Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios. And the wonderful people of Beyond Skyrim. No profit made, I just own the OC and the plot.

Chapter Thirteen

Muriel followed the guard up the stairs, a way she had walked so often in the last two weeks, she could as well walk it on her own. But Count Carvain's study wasn't just in the Lords Manor, it was also close to his private quarters and – what she assumed was the main reason for the guards patrolling here all day – the treasury and therefore one of the conditions was that the guard on patrol accompanied them. The thick carpets muffled her steps, which was something she was normally very grateful for, but it also meant that she had to listen very carefully to hear the people around her. For example the annoying elf that normally followed close behind. But not this time – this time Armion wasn't anywhere around and according to the guard, he was waiting in the study for quite a while now. How long she had already waited in the entrance hall where the Count kept many of his artifacts behind the glass of display cases, she didn't know. But in the last weeks she had definitely stared at golden cups and Akaviri stone fragments for longer than she had liked and it had been a relief when this time Count Carvain himself showed up. The small detail that he made her be late and let the Thalmor wait even more for the sake of exchanging courtesies had at least taken the bad mood off of her for a few moments, but what was even more mood-lifting, was the letter he had given her. The courier had come back with news from Skyrim and when Muriel had quickly pocketed the letter from Riften and the Count had stopped talking about his cousin attending some wedding in Solitude, she could leave. She couldn't wait to read Brynjolf's response even if her pulse had uncomfortably sped up when she had seen the broke wax seal. It wasn't unexpected – and the fact that she wasn't in handcuffs yet gave hope for her friends sticking to her cryptic writing.

They reached the top of the stairs and following the guard's gesture, Muriel entered the last hallway. She tried to look indifferent as she walked, but her eyes kept trying to get a peek into the next hall which she assumed led to the private quarters. There was another thing that now occupied her mind and it had nearly slipped her attention when the Count had mentioned it. When she had congratulated him on his collection, he had told with a sigh her how infrequently he actually visited this part of the castle.

Muriel opened the door to the study. When the Count didn't take the same path as her, how did he get to the throne room? Was there another – one that bypassed the staircase and therefore the guards?

Armion was reading through his notebook when she entered, her mind still occupied with what she had heard. Ignoring him she let herself fall on the same uncomfortable wooden chair she had always sat on in the last two weeks.

"You're late", he said pointedly without looking up.

"How are you today? Oh, I'm fine, thank you." She put on a fake smile and rested her feet on the table. "How was your day? How nice of you to ask! It was wonderful, I especially enjoyed the market today."

He finally looked up from his notes, a deep frown creasing his normally even forehead. "Are you drunk? I think I made myself rather clear that..."
"No", she interrupted him. For some reason his mere presence let her anger come back. "I'm not. I was, but unfortunately not anymore."
Armion's face was somewhere between annoyance and the look some mage's got when witnessing the scene of a disaster – the look that said 'This is going to be interesting'. "You might as well consider skooma at this point", he said cooly. "I'm surprised you're not addicted to that poison already, since you're so susceptible."

Muriel dragged her legs from the table top and noisily pushed her chair back as she stood up. For a second she thought about pulling him across the table, but even through her anger she knew that that would be a bad idea and so she turned around to leave the study.

"Sit back down." Armion's order was sharp and spoken like he was used to this tone, not accepting any objection. "You agreed to do this the civil way. Most thieves don't get away this easy, so live with the consequences and by Xarxes, stop this tantrum."

"You call the last two weeks civil?!" She turned to see that he hadn't moved from his chair, even the quill was still in his hand. Just his eyes had hardened and warned her not to test him. She nearly laughed. What did this presumptuous elf know about consequences she was living with?

"No", he admitted after a few moments of silence. "I agree that there's some potential for improvement, but..." Muriel snorted, but he ignored her and raised his voice slightly. "But this is unacceptable."

"You're right. It is", she pressed out. " But you and your thug can't keep poking me and expect me to endure it silently just because of some stupid amulet."

Armion raised an eyebrow. "Your lack of self-restrain is neither his nor my problem."

"I know you want this to be beneficial for you", she continued through clenched teeth. "And I agreed to it, but not like this. If we keep going like this, the Count will soon find a hole in the wall of his study and you'll find out what's on the other side of it."

His other eyebrow joined the first one, but the interested look in his eyes remained. Muriel sighed deeply. It felt good to say what was nagging at her nerves for days now. She had actually feared that she might loose her temper around the Thalmor, not really afraid to hurt him – because he would've brought it upon himself – but that she'd let her anger control her actions. It was something the Greybeards had warned her about, not to allow herself to be eaten up by anger and the hunger for power. Even with the best intention, she could easily hurt people. Alduin had never woken these feelings in her, because all the time her mind had been occupied with the World Eater, he had been the best example of everything she didn't want to be. The fact that in only a few weeks some elves had managed to bring her close enough to this edge to actually feel the pull, frightened her.

"Though I have to admit that it is tempting to see you loose your composure, I might be willing to make a few concessions - if you sit down, Muriel." The Justiciar pointed towards her abondoned chair, but at least it didn't sound like an order this time and the fact that he – for the first time ever as far as she recalled – had used her name, had the intended effect of taking the wind out of her sails. At least he took her warning seriously. Muriel closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before sitting down again.

One last chance, she told herself, just one last chance, you can shout him through the wall tomorrow.

He had said nothing about his adjutant and the chances were faint that he would order him, but if Armion backed down a little bit, maybe she could endure the other Altmer's spiteful comments a little bit easier.

"Let's talk about your participation in Skyrim's Civil War." He returned to his notes like nothing had happened and even though it could be considered rude, she knew that he tried to calm the situation with a fresh start without backing down too much. She was surprised that she actually appreciated the gesture.

"Why did you join the Imperial Legion?"

"Because", Muriel took another deep breath. "Tullius was pressing me to do so. His letter's arrived nearly daily, he was obsessed with the idea. Not so much with me actually fighting, but with the boost of morale for his troops. In the end I gave in and did both. I was on the walls when we defended Whiterun and I fought in most of the Holds myself. I don't know how much of a difference it actually made, many people died in that war nevertheless..."

"Every war has casualties", the Thalmor threw in and with repulsion Muriel watched him write down notes.

"Like the war between the Empire and the Dominion?"

"For example", he looked up and slightly crooked his head. Muriel had to bite her lip to remind herself that she was trying to stay calm. She had heard – and seen – what the Aldmeri Dominion considered casualties. It weren't soldiers fighting on each side, soldiers who knew what they were doing, but villagers, farmers and yes, also Talos worshipers, but civilians nevertheless. At least the Civil War hadn't claimed that many innocent lifes.

"Don't you feel guilty for persecuting people because of their beliefs?" The question left her lips on its own accord. Armion ceased his writing and leaned back in his chair. He didn't try to urge her to stay on topic, it hadn't worked in the last weeks and it wouldn't work now. Every time he had tried, Muriel had ignored him, sometimes for the simple reason of messing with his set schedule.

"Guilt? Why should I feel guilt?", he frowned. "You won't make me feel guilty for enforcing dictates your own Emperor signed into law. I am a Thalmor Justiciar, yes, but the Aldmeri Dominion is not a single consciousness. This Empire is a political entity – it has commited untold acts of persecution and genocide in the past. One need only have a cursory knowledge of the Tiber Wars and Imperial history to know this to be true. Tiber Septim – the man-god so many Nords and Imperials love to revere – was himself guilty of the sins you attribute solely to the Dominion."

Muriel returned his frown with crossed arms. "So you're saying that it's okay because everyone does it?"

"You're a hypocrite, Dragonborn", he stated and ignored her question. "You as well aren't free of sin, even if you like to act like it. You think laws don't apply to you if they don't align with you're selfish goals. Just take the fact about you freely taking what doesn't belong to you and you'll see my point."

"At least I'm not randomly killing people under the excuse of politics", she growled. She already knew that her being a thief and the Dragonborn didn't work very well together, but there was a difference between taking someone's coin purse and hanging Talos worshipers and Stormcloaks alike.

"Of course you do. You willingly accepted the death of others, innocents and prisoners alike, if it served your purpose."
"What the... that's not true, how can you say that? I would never." The audacity of this man was unbelievable. Like she ever would...

"But you already did", Armion said with a cold smile and pulled her dossier closer towards him. Like he was searching for a certain paragraph, his gaze wandered over the paper. "Remember when you negotiated a truce between the Empire and the Stormcloaks? You decided to give Markarth to the Stormcloaks."

"I... yes, I did. I needed them to agree or Jarl Balgruuf would never have helped me. Whiterun's assistance was essential", she said slowly, not sure what he was getting at. "They assured me that the Jarl and his court could leave in peace. I know they kept their word, I met Igmund in Solitude."

"I'm sure they did. However... their word did not include Markarth's Thalmor Justiciar, did it? He wasn't allowed to leave in peace."

Muriel stared at him. She had never thought about it, but she remembered the Altmer in Understone Keep, pacing back and forth in front of the throne room. Only once she had spoken to him and it had been one too many times.

"I..." She didn't know what to reply.

"It was your decision that sealed his fate", Armion said, keeping the dossier ready, but following her every reaction carefully. "He was executed shortly after the Stormcloaks had taken control over the city. To this day his remains have not been returned to Alinor."
A part of her tried to argue that Ondolemar hadn't exactly been an innocent bystander, that he couldn't be considered a victim, but she couldn't bring her tongue to form the words when another part of her wondered if there was a family somewhere waiting to burn and bury his remains. Her mouth was dry.

"I don't have all the details", Armion took it further with a cool, satisfied look in his eyes. "But I assume they hanged him – I heard there are many stairs in Markarth. On the other hand – Nords prefer beheadings, don't they?"

He filled his quill with ink and wrote a few paragraphs while Muriel could do nothing than watch him. His question was just rhetorical, but even if it hadn't been, she couldn't answer. Somehow the images and possibilities how the Justiciar might've met his end, made her sick. It had been her decision in a way, yes, and for what? They had taken the Reach back a few month later anyway, giving up the city to appease Ulfric Stormcloak had only been convenient at the time. It had been nothing more than changing a flag on the map. She pulled her sleeves over her hands. Suddenly she felt cold, freezing from within for the study was still comfortably warm.

"I...", she said when the silence grew to loud in her ears. She felt miserable. "I haven't thought about it, I didn't know... I'm... I'm sorry. I don't know who thought that I was in any way capable of making political decisions..."

The Altmer looked up from his paper and watched her sharply for a long moment like he was trying to find the mockery behind her words. Then he nodded shortly.

"It's how the world works", he said. It would be the only words of comfort she would get and was surprised that he even offered those. Muriel turned her head and stared into the flames of the candles. It wasn't how the world worked, it was how war worked. Especially how the Great War had worked from what she had heard. A war she didn't want to be a part of, a war that was officially over, but was still carried on in the shadows.

"Why choose the Empire over the Stormcloaks?", Armion asked into the silence to get the conversation back on track. Muriel shot him a look of disbelief. "From what I heard, you're quite fond of Nords. You'd almost think you would be a supporter of the idea."

"I am, in a way", she agreed quietly. "But in another, Ulfric was nearly as bad as you."
He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Muriel sighed. She pressed two fingers against her temples to gather her thoughts. "I just think... I'm so tired of everyone hating each other's guts. The Nords don't let the Khajiit into their cities, Windhelm and the Stormcloaks basically had a slum for Dunmer and the Argonians are only tolerated at the docks. Which is probably not so bad, considering that those two can't even be in the same room in most cases. Nearly everyone seems to dislike Orcs and vice versa and don't get me started on Altmer... "

Her voice had risen towards the end and Muriel had to close her eyes for a moment to take a few breaths that would bring her down. "What I mean is... the Empire is the only thing that keeps some sort of peace. And besides...", she added silently. "The Empire is already weakened. Tullius was right about that... it is what's keeping the Aldmeri Dominion out for now, isn't it?"

Armion looked at her thoughtfully for a long time. His expression gave nothing away, but Muriel knew that she had just given him something to write about. She didn't care if they knew about her insight. Maybe just the hint of the Legion knowing more about the Thalmor's plans was enough to keep this labile peace going. Even if she hadn't bothered to involve herself in these matters too much, people tend to talk to her about a lot of things. This and a few documents that had fallen into her hands in the last few years, gave her at least the idea that both sides knew a lot more than they said anyway.

"Seems like you are fully capable of making political decisions", the Altmer said and scribbled down a few words. "But not everyone is willing to let go of the past only because your uneducated upbringing taught you nothing about history."

"My upbringing is the best example", Muriel snorted. "I wouldn't be here if everyone thought like this."

"And as the heroic Breton that you are, everyone needs to follow along?", Armion sneered.

"You can mock me as much as you like", she said. "But I did defeat Alduin for all of Tamriel. I often wonder if it was even worth it, though, just so that everyone can continue their stupid wars, so... show a little graditude."

"Oh I am endlessly grateful for your commitment. But you didn't change history – you preserved it", he said stubbornly.

Muriel tilted her head back in frustration. He didn't get it, he never would. She wasn't even sure why it mattered, maybe because she had never had a conversation with someone with his attitude for longer than needed. Most of the times she had simply avoided people she didn't agree with. No chance to avoid this, it seemed.

"Explain it", she bit. "Pretend I'm stupid – oh spare me that look – and explain. People always think things that happened ages ago are a good enough excuse."

Armion leaned back and crossed is arms in front of his chest. For a while he just looked at her, amusement and annoyance alternating in his eyes like he wasn't sure if he was willing to have this discussion that would lead them so far away from the initial topic.

"We Altmer have a long memory. While the rest of Tamriel forgets, we remember. Like the Scribe we remember every deed, every deceit. We document them, file them, but we never forget", he finally said. Muriel unintentionally looked down to the dossier in front of him, filled with fine writing and, once finished, ready to be used or stored. She had the weird feeling like someone had told her that before.

"Okay, but the Tiber Wars were – what? Thousands of years ago? You can't seriously still be mad about that." Despite what he thought, she had actually opened a history book before. It had only been a few weeks ago and only because it had been lying in front of the inn's fireplace, but still.

"The praising of Tiber Septim's invasion is an insult, the mere thought of him ascending to godhood herecy." His green eyes shone darkly in the dancing light of the candles and for a moment she couldn't look away.

"Yes, I get it – you don't agree", she said and tore her eyes away. "And you got what you wanted, didn't you? The Concordat forbids Talos worship. But like I said, that was so long ago..."

"Men are always quick to forget as their generations hurry through the centuries, but for us? What are a few thousand years in meri terms? Little more than a few generations."
Muriel knew of course about the longevity of the elven races, but she had never thought much about it. They lived longer, so what? In the end it all came down whether to forgive or not.

"I don't think I understand what you're trying to say", she said slowly and frowned. "What has that to do with it?"

"I didn't expect you to understand", the elf said with an arrogant sneer on his face. "And even if it's not my duty to make you, maybe an example will make things clearer... We mer live three, sometimes more lifetimes longer than any man. I walked underneath this sun years before your grandparents would blink to its shine, I studied the secrets of magic during the lifetime of your parents, I dedicated myself to this course long before you were even born and should your children some day start to harass Nirn – Auri-El preserve us – I will outlive them, too."

You won't if you keep talking like that...

"How old are you exactly?", she asked before her thoughts found the way out of her mouth.

Armion simply smiled and didn't answer.

"Alright, suit yourself. But I think I know what you're trying to say – I do, don't look at me like I'm an idiot. My problem is that you think that makes mer so much better than men. Something tells me that age doesn't equal wisdom and it definitely doesn't justify... this. For someone who claims to be superior, you don't act like it at all."

The smile on his face widened, but it remained cold and didn't reach his eyes. "We don't claim to be superior."

"Well, then explain it. What makes your race so much better than mine?" She wanted to throw the inkwell into his face, but that would be a little excessive. This discussion wouldn't lead anywhere, but somehow she couldn't stop, it was nearly interesting. Not necessarily in a good way, though.

"I don't need to give you any explanation, Muriel."

"Why? Because you don't have one?", Muriel grinned and his face darkened. Even with Elenwen she had thought that these people could be so much prettier if they didn't frown all the time. She hadn't expected him to be provoked this easily.

"My people have walked Tamriel long before men, but we aren't simply the oldest race, we are by far the most sophisticated."
For a second she had a vision of Paarthunaxx joining this conversation. She wondered what he might have to say about the matter of old races. Maybe she should ask him one day...

"It does sound like you had to memorize that as a child", Muriel said with a mocking tone, but was surprised to see the Altmer's face harden, his jar clenched and his mouth pressing in a tight line. "Wait... did you?"

He ignored her question. "Every little culture you have is nothing more than a shallow imitation of ours."
"And as soon as men are starting to develop one, you ban it." His face told her that she should stop, but she couldn't. For the first time it felt like she was actually leading the conversation, like the Altmer was slowly pushing back in a fight she wasn't aware they were having. Not with swords or spells, but with words.

"Worshipping a false god is not cultural development", he snapped. "Every child knows that."
"Every child in Alinor, you mean." The strangest thing she had ever seen in this room happened: The Thalmor shirked from her look – just for a second, but she had seen it nevertheless. Suddenly Muriel was wide awake, her pulse speeding up like she was about to sneak into a dragon's lair.

"How many times did they make you repeat it until it sounded like the truth?", she asked quietly.

His mouth opened and closed again like he tried to swallow the answer back down. If it had been an insult or a number, she wasn't sure. "We will take our rightful place in Auri-El's glow when we die, and while we live we will take our rightful place above every inferior race...", he said stubbornly and held his chin high. The insecurity was gone from his face, but for Muriel it was impossible to just led it slide. She had seen it, she was sure of it!

"If you couldn't say it by heart, what did they do?", she tried again, but his cold gaze drilled into her eyes, with open hostility and an unspoken threat. She was far too busy searching his eyes for the thing she had thought she'd seen to shy away from him.

"I don't need to convince you, Dragonborn", Armion said sharply, switching back to the title he had used since they had met in front of the cathedral. Firmly he closed the file on the table. "I don't owe you any explanation."

Muriel watched him cork the inkwell. "You're right, Armion", she said. "You don't. But you are trying to convince someone here..."

The file wandered into his pocket as he pushed his chair back and rose. "This conversation is over."

Muriel only managed to open her mouth for a response when the Altmer had already passed her and stormed out the door. With her mouth open all she could do was to stare after him.

A/N: Are you already getting tired of dialogue? I'm sorry, but as long as these two keep talking inside my head, I have to write it down. I have so many pages of raw dialogue that I have to sort out and try to include (or not). But no worries, the next chapter will have less and after that we will leave Bruma for a little while.

Furthermore I posted the beginning of a new story, it's called "The Smell of Juniper". It's basically finished and since my messages to the support are being ignored, I thought I might as well start posting it without the character tag I've waited for for months... So if you're getting bored, consider checking it out :)