Revelations
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"YOU!" Faleen had her sword out within one second of Hjar appearing in the doorway and—
"AP bap bap bap bap!" L'laarzen rapidly interposed herself.
Excellent start. Hjar thought, sharing a disgruntled glance with Margret.
"L'laarzen?" Exclaimed Calcelmo, the old wizard stood just behind Faleen. "You and this Forsworn are…"
"Friends." L'laarzen filled in, firmly. "And she will not tolerate any bloodshed here."
"Oh, wonderful." Faleen re-angled her sword. "So I get to kill three people tonight."
"Can I say something?" Hjar asked.
"No." Said Calcelmo, L'laarzen, and Faleen at once.
"Calcelmo, we are friends." L'laarzen tried. "You at least must be willing to hear Khajiit out."
"Helping me confess my feelings does not equate to amnesty for killing the Jarl!" Calcelmo protested, flushing.
"Yes, L'laarzen did sort of think that." L'laarzen admitted, sending a pointed look backwards.
Hjar felt a burst of annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by admiration. Look at her. She's so calm. Teasing, informal language, she's trying to de-escalate the conversation. Clever cat.
"Then how does peace on the streets equate?" Hjar spoke up again, trying to relax her own posture to mimic L'laarzen's. "I'm here to discuss an end to hostilities."
Faleen glowered. Then pulled her sword back, and used her gauntlet to firmly move L'laarzen aside and stalk forwards.
For context, they were in Nzchund-Zel. Much deeper in it than Hjar would like. The four were actually stood on a stone walkway above a long drop to the water below. If she tackles me off, I might have to transform immediately. Hitting the water might stun me enough that I can't go wolfey until I'm already drowning.
"I could end hostilities by cutting your head off." Faleen challenged.
"No you couldn't." Hjar retorted, flatly. "Killing me would net you your revenge, but wouldn't do anything for the hundreds of Forsworn outside the walls who still want to tear this city apart. I'm taking control of them, and that means I can pacify them."
"You can't pacify animals." Faleen snarled.
"I thought that was the entire basis of owning pets." Margret spoke up, inspecting her nails.
"I'm not here to ask you to put anything on the line." Hjar continued, spreading her arms in what she hoped was a passive motion. "I know you have no reason to trust me. I'm here to let you know in advance what I plan to do, and ask you to do what's best for the city when it happens."
"Really?" Faleen tilted her head. "Alright. What are the Forsworn planning?"
Margret snorted. "So you can go straight to the Thalmor with it?"
"Sure thing." Hjar replied, meriting a surprised look from her girlfriend. "We plan to mass, swarm the gates, combine our forces with the Silver-Bloods and take Understone keep. All you have to do is…nothing."
Faleen's lip quirked up at one side.
"So I suppose you could go to the Thalmor with that," Hjar admitted, "but let's talk about that for a second, because…you should be with them already. Right? Because Igmund supported the Empire."
Aaand the smile was gone. Faleen grimaced. "Not the same thing. The Thalmor are—"
"Assholes." Margret filled in. "You hate the Thalmor. Because everyone hates the Thalmor."
"And Throngvor is Stormcloak. By all rights, you should want his head, but instead you and the guard are in an uneasy truce with both him and the Thalmor." Hjar crossed her arms. "Because you recognise that your first duty is to protect the people of the hold, above chasing vengeance. I'm asking you to do that again."
"Throngvor didn't kill my Jarl." Faleen snapped. "Do you have any idea what that means to a housecarl? To a Redguard?" She got right up in Hjar's face, eyes burning with anger. "I had one duty. I would have laid my life down to protect Igmund, and yet I failed. Because I wasn't paying attention, because I was…was off fraternising with Calcelmo!"
"Would you have protected him while he was murdering a ten year old?" Hjar asked, evenly.
Faleen's eyes narrowed, her sword came up and Margret surged forwards and Hjar held out a hand to stop her even as the point of the blade dug into her tunic.
Everyone froze.
"What happens if I drive this through your chest right now?" Faleen whispered.
"I turn into a werewolf, kill you, and nothing changes." Hjar whispered back. She tilted her head. "You don't hate me for killing Igmund. You hate yourself for letting it happen."
"Oh I have a lot of hate to go around." Faleen growled.
Hjar paused to think. Then reached down to the tip of the blade with one hand, and guided it upwards until it pointed between her eyes. The sharp steel bit into the bridge of her nose, and a droplet of blood fell.
"There. Thrust now and you'll kill me." Hjar offered. "You'll get your vengeance. But then L'laarzen and Margret will kill you, and possibly Calcelmo on the way out. And the Forsworn will continue to be a menace, the reds and blues will continue to slaughter each other, and the people of the city will continue to suffer. Or."
She left the 'or' hanging, and waited. Her blood was pumping through her veins so fast Faleen could probably hear it, and her hands were lightly shaking.
If she does stab me in the brain, I'm done for. Damnit, I should have aimed her at the heart or throat, it would still have been close but if she did go for me I would have had a chance to transform and heal it—
Faleen was about as furious as anyone Hjar had ever seen. Slowly, the Redguard pulled her blade back from Hjar's head.
Then her other fist darted out and crashed into Hjar's face.
Hjar saw stars and stumbled backwards, ending up in Margrets arms.
"Ow." She enunciated, barely. Yep. That's my nose broken.
"I don't believe you." Faleen said, sheathing her sword. "But I suppose I don't have to. If you and your fellow savages enter the city and group up with Throngvor and his lot, I'll order my men not to interfere. But I will reassert order in the city afterwards. If a Forsworn puts so much as a foot out of place, they will lose it, along with their head."
"W—Wouldn wan anyfhing less." Hjar managed, blood streaming down into her mouth.
"Good. Now get out of my ruin." Faleen turned, and scowled some more. "And what are you two doing?"
"L'laarzen and I have been having a wonderful conversation." Calcelmo scolded. "Are the rest of you ladies done with your machismo?"
L'laarzen giggled.
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Elisif opened her eyes and couldn't see anything at all, and also there was cobweb in her mouth.
She stumbled backwards, spitting in a very unladylike madder, and reaching up with her arms to find that the mess was in her hair, over her head, ew—
Her back hit a wall, and she stopped, blinking to try and make sense of the situation. It wasn't that she couldn't see, just that it was very dark. But now her eyes were slowly adjusting to the light level, and she was able to make up the rough shape of her surroundings.
Corridor. Cobwebs, boarded up windows…The Pelagius wing. Hopefully not haunted anymore.
"Dulurza?" She asked, once her mouth was mostly clear.
"Here." Dulurza's voice came from Elisif's right, approaching from deeper down the corridor. She was back in her armour, thank the Divines. Elisif briefly ran her hands across her own clothes, and—
"Bastard." She hissed. "He left me in the black dress!"
"You have to admit, it suits you." Elisif looked up again, and saw Potema leaning against one wall.
"Seriously, your wardrobe is drab." The wolf queen complained, rolling her eyes. "What's the point of being High Queen of Skyrim if you have to look like every other noble in the court?"
Elisif couldn't help her eyes widening, just a fraction. "Are you…here?"
"Here?" Potema looked down at herself, then back up. "Oh, no. Weren't expecting a fresh body from Sheo, were you? No, this is just you hallucinating. If you're seeing me outside your mindscape, that means we're dangerously close together now."
"Elisif?" Dulurza asked, driving the final nail in the coffin. "You're talking to yourself again."
Elisif didn't even have the energy to sigh. "Apparently. Alright, lets get back. At least I can tell the maids that this section of the palace is usable again…"
"Wait. That's it?" Dulurza moved up alongside her as she made her way back to the main hall. "We're just leaving?"
"We are." Elisif's mouth made a thin line. "Looks like this was a waste of time."
Dulurza grunted, the sound summing up Elisif's frustration fairly well. "Alright. It's not over yet. Xander and Cassia are still looking for solutions, and—"
"You can have control!"
The words made both of them stop dead in their tracks.
Elisif froze, then slowly turned back to where the sound had seemed to come from.
Potema was stood in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed over her chest, eyes looking anywhere but her.
"I can set up the partition, and, and then just let you run the body." The wolf queen continued, words coming out at a rapid pace. "But there would be conditions, understand? You'd take us to the things I enjoy, and listen to my counsel about important matters, and let me continue my research, and—"
"Potema." Elisif tried to intervene.
"And you have to let me in charge sometimes, you understand? Just to stretch the legs, or hire a courtesan or something—And definitely to save us if we get in trouble! And I know I could just do that anyway, but, you're not allowed to be mad about it!"
"Potema." Elisif repeated, more forcefully. Potema stopped.
"Do you mean it?" She asked.
Potema grimaced. Nodded. "I do. You're…Elisif, I've seen your memories from when you were a child. You're family now, even if you don't think the same of me, and I—" Her voice cracked, "I can't lose any more family."
Dulurza looked rapidly between Elisif and where she presumably couldn't see Potema. "Is what I think is happening, happening?" She asked, quietly.
"I…I think so." Elisif replied, feeling slightly delirious herself. "Potema…thank you."
"Hn. Thank you for helping my nephew." Potema said. Then, finally meeting Elisif's eyes, "But damn you for making me care about you! And this is only a temporary measure until you get me a body of equal or greater power to you to possess. You got that? Equal or greater political power! Or, slightly less if she's pretty!"
"Understood." Elisif said, giggling despite herself. "Well then. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I need a bath, and a change of clothes." She looked down at herself once more, running a finger along the edge of the lace. "Though, I do think I will be keeping this…"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ 8˂
Hjar, Margret, and L'laarzen walked silently back out into the streets of Markarth. Hjar noted (between dabs of a cloth at her still-bleeding nose) that neither the Silver-Blood militia nor the city guard had been at all prepared for an enemy to sneak in while they were sleeping. Men on guard were few, and poorly positioned. Paranoid rather than lazy, but all too easily distracted by something as simple as a thrown rock.
I bet the Thalmor have better defences than this. Hjar thought. Hmph. Actually, the vain gits probably just set up a magical tripwire and called it a day.
The sky above the eastern horizon was beginning to brighten, and once they were in the 'no man's land' of the streets, they picked up the pace.
"So…" L'laarzen spoke up, surprising Hjar.
"Yes?"
"When were you planning to tell Khajiit that you assassinated the Jarl of Markarth?"
Margret shot Hjar a confused glance. Hjar winced.
"I, uh. I thought it was implied—"
"Never, then. Odd." L'laarzen was walking slightly ahead, making her face invisible. "You see, when Khajiit said she wished to see some Dwemer artifacts, she was doing something called 'telling the truth'."
Hjar grimaced, annoyed. Too bloody tired for this. "Look, L'laarzen, I'm sorry. But he was a monster. And I knew afterwards that I'd made a mistake, that's why I'm here—"
"You lied to L'laarzen." The Khajiit re-emphasised. "That is what I take issue with. Khajiit will go to great lengths for her friends, but you made her an accomplice to terrorism without so much as warning her. Then you did not see fit to apologise when we met again in Solitude, or even before bringing me into the city. Did it just slip your mind? Or did you truly expect for me to never notice?"
Hjar's eyes narrowed, temper rising. "Listen, I thought—"
L'laarzen reached the meeting point, and turned around, eyes hard. "You are the third person who has deceived L'laarzen to use her skills for murder. Third in as many weeks! Should she also check if Dulurza manipulated her as well?"
"Oh, rich talk coming from you!" Hjar snapped. "Think I care about your guilty conscience after all the crap you've put me through?"
L'laarzen blinked, confusion showing through her judgemental façade. "Pardon?"
"It's all well and good to get all upset over principles, but maybe you should put more thought into results." Hjar followed, squaring up in front of her. "Hey, when you murdered Grelod the Kind, did you expect any consequences for that?"
L'laarzen gasped, a quiet intake of breath as her ears flattened. "What—How—"
"Woman gets killed by a naked, furry monster in the middle of Riften. You're a Khajiit sneak with a strong moral compass who likes to do her heists naked, and you work out of Riften." Hjar shouldn't have felt so much satisfaction in laying down the observations, but she was in a terrible mood after the night and needed some kind of release. "I'm not an idiot, L'laarzen. Once I'd crossed off the other werewolves and myself, you were at the top of the list. Want to deny it now?"
"Khajiit…" L'laarzen looked away. "It was an impulse. L'laarzen was enraged, she didn't mean to—" her gaze snapped back, "And why should you care?"
Margret put a hand on Hjar's shoulder. "Ladies? Maybe we should keep our voices down—"
"Why should I care?" Hjar almost laughed. "Because they thought I did it, you self-centred cat! Why do you think me and Dulurza had to destroy the Dark Brotherhood? They were trying to kill me!"
L'laarzen's face went slack. "But—Khajiit never meant to—"
They were interrupted by a blur of shadow.
Xander appeared between them atop Shadowmere, with a new staff on his back and a worried look on his face.
"Okay, team, whatever this is, we should deal with it later." He hissed. "I think we have friends incoming~"
Now that Hjar listened, she could hear footsteps from higher up in the city. Oh, no. Thalmor.
"Shadowmere can probably carry three," Xander continued, "though I don't think she'll be happy about it. Uh, who wants to—"
"Go." L'laarzen said, stepping backwards. "Get them up, then meet me back outside the Hag's Cure."
Hjar didn't need telling twice. She accepted Xander's hand up into the saddle, gave her own to Margret, and nodded once her girlfriend's arms were around her waist. "Alright. Let's go."
The sounds of movement were getting closer, but Xander still took a moment to glance back at her nose, with a worried look. "I take it that means things went wrong?" He asked.
Hjar thought back over the events of the night, then let out an empty chuckle. "To be honest, it went about as well as I could have hoped."
"Huh." Xander turned forwards, and whispered "Go." To Shadowmere.
The world blurred around them, and Hjar prepared herself to avoid throwing up.
8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
Xander was no stranger to awkward silences. But what followed was the most awkward and silent awkward silence he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing.
Hjar and Margret were dropped off not far from the city, having previously claimed they could make their own way back to Druadach Redoubt. Their farewell was the curtest Xander had ever heard from them. After that, it was time to take L'laarzen back up to Winterhold.
She didn't say a single word on the way. Over five hours of dead silence, with her eyes drilling into his back as he rode. By the time they reached Windhelm, he felt like he'd been on the road for a week straight.
They slowed to more conventional speeds as they approached the city's stables. Xander had barely brought Shadowmere to a stop before L'laarzen lightly hopped off and began walking away.
"H—Hey!" He called after her, only to realise he had nothing to say.
L'laarzen paused. Then called back "When are you planning to tell her?"
He gulped. "Tell who what?"
"You are an intelligent man, Alexander, do not insult me by pretending otherwise."
She does have a point there. He sighed. "I am going to tell Hjar that the Brotherhood is still alive." He said. "Her and Dulurza. They both deserve to know."
"When?" L'laarzen didn't look back.
"As soon as I'm done with this contract."
"Hmm. And what will you do then?"
Xander opened his mouth. Closed it.
L'laarzen still didn't look at him. She simply said "Goodbye, Alexander." and began walking down the road to Riften.
Xander watched her go for a solid five minutes.
Then swore, violently and colourfully, before jumping down from Shadowmere and storming towards Windhelm's gates.
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Alexander Meteuse wasn't entirely sure when the…development had occurred. Presumably it was a gradual thing, the kind only noticed in hindsight. One night of studying did not make a wizard. One fight did not make a fighter.
Did one kill make a killer?
He stepped through the door and into the Dwarven ruin, and quickly took note of its occupants. Two bandits sat by a fire in the middle of the room, a third walking in from further away, all of whom immediately took notice of him.
"Evening." He called to them from behind Morokei. "This is your opportunity to leave in peace."
They both drew their weapons and rushed at him.
"Understandable. Yol." Shouting, too, was getting easier. The gout of flame washed out through the holes in his mask and flooded over the two bandits directly in front of him. They both screamed, and the sight of their flesh cooking was probably not a nice one, but Xander had already turned towards the third person attacking.
Horror was visible on the man's face, and his axe swing was panicked and lacking in power because of it. Xander swung with Dawnbreaker, and the magical blade carved straight through the head of the axe, shattering it entirely.
The man looked down at it, dumbfounded—
Then died, as the Daedric sword buried itself in his throat.
By the time Xander realised he could have given the bandit another opportunity to run, the poor man had already slipped backwards off his weapon and collapsed to the floor in a pool of his own blood.
Xander wiped Dawnbreaker on a corner of his robes, and kept walking.
When exactly did combat with grunts go from terrifying to…mundane?
When did killing become so easy?
He glanced down at his sword. You're the one who talked to me about us mortals constantly changing. What do we do if the change isn't something we like?
There was no response from Dawnbreaker. Really? Meridia? You not home?
A voice did appear in his head. The Night Mother's voice. I am overwhelming your psychic connection to the other planes. You are not skilled enough to differentiate our calls yet.
Xander frowned. Let my Daedra talk to me, please.
As you wish. But I wouldn't expect promptness. They are all scared of me.
The rest of the bandits encamped in Raldbthar had heard the commotion. He saw four or five running up the corridor towards him, and more further down.
Okay. Let's test this out… He pulled the Wabbajack from his back.
Of course, he knew what the artifact was. He had no idea how in Oblivion he'd got the thing, but it was—
Dulurza won it in a quest, didn't want it. Hello, little conduit!
Oh. Xander did a small double-take. You're…not scared of Sithis?
My good man. I'm Sheogorath.
Right.
As he was thinking, he knew what the Wabbajack was. Just wasn't so clear on what it did. So…
Xander pointed the staff at the closest bandit and fired it. A red bolt flew out, touched the man in the chest, and blossomed into a great ball of fire, hurling him backwards to crack against a wall.
Xander directed it at the next bandit, and this time the red bolt exploded into a maelstrom of ice. He wasn't 'killed' so much as 'torn apart'.
Current hypothesis: Random elemental explosion?
The next bandit he hit vanished, and a chicken appeared in her place.
…Okay. So no.
The next bandit he hit was suffused by a golden glow. The man looked down at himself, rolled his left arm in its socket, and looked back up.
"You fixed my shoulder!" He said, awed.
The next bolt hit him, and his body fell apart into golden septims.
At this point, the rest of the bandits were starting to clue into their helplessness, turning and fleeing deeper into the ruins.
Funny, in a way. Once you've got a powerful weapon and some basic combat competency, you can just go through the chaff like butter. Oh, crap, powerful weapon. Need to enchant Dulurza's axe when I get back.
"WHAT IS GOING ON OUT HERE!?" A man in much finer clothes than the others approached, wielding a fancy-looking war-hammer and an irate look.
"Ah. You." Xander swiped his sword across the gut of some other nameless bandit, turned, and pointed the Wabbajack at the another that was brave enough to challenge him.
The man vanished, to be replaced by a Dremora in FULL DAEDRIC ARMOUR—
It batted the Wabbajack away with a terrifying black greatsword, streaking flame, then swung straight for Xander's head.
"Feim!" and the attack passed right through him. Xander stumbled away, sheathing the Wabbajack to grip the Dawnbreaker in both hands and trying to remember which scrolls he had in his bracer and—
Hang on.
He squinted at the Dremora. "Do I recognise you?"
It paused. "Don't know. Your face is covered."
"Oh, right." Xander lifted up Morokei. "It's me. I think we met in—"
"Azura's Star!" The Dremora snapped its fingers, grinning. "That was it! How're you doing? Marakhnoz told me he met you in Shalidor's maze a couple weeks ago."
Alain Dufont looked between them, visibly bewildered. "What…what's happening?"
"Shut it." Xander told him, turning back to the Dremora. "Yeah, that did happen. You and, uh, Marakhnoz work together a lot?"
"Mmhmm. We're dating, so…"
"Oh, nice."
"Yeah." The Dremora glanced around. "What's happening here? I'm unbound, apparently, which is unusual. I just started going for souls."
"I was about to ask the same thing." Xander tapped his staff. "See, I got the Wabbajack the other day, and—"
"Ugh. Sheogorath." The Daedra used the word like a curse. "Absolute maniac. Yeah that thing can do basically anything but there's no way to control it. One of the more common abilities is pulling a random Daedra from Oblivion and letting it loose. I don't even work in the Shivering Isles, nobody knows how he does it."
"Right." Xander coughed. His etherealness wore off with a flash of light. "Sorry for the inconvenience. Do we have to fight now?"
"Nah, you're strong, I don't want to risk that. Only got a couple minutes then I should be back in Oblivion." The Dremora tilted his head at Alain. "Want me to kill this guy for you?"
Dufont whimpered.
Xander did consider it. It would be a lot easier. But…
He shook his head. "You wouldn't get anything out of it, sorry. Dark Brotherhood contract."
"Ah, Sithis-bound then? Thanks for the heads up, the Night Mother tops a soul trap. What about the others?"
"Nah, you can go for them."
"Aaight, 'preciate it. Be careful, alright? The Wabbajack can straight up kill you, it's happened before." The Dremora turned, gave a battle cry, and went charging after the remaining bandits.
Rrrright. No more using you as a standard combat weapon.
Xander properly affixed Sheogorath's staff to his back, put the mask back down over his face, and turned to Dufont.
"Please don't kill me." The man whimpered. He was backing away slowly, holding his war hammer in shaking hands. "I…listen, whoever sent you, there must be a mistake, I…"
He trailed off. Xander tilted his head. "Well? Keep going."
"R—Really?" Some hope lit up the man's face.
"Of course. I'm a scholar. It would be unbecoming to ignore new information. " Xander crossed his arms, mostly to stop them from shaking as well. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."
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Elisif rose from the now-lukewarm bathwater, grabbing one of the towels hung nearby and wiping her face dry.
As far as baths went, it had certainly been the most…interesting. Lying in a tub of water with her eyes closed, trying to remain calm and listen to her tenant's commentary as her senses were poked at, her emotions were toyed with, and her mind was…stretched? Or, squished?
The erection of the partition had been a strange experience, to say the least. But now she couldn't feel anything from it.
…Potema? She asked, hesitantly.
Still here. The wolf queen's voice emerged in her head. Just her voice. Not accompanied by echoes of Potema's emotions, not forming on Elisif's own lips, just…words in her head.
Everything working? Elisif checked, continuing to dry herself and trying not to grin like an idiot.
Believe so. Just doing some final checks now. Uuuh, mind if I take over for a few seconds?
Elisif just nodded. Then (entirely without her own consent), she rolled her neck around in a circle. Blinked thrice. Looked down, shifted the towel, and said "Hm. Nice."
POTEMA!
Sorry, sorry. Okay, no ghostly voice modulation, no limitations, no thoughtbleeding. All signs are good. Relinquishing control…now.
Elisif's posture sagged, just a little, as her muscles were put back in her control. R—right. This will take some getting used to.
I bet so, because this is the first time in history it's happened! Potema sounded positively euphoric. Woo! How does it feel to be the first mortal to bond symbiotically with a ghost?
…Exhausting.
Hah! Alright, go sleep. I'm going to replace your memories of me with more positive ones to make you like me better.
Funny.
It was a joke. There was little Elisif could do if it wasn't, but, she genuinely didn't doubt it. Her connection to Potema wasn't quite so claustrophobic any more, but her memories from the last few days remained.
She pulled on her nightclothes and stepped out, entering her bedroom…and there was Dulurza.
The Orc woman looked up, and Elisif couldn't help her fingers tensing involuntarily.
"I was, uh. Guarding the door." Dulurza tilted her head at it. "Didn't think you'd want anyone seeing whatever was going on in there, so…"
"Thank you." Elisif walked forwards, sitting on the side of her bed and looking down at her hands.
"Are you…" Dulurza didn't need to finish.
"I'm me." Elisif replied, flexing her fingers. "Just…me." And she knew what saying that meant.
She looked up at Dulurza. "Do you want to do this now?"
Dulurza shifted, visibly uncomfortable. "I'd like to. But if you're safe, I don't mind putting it off until—"
"No, I think we've put this off enough." Elisif cut across. She moved (in a very undignified way) across her bed, sitting back against the headboard. "Come and sit down, the door's locked."
Dulurza grunted and complied, moving over to perch on the edge of the bed about as far away from Elisif as she could get. She was out of her armour, at least. That would have only made the tension worse.
Potema, can you…
I can tune out outside stimuli. Good luck.
Elisif looked at Dulurza and paused, suddenly finding she had no idea what to say. "I…do you want to start?"
Dulurza looked at Elisif and paused, suddenly finding she had no idea what to say. Oh, come on, girl. You've run this through in your head a hundred times in the last few days.
At the end, she just decided to come out with it.
"You don't trust me." She stated. "And I want to understand why, so I can fix it."
"Why?" Elisif almost snorted. "Dulurza, you planned to kill me."
"But I didn't." Dulurza reminded her, trying her hardest not to sound petulant. "I warned you, I fought my sister for you, I hunted down my own village for you. That should be enough to—"
"Should be?" Elisif cut across her, hotly. "What, am I not merciful enough for you? Or too stupid?"
"No!" Dulurza rose frantically to her feet, damnit remember what Xander said, don't phrase it as her fault— "I just…need to understand."
Elisif didn't say anything, and Dulurza sat down. Closer this time.
"I wanted to kill you." She admitted, "Well. Wanted to kill 'the Jarl of Solitude'. I didn't know you. And the more I learned about you, the harder it was to view you as an enemy. You're strong, and beautiful, and kind, and—" Focus, Girl— "I could never hurt you. And I don't want to hurt my family either, but…I'm yours, now." She swallowed. "You have every right to hate me. But I want you not to. So if there's something I can do so you don't, I want to know, so I can do it. If there's a certain amount of time I have to wait, I want to know so I can wait it. And if you—" her voice wavered, she gulped and continued, "if you'll always hate me, I'm still yours. But please let me know now."
She finally looked across at Elisif. Her Jarl was staring at her, mouth half-open.
"You think I hate you?" Elisif whispered.
"It hurts you to be around me." And that was probably the worst part, the part Dulurza hated but couldn't help but notice. "Every time I'm in the room with you, you get this…tension."
"I don't—" Elisif started, but faltered upon looking into Dulurza's eyes. "I don't hate you." She said, softly.
"But you don't trust me either." Dulurza finished, turning away—
"No!" Elisif's hand landed on her shoulder, making her stiffen. "Or, yes, but not—I don't mean—"
The Jarl breathed in and out, heavily, and took her arm back. "Dulurza…I've told you about Torryg. Did I ever tell you that that marriage was arranged?"
Dulurza shook her head. "Nords do that?"
"Sometimes." Elisif looked down, curling her arms around her knees. "When we first met, I was twelve, and he was eighteen. Obviously, we weren't married until I was of age, but ever since that first day when I was a child…he was wonderful. He was patient, and wise, and kind, and…caring. He made me feel safe. And then I watched him get blasted across the room and I—"
She winced and closed her eyes. Dulurza moved closer without even thinking about it, barely stopping short of reaching out to her.
"When Torryg died, my whole world fell apart." Elisif continued after a few seconds. "He was my rock, and without him I was…floundering. For months I sat in this pointlessly extravagant palace, watching the Empire fight a war, delegating all of my responsibilities because I couldn't bear the thought of handling them myself. And then you arrived."
She looked up and met Dulurza's eyes. "It wasn't deliberate. I couldn't tell you when it started. But by the time you took me out of the city and into that glade, I trusted you more than I trusted anyone else in my life. Maybe even more than Torryg. I didn't even realise I'd done it until your sister arrived, and…everything fell apart again.
I never thought you'd kill me, Dulurza. The moment I took the time to think once we were back in the city, I knew I could still trust you. That's why Potema's little tests didn't change my mind, because…I wasn't afraid of you turning against me. Upset that you hadn't told me earlier, yes, but not afraid of you."
Elisif gulped. "I was afraid of how much I could trust you. Afraid of relying on anyone that much again. When your sister had me by the throat, it was like I was back in the throne room, watching Ulfric put a blade through my husband's heart. I was afraid of caring about you as much as I cared about Torryg, because…because I might lose you too. So I was stupid. I tried to push you away."
Dulurza looked down, processing the words. "You're not stupid. You just didn't want to get hurt again."
"It's stupid if it hurts you instead." Elisif retorted. "I have no right to cause my people pain by lying to myself. Especially not you. Dulurza…you've done so much for me. Even once you gave up on your mission, even when I was being awful to you, and you never once asked for a reward. Why?"
"Because I—" The words caught in Dulurza's throat. Half of her was desperate to get them out, the other half much too terrified to.
"Because you…I…Because you're my Jarl." Was what she settled on. Because it was true, if not everything.
Elisif stared at her for a long time. Then leaned forwards, clasping her hands over Dulurza's.
"Do you promise not to die?" She asked, staring intently. "Do you promise that I won't lose you too, Dulurza?"
It was an absurd thing to ask. Dulurza was a warrior. When two people went into a fight, most often one went away dead, and the whole point was to put her own life in front of Elisif's, and—
"I promise." Dulurza said. And she meant that too.
Elisif breathed out, slowly. Breathed in again. And smiled. "Then I trust you. Thane."
Their hands were touching. Their hands were touching, and their faces were extremely close, Dulurza could feel Elisif's breath on her face.
She hovered there for a moment, not knowing what to do…
Then pulled away, letting go of Elisif's hands and standing.
"You should get to sleep." She found herself saying, almost automatically. "Now Potema's dealt with, we need to handle everything else."
"…Ah, yes. The people need their Jarl back." Elisif looked a little flustered, but nodded, taking hold of her bedsheets. "You should get some rest as well. Whatever comes up tomorrow, we'll handle it together."
"Aye." Dulurza nodded, making for the door. She paused with her hand on the latch, looking back.
There was a lot she could have said. But at the end, she just went with:
"Goodnight, Elisif."
"Goodnight, Dulurza."
With that, Dulurza left, clicking the door shut behind her.
Both of them would go on to have the best night's sleep they'd had in weeks.
Hoooooooooo boy.
Imma be honest, a lot of this chapter came together last minute. I wasn't sure when Hjar was going to confront L'laarzen until just this chapter, and I wasn't sure exactly what Elisif was going to say until I was writing the conversation. Usually like to have a better plan than that, but hey. Question is, did it work?
Dulurza and Elisif have finally (a quarter of a million blooming words in) resolved the issue established by Dulurza's very first line. I apologise for the rampant baiting that happened throughout. I couldn't help it.
Meanwhile, with the other three, everything...kind of sucks! Xander is coming to grips with the fact that assassination is...Assassination. While Hjar and Dulurza are stood on bridges with a torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Proverbial bridges. With proverbial torches and-yeah, you get it.
The following chapter will be a mid-arc interlude, so get ready for some more alternate viewpoints.
Next Time: Someone listens in, someone gets drunk, and someone prepares for a visitor.