Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios (can I still say that after the recent events? ;) ). And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot.
A/N: I'm back already, who would've guessed? Yeah, me neither... Longer chapter as promised, longest chapter so far... enjoy! :)
Chapter Twelve
The sunrays sparsely lit up the lofty room of the cathedral. Even though the floors had been scrubbed recently, small flakes of dust elavated through the air, sparkling in the rays that hit the brighter parts of the tinted glass. They appeared to be dancing to music despite the room being in complete silence. Muriel watched them float lazily through the air until they eventually found a new rest on one of the shrines. There they would stay until someone stirred them up while praying or until they were cleaned off by one of the priests.
She sat on the very last of the wooden benches that filled the nave. They all faced towards the altar of St. Martin, but Muriel's gaze was focussed to her left where Akatosh's shrine as well as the god's image in the stained-glass window was placed. She wasn't praying – she had given up on that long ago – but whenever she found herself in need of complete silence, whenever the world outside threatened to drown out her own thoughts, she came to a temple to hear them. It didn't matter which god it worshipped, but a shrine of the father of dragons always attracted her attention. Even if all she did was staring at it.
The creaking of a door made her involuntarily wince. With a humming, one of the priest came up the stairs from the undercroft. He was about to walk towards the altar when he spotted her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you", he said and stopped at her bench.
Muriel looked up to him. It was the same priest she had seen argue with Armion on her first day in Bruma. "Don't worry, Priest Neremus. I wasn't praying."
A small smile appeared on the Imperial's lips. It was the same smile her grandfather had smiled everytime she had come into the house with her boots muddy from the fields. A smile that had always made her look down in embarrassement, knowing that she shouldn't carry all the dirt into their home. And even now, Muriel felt herself lower her eyes to avoid his.
"May I?", he asked and pointed at the bench beside her. After a hesitant nod the priest seated himself next to her. Just like her, he watched the rays dance through the windows for a while before he spoke again. "The gods offer their guidance even to those who don't come to pray. But if you didn't come to worhip, what are you looking for?"
Muriel threw him a crooked smile. "A place to hide?"
The Imperial man looked at her with mild astonishment. "Our chapel offers even that if needed. But what is the Dragonborn hiding from, if I may ask?"
She wasn't surprised that he knew who she was. It had been several weeks since her arrival and even though she had never felt the need to attend the mass and therefore had never crossed paths with the priest after his little debate with the Thalmor, the citizens of Bruma were as fond of gossiping as the residents of any other town she had visited. People just liked to talk about everything that happened in town and most of them visited the cathedral frequently.
"Isn't it obvious?", Muriel asked.
Neremus nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, of course. I must admit, I have of course heard of this...um.."
"Mess?", she tried to help out with a chuckle. "You and probably everyone else."
Her meetings with the Justiciar had stopped being a secret the moment the guards at Castle Bruma had been informed to let them through the door to the Lord's Manor. Nobody knew any details – at least as far as she could tell – but by now the whole town was aware of it and of course was also talking about it. Muriel had heard some of the rumours and most of them were little more than wild conspiracy theories that she shrugged off. A handful of people knew the truth of course. Muriel had let out her sorrow at the Restful Watchman right after Armion had caught her in his room and Bentior and Crouches-In-Crevices had to ensure her that drowning herself in a barrel of mead wasn't a solution. And after the first word got out that the Dragonborn now visited the castle several times a week, Muriel had found herself once again being dragged into one of the alleys by a worried Eddvia. Muriel didn't know the other woman enough to entrust her with anything that had to do with illegal activities, so she had to leave out a few of the details. Besides, Eddvia loved to talk about other people. She had a kind heart and a loose tongue, both made her tell people way too much, way too easily. Muriel sighed and leaned back on the wooden bench. The thing with temples was that their benches were always uncomfortable.
"You can be free from worry – in all the years they roamed Bruma's streets, the Thalmor had never set a foot inside 's cathedral. You can hide as long as you like", the priest said with a smile.
"They didn't? Didn't they want to check if you have a shrine of Talos hidden behind a coffin?"
His eyes darkened slightly. "Not as long as I am here. This is a sacred place and it is my duty to keep it safe from intrusion. Count Carvain, of course, keeps them away from our chapel as well."
Muriel didn't answer. It was unlikely that the Count's word had any influence on whether or not the Thalmor decided to search the cathedral. They probably had done it anyway, without the priest's knowledge.
"I never congratulated on how you faced them outside. It was one of the first things I saw of Bruma and it really left an impression", she said after a while.
Neremus looked at her for a moment like he tried to remember what she was talking about. "Ah yes, thank you. Well, one has to stand up against supression – especially in religious matters, don't you think? The blessings of the gods are for everyone and everyone should be able to have access to them, even if the Aldmeri Dominion wants to dictate what gods people should worship. I have these debates on a regular basis, Armion is very... persistent. But I am sure you know that already."
"Yeah, tell me about it...", Muriel muttered and furrowed her brows. In the last two weeks her meetings with the Justiciar had mentally exhausted her. After she had accidentally let Delphine's name slip in their conversation, she had watched her words more closely. But even with that, the conversations had become more and more like a room filled with pressure plates that she tried to avoid while he tried push her to set them off. The struggle was merely mentally, but it was draining. They had met five times now and had just reached the end of Elenwen's dossier in their last session. It was amazing how much the Thalmor Ambassador had been able to write down from their brief meetings and even though Muriel had never actually read the writing – not that she hadn't tried on all occasions to convince Armion to let her – the amount of information the Thalmor already had, worried her. What would they be able to do with everything she might say without thinking it through?
"Are you familiar with the story of Martin Septim? Maybe you would like to hear it?", Neremus suddenly asked to change the topic.
"I am aware of his story, but I would like to hear it anyway", she said and looked at the window on the other side of the hall. The tinted glass showed the image of a man in simple monk robes.
"Saint Martin had humble beginnings as a priest of Akatosh in the city of Kvatch", Neremus started. He sounded delighted, even though he must have told the story many times. "When Daedra overran the city during the Oblivion Crisis, Martin led the people to refuge in the chapel. The fabled Champion of Cyrodiil came to rescue him, and told him the shocking news that he was the son of the Emperor. This came as a surprise to him, but gave him new purpose after his home was destroyed. Along with the Champion and the Blades, Martin designed and executed a plan to undermine the efforts of Mankar Camoran and the Mythic Dawn cult."
He stopped for a moment to allow his words echo in the room.
"There was a great battle here in Bruma as the Great Gate was opened to secure an artifact of immense power for Martin's plan. Finally, the Champion, under Martin's guidance, slew Mankar Camoran, as the Imperial City came under a great Daedric siege. It appeared all was lost, but Martin shattered the Amulet of Kings in the Temple of the One tansforming into a huge, flaming avatar of Akatosh. In this form he defeated the manifestation of Mehrunes Dagon in an epic, glorious duel. This broke the siege of the Imperial City, restored the ward between Tamriel and Oblivion, and ended the Oblivion Crisis."
None of them spoke for a while after Neremus had finished. It wasn't quite the version her grandfather had told her, but who knew what really happened 200 years ago? What would people say about her and Alduin after that much time? Would it sound just as simple? She assumed that neither Martin Septim nor the Campion would have thought that the biggest adventure of their lifes would be retold in a few glorified sentences.
"What I am trying to say, is, that the followers of must aspire to be more than they are, to rise above their current place in the world and become something greater. In Martin's case, this meant rising from a humble priest to savior of the world – a little bit like your own tale, isn't it?"
Muriel snorted into the silence of the chapel. "I think you're simplifying things... I'm no saint, that's not how it works. I had no choice – and maybe Martin Septim hadn't one either."
Neremus smiled again in the forgiving manner from before when he got up and looked once again down on her. This time, Muriel didn't look away. "All I am is tired. Ever since I was thrown back to Nirn, I am tired."
"You became something greater than most of us can ever dream of, Dragonborn. Just like Martin, you were chosen by the gods and it's only natural for our mortal bodies to become weary in their presence."
Muriel nearly laughed out loud but bit her tongue at the last moment. Argueing with the priest wouldn't help anyone and he was just trying to be nice.
"I never faced any god", she said quietly. "It's not like you think it is, none of them ever appeared to me or guided me or even sent me a bloody letter of advice."
The priest crooked his head slightly at the biting tone in her voice, but he didn't comment.
"I tried praying, you know? In the beginning I prayed daily. It took me five weeks to get from Whiterun to the Throat of the World because I prayed to Akatosh, prayed that he would help me, but he never answered. They nearly had to drag me up the Seven Thousand Steps." The words came out before she could hold them back. And before she knew she felt unable to stop talking. "He's suppose to be the father of all dragons, isn't he? Why didn't he help me?"
"You're bitter, Dragonborn, I can see that", Neremus said gently. "I saw it the moment you came to Bruma for the first time. Is that why you stopped praying? Because the gods didn't answer? That happens to most of us."
"Yes, but most people don't have to go against the World Eater, do they?"
"Since we are able to be here and have this conversation, I assume, it all worked out in the end?", he said and Muriel felt a strong repulsive impulse in her throat. She shouldn't have started to discuss these matters with a priest, of all people a priest was the last one to understand what she was trying to say.
"Not thanks to the divines I'm afraid", she said with more bite in her voice than she wanted to. But at this moment a small part of her wanted to throw something at Neremus' face while the rest of her mind knew that it wasn't his fault that the gods had disappointed her.
"They never cared. None of the divines." She gestured vaguely at the colourful images around them. "Instead Meridia spoke to me and she gave me a sword. Peryite answered and gave me a shield. Nocturnal is my shadow. Sheogorath answered, but well... I know he'd like to hear that he wasn't that useful."
The Imperial looked at her with a sad look in his eyes. It should make her feel ashamed, but instead it only annoyed her. "Daedra worship is a dangerous path, Dragonborn. They are fickle."
"I don't worship Daedra", Muriel said louder than she wanted. "I acknowledge their existence because they at least acknowledged mine. I needed help and they offered it."
Unlike the divines.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held the priest's gaze stubbornly. "Who knows what Martin Septim had to do..."
"I see", Neremus nodded and the gentleness in his eyes was gone. "Now, if you excuse me, I must return to my duties. And I'm sure you have to return to yours as well."
Muriel stared at him for a moment. Under his expectant eyes, she finally got up and turned around to leave the cathedral. Maybe she had gone to far, no priest had ever thrown her out of a temple – even if it had happened in the most polite way, the message had been clear. With fast steps she left the Cathedral of and didn't turn around even though she felt the Imperial's eyes on her back. Resisting the urge to slam the doors shut behind her, she stomped down the stairs.
The sun didn't care about her bad mood as it nearly blinded her after the dimness of the temple and Muriel sighed deeply. It didn't help lightening her heart and before others could fall victim to her mood, she turned towards the market place. Maybe it was best to hide herself at the Restful Watchman for the rest of the day.
She walked through the crowded space between the stands. Even though the merchants offered their wares all week long, the people tended to visit the market more on days when fresh wares had arrived. All of Bruma seemed to be squished into the small square between the cathedral and the wall. More than once Muriel had to change direction because the place directly in front of the stands was just overcrowded.
She navigated around the well when someone called out her name. Muriel looked up and half-heartedly returned the wave of the Breton tailor. Two weeks ago she had bought a few additional pieces of clothing at his stand and from there on he had greeted her enthusiastically every time she walked past him. His eyes were always shying away from hers, but one evening at the inn, she had overheard him talking about how much he wanted to take her measurements and ever since, she had avoided going near his stand.
Looking to her right, she oversaw the huge figure that appeared in her path and stumbled backwards when she bumped into it. Her boot got caught on a cobblestone and she lost her balance. With a gasp the landed on her backside. She stared up at the Thalmor Adjutant who hadn't even moved, but only narrowed his amber eyes.
"Oh look, an infant. How quaint."
Rude!
Muriel felt someone grab her ellbow to pull her to her feet. Even standing she had to look up to the tall Altmer, who towered over the crowd surrounding them. He stood still, unmoving like a rock in the sea of the people around him. No one wanted to push past him and so the market's business left him completely uneffected.
"Watch your steps, Breton", he snapped. "Stumbling heros are a pathetic sight."
"If you didn't strut around like you own the place, I wouldn't have to", Muriel said through clenched teeth. Her already bad mood wasn't helping with easing her nerves and the blood in her ears drowned out ever thought about turning around and ignoring him.
"Oh, but we practically do", he replied so condescendingly that for a moment, Muriel saw herself shouting him out of the way. The image faded quickly though when her mind added the people around her flying into all directions and so she settled for resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. Armion's adjutant followed her movement with amused eyes. "Don't try my patience, you will find that it is very limited, Breton."
Her hand became a fist and she felt a growl in her chest. "You are trying mine. Get out of my way."
The Thalmor began to laugh. It was mainly disbelief, but Muriel clearly heard the arrogance and over-confidence in it and her vision went red. Blindly she took a step forward, when a hand grabbed her arm and demanded her attention. Bentior stood behind her, his fingers around her arm, shaking his head with a stern expression.
The Adjutant's laugh grew louder. Alarmed by the uproar, the glooming figure of his superior appeared at their side. With sharp eyes he took the scene in and one annoyed look ceased his associate's laughter.
"I am sure there is a valid reason for this... encounter. Do I have to interrupt my patrol to break it up?", the Justiciar said with a warning seeping clearly though his words. To Muriel's surprise he didn't direct his question to her, but ignored her presence completely. Instead he focused on the other mer.
"No, Justiciar. A minor incident. We can continue our patrol anytime", the Adjutant answered after a pause and pulled his eyes away from her. The resistance in them made it clear how little he wanted to back down.
"Oh, really now, do you allow it?", Armion snarled and Muriel had never thought she would see the towering figure of his subordinate shrink. It was barely noticable, but it lifted her mood significantly. Without another word, the Justiciar turned around and disappeared in the crowd, not even checking if the other man was following him. He didn't have to – the Adjutant was directly behind him. Muriel snorted and finally relaxed her hand that was still clenched around her sword.
"He's such an..." She searched for the right insult to express her feelings, but failed.
"Just ignore him." Bentior let go of her arm. He shouldered the sack he had dropped on the ground and turned towards his inn. Muriel followed him until they reached the edge of the market.
"I can't ignore him, I literally bumped into him", she said and took the basket full of potatoes the innkeeper shoved into her hands without protest. He had probably guessed already that she had been on her way to the Watchman anyway.
"What I mean is", Bentior said with a frown. "Don't let him provoke you. That elf is just waiting for you to loose your temper."
A bitter laugh forced its way out of her mouth. "No shit. Divines help him if he ever does that when there are no witnesses..."
"Sounds like your day started really cheery, girl. Come on", he said and nodded towards his inn. "First drink's on the house."
"Since when are you giving out alms?", she asked as she followed behind.
"Since when are you so on edge that you pick a fight with the Thalmor in the middle of the city?", Bentior asked back and opened the door to let her in. "Put it on the counter."
Muriel left the basket where he had said and lowered herself on one of the chairs. She ran her hand through her hair until her fingers got stuck. With a sigh she gave up and watched the Imperial unpack the groceries.
"This is all getting to me, Bentior", she said and rested her head on her hand. The innkeeper grumbled to assure her he was listening. "This whole situation is just one big pile of mammoth dung. I don't know how it came to this and I don't know how I can get out. I just made one stupid decision after the other, mistake after mistake. That's not like me... I navigated myself right into a swamp and now I'm stuck. Gods dammit, I just wanted to steal a few artifacts... have some fun."
Muriel closed her eyes to fight back the throbbing headache behind them. The sound of a bottle placed on the counter in front of her made her smile. She buried her face in her hands and supressed a yawn. "Thanks..."
"I have something that will cheer you up." Bentior fished a package out from behind the counter and placed it in front of her.
"Is this...?" The brown paper was plain and gave nothing away about its content, but she knew what it held.
"Yes, Crouches brought it over from Greenwood this morning."
Muriel felt her mood rise. Quickly she unfolded the paper and smiled widely. She turned the small metal box in her hands. It was exactly how she had described it, not much larger than her hand and thick enough to protect the soft inside. The hinge opened without a sound and her finger stroke over the beeswax that filled both sides of the box up to the rim.
"I hope this is what you wanted", Bentior said and returned her smile.
"It is perfect", she said and carefully set the mold on the counter. "Thank you."
"Everything to make my customers happy. Thank the Argonian, though. He's probably still trying to cool the bee stings in some snowpile. Tell me again how this works."
Muriel was well aware that the innkeeper only tried to distract her and appreciated the effort enough to play along. "You press the key into one half like this..." She placed her finger on the wax and showed him how the box would close around it. "...and then you close the other half on top of it..."
"And if it worked you have a mold from the key?" He looked sceptical. "What if the wax gets too warm inside your pocket?"
"Well, then I'm screwed", Muriel shrugged and took a sip from her ale. "But it's worth the try, don't you think? Better than alarming the Count because his key went missing. You are sure he is the only one having one?"
"My contact at the castle said so, yes. At least for the treasury, but there should be a few keys for the display cases around. I still don't understand what you have against good, old lockpicking. This sounds risky – sneaking into the Count's bedroom?" Bentior furrowed his brows and watched as she carefully wrapped up the box again.
"Not as risky as trying to pick a difficult lock with the guard's routine leaving only a window of a few minutes. From what I saw that's as long as it takes for him to turn his back towards the door and walk down the hallway. The moment he turns back around, I have to be in", Muriel explained. In theory her plan sounded easy, but making a copy of the key to the treasury was one thing, actually sneaking into it another. Not to mention getting out with her loot. From now own she had to bury her own pride and actually make use of the gift Nocturnal had provided her with as well as every Invisibilty Potion she could find. The balance of her getting caught while sneaking had definitly suffered in the last weeks when the Justiciar had not only caught her once, but twice. It really had bruised her ego.
"I don't mind to be proven wrong, girl", Bentior winked at her. "But remember, if this goes wrong – I don't know you."
"Lovely to know I have your support", Muriel pouted, but laughed only a moment later. Bentior's position was completely relatable, but sometimes she forgot that she wasn't talking to a guild member. Maybe she should think about recruiting him.
"When will you do it?"
"Tomorrow. I have... you know, an appointment tonight." She grimaced and emptied her bottle with a few huge gulps.
"Don't let those elfs provoke you", he warned. "Would be too bad if you went to prison because you were at each others throats again."
"Oh, don't worry. Right now it's mainly the large one I want to shout off a cliff." Muriel looked gloomingly into her empty bottle.
"There is always the option of leaving Bruma, you know... not that I don't like to have you here, especially since you've become nearly my best customer apart from Dumrag, but..." He left the rest of the sentence unspoken.
"I can't. He's got leverage."
"I see... That Altmer's a clever one – not that I admire that", Bentior quickly reassured her when her face darkened even more. "You want another bottle?"
"Definitely."