arrows.

Two Icy Spears shot forth from the Guildmaster, but fared no better than Marcus' Frost Breath.

"It's too hot in here for frost-based attacks!" Dante yelled, before pulling the real Zephyr off his back and heading up one side of the mezzanine.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Marcus drawled, his dragonbone bow already in his hands. "Watch out!" he cried, as stream of liquid fire headed his way. He leaped to one side, narrowly avoiding being immolated, and rolled to his feet. The ring on his finger glowed red, reminding him how close he was to the grating on the floor. He was behind the metal man, who he privately thought of as the Forgemaster, and the automaton was lumbering itself around to face him.

Good, Marcus thought. If his attention is on me, he won't be going after Greyshadow or Katria.

"Come on, Tin Man!" he yelled. "Come and get a piece of me!" He fired off two shots in quick succession, aiming at the plate on the chest which protected the dynamo core, but the Forgemaster brought up an arm and deflected the arrows.

That arm ended in a large, heavy ballista-style crossbow, and Marcus gulped.

"FEIM!" he Shouted, as the bolt was fired, and it passed harmlessly through the Dragonborn, hissing as it struck the lava behind him and melted away.

Several arrows slammed into the Forgemaster from behind, and it slowly swiveled the upper half of its body to glare in that direction. Marcus felt himself solidify and sheathed his bow, drawing Dragonbane. The Forgemaster belched forth another steady stream of lava, and Marcus heard Katria yell, "Get down!"

With his heart leaping to his throat, Marcus closed the distance while the Forgemaster had its back to him and gave a powerful slice through the cables and pulleys at the back of its knees. The Akaviri blade sliced neatly through, and screeched against the Dwemer metal behind them, but the Forgemaster didn't go down. Instead, it stumbled forward a step or two, but ceased its attack and turned to face this new menace.

Uh oh, Marcus thought. He retreated back across the grating, wincing in pain as he did so, until he got to the other side. Firing off the strongest healing spell he knew in his off hand, he watched the Forgemaster carefully to see what it would do next.

Rather than spew fire, it raised its other hand – the one that ended in a mallet the size of a suitcase – and advanced on the Dragonborn. The hammer came crashing down in the spot where Marcus had been moments before he ducked under the Forgemaster's swing. The Akaviri blade struck out once more, upwards, severing the cables that controlled the hammer hand. Sparks flew as steel met bronze, and bronze lost the fight. With the joint partially severed, the Forgemaster could not raise it for another blow.

Marcus backed off towards the stairs to the left of the entrance and raced up to where Katria kept up a steady volley of arrows from her position.

"Where's Greyshadow?" Marcus demanded, expecting to see the Guildmaster lying injured or unconscious on the floor.

"I don't know," the Nord ghost replied. "He said he was going to try to get behind it, then he vanished in thin air!"

"Damn him!" Marcus muttered. "Maybe you'd better stop shooting, since we don't know where he is."

"Well, unless he's ten feet tall, I don't think I'll hit him," Katria snorted. "I'm aiming at that thing's head!"

Grumbling uncomplimentary things under his breath, Marcus sent out his Aura Whisper and found the Nightingale on the main floor to the left of the grating, creeping towards the Forgemaster, who was now thundering towards the stairs.

"We've got incoming!" Marcus exclaimed, crouching and heading towards their opponent.

"Are you crazy?" Katria cried. "You'll get killed!"

"WULD NAH KEST!" Marcus Shouted, and sprinted across the intervening space between the two upper floors just in front of the Forgemaster, who was too slow to react. On the far-right side now, Marcus turned and shot a Lightning Bolt at the Forgemaster, who turned to face him and reared back for another fire breath.

"FEIM!" Marcus bellowed, calling upon his reserves to give another Shout without a proper cool-down. Magma splashed around him as he leaped over the side of the wall, landing lightly on the lower floor. He sheathed Dragonbane before drawing his bow again. Katria came down the stairs, and for a moment, Marcus was distracted by the fact that she was clearly, perfectly solid to him. Filing that information away, he focused on the job at hand.

With some distance from the Forgemaster, now, and knowing how slowly it moved, he fired two shots from his bow, hitting it in the chest. Past experience had shown Marcus that the act of attacking while ethereal ended his Shout in much the same way as it revealed the invisible. The arrows missed the dynamo core again, but stuck in the Dwemer metal where they hit and sank in deeply. Marcus hoped they hit something vital on the way in.

The Forgemaster shuddered suddenly, and for a moment Marcus thought his wish had come true, until he noticed the Nightingale behind the Forgemaster, dragging Inferno down its back, opening it up like a tin can. The Forgemaster dropped to its knees, wavering, and Dante pulled back his ebony blade, thrusting deep into the gash with Mehrunes Razor. Slowly, the gigantic metal animunculus toppled forward and lay still.

Except for the hissing and whooshing of Dwemer machinery, and the gurgling and popping of molten lava, all was silent in the Forge.

"I can't believe it!" Katria sighed. "We did it! We killed that thing!"

"That was a fight I'll remember to my dying day," Dante concurred, breathing hard. "And look, the stairs have returned. We can leave."

"Well, not yet!" Katria protested.

"Why?" asked the Guildmaster. "You've got your proof. We found the Forge."

"How am I going to prove it?" she scowled. "We have to make sure this is the real Aetherium Forge."

"I rather doubt there are any others around," Dante chided. "So, any ideas on how we can do that?"

"By forging something, of course," Katria scowled.

"Uh huh," Dante nodded. "With…what, exactly?"

Katria stopped, realization sinking in. "There isn't any aetherium here, is there? Damn it!"

Dante shook his head, looking at Marcus, who shrugged.

"Wait…" Katria said, her face clearing. "Yes. Yes, there is. The shards we collected, remember?"

"That's not really a whole lot, Katria," Marcus cautioned. He hated seeing her despair, but it would be foolish to get their hopes up. "I don't know what, if anything, we'd be able to make from it."

"They're pure Aetherium," Katria reminded them. "I know it's not much, but it will have to do. With them, and the materials in this room, we should have everything we need."

Dante looked dubious, but Marcus was catching some of Katria's enthusiasm.

"We'd be foolish not to try, Greyshadow," he said. "We've come all this way, after all."

"Alright, fine," Dante shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Let's see what those ancient Dwemer left behind. Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"

"I think this is something we're going to have to work on together," Marcus replied, eyeing the Forge. "That's about the most complicated piece of Dwemer machinery I've ever seen."

They scoured the entire Forge chamber and turned up a handful of gems, some dwarven and ebony ingots, and some curious tools Marcus had never seen in a forge before, Dwemer or otherwise.

"No doubt these tools were used by the Dwemer when they worked with the Forge," Katria said.

"I hope we won't be required to use them," Dante said, eyeing them doubtfully. "I'm not even sure how to use them."

"I might be able to figure it out, given time," Marcus said, thinking they resembled power tools he'd used in his other life. "But there are some other hammers and tongs here that I do know how to use. Let's get started."

It took almost an hour to fathom how to turn the Forge on, so that it began pumping magma from the lake into its reservoir tanks to boil water and create the steam that drove the turbines. Once that was done, it took them a little more time to figure out where to put the ingots and shards to begin smelting them for casting.

"Look at this panel," Katria pointed out. Silhouettes on the glass showed a staff, a shield and a crown. "The Forge already seems to know what you can make from the things you've put into it," she breathed in wonder.

"Which one do we make?" Dante asked. "The Arch-Mage told us that anything made with aetherium would be imbued with incredible power from the moment of its forging. If we're going to do this, we only have one shot at it, and we need to make sure we make the right choice."

"I think I'd better call my wife," Marcus chuckled.

"Call your wife?" Katria echoed. "I don't understand."

"Let's see if I can even reach her," Marcus qualified. "We have no idea how deep underground we are." He tapped his ear bud. "Tamsyn? Tamsyn, my love, are you there? Can you hear me?"

There was silence for a long moment, and Marcus had almost given up when the Arch-Mage's voice came in very faintly, as if from a great distance away. That in itself was unnerving, since they had been able to communicate back and forth with ease from Markarth to Winterhold, from Riften to Solitude.

"I'm here dearest…" she said, though there was quite a lot of static present. "I can barely hear you…where are you?"

Marcus tapped the ear bud again to raise the volume, compensating for the noise around them. "We're in the Forge, sweetheart," he called, raising his voice as well. "We found it!"

Katria stared in wonder at the sound of another person's voice coming out of seemingly nowhere.

"I'm so glad you're alright!" Tamsyn cried. "Is everyone okay? Is…is Katria…"

"She's here," Marcus grinned, gesturing Katria closer, so she could hear better. "Say hello to my wife," he encouraged her.

"Uh..he…hello?" Katria ventured, uncertainly.

"Katria!" Tamsyn gushed. "Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to talk to you! I wanted so much to be there, to help you find the Forge!"

"Your husband told me," Katria said, her throat working. "He said…he said you believed in me."

"I do," Tamsyn replied, and there was a curious strain in her voice as well. "Oh, dammit! I promised myself I wouldn't cry!"

Tears were already spilling down Katria's cheeks. "Thank you for your faith in me, Arch-Mage," she said. "Forgive me, but I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment." She stepped away and turned her back, fighting to get herself under control.

"Tamsyn, love," Marcus called now. "We need some advice. According to the panel on the Forge, we can either make a staff, a shield or a crown, but we don't know what they'll do once they're made."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure, either," his wife said, and he could hear the effort she was making to speak clearly. "I can only tell you what I've…er…'Seen.' The staff should allow you to summon and control a Dwemer sphere or spider. The shield, when used to bash, turns your enemies ethereal. They can't be hit, but by the same token, they can't hit you, either."

"What does the crown do, Arch-Mage?" Dante asked now. "So far, neither of those other options appeal to me."

"Well, that's the real tricky question," Tamsyn replied. "I know what it might do, but my scryings indicate there's another possibility."

Again, there was a pause as Tamsyn collected her thoughts, and Marcus felt she was privately considering just how much she could safely reveal.

"I'm sure you know of all thirteen Standing Stones scattered around Skyrim. These Stones sometimes give a person a blessing, allowing them to do things like improve their skills in combat and magic faster, turn invisible briefly, carry extra weight around, that sort of thing. It's possible that the Crown would do no more than allow the blessings of two Stones to work in tandem with each other, rather than canceling one out in favor of the other."

"What's the other possibility you foresaw?" Marcus asked.

"Let me see if I can explain this in a way that makes sense," Tamsyn said, and he could almost hear her frowning in concentration. "Each race in Tamriel seems to have certain racial qualities that are exclusive to each. Master Greyshadow and I are Breton. We have an inherent resistance to magic that is cast at us. We also have an ability to negate about half of the magic that does hit us. You, Marcus, are an Imperial. Imperials always seem to find a bit more gold than other people. And you have that golden tongue of yours that allows you to persuade people to see things your way. Katria is a Nord; they are resistant to cold weather and frost attacks, and in battle can ululate an incredibly intimidating war cry that terrorizes their enemies and causes them to flee in panic. Wearing the Aetherial Crown may very well boost and enhance those abilities. Or not. I really have no way of knowing for sure. I'm just a Seer."

"I'm willing to take a chance on the Crown," Dante said.

"I think that's our best bet, too," Marcus agreed. "Aicantar is very close to getting the automatons under control, and turning your enemies ethereal only delays having to deal with them."

"The Crown it is, then," Katria agreed.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Marcus said. "You and Madanach be careful in Falkreath. We'll try to catch up to you soon."

"Bye for now, darling," Tamsyn answered. "If I don't see you before you leave for Cyrodiil, Master Greyshadow, please be careful and have a safe trip back."

"You don't need to worry about me," Dante replied. "I'll be fine."

"Katria, good-bye," Tamsyn said. "I wish I could have met you, but I'm glad I got to talk to you."

"Good-bye, Arch-Mage," Katria replied, "and thank you again!"

There was silence, and Marcus knew Tamsyn had disconnected.

"Shall we get started then?" Dante invited.

Two and a half hours later, they had their crown. Marcus had never seen anything quite so beautiful. Except Tamsyn, he thought indulgently. And the kids.

Made of a combination of Dwemer metal and ebony smelted together, it had the look of bronze with the strength of ebony. Five crystals of pure aetherium adorned the front of the circlet, with a large central gem flanked by two smaller ones on either side.

"That Crown," Katria breathed. "It's…it's everything I could have hoped for. And with that..." she sighed, "it's done. No one could possibly deny what we've found now."

"What will you do now, Katria?" Marcus asked kindly.

"Me?" Katria chuckled. "I've done what I set out to do. But you... take that out into the world. And if anyone asks, tell them what we discovered. Together."

Dante bowed to her. "Thank you for all your help, Katria."

Marcus smiled. "Yes, but I think I can do better than a mere 'thank you.' FEIM ZII GRON!"

As he suspected, once he became ethereal, Katria stood before him, as solid as a living person.

"What is this?" she gasped, her eyes huge. "How are you doing that?"

In the substantial world, Dante chuckled. "Dragonborn," was all he said.

Marcus grinned. "I wanted to do more than just tell you how grateful we are for your assistance," he told her, coming closer. "I wanted to show you." He wrapped his arms around her, like an older brother, and hugged her close. "Thank you, Katria. We will never forget you."

Katria didn't trust herself to respond, but hugged him as tight as she could, before the thu'um ended and Marcus was thrust back into solidity once more.

Katria wiped her eyes and sniffled unashamedly. "And now..." she whispered, as she began to fade, "I think I can rest. Farewell, my friends, wherever your travels take you."

She vanished, and the two men stood quietly for some time, each brooding upon his own thoughts. It was Dante who spoke first.

"We should go," he said roughly, clearing his throat several times. "And we should probably decide who gets to keep this." He caressed the circlet with gentle fingers.

Marcus smiled. "You keep it," he said generously. "Every Emperor needs a Crown."

---

[Author's Note: Again, I would like to thank The Oracle and his team for allowing me to include information on the pantheon of the Old Gods of the Reach in my story. Next up, the Second Great War begins. Stay tuned!]