Summary: The possibility of potential assassination has Madanach concerned... but his capable steward has an idea that might help, if Madanach's willing to get his own hands bloody. Meanwhile Cicero's making some new friends, but the connections formed might end up going further than that. And out in Winterhold, Ulfric's got an aunt to win over, and the Thieves Guild have a crime to avenge.
A/N: A lot gets covered in here - I don't really want to write the Guild questline in huge detail but I'm covering the main points. And then there's Cicero making friends... and meeting Kodlak. Be interesting to see how that goes, eh? I'm also getting Cicero/Farkas vibes emerging. We'll see.
The timeline doesn't exactly mesh - the Winterhold section's here because it's done and should be inserted, but we'll be returning to the Reach on the same evening as we left it, so the Winterhold part actually happened the morning before the Companions arrived.
Madanach reached for the Nirnroot jenever, filled a tumbler, gulped it down then poured another one, only vaguely remembering to offer Nepos one as he closed the door.
"You know I never drink on duty, Madanach," Nepos said, only barely conveying a note of disapproval over Madanach knocking the stuff back before it was even four o'clock.
"You're not the one with a potential contract on his life," Madanach said, shuddering. "Sithis, Nepos, you heard Kodlak. If the Silver-Bloods are on the hunt for mercenaries to overthrow me, it's only a matter of time before someone takes the bait."
"With Ulfric to contend with as well as the ReachGuard? I don't think many mercenaries are going to be willing to risk certain death no matter how much coin he's promised, and remember they have nothing to pay anyone up front," Nepos reminded him. "Ulfric didn't care about that because he was willing to be paid in free Talos worship, and he had his father's money. How many other mercenaries are willing to do the same."
"It's not the mercenaries that bother me," Madanach said quietly, staring into his tankard. "Kodlak says the Companions don't want to know because their warrior code of honour forbids it. What happens when one of the Silver-Bloods grows a brain and hires people without one. Thongvor might not think of it, but Thonar's a fucking snake with no morals whatsoever. How long before he does the Black Sacrament on me."
Silence, and then Nepos spoke again.
"Madanach, I have personally vetted all the palace staff and guards," Nepos said quietly. "Agents are listening to all the city's gossip. If any Dark Brotherhood assassins try and infiltrate the city..."
"Dammit, Nepos, this is the Brotherhood!" Madanach cried. "If Sithis hallows the contract, their own code commits them to following through! They're Void-graced killers and even Emperors aren't beyond their reach. Fucking hell, Nepos, what do I do. He hires them, I'm dead and this country will descend into civil war if we're not careful, and even if it doesn't, my kids don't have a da any more. I can't… Nepos, help me."
Nepos reached out and took Madanach's hand, squeezing it sympathetically, nodding and weighing this up as if he'd thought of this possibility before. Knowing him, he might have done.
"Then we pre-empt matters," Nepos said calmly. "Madanach, we never cremated Mireen, we didn't have time for more than a brief ceremony and interring her in the Hall of the Dead with preservation charms. Her body's still intact. You also know that a number of good, loyal soldiers left, or were forced to leave, due to getting on the wrong side of her. Uailon and I took the liberty of rehiring some of them after her death. It would be simple to suspend the Nchuand-Zel excavation for a time, I know full well Calcelmo is busy analysing that stone we found with multiple languages on it. If I rearrange tonight's rota so those guards with grudges against Mireen are the ones on duty between the Hall of the Dead and Nchuand-Zel, and a few to help with transportation, we can get the Black Sacrament performed tonight. With your leave, the rest of the ingredients are easily available in the city, and I know full well Bothela has nightshade in stock."
Madanach listened in silence, once again reminded that his steward was not only a very bright man but that the surface affability belied an unsentimental pragmatic streak that even Reachmen might find a bit ruthless.
"You want me to desecrate my wife's corpse in order to summon a Dark Brotherhood assassin to get rid of the Silver-Bloods before they think to do the same to me."
"Yes," Nepos said, not even flinching. "I mean, it doesn't have to be your wife's, but you should probably use someone with no kin to mourn her. Apart from the princesses, but I wasn't proposing you let them in on the plan."
Madanach drank the rest of the jenever and took Nepos's hands in his.
"It's a genius idea. Make it happen. Fetch me when it's all in place, we'll spend an hour a night on the thing."
"I will do that very thing," Nepos promised. "Was there anything else?"
"Yes. Send Whitemane in. I owe him for the warning, I think."
Nepos promised to do just that and took his leave, and soon Kodlak Whitemane arrived, looking slightly nervous.
"I'd not expected a private audience, your Grace. What can a Nord warrior do for you?"
"It's not a matter of you doing anything for me, not now," Madanach said, indicating for him to sit down. "Your little werewolf problem. You chose it freely, right? It wasn't forced on you?"
"No, but no one told me about the Daedric curse either," Kodlak sighed. "They all said it was a blessing, to make a powerful warrior stronger."
"Of course they did," Madanach sighed. "Who were they?"
"My own Shield-Siblings," Kodlak said wearily, finding it hard not to feel a little resentful. "The most powerful of the Companions all share in the blood of the beast and they recognised me as one of their own. So I said yes. My own family died years ago. They're my kin now."
Sympathy in Madanach's eyes.
"Family is a hard tie to refuse," he said, idly tracing a finger round the rim of his jenever tumbler. "Do you think they knew about the Daedric curse?"
A hard question to answer, that, but at length Kodlak shook his head.
"Askar's said enough things about Daedra and wizardry before now to make me think he never knew either," Kodlak sighed. "I think it's just been passed down from Harbinger to Harbinger since the first to take the blood."
"How long ago was that?" Madanach asked. "Inga said your order was older than Whiterun itself."
"Aye, but this matter of the beast blood has only troubled us for a few hundred years," Kodlak said, recalling what Askar had told him. "Harbinger Terrfyg was the one to agree to the contract. The witches of Glenmoril Coven asked for our help. They paid in coin but they also offered the gift of shapeshifting. They never mentioned it being a curse."
"Of course not," Madanach said, grinning. "They never do. Glenmoril Coven, eh? I know of them. Not based in the Reach, which complicates matters slightly but also means we're not obliged to come to their defence. Renowned shapeshifters, with knowledge no one else has, including us. I think our First Matriarch might be interested in getting that knowledge from them. I'll ask her. I don't know a lot about lycanthropy but I think the original bestower of the curse might be able to lift it. Or we kill them, take their power and lift it ourselves."
"Lift it yourselves – you'd do that?" Kodlak gasped. "Sir, an hour ago you were ready to execute me."
"That was before you warned me the Silver-Bloods were sniffing around," Madanach purred. "That's helped me. Now we're even. And what's more, you've just given me an opportunity to get the Reach's hands on the power of Glenmoril Wyrd. First Matriarch Keirine might be interested in that. I need to talk to her, but come back tomorrow afternoon and I'll have an answer for you."
It was more than Kodlak had ever hoped for. Thanking Madanach, he took his leave. Could freedom really be that easy?
Liriel was back! Liriel was back and so was Tyr and this was the best day ever! Cicero had been tending to Mei and worrying and then Liriel had walked in! And they'd cuddled. Liriel liked him! Liriel had worried! Liriel… cared.
Cicero knew that on one level, of course. But to have it proved – to know he wasn't really a burden and that Liriel did genuinely care was a happy thought.
Of course, she'd still sided with Madanach on the who was looking after Cicero front. Despite his protests.
"But I want to live with you and Tyr and go on adventures!" Cicero had wailed.
"No!" Liriel cried. "Cicero, you got caught by the Thalmor! You could have died!"
"I'll be more careful next time!" Cicero protested.
"There won't be a - !" Liriel cried then sat down, head in her hands.
"You aren't coming on any more," Liriel said firmly. "Not until you're fully adult and have had some training. Which… Nepos apparently might be able to organise? But you're not coming on any more missions."
Cicero had whined, pitching the tone at the most piteous he could manage, and for a moment he swore Liriel was about to waver… but annoyingly she remained firm.
"Hey. Lad. It's all right. Liriel's going to be here for a while yet, I'm sure. You've got your whole life ahead of you to go adventuring."
Mei, watching from her bed with amusement, and then Cicero recalled his manners and that he hadn't even introduced them. So he did that, promising that Liriel was the best healer ever! And then he was enthusiastically telling Liriel that Mei had Saved Him and they'd fled together! Only the Thalmor had hurt her.
"I know, Madanach told us the story," Liriel had said, growing sombre. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mei. Thank you so much for saving him. He wasn't even supposed to be suspected, just to disappear in the aftermath. I should have figured the Thalmor might notice him anyway."
"Aye, well, we all underestimated them," Mei said, looking away, clearly deciding not to blame Liriel for Cicero's capture. "We never thought they'd overwhelm our settlement either. I wasn't even expecting to survive. Not sure I would if Cicero hadn't turned up. He's a brave one."
Cicero went a bit pink, because he wasn't a hero, he really wasn't, but Mei praising him meant the world. Mei didn't think he was a nuisance either!
There were people other than his blood kin who thought he was worth something, and didn't think he was a nuisance or an annoyance, or someone to be kept around because he was useful but didn't really care. It wasn't something he was used to, and he wanted to cuddle them both… but Mei wasn't really well enough and possibly Liriel needed to get her healing under way.
So he just whispered a thank you and then Mei squeezed his hand and smiled at him. And then Liriel had gently pointed out she needed to assess Mei, so perhaps Cicero could go and find Tyr and give them a bit of privacy.
Oh. Yes. Of course they needed privacy, of course, foolish Cicero! So off he'd scampered to find Tyr and here he was in Understone Keep's main hall, looking around to see where Tyr might be.
No sign of him, but one of the ReachGuard said Tyr had taken his and Liriel's things to their quarters to settle in, so try there. Of course, Cicero wasn't sure where they'd been quartered either but maybe Nepos would know.
He was skipping up to the throne room to see if the steward was around when a Nordic male voice, and not a local either, and not anyone Cicero knew, spoke.
"Oh wow, she's really pretty!"
The speaker sounded young, and hadn't troubled to keep his voice down, and a few of the ReachGuard had unaccountably got a fit of the giggles.
"Uh, Farkas? I'm not sure that's actually a girl…"
Cicero could feel the blood pooling in his cheeks as he realised the two Nords were talking about him.
"Oh, you think? All right then. HE'S really pretty!"
Cicero was definitely blushing and his heart was definitely thudding, but no longer because he was worried about a beating or having to run away and climb somewhere they couldn't reach him. Someone didn't mind what gender their partners were. And they thought Cicero was pretty.
Always a sucker for attention, Cicero turned to see who this Farkas person was.
Farkas turned out to be a Nord in leather armour, but shorter than most of them, and he had another boy next to him who was clearly his brother, and the brother was avoiding Cicero's gaze.
"Now look what you did, he's seen us!" the nameless brother hissed. Farkas did at least have the grace to look a bit awkward.
"Er… hey there! Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you. I just thought you looked really nice."
Farkas had gone a little pink but wasn't looking away, and Cicero looked up and instinctively preened, stroking his hair into place. Goodness, but he was cute. Lovely blue eyes and dark hair and taller than him and already the shoulders. And yet Cicero wasn't certain this Farkas was much older than him.
"Why, thank you," Cicero purred. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance! Humble Cicero at your service. I live here! I used to live in Cyrodiil but Mama died in the war and… and there is not a lot left there now. So I came here. With Liriel and Tyr, but now I live here in the Keep."
Which made him sad because he wanted to live at Hroldan with Liriel and Tyr and go on adventures. But alas, it was not to be, so he changed the subject.
"Did I hear your name was Farkas? I have not seen you here before. I'm sure I would remember you."
Instinctive fluttering of the eyelashes, and Farkas actually blushed. Meanwhile his brother was sighing heavily.
"We're visitors here," the brother told him, as Farkas appeared to be a bit lost for words. "I'm Vilkas. This is my brother Farkas. We're Companions of Jorrvaskr, from Whiterun, visiting the Reach with our guardian. We came to make sure the Reach-King was behaving."
"Reach-King always behaves!" Cicero said, confused. "Reach-King tells other people off for misbehaving."
"Aye, so we've seen," Vilkas said, glancing at the empty Mournful Throne over his shoulder. "Our Harbinger wanted to make sure he wasn't dabbling in dark magic or executing the innocent."
"He hardly executes anybody," Cicero said, scowling. "It's very disappointing. Cicero's not seen any beheadings or hangings or boiling alive or anything. Cicero heard the Reachmen were bloodthirsty barbarians but he saw more violence in the Arena back home."
"You've seen the Arena?" Farkas gasped. "What's it like?"
"Big!" Cicero announced and immediately wished he could have come up with any other word than that. Of course the Arena was big and full of people but so was everywhere else in the Imperial City. "And exciting! For five septims you could get a day pass and spend a whole afternoon there! Mama used to take me sometimes before the war. And Uncle too! Before he died. Uncle worked for the Empire and would be away for months at a time, but when he got leave, he'd visit us for weeks and we'd go to the Arena after school every day! I miss him."
Uncle could have got him and Mama out of the Imperial City during the siege, Cicero was sure. Uncle was resourceful. And knew all sorts of people. People were always very nice to Uncle. Especially dangerous, criminal types. They were always very polite to Uncle. It was very strange. But Uncle was dead, had been for a little over five years now. Useless to think of him now… but Cicero still missed the nearest he'd had to a father.
"Did they really fight to the death?" Farkas asked, seeming oddly keen on the idea of Arena fighting.
"Sometimes!" Cicero squealed. "But in the lower ranks, you could fight to a yield. Uncle said it was bad for business to kill half the fighters every day. Didn't give people time to get attached. Save the certain death for when someone was taking on the Grand Champion and the stakes were high. I wanted to be an Arena fighter once! And then Uncle told me off and said no, I could do better than that. So then I wanted to be an art dealer like him."
"I thought you said he worked for the Empire?" Vilkas interrupted, frowning at him.
"He did!" Cicero sighed. "Art dealing was his cover. He would always turn up with these really unusual paintings and these flowery ornate vases, and banners with lions on them and lots of fancy jewellery and then go round the city selling them to gallery owners and rich friends of his. They'd pay him a fortune! He'd leave half the money with Mama to help look after me. I don't know where he found it all."
"Off the back of a cart, probably," Vilkas muttered. Cicero was fairly certain none of the goods had ever gone anywhere near anything so common as a cart, but didn't see what that had to do with anything anyway.
"There you are, lads!" Kodlak announced, returning from his audience with the King. "And who's this? Have you made a friend… already."
His voice had trailed off on seeing Cicero, who was dressing down in a boy's tunic and plain cotton trousers for once, but had still taken the time to contour his eyes with eyeliner. Cicero flinched, realising this was an adult Nord who he didn't know and who might have Opinions on effeminate little Imperial fops.
"His name's Cicero," Vilkas told him. "He's from the Imperial City but lives here now. He was telling us about the place. And complaining King Madanach hardly executes anyone."
Kodlak actually laughed at that.
"Now there's a young warrior in the making," Kodlak said rather fondly. "Well now, young Cicero. I'm Kodlak Whitemane of Jorrvaskr and these two are my wards since their father died in the war. I hope they've been no trouble."
"No, no trouble at all!" Cicero cooed, wondering why anyone would think these two were trouble. Cicero was usually the one thought to be the troublemaker, which was monstrously unjust even if it was true. "They've been very polite and it was very nice talking to them. Are you in the city long, sir?"
"Ah, you don't need to call me sir," Kodlak said, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "We're here for a few days before returning. If you're at a loose end, I'm sure these two might appreciate a local guide to keep them company."
Cicero just bet they would, Farkas anyway. And Cicero really wouldn't mind getting up close and personal with Farkas either. Not that he'd ever really had the chance to try anything like that, not with anyone else around anyway. But he knew what was involved. He'd eavesdropped on illicit encounters. And read plenty of purloined erotic material too – the Justiciars would confiscate it and then unaccountably leave it unattended in their own barracks. Easy enough to help himself now and then. Yes, Cicero knew what to do. But did Farkas?
Who knew. Probably not. But it would be fun, no? So Cicero promised to entertain the twins and show them around. Probably nothing would happen… but if it did, Cicero wouldn't complain.
Winterhold. Aptly named. A thriving city once… but the Great Collapse had left this city a husk, and left the College the only building of any substance left. Even the Jarl's Longhouse paled in its shadow.
Ulfric resented it only a little. But his weeks in the Reach had changed him. Seeing magic around him every day had inured him to it. And part of him was curious about what lay inside.
But it wasn't why he was here. He'd sent the thief off to meet his contact, and then turned his attention to the Longhouse. Time to speak to his aunt.
Jarl Fura was waiting in her high seat, her housecarl behind her. A woman. Come to think of it, the other guards were women too. In fact, the two guards he'd seen outside had been women too. Female guards weren't uncommon of course. But an entire town with just women guarding it? Unheard of. Something was up here.
"Aunt Fura!" Ulfric called, approaching her before remembering this was business not a family reunion, and stopped at a respectful distance before bowing.
"Greetings, Jarl. Thank you for seeing me," Ulfric said formally. Fura just rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, don't get me flowery on me, lad," Fura sighed. "I've known you since you fit in Galmar's hand. Less of the formal Jarl nonsense. I don't have the army to warrant it and we all know it. Did your father send you?"
"No. It was my idea," Ulfric said truthfully. Hoag hadn't wanted to bother his sister-in-law. Ulfric however had insisted on answers. Her staying out of something like this bothered him.
"Well that's something," Fura said, resting her head on one hand. "So what is it. Does it have something to do with Jarl Balgruuf calling on us all to overthrow our King and rise up against the Empire we just spent four years bleeding for?"
That stung, even if it was true.
"Aunt, he's in the right," Ulfric protested. "The Empire just gave in to to the Thalmor's demands without even trying to negotiate!"
"They had us on our knees, Ulfric," Fura snapped. "You were there! You didn't see the toll the war took on us?"
"Of course I saw it!" Ulfric cried. "Nine damn it. They took Talos. They butchered our people. We drive them out of the Imperial City and they still somehow get what they want? And then I come home and everyone thanks me for my service but they don't know, they'll never really know and… ugh. Aunt. I'm sorry. But this is important too, can't you see?"
"Is it worth tearing the country apart for?" Fura asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I didn't… I didn't intend for a war to start," Ulfric sighed, hating his aunt of all people judging him like this. "Would you believe I just wanted a legal Talos worship enclave? Madanach of all people gave me that, and if the Empire had just recognised the Reach in the first place and let us be independent, we would have been content with that. But… they haven't. The High King won't have it, the Thalmor are whispering in his ear and the Empire does nothing. They took two Jarls prisoner, Fura! How do you know you won't be next?"
"Supporting your cause makes that more likely, not less!" Fura finally exploded at him. "Look at my city, Ulfric, look at it! It's four houses and a College that cares nothing for us! All our men went away to fight and Kraldar's the only one who came back, and he's injured. I lost my husband, Ulfric. Korir lost his father. I have a guard force composed entirely of women because that is all I have. If the Empire or Thalmor invaded, we would be helpless. I cannot afford to antagonise them, Ulfric! That is why I haven't joined your cause. Because I would be putting my people in danger, and I have no confidence in your soldiers to protect me. You're not going to leave valuable fighting men here if you need them on the front. And we've got no fortifications, no defensive features, nothing!"
She had a point and Ulfric pictured Winterhold. If he wanted to hold Winterhold, how would he do it?
Defend, defend, defend. Hold out and wait for the cold to do the work for them.
All right. How to do that. You'd need a fortress like Markarth. The only building around even remotely capable was the College.
Yes, you could hold out in the College for some time. You'd need supplies. You could bring them in by sea. Or… teleportal? Madanach's people had been working on something like that during the siege of Markarth but not been able to fully get it all working. Not enough to evacuate an entire city or bring reinforcements through. But maybe if you weren't under siege you could give the matter a bit more thought and it didn't need to be enough to bring an army through. Just food and medicine and blankets for all the people sheltering in the College. Hide in there, hole up, could you ward an entire building? With enough mages, perhaps. Slip out, sabotage the besiegers' own equipment or steal it… not honourable but it would speed things along. How long before they gave up.
That would require the Archmage's co-operation, of course. How to get that was… not something Ulfric had ever considered doing. And he didn't have a lot of leverage. Nor did he have the court mage who would have had a headstart in gaining their trust. Ugh, it should really be a mage doing this. A mage with a lot to offer.
Ulfric's hand fell to the pouch at his waist with his siara-bell in it.
"Galmar, how long do you think it will take to get the bell-relay set up?"
"I've seen Rhodri and Anna sort it out in under ten minutes before now," Galmar said proudly. "Might take them a bit longer in the cold. Where do you want it?"
"Somewhere I can get a good signal in the College," Ulfric said, a plan starting to come together as he turned back to his aunt. "Aunt. I have an idea. It will involve working with the mages. They live here too, they pay their taxes. They should be helping."
"Aye, but they won't," Fura said bitterly. "And we're Nords, Ulfric. What business have we got messing around with magic anyway. It's unnatural."
Ulfric wanted to argue before recalling he'd said the exact same thing repeatedly before now.
"Because it's useful, Aunt Fura," Ulfric said firmly. "It can help us. Look, if I get the Archmage on side and work out a defence plan for the town with their help, will you consider backing us at the Moot?"
Fura looked extremely sceptical, but in the end she nodded.
"If," she said, looking extremely doubtful he'd follow through on this. "If you can persuade the bloody mages to actually help for once instead of just sitting in their ivory tower… I'll consider backing you."
That was all Ulfric needed.
"Thank you, Aunt," Ulfric promised. "This will be worth your while, I promise!"
Fura had been less pleased about the relay being mounted on her roof but but she'd put up with it, even when her teenage son Korir had turned up and started asking questions such as what was it and what did it do and why were you letting mages put magic stuff on the roof, ma?
"Your cousin seems to think it'll persuade the mages to help defend the town if it's attacked," Fura said, still glaring pointedly at Ulfric. "I hope he's right. Have you tested these, Ulfric? What if it hurts someone?"
"They're perfectly safe, aunt," Ulfric promised. "Unless it falls off the roof, of course."
"Don't worry, Nords, it'll stay up!" Rhodri the Relay Tech called from the roof while his colleague finished nailing it to the roof.
"Unless it gets hit by lightning," Anna added. "Don't worry. We're putting the grounding metal in next. Should stop the longhouse burning down."
Apparently Reachmen storm mages swore by putting metal rods on the highest point around and using strips of metal to carry lightning to earth, an idea apparently stolen off the Dwemer. Ulfric still didn't understand how it worked, but work it apparently did.
"They know what they're doing," Ulfric promised. "Now that's set up, I should be able to get hold of Madanach. Don't worry. We'll talk the mages into helping."
So off to the College it was. Where obstacle number one was the High Elven mage standing in the entry way. The red robes with flames on the edge indicated this was probably a Destruction mage, and the fire rune on the wall keeping her warm confirmed it.
Ulfric had seen Madanach cast frost runes on hot summer days before now, and seeing the same technique here felt oddly comforting.
"Halt!" the elf called, glaring at him. She bore a resemblance to Liriel – similar hair, skin and eye colouring, but that didn't necessarily mean they were kin. "Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way to the College will not open."
"Is it sealed shut?" Ulfric asked, not putting it past the wizards to lock themselves out of their own College.
"Not for a mage," the elf replied, looking them over, clearly not impressed. "But for you? You're not getting through. Not unless you manage to surprise me and develop some facility in the magical arts."
Calling one of the Reachman party members over was an option. All the same, Ulfric could do better than that. Reaching for his portable siara-bell, he activated it with a thumb-touch and called his lover's name.
Silence for a few moments and while the glowing gem had caught Faralda's attention, Ulfric really needed for Madanach to pick up at his end. He could hear the chimes.
A full minute passed during which the tension could only rise and then finally Madanach answered.
"Ugh? Wha- Ulfric, what is it, it's the middle of the night?"
Ulfric glanced up at the clear sky and late morning sunshine and wondered if Madanach was all right. They'd had something similar in Dawnstar too, Madanach seeming to think it was about three hours earlier than it actually was. Now he thought it was still night?
"Danach, it's about eleven o'clock in the morning. I – I am sorry, I thought you'd be up."
In the background, Eola started wailing and Madanach growled.
"It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Wait a sec… all right, little one, Daddy's here, and look who we've got on the bell, hmm? It's Papa Ulfric, isn't it? You remember him, don't you? Ulfric, keep talking. Tell me what you want while I settle Eola. She likes your voice."
"Hello little one," Ulfric laughed, gazing fondly at the glowing gem. "Did you miss me? I need a word with your father. I have a proposition for him. I can talk to him for a bit, hmm?"
Eola stopped crying, went quiet and then promptly started babbling excitedly, the only intelligible sound being 'uff, uff!' Bless her. The little one missed him.
"Ah, listen to her!" Galmar said, coming to stand next to him. "She's missed you!"
"She has, hasn't she? Hello little Eola. Have you been good?"
"Whines piteously at me constantly," Madanach said, still sounding grumpy. "She seems to think I sent you away on purpose. Anyway, other than patting this thing, she seems happy enough, so what can I do for you? You don't sound like anyone is dying."
So why the bloody hell did you wake us in the middle of the night, was the unspoken question.
"Jarl Fura won't help us if she's worried her town might get invaded in retaliation. The only defensible building here is the College of Winterhold, the mages' college. I need them to help out and agree to help the town but relations are bad enough that they're not going to do it out of the good of their hearts. I, er, need your help. Need you to talk to the Archmage for me."
"And say what, Ulfric?" Madanach cried. "I'm not razing the College! Wouldn't want to anyway, they say it has the biggest library in Skyrim."
"I don't want you to!" Ulfric hissed. "Look, can you offer them something? You must have some research they might be interested in?"
Madanach took a personal interest in the Reach's magical research programme that went above and beyond what his role as King actually required, and his Wallchart of Projects had to be seen to be believed. It probably counted as classified information, but Ulfric understood less than a quarter of it.
"… maybe," Madanach said thoughtfully. "I… suppose it might be beneficial for the Reach to have a positive working relationship with Skyrim's finest magical education institution. All right, I'll talk to the Archmage. Where is he?"
"They haven't let us in yet," Ulfric admitted and Madanach had the nerve to laugh.
"They saw a group of heavily armed Nord warriors on their doorstep and barred the door, did they?" Madanach laughed, seeming to think this was hilarious. "I can't imagine why. But they must have a doorkeeper of some sort. Put them on, I may be able to talk them round."
He needn't have worried. The elf had seen all this, amazed, and approached.
"You have a portable communication device?" she asked, impressed. "How on Nirn does it work?" Her eyes flicked to the new relay tower on the longhouse roof then back to the device in Ulfric's hand. "Does it have anything to do with that tower?
"Yes, probably," Madanach said, sounding rather smug even for him. "Good morning, ma'am. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing? Are you with the College of Winterhold?"
"My name is Faralda and I'm the College's Master of Destruction Magic," she told him, eyes barely leaving the gem. "Am I really talking to the King of the Reach?"
"You are indeed," Madanach purred, sounding far too friendly for Ulfric's liking but he'd put up with it… for now. "You know, if you wanted to know the theory behind how this works, we might be prepared to share it with the College… for a price. Luckily for you, it seems Winterhold has needs, as do I. I'd like Fura's support in the Moot for the Jarl who'll recognise the Reach and sign a treaty. She's not going to give it if she has to worry about the Empire invading. And the College is the only defensible building in town. So… we were thinking we could come to some sort of agreement."
Faralda said nothing, clearly thinking this over, but she didn't seem opposed.
"Relations with the town in particular and the rest of Skyrim in general are… strained," Faralda admitted. "The Archmage might be interested in repairing them. A knowledge-sharing agreement with the Reach might also be of interest. All right, I'll speak with him. But you'll need to bring the Jarl herself. We'll need to know this agreement will be honoured when you leave."
"I'll ask her," Ulfric promised. Faralda nodded and took her leave to go speak with the Archmage.
"Thank you," Ulfric said to his lover, relieved that had gone as well as it had. "I'm truly sorry for waking you. Has anyone ever told you you negotiate well under pressure?"
"Wouldn't be king if I couldn't," Madanach yawned. "All right, cariad. I'm going to have to wake Nepos and put the kettle on. We're all going to need tea, I think. Can you call me back when the negotiations start? I have a feeling we could be a while."
Madanach proved not to be wrong. Fura was surprised to see Ulfric back so quickly, and more so to realise Ulfric really could contact his husband from afar… and that the College apparently were willing to talk.
"I have to go to them?" she said, pursing her lips.
"I'm sure they'll provide refreshments," Ulfric said hopefully. "Also they must have a fine meeting room, mustn't they?"
"I don't know," Fura admitted. "I've never been inside."
"What, never?" Ulfric asked, stunned to hear the Jarl of Winterhold had literally never been inside the most prominent building in her city.
"No! We're Nords, Ulfric!" Fura cried. "What have the likes of us to do with magic? It's not natural!"
Ulfric said nothing, recalling his own previous beliefs until going to the Reach and suddenly being faced with casual magic everywhere, from spirit world negotiations to elemental runes being used for peaceful purposes to Madanach triumphantly walking in and telling him he had a way for them to talk while Ulfric was travelling. Ulfric had slowly got used to it all to the point where it felt weird being away.
"You're still their Jarl," Ulfric said softly. "This constant hostility helps no one. If I can get used to the Reach… you can manage the College, yes? You're a Jarl. You're no peasant."
"I feel it sometimes," Fura said softly. "Look at us. We're smaller than places like Kynesgrove or Riverwood. If it weren't for the College, I don't think we'd even be an independent Hold any more. As it is, we don't have the resources to even think about rebuilding."
"Danach has them," Ulfric said, without really thinking about it, but once he had, the idea started to take on a life of its own. "He'll want an ongoing relationship with the College and its research materials, its mages. You could ask him to fund rebuilding the town. My men would help. We built Hroldan from nothing. We could build Winterhold. If Reachman mages are constantly visiting they'll want places to stay. Your general store manager will benefit from more traders being willing to come here more often. Your tavern keeper will enjoy the extra trade, I am sure. You can tax all this and hire more guards. And most importantly, you're now Jarl of somewhere that matters. The Great Collapse didn't take everything."
Not to mention there was a subset of Reach mages who apparently liked studying rocks. And mountains. And the planet in general. Some of them had a theory the Druadachs had formed by two big bits of the planet crashing into each other and forcing the mountains up. Ulfric did not remotely believe that Nirn was really divided into bits that moved around and affected each other and yet…
If he told these nirnology mages about the Great Collapse, how many of them would be over here trying to figure out how it worked. There was already a coterie of them wanting to ambush him with questions about Eastmarch's hot pools. Something to distract them would be ideal. Particularly if it meant Myfanwy of the Broken Tower stopped talking about the possibility of a giant volcano underneath Eastmarch bigger than the Red Mountain.
Fura looked like she was thinking this over and then she nodded.
"Fine. I will come. They run the College, but I run this town. They come to an agreement with the Reach, I want in on it. It will rebuild this town or it is not happening. And for that… I need to be there. Let me get my cloak. And Korir. Korir! Get your cloak and boots, lad. We're going to the College!"
"We're what? Why?" Korir cried, emerging from his bedroom and staring over the wooden railing. "What are we going there for?"
"Your cousin seems to think he can persuade the King of the Reach and the Archmage to come to an agreement regarding magical co-operation. I don't know about that but I do know the King of the Reach wants my help, and if he wants that, he can help rebuild my town, can't he?"
"But why do I need to go?" Korir whined. Fura rolled her eyes.
"Because it could be an historic moment and you should be there for it," Fura told him. "And you'll be Jarl one day, about time you took an interest in how the Hold's run."
"Boring," Korir muttered but he did do as he was told. And then the Winterhold Nords left for the College.
Brynjolf meanwhile had by mutual agreement left Ulfric's party on arrival at Winterhold and gone to the Frozen Hearth to track down, if not Karliah, the Guild contact who she might have trusted. An old friend of Gallus, a wood elf called Enthir. It took a little time persuading him but he was at length able to find out Karliah had gone to a Nordic ruin south of Winterhold called Snow Veil Sanctum. What she was after, Enthir couldn't or wouldn't say, but that didn't matter. Brynjolf just needed to find her.
So here he was, freezing half to death at this wretched place, and what his ancient ancestors had been thinking even coming to this godsforsaken frozen wasteland, never mind building here, Brynjolf had no idea. How Karliah was coping, he had no idea. Maybe that was the plan. Come here, Mercer would freeze to death trying to catch her. He still was having a hard time adjusting to the possibility she was actually innocent and hadn't murdered her lover for gold. Having seen how easily she'd joined the Reachmen, Brynjolf was beginning to suspect she'd not needed Gallus dead to get coin. Wasn't jealousy either, there was no evidence he'd had eyes for anyone else, and Brynjolf doubted it had been self-defence either. Easier to poison him or sell him out to one of his enemies, honestly. Karliah as murderer didn't make sense… but Mercer as the killer, especially as he'd used the chaos to kill a lot of his enemies and establish himself as leader, was becoming all too likely.
Karliah's horse, dead on the ice. He'd been here all right. Two horses still living, staring at him but making no move. Now did he follow in the main entrance or… there was always a back entrance to these places, wasn't there. A bit of searching and he found it… unlocked. Specifically, there was a scrap of paper wedging it open, and it turned out to have Karliah's personal dagger symbol on it. A sign. For him?
He didn't know but slipping inside beat freezing out here and he crept in, finding the shadows and making his way to the corridor leading to the main burial chamber.
Karliah was there, crouched behind a throne, arrow nocked. There was a puzzle door opening at the other side of the hall, and Karliah raised her bow.
The door finished opening and Delphine walked in, and Brynjolf hadn't expected that… but really should have.
"Delphine, watch out!" he cried, and Delphine, Blade-trained instincts kicking in, dived forward and forward rolled across the chamber floor just as Karliah's arrow whistled through the air she'd once been occupying.
The arrow embedded itself in the chest of Mercer Frey, who'd not been able to react in time, and the thief fell back, collapsing on to the ground. He wasn't moving.
"Did you just shoot Mercer Frey?" Brynjolf demanded. "He's the head of the Thieves Guild!"
"No, he's the usurper who murdered the last one!" Karliah snapped. "I told you he wasn't trustworthy, Brynjolf! What are you even doing here anyway, I thought you were in Solitude?"
"Because the job's done," Delphine said, getting to her feet. "Jarls are back home, I headed for Riften, passed the word on to Mercer like you said, and next thing I knew he's insisting we come up here to finish you off. Talos, I was afraid we'd run into you on the road. Good timing, though. And thanks for the warning. I was afraid she was aiming at me."
"I couldn't get a clear shot at Mercer," Karliah said, putting her bow away. "I had little choice but to aim for you instead, get you out of the way. Should have counted on you being able to manage that yourself."
"That's because I got my training from masters of Akaviri fighting styles not alleyways," Delphine said proudly, before seeming to reconsider. "All right, I might have honed them in alleyways a little. Anyway, shall we go check on Mercer? He's not moving but I won't trust that one's dead until I've stabbed him myself."
"No, we don't kill him!" Karliah cried. "We need to take him into custody, get him to the Guild so they can decide his fate. The poison should keep him paralysed for a while, and with three of us we can get him there."
Which sounded like a tall order to Brynjolf, and it proved to be all too optimistic, because when they went to check up on him, Karliah's arrow had found its target too well, piercing Mercer's heart, and the muscle paralytic had done its work. Too bad paralysing a man's heart was invariably fatal.
"Well, that saves us a job," Delphine said, shrugging. "Look, I know the Reachmen have necromancers who can interrogate corpses. Think the cold out here will keep him fresh while you go to the Reach to get help?"
Brynjolf was having a hard enough time processing all this without the realisation that corpse interrogation was a thing, and Delphine didn't seem to have a massive problem with it. Fortunately Karliah seemed thoughtful, reaching into her bag.
"I didn't lure him out here for irony's sake. I wanted to search Gallus's remains. He kept a journal and I found it on him. Here."
She passed it to Delphine, and Brynjolf looked over her shoulder, but the language was one he'd never seen in his life. Were those even letters?
"What the hell's that even written in, some sort of code?"
"No, it's a language of some sort, but I don't know what," Karliah said, frowning at it. "Gallus was a scholar, he could have been an academic if he'd wanted. He chose thievery, he was never forced into it from poverty or circumstance. He knew his fair share of extinct languages, this must be one of them. And for him to write this in a language none of us can read, and carry it with him at all times, it must have been important. He was on to Mercer, told me some of his suspicions. This, this must have his full evidence against Mercer. We need to get it translated. Luckily I know a man. Enthir in Winterhold. He was one of Mercer's best friends. He might be able to translate it for us, or have Gallus's notes maybe."
"Enthir, I know him," Brynjolf said, nodding. "He was the one who sent me out here. Yeah, we'll find him. Time's a wasting, let's go."
"Go on without me, I'll catch you up," Karliah said softly. "I need to lay Gallus's remains to rest. Someone should. But before you go – Delphine, take this. It was Gallus's. I was always better with a bow than the blade, but you're good with swords."
Delphine took the sword off her, feeling its weight in her hand and realising this was a fine blade indeed. Some sort of enchantment on it, and an odd bird symbol on the hilt.
"What's this emblem?" Delphine asked.
"If this works out, perhaps I'll tell you," Karliah said, looking away. "For now, hang on to it. It shouldn't go to waste, and you'll probably need it."
It would draw less attention than her Akaviri sword, that was certain. Thanking her, Delphine took her leave, Brynjolf following. Leaving Karliah alone with the corpses of her two fellow Nightingales.
"I'm sorry, Mercer," Karliah said, meaning it as she searched his body. "But you must have known what would happen when you took that key. The Shadows would have their revenge. Now where is it, you must have had it on you to get through that door…"
Her fingers found what she was looking for. The Skeleton Key of Nocturnal, stolen by Mercer and sealing the fates of Gallus, the Guild and ultimately himself.
Karliah would have the Key now. It would need to go back to Nocturnal when all this was said and done. But for now… it might be useful. And she knew one thing. Until it got back to Nocturnal, it should stay in a Nightingale's hands.
"Well, I got good news and bad news," Enthir said, glancing up from the diary. "Good news, I recognise the language, it's Ancient Falmer. Bad news, there's only a handful of scholars in Tamriel even recognise it. Now good news is Gallus wasn't a fluent speaker and probably just borrowed their alphabet, but good luck getting a copy of that. The College doesn't have one."
"So how did Gallus find out how to write in it," Delphine asked, sure this elf knew something. She wasn't wrong.
"As luck would have it, he asked me," Enthir said, handing the diary back. "Now, I don't know the alphabet either, but I know who might. Calcelmo of Markarth. He's the court mage there, studies the ancient Dwemer. He's got a sideline in Falmer artefacts too. When Gallus was asking me what I knew about the lore of the ancient Snow Elven civilisation, and my own knowledge ran out, Calcelmo was who I pointed him to. Now this was a few years ago, you understand. Before the uprising. As far as I know, Calcelmo's still there but, well. Skyrim's practically at war, and the Reachmen aren't known for being friendly. Still, you're in luck. The Reach-King's future husband is here in Winterhold. Get in good with him, you might be able to go with his entourage, should get you into the city at least. Tell him you're Talos worshippers, brush up on your anti-Empire rhetoric, you should be able to at least get in as hired blades – what. What's so funny."
"Nothing, lad," Brynjolf said, wiping his eyes. "It's fine. We'll talk to the Stormcloak, as you say. Think you can talk us into his party, Del?"
"I know what buttons to press," Delphine said, grinning. "Thank you, Enthir. We'll be in touch. If you see our friend, tell her where we've gone. She'll be able to find us."
"All right then," Enthir said, glancing at Delphine's new sword. "Shadows guide the pair of you."
"And you," Delphine replied, not sure what it meant but liking the sound of it. Brynjolf however had a question or two remaining.
"So, how come you're being all co-operative now but were suspicious of me before?" Brynjolf asked. Enthir nodded at the sword.
"I know Gallus's sword when I see it, and you don't have her bow. She gave you that sword. And I know you didn't kill her because you'd have taken her bow too. I know you're in on things and aren't with Mercer. I always suspected he had something to do with it. I never believed Karliah would have killed Gallus, I knew them both too well for that, and knew that Mercer wouldn't accuse Karliah unless it was either true or he was trying to divert attention from himself. So here I am, helping. I want justice for my friend too. The likes of us can't go to the guard, but sometimes luck goes our way. I hope you stay lucky… and if it all works out with the Guild, swing by here. If you have goods you need to move on in a hurry and you're in Winterhold, pay me a visit. I'll see what I can do."
Had they just… they'd just recruited a fence. They were losing fences and contacts all over Skyrim! To get another one just like that was unheard of! Wait till he told Mercer… oh.
It hit Brynjolf then that this was not a job like any other, although he'd known that since Karliah and a Hagraven had interrogated him at Goldenglow. Mercer was gone. The Guild was… well, the Guild was on its knees. Gallus had died, their contacts had fled to the wind, Mercer's contacts just weren't as effective and were motivated by coin more than anything else, which meant less for the Guild, and the power struggle after Gallus died had left the Guild's most promising members either dead or fled. Mercer's ruthlessness had been the only thing keeping the Guild together. Except now, after learning from Karliah Mercer had been the one to kill Gallus, it seemed all too likely Mercer had orchestrated most of the chaos to eliminate rivals who he might have to share power with. He'd literally gutted the Guild to keep it for himself. It made Brynjolf feel sick to think about.
Still, Delphine seemed upbeat and confident they could get Calcelmo to help.
"The Mournful Throne funds his research, which means the Mournful Throne has leverage," Delphine told him. "And we know Karliah's in good with them. It'll be fine. Come on, let's find Ulfric."
Ulfric turned out to have just returned triumphantly from the College of Winterhold, having successfully helped negotiate a three-way deal involving the Reach, the College and the Jarl, who was now backing the Stormcloaks at the Moot, and he was more than happy to help Delphine out. He was less pleased to see Brynjolf, probably having hoped a snow bear or a Draugr had got him, but nevertheless he agreed to get them to Markarth.
"We'll find you some spare outfits," Ulfric promised. "Spare Stormcloak outfit for you, thief. Delphine, we have winter Reach-gear, I promise it covers more skin than the usual variety. And I'll have someone find some robes for Y Merilis when she joins us. No one's going to look twice at a hooded priestess. I can't promise Calcelmo will help you… but Nepos and Karliah are good friends. If she speaks with Nepos, I'm sure he'll get the man to help."
So it was, and by morning Karliah had caught up and was quite happy to find out they were getting transport with Ulfric Stormcloak's entourage. Things were definitely going their way.
A/N: You can safely assume they'll be able to get that translation via Nepos without incident and clear Karliah's name with no trouble. Next chapter's back to the Reach, and Cicero's past comes to light.