A Doom Driven Hero: Civil War Chapter 2 – Overdue Retribution
Marcus walked slowly up the mountain. The cold wind blew flurries of snowflakes about his armored figure, creating soft whirs of noise punctuated only by the muffled crunch of his heavy Dragonbone boots through the snow. His fists were clenched, the tough leather grating against itself.
He was forcing his breathing to be regular. Measured. He deliberately slowed every step, though every inch of his body wanted to start sprinting. To wreathe himself in fire and hurl himself at the Embassy… To shatter their wills and make them regret every selfish choice they'd made.
But he wasn't just doing this to avenge Ralof. To avenge every unfortunate soul the Thalmor had wronged. He was doing this to gain evidence and put an end to the War. Or at least, that's what the human part of Marcus told himself.
When he was about 20 minutes from the structure, Marcus stopped walking. He turned around and breathed in.
"Odahviing!"
The shout echoed across the mountainside, and was answered by a distant roar only a minute later. Marcus didn't need the red Dragon for this, it was just for insurance to prevent any escaping his grasp. None could live. None should live.
The large beast appeared a minute later. He circled the area once, and then came to a land near the man with a loud boom of crushed snow.
Odahviing looked down at Marcus. "Hin unt saraan zu'u?"
"I am in need of your strength." Marcus replied. "Daar fen kos sos. A group just north of here has endangered this land too many times. I seek their destruction. Completely and utterly."
"Zu'u mindoraan. What would you have me do?"
"Circle this area. If any manage to escape the building, hunt them down and kill them."
"Nii fen kos dreh." The large Dragon nodded in understanding. "This is a… unusual task for you to undertake, Dovahkiin. It is not… meyz… 'becoming' of you."
Marcus turned around to face the path leading up to the embassy. The image of Ralof's bloody, rotting face drifted through his mind. His clenched fists tightened. "Trust me. They brought this on themselves."
"As you wish." With an upheaval of snow, Odahviing took to the skies to begin circling and carry out Marcus' orders. The man was left standing on the snowbank, alone once again.
Marcus began walking. Quickly. The time for preparation had ended, and retribution needed to be dealt. He felt the primal parts of him thrashing against its cage, knowing its time was close. The anger, boiling hotter and hotter. They had continued living, while Ralof had not, for too long. Their time had come.
The blood of the Thalmor would cascade down the sides of this mountain before the day was done.
Erelion stood guard at the gates of the embassy with three of his other comrades with almost contemptuous boredom. He didn't know why the others were stuck with this dead-end task, but he was certain in the belief he didn't deserve it. A few jests about the promiscuity of the First Emissary and he was landed with a month's worth of guard duty. He didn't know how Elenwen had found out. The woman seemed to have ears everywhere.
The high elf shifted uncomfortably. He found the weather of Skyrim particularly unpleasant, and the scenery even more so. Just endless snow. There wasn't even any 'appointments' for the embassy today to give him entertainment. He enjoyed watching the local Nords squirm under his imposing height as he pretended their documents weren't in order, and acted suitably hostile.
He was about to voice his complaints to the others when a distant sound carried by the wind passed by them.
Mul… Qah Diiv!
"You hear that?" One of the other guardsmen asked, glancing about curiously.
"Probably the mating call of some grotesque native wildlife." Erelion replied in a weary tone.
The others chuckled, and they stood in silence for a few more moments.
"Wait, what's that?" The single female guard pointed out at the road leading up to the embassy.
Peering through the snowdrift, they could see a faint spot of light. It looked orange and roughly humanoid. It was getting closer, rather quickly.
"A returning patrol?" Erelion asked, assuming the orange glow was torchlight reflected on moonstone armor.
"No patrols are due to return until tomorrow morning." One of the other male guards replied.
They all stood up a little straighter, hands drifting closer to their sheathed weapons. As the figure got closer, they began to feel uneasy. It looked like some kind of knight, though the snowfall made visual identification difficult. It wasn't an expected visitor, which made it potentially hostile.
"It can't be..." The female guard whispered, narrowing her eyes and peering into the distance.
Erelion turned. "What?"
Wuld…
Her eyes widened and she drew her weapon, facing the others with a frantic expression on her face. "It's him! It's the Dragonb-"
Nah Kest!
A large blur of orange light flickered in front of Erelion's vision, and he felt a sharp sting at his neck. He fumbled for his sword, but could only grasp the snow he'd suddenly fallen onto. He attempted to cry out, but his mouth didn't move. He looked up and tried to push of the ground, but couldn't feel any of his limbs for some reason.
Then a figure moved over the top of him, darkened by the sun above it. The figure raised its leg, and the last thing Erelion saw was the boot rushing down toward his face.
Marcus didn't even bother searching the bodies for the key to the gate. He kicked it in the centre, and the entire thing split open with a shattered lock and bent hinges. He stormed inside, sword drawn. The guard up near the front entrance heard the sound of broken metal and ran down. He was struck by a thunderbolt mid-stride and was disintegrated before his body even reached the bottom of the stairs.
A loud entrance, for sure, but Marcus didn't care for being subtle at this point. Better for them to know their end was coming, to taste a little fear for once. He turned back at the entrance and summoned a pair of Dremora Lords, one after the other. They emerged from their portals and looked at him with their usual expression of expectant disdain.
Marcus pointed at the ground. "Stay here, and kill anyone who tries to leave."
They nodded, and drew their weapons. Marcus turned away and walked up to the entrance to the Embassy, taking the stairs two at a time. The front door was locked, of course. The Thalmor prided themselves on security. Not that it mattered. Another kick would do fine.
The front door was lighter than the gate, so it burst off its hinges when Marcus slammed his armored boot into it, sliding along the stone floor for about a metre. The two guards inside that'd heard the thunderbolt and drawn their weapons in anticipation had just enough time to glance down in shock at the ruptured door before they stood face-to-face with a 6 foot tall glowing armored figure.
Their heads were summarily separated from their shoulders.
Marcus stepped over their bodies and continued into the Embassy. He'd turn this place upside down if he had to in order to obtain the information he needed, but there was one place he wanted to check first. The same place where his chief target was also located…
Elenwen was re-reading a letter of commendation in her study when one of her guards burst into the room. She'd almost made a habit of looking over the letter ever since it'd been delivered to her. It praised her on her skills in re-igniting Skyrim's civil war in such a polite, well-worded manner it almost made her blush. Hopefully her superiors would remember this in time to come, and award her a much more influential posting. Maybe even on the Isles themselves, amongst inner circles? The thought made her chest swell.
So the annoyance she felt at the guard who'd barged in was significant, until she saw the look of abject terror in the man's eyes.
"What?" Elenwen demanded.
"He's here!" The guard gasped. "The Dragonborn! He's in the main building, killing everyone!"
Elenwen's eyes shot open at that. She immediately stood up and began gathering the papers on her desk. "Get out!" She yelled at the guard. "Get out there and do your damn job, before I kill you myself!"
The guard swallowed nervously, but nodded and quickly hurried out. He would most certainly die, but it'd buy her a little more time.
"Rulindil!" Elenwen shouted.
"I'm on it!" Came the reply from a neighboring room. Hopefully the man was gathering up his important documents similarly. Some things were too important to leave unattended, regardless of the Dragonborn's intentions here. The enemies of the Dominion were always waiting for moments of weakness, for them to make errors.
While only temporarily, part of her wondered if it was perhaps excessive to flee the Embassy. She didn't know how many rumors regarding the Dragonborn called 'Marcus' were true, but if he had indeed killed as many Dragons as her scouts said he had… then she knew she was in mortal danger. Even his previous attack of the Embassy during the hosting of one of her parties had resulted in a large body count.
A voice in the back of her head reminded her of the other reports, the ones that came from Thalmor assets and sympathizers rather than her direct subordinates. The reports that detailed him fighting Gods, age-old vampire covens and traveling through dimensions. Ones that spoke of him in a kind of reverence befitting a God.
It was impossible. It had to be. No human man could be responsible for acts akin to the Divines. He was a competent fighter, with natural gifts. Nothing else. He was just another inferior man, and would feel the underside of a Thalmor boot soon enough.
Elenwen had gathered up everything she needed into a bag and left her study at a run. Rulindil was waiting outside. He looked uncharacteristically worried, which Elenwen made a personal note of. Rulindil was one of the few people who'd survived the Dragonborn's first stampede through her Embassy, and he'd done so only by hiding in a cupboard. She could tell the same instinct was on his mind now, only he felt flight would be better than hiding, and certainly better than fighting.
They ran out into the inner courtyard, just in time to hear an almighty 'boom' from the other side. The door that led to the entrance building had exploded off its hinges as a powerful fireball had exploded against the other side. Skidding along the ground with the door was the charred body of the guard that Elenwen had told to go delay the Dragonborn. He hadn't been able to carry out that order for very long, it seemed.
Then she saw him. The towering figure emerged through the flaming doorway like some kind of demon through a fiery portal. He wielded a sword in one hand, and the other was wrapped in flames. From his boots to the top of his helmet, he stood easily over 6'5". Three more soldiers ran across the courtyard to engage him, bound weapons conjured in their hands.
The Dragonborn ducked under the blow of one, slicing open their stomach as he passed. The second had their throat cut a second later, and the third was cleaved in half at the waist as soon as they tried to raise their sword.
The man glanced around looking for anymore woeful combatants, and his two burning eyes fell upon the pair of fleeing Emissaries.
"Elenwen!" Came a roar from inside the helmet, and the Dragonborn began sprinting at them.
The pair turned and sprinted towards the other side of the courtyard where a small gate was, leading into the newly added Embassy gardens. Elenwen could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The man looked terrifying. Rulindil barged open the small gate and they ran into the garden. There was a small exit on the far side where the gardener kept his tools in a small hut. If they could just reach it-
"Gah!" Rulindil beside her stumbled and fell forward. He smacked into the ground with a heavy thud, sliding a short way on the icy path that wove between the manicured bushes. Elenwen had just enough time to glance behind her and see a broad-bladed dagger stuck between his shoulder blades.
Part of her wanted to help him, the faithful colleague he was, but the dagger was clearly made of Dragonbone. That meant the accursed nord was within throwing distance. Rulindil would have to be left behind for her own survival. So she kept running, trying not to hear the pained pleas of Rulindil behind her growing more desperate before cutting out with a final scream of pain.
It's not right, Elenwen thought furiously as she ran along the final winding garden path. Why would the Gods bestow that much power to one person? To one man?
The hut and the small doorway that led to the outside forest appeared in front of her as she rounded one last corner, and she felt a flood of relief. If she could make it outside, she had a good chance of losing her pursuer amongst the trees.
Elenwen barged open the gate, and was about to sprint for the cover of the trees when she felt something take hold of her body.
A flash of green energy washed over her limbs, and with terror gripping her heart she felt everything freeze. Her muscles clenched and refused to obey, leaving her to fall down into the snow in a rigid mid-stride pose.
She didn't hear anything at first except the frantic beating of her own pulse. Then, with a spacing indicative of a slow walking pace, Elenwen heard the crunch of heavy boots in the snow. She screamed at her body, but it stubbornly refused to listen.
A hand grasped the back of her collar, and heaved her up. The small bag of documents slipped off her back and into the snow. She was turned around and was face-to-face with the furious, bloody visage of the Dragonborn who'd done so much to hinder her efforts.
He grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up, one-handed. Her feet left the ground just as the paralysis wore off, and she began scrabbling desperately.
Elenwen's hands clawed at the vice-like grip on her neck, and her legs flailed, but neither set of actions did anything. His grip was like iron.
"You couldn't let peace reign." Came the voice from inside the helmet. It was raw and laced with quivering anger. "You couldn't leave this land alone. You thrust it into chaos once more."
"You…" Elewen continued struggling. "You'll never stop us."
"Watch me, from whatever hell you believe in."
His eyes stared into hers, somehow filled with both blazing fury and icy contempt. He raised both hands up to grip her slender neck. Then, relishing the moment, he twisted them both sideways. A wet crack filled the air, and Elenwen's body went limp.
Marcus picked up the satchel Elenwen had been carrying. He gave the contents a quick perusal as he walked back into the Embassy. It would serve his purposes well, particularly the letter on top. The she-bitch had to take her letter of praise, didn't she? Marcus thought contemptuously. Typical.
He strolled back through the gardens, his left hand reaching out and igniting the bushes as he passed with a simple fire spell. Once in the courtyard, he sent a pair of fireballs through the ground-floor windows of the entrance building, ensuring it would be soon ablaze as well. Nothing would be left standing, after he was done.
Marcus stepped into Elenwen's Solar. Immediately, he saw a blur of movement to his right and side-stepped just in time to avoid a sword thrust from another Thalmor soldier, waiting in ambush. He doubted the weapon could've penetrated his armor anyway.
The soldier took a step back, and seemed to debate whether or not to attack again or run. He never got the chance to make up his mind, as Marcus' sword was drawn in a heartbeat and cleaved him from collarbone to navel. With a gurgle and a bloodied cough, the soldier dropped to his knees. Marcus raised his foot up and pushed the dying man away from his blade, wrenching it out with another spurt of blood. A spatter fell upon his arm, and the warmth of the liquid he felt through the chainmail was almost comforting.
The Dragonborn walked through the remainder of the building, checking for anything incriminating, and setting fire to anything flammable. There were only a handful of soldiers left, huddling in the lower parts of the building like rats. Marcus cut them all down.
He checked the interrogation room, but it contained little more than a single corpse, shackled to a wall. It was the body of a young man, with cuts across his face and chest and a large pool of dried blood underneath him. Most likely someone who'd died during interrogation. Marcus felt like he should've done all this a long time ago. Watching it all burn would be very enjoyable, at this point.
As the walls and supports began to creak and crackle, he left the building. The entire area was burning now, the flames roaring as they devoured the Embassy. The front entrance was host to nothing but the same two Dremora, and the body of a single male soldier that had slipped past Marcus on his way in. He hadn't made it far before the summoned warriors had cut him to pieces.
Good. None escaped.
Marcus turned around, seeing the roof of the buildings begin to collapse. The stone walls were falling in on themselves, weakened by the rampant flames stretching upwards and licking at the sky.
The Thalmor would be back, he knew. They'd try to establish another Embassy, or send in agents to infiltrate the province. But that would take time, and his plan would already be in motion by the time they tried.
Marcus approached Windstad Manor two days after leaving the Embassy. He'd taken the long route from the Haafingar mountains down past Dragon bridge, then through Morthal. He could've just taken a boat across, but he wanted some time to think. Partly to go over his plan again in his head, partly to think about his actions at the Embassy.
He didn't regret it, but felt like he should. Marcus had exterminated them all in ways that could be deemed excessive, and then burned the place to the ground. He'd cleared out encampments of bandits and other undesirables before, but this time he'd gone that extra step. He'd enjoyed it, a lot. It'd become personal, and every death throe of a Thalmor soldier had seemed like music to his ears at the time.
He could still feel it, burning in his chest. A raging thirst for domination that demanded satisfaction. There hadn't been enough Thalmor to kill in that Embassy to make him feel better, and a part of him wanted to go on a detour to search for any fledgling bandit camps.
Marcus didn't like the sensation, consciously. He'd never been bloodthirsty. He'd have to talk to Paarthurnax about this, next time he got a chance. The sight of his Manor made him feel a bit better. The familiarity of it calmed him.
Serana was sitting outside, near the front door. She was idly playing with a bit of grass, somewhat like a bored child. It warmed him inside that she'd been waiting for him so patiently, after he'd dismissed her in arguably a cold fashion.
Even when he was about a hundred metres away, her acute hearing picked up the sound of his heavy footsteps. She glanced up and her face brightened considerably. Running over, she looked like she was about to say something in greeting, or perhaps ask him how it all went.
She didn't get a chance to say it, though. As soon as she was close enough he ripped off his helmet, pulled her close, and pressed his lips against hers. She was surprised at first, then her lips curled into a smile and her mouth opened to reciprocate the kiss.
Once they broke apart, Serana breathed out heavily. "Good to see you back… in the right state of mind, too."
"I'm sorry for ditching you like that..." Marcus looked down. "But… I still think it was for the best, I -"
Serana touched his arm gently. "You can tell me what happened later. For now at least, let's get you settled in and talking to the others. They're wondering why you've got them gathered here."
"You're right. Lead the way."
Serana lead him inside the manor and into the main living room with seats and the campfire. It looks like all four of his housecarls were there, along with Hadvar. They all looked up brightly as they saw Marcus enter the room.
Lydia said, "It's about time you got here. What's all this about? You haven't gathered all of us up like this since the Peace Summit."
Hadvar nodded. "I hope whatever you need doesn't take too long. I only got two day's leave from Captain Aldis."
Marcus held his hands up to stem the tide of questions before it began. "I'll explain everything, just let me get out of this armor. I'll be right back."
Marcus headed into his armoury to change clothes into something simpler and cleaner while also preparing his plan in his mind. It would be difficult to broach to the group, especially Hadvar. He knew he'd be asking a lot from them all, but he trusted they'd prioritize peace over any qualms regarding personal loyalty. Thankfully, he didn't have a housecarl from Windhelm, as anyone from that city mightn't be so easy to sway with words.
Marcus got back into the main room with the others and sat down heavily on a chair. It'd felt like days since he'd been able to sit down. It probably was. He took a deep breath and began explaining to the expectant faces what he was doing, and why he'd called them all here.
Marcus started with the aftermath of the skirmish outside Whiterun, and the abnormalities he'd noticed while inspecting it. He detailed the finding of the letter regarding the Thalmor's involvement in the fight, though left out the fact that it'd been Ralof's corpse he'd found it on. Hadvar would need a clear mind to make his upcoming decision, Marcus knew.
The others reacted with anger and shock at discovering the resurgence of the war had been a ruse by the Thalmor, and Argis had even been about to step up and leave – most likely to go give the Thalmor his personal reprisal – had Marcus not interrupted him and said that he'd already delivered such retribution. He left out the details of his borderline bloodthirsty rampage, but described the satchel of documents he'd 'reclaimed' from the Embassy which would prove the Thalmor's guilt.
This lead into his next point, which was showing the documents to Tullius and Ulfric before getting them to agree to a truce. But, Marcus was quick to point out the biggest problem with this.
The essence of what made this Civil War such a shit-show, was that both sides wanted war. They wanted to fight each other because they felt it was the only way to ensure their agendas regarding Skyrim were put forward. They didn't care enough to consider other options. If they actually sat down in the same room and talked out the problems, odds are the War could be suspended indefinitely.
Which was essentially Marcus' plan. Force the two leaders to sit down in one room, and not let them leave until they'd sorted out their differences.
The looks on the faces of those present… even Serana's… slowly devolved into expressions of incredulity as Marcus detailed how he would achieve this. The two leaders wouldn't agree to it willingly, for sure. They would both say they were too busy organizing the beginning of their new war, and couldn't afford to be put at a disadvantage because their top general had been dragged off by the Dragonborn to another ill-fated peace council. No doubt they would cite the temporary nature of the last peace treaty as a reason why it wouldn't work again.
Marcus doubted even the presence of the documents would persuade them to agree to another peace treaty right off the bat, which was why he needed to bring them together by force. His plan was simple: Capture both Tullius and Ulfric, bring them here to be kept in the Windstad Manor, and then bombard them with insults and evidence regarding the stupidity of the Civil War until a conclusion was reached. A simple plan, but Marcus had faith it would work.
Hadvar with his new rank of Quaestor would be able to assist in the capture of Tullius by removing guardsmen from Castle Dour, and Odahviing would be able to cause a distraction outside Windhelm to draw guards away from the palace. Then, two teams would grab the two leaders at the same time, leaving behind a letter that would make it seem like they'd decided to go to a peace treaty location anonymously.
"Thankfully," Marcus said as he was wrapping up the plan. "Both sides have pretty gullible soldiers and leadership – no offence Hadvar – and thus are more likely to assume the desire for peace is genuine, especially once they hear the opposing side's leader has done the same. Any questions?"
He was rewarded with a bunch of blank faces. Several mouths hung open, and Hadvar looked as if someone had asked him to eat his own boots.
"Are you insane?" Jordis broke the silence.
Marcus blinked. "Umm… Is that a legitimate question or..."
"Have any of Marcus' plans ever failed to bear fruit?" Iona asked. "Because if we're asking rhetorical questions, that's the only important one you need to consider."
"You'd ask me to turn against the Empire?" Hadvar exclaimed. "Turn against my entire life?" The man stood up and walked off out of the room. Not necessarily leaving the Manor, but more as an expression of disagreement.
Marcus watched him go and sighed. It wouldn't be as easily as he hoped. He turned to Serana a few feet away. "Keep the others here, ok? I'll see if I can convince him to stay."
Serana nodded, and stayed in the room while the Housecarls began to argue amongst themselves about the varying levels of mental duress Marcus must be under to come up with such a plan.
Hadvar was in the kitchen, leaning over a table. He looked up as Marcus entered the room and groaned. "It's not that I don't think your heart's in the right place, Marcus. Peace is a noble goal. But this? This situation isn't as simple as you think it is."
"If you don't help me, the War is going to continue. More blood will be spilled over a Thalmor ruse." Marcus stated. "Is that what you want?"
"Aside from the fact an Imperial victory will guarantee Ulfric is brought to proper justice? You're asking me to commit high treason, Marcus."
The younger man leaned up against the table beside Hadvar, and crossed his arms. "I learnt something important in Solstheim, not that long ago. An old Shaman taught it to me. Sometimes, if the right course of action requires you to break a particular law, then the breaking of the law itself can indeed be considered the right course of action."
"I never would've thought I'd hear those words coming from your mouth. Never thought you'd compromise."
"Time and experience changes us all, Hadvar. The world isn't as simple as I'd like it to be."
"Maybe… Still, you have to realize how unlikely your plan is to succeed. Sitting the generals down in a room and shouting at them until the situation is fixed? That's lunacy!"
Marcus sighed. "Of course it won't be that simple, ok? I've trawled through countless libraries over the years and assembled a lot of information. I've got quite a few arguments and solutions to put forward to help both sides get what they want. I simplified it a bit mainly for Argis' sake."
"I..." Hadvar groaned again, and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know Marcus… I'm making a huge exception even letting this conversation slide."
Marcus looked at the older man, knowing how layered in procedure and training his mind must be. He knew what he had to do.
Reaching into his pocket, Marcus pulled out Ralof's letter. The one he'd found on the man's corpse. He handed it to Hadvar without a word, and watched as the older man unfolded the paper and gave its contents a read.
As soon as the horrific realization dawned on Hadvar's face, Marcus spoke. "Ralof has died for this, Hadvar. He will be one of countless many to come if you don't do something."
"I..." Hadvar's eyes began to sparkle, his mouth moved but a lump in his throat prevented any real words from coming out. "He's..."
Marcus pressed on. "Castle Dour is a fortress. I cannot get Tullius out undetected if you don't help me. Hell, it'll be a tough challenge even if you do. I know how much I'm asking of you, but there's no-one else in the Legion who'll even hear me out."
Hadvar placed the letter on the table with a shaking hand. The man's breathing was erratic, shaky.
Marcus looked down at the letter, then back up at the conflicted soldier. "Do you think Ralof would've spent the last moments of his life writing that letter, if he thought War would lead to the best future for Skyrim?"
Hadvar closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing. When he opened them, he was concluded. "No. He wouldn't have."
He glanced up. "What do you need me to do?"
After a little convincing, the others agreed that Marcus' idea was their best option available. Detailing the plan to his housecarls was simple enough. They would handle kidnapping Ulfric, using Odahviing as help. There was a small pathway cut into the side of the mountain behind Windhelm that led into the Palace of Kings, most likely constructed by Ysgramor himself. As of course, no good general would build a city up against a stone wall without a decent escape route.
Marus had created a handful of paralysis scrolls to restrain Ulfric until they could bind and gag him, with emphasis on the latter. He doubted there'd be enough guards in the palace that the small group couldn't neutralize them, but Odahviing would do a good job drawing them away in any event.
The young man had made sure to outline the idea to the great Red Dragon as he left the Embassy. A few burnt carriages, a scary roar or two, and some felled trees would create enough of a spectacle to make the Palace up the back of the city the last thing on the resident's minds.
Under the cover of darkness, and hopefully while Ulfric was asleep, the small group would get in and out with the general before anybody noticed something was up. Hopefully.
Castle Dour was more different, as the abundance of walls, ramparts, and the sheer drops on most sides of the city rendered a simple extraction much more complex. Thus, Marcus would take that upon himself, with Serana coming along for backup and Hadvar giving him details on the guardsman assignments.
After all was said and done, Lydia followed Marcus while he was fetching the paralysis scrolls from his laboratory, cornering him in the room.
She asked, "Are you sure about this?"
Marcus glanced up from the chest he was rifling through. "I've put a lot of thought into this. I wouldn't have gathered you all here if I wasn't."
"You're certain the leaders won't agree to another council?"
"Evgir unslaad, Lydia. Season unending. These are people who want war. They won't come together unless I make them."
"Can't you just… I dunno, use illusion magic on everyone in the Castle and the Palace?"
"Magic isn't that reliable. You'll always come across someone with a nullification ring, or a strong mind. Stealth is the best option, and organizing my bands of thieves and assassins from their respective strongholds around Skyrim will take too long. Every day that passes, the bloodletting continues and thus grows harder to stop. Moreover, I know I can trust you all."
"What about the consequences?"
Marcus grabbed the scrolls and stood up. "I know a few tricks to remove the events of his capture from Ulfric's memory, if you're worried about that."
Lydia shook her head. "No, I mean for yourself. You're going to be talking to them in person. That's part of your plan. They'll know you're the one who orchestrated all of this, even if the rest of us are safe. How do you think they'll react afterwards?"
He shrugged. "I'm hoping they'll downplay it and go along with my whole 'secret, anonymous peace meeting' lie."
"What if they try to get payback for the wounded pride and humiliation? Even if they do agree to peace in your presence, what if they go back on their word? What if -"
"Lydia, we can sit here forever planning for 'what if' scenarios. All I can do is hope they'll see sense in the end, and if not… I have a fallback plan."
"You do?" Lydia brightened up marginally. "What is it?"
"I… I'd rather not say. Let's just say that I learnt a few things while I was in Solstheim, and leave it at that?"
"Ok…" Lydia still looked concerned, but seemed satisfied enough. "I guess I'll take those scrolls. You better see to your own preparation."
"Indeed." Marcus handed over the scrolls, and left to find Serana.
While Lydia's doubts were mostly influenced by her worry for his wellbeing, Marcus knew they weren't entirely unfounded. It was very possible that Tullius and Ulfric simply wouldn't want to cooperate. His ideas regarding the new system of government for Skyrim and the mediums through which compromise could be made weren't as perfect as he'd like them to be. Much of his plan relied on the concept of turning Skyrim into a subject state – a vassal – which would be difficult for many to swallow, regardless of the benefits.
If the Stormcloak and Legion leaders couldn't be convinced of the benefits of peace, and didn't care about the Thalmor re-sparking of the war, then Marcus would only have one option left.
Gol Hah Dov. Bend Will.
Marcus would be forced to resort to the same methods and techniques that Miraak was guilty of. He'd have to dominate the minds of the two men to exercise his own personal will, turning them into little more than the mindless peons that had littered Solstheim, toiling away at the structures corrupting the All-Maker stones. Compliant, but devoid of free will.
And if Marcus couldn't ensure peace for Skyrim without removing free will from the picture, then what was the point in trying? Like the ceasefire brokered during the Dragon Crisis, it'd only be temporary.
Plus… It was another step in the wrong direction, personally. Dragons loved to dominate, and the road to Oblivion was paved with good intentions. What's to say that using Bend Will on Tullius and Ulfric would be the beginning? What's to say Marcus wouldn't end up exercising it more liberally, forcing more of the province to adhere to his wishes however benign they might initially be?
The temptation was strong, though. Control over Skyrim to ensure it never slipped into chaos again was very enticing. Justifying it was easy too. After all, if it saved lives, what's the harm in a little bent willpower?
There's plenty harm, Marcus told himself as he walked outside the Manor. You are already too close to the edge. Recent events proved that well enough. But the scary thing was that if he had no other option, Marcus would have to use the shout. He would have to walk that same path that corrupted Miraak. It scared him that after all his triumphs and battles, his own mind might end up being the one enemy he couldn't beat.
He eventually found Serana near the water's edge, looking out over the sun setting behind Solitude. It was very picturesque. She'd found a good spot, sitting on a small rock silhouetted by the rays of light.
"No disturbing you, am I?" Marcus asked quietly, coming up behind her.
"You? Never." There was a smile in her voice.
Marcus walked over and sat down beside her. He let out a sigh a moment later. "I'm worried."
Serana smiled again, and gently grasped his arm. "Don't be. You'll get through this, like you always do."
"Not about the War, about me. What I might end up having to do to ensure peace. What… What I did at the Embassy… "
"Marcus, the Thalmor needed to be stopped."
He sighed, and turned to face her. He lightly laid his arms on her shoulders, and stared her in the eyes. "I enjoyed it, Serana. I relished in it. They ran, they screamed… and some of them even begged. I massacred them all. I snapped the neck of their leader like it was a twig, and I grinned while I did it."
He turned away and laid his hands in his lap. "I don't know whether everyone can be like that, or if it's just part of being half-Dragon, but… I'm scared. Scared of how easy it was to become that. How much a part of me wants to stay like that. To… to control it all, and prevent things like this war from happening again."
Serana sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked over at his taught, concerned face.
"Do you think I'm a good person?" She asked, after a few seconds.
Marcus frowned, but replied instantly. "Of course."
She nodded slowly, looking out over the ocean. "We used to have feasts, you know. Before that mess with the prophecy and I was locked away in the crypt."
Marcus looked sideways at her, confused as to where she was going with this.
Serana continued, "They were… enjoyable, from a vampire's perspective. We brought out dozens, sometimes hundreds of people. Captured from villages and farms around Skyrim, they were subdued and brought to us. We drank them dry in events of decadence and excess that lasted days at a time."
"I…" Marcus blinked. "What?"
"I would have contests with some of the other younger vampires..." Serana looked down at her hands. "We would compete to see how quickly we could drain an entire person of their blood. In order to ensure the blood flowed through their veins as quickly as possible, they were kept conscious and alert."
"Serana..."
"Then the bodies would be dumped into the ocean, pale and thin, to wash up onto the eastern shore of Skyrim. Sometimes you could see people walking up and down the beach, trying to see if their loved ones were amongst the waterlogged corpses. To see if they were able to be buried or if they'd be eaten by the fish."
"Serana!" Marcus said, louder. He reached over and grabbed her hands, forcing her to stop. "W… Why are you saying this?"
She turned and looked him in the eyes. "There's a monster inside all of us, Marcus. For people like you and me, it's just expressed in a stronger way. Every time I smell an open wound, a small cut, I feel the temptation to go back to the kind of monster you've exterminated in droves."
"Really?" Marcus looked concerned, not of Serana, but for her. "Is… I never realized..."
Serana breathed out. "I chose to put all that behind me. Some days it's harder than others, but I persevere because the human part of me is stronger than the vampire part. I won't act like I know what being Dragonborn is like, but I would wager you do the same."
She reached out and gently brushed the side of his face. "You care, Marcus. You care about your morality, your sanity, and your legacy more than anyone I've ever met. As long as that stays, I don't think you'll ever slip away into darkness."
She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips. "And if you do… If either of us does… We keep the other close to reel us back in."
Marcus was speechless. He stared at the woman in front of him, his mind a mess of confusion and gratitude. He tried to think of something to say, but as if she'd read his mind, Serana placed a hand on his lips.
"You don't have to say anything. Let's just enjoy the sunset."
And so they did. Each with their arms wrapped around the shoulder of the other, lest the world separate them again.
Author's Notes: This chapter was originally meant to cover more, but there were a few scenes I realized I wanted to add halfway through writing that stretched out the length. Some of it might be a bit overly dramatic, but what kind of fanfiction would this be if that wasn't occasionally the case? I'm putting a bit more of a focus on Marcus' personal conflicts, less with doing the right thing and more with his overabundance of power. I also took some creative liberties with Serana's past. Let me know what you all think.
Thank you for reading.