A Spectrum of Violence
"Oi! Heartless!"
Curuzun the Uncontainable turned away from the view of the valley, and looked back at whatever had called his name.
A woman was stood across from him, at the other end of Sundered Towers. Short red hair. Imperial garb. Not a Reachwoman. Danger.
"Are you the leader of this camp?" The woman shouted, once she had his attention.
"I am." He replied. He reached to his waist, and drew his blade, Red Eagle's Fury. "Why do you trespass here?"
The woman grinned. Behind her, a great claw clamped onto the top of the tower, and the head of an enormous beast rose over the wall.
"You're under new management." She said, as the werewolf howled.
Mirabelle stomped up the staircase to the Archmage's quarters in something of a huff.
Xander vanishing, barely stopping to let her know ahead of time? Acceptable. Better than him vanishing without telling her. And she couldn't blame him for not being around when the Dragonborn arrived, he couldn't have known.
But apparently, now he was back. 'Apparently' because she had only learned he was back when a student had brought it up to her. Onmund had (upon being interrogated) explained that he'd seen Xander approach earlier that day, speak to a cat, and enter the Hall of Attainment.
Mirabelle would have gone there, only Onmund said Brelyna said J'zargo said Nirya had seen him leave and head back for the Hall of the Elements. Only Xander wasn't in the Hall of the Elements, or in the Arcaneum, which left…
"Matrix one, 440, matrix two, 443, applying stabilising agent. Azura, you sure this soul will do? …Alright…"
The Archmage was stood at his enchanting table, which seemed to be a lot bigger than Mirabelle remembered, with additional table-space attached and filled with books, scrolls and crystals. The entire thing was lit up like a small star, different patterns glowing different colours or intensities. Floating above the table was a very large, very mean looking axe, and floating behind that was Azura's Star, turning slowly. He had the staff of Magnus in one hand.
"Good to see you're back in one piece." Mirabelle said, as passive-aggressively as she could.
"Hey Mirabelle." Xander replied, not looking back. And then said nothing else.
She waited a few seconds to check if he was serious, then growled to herself.
Right. Let's see if something else can catch his attention…
"You know, the Dragonborn was here while you were out." She said, casually.
"Uh-huh." Xander replied, reaching out and tweaking one of the glowing symbols.
"He was looking for an Elder Scroll."
"Cool."
Mirabelle blinked. Wait, that didn't work? "Xander? Dragonborn? Elder Scroll?"
He paused, fingers hovering in the air for a moment.
"Mirabelle." He said. "In case it wasn't clear, I am desperately trying to distract myself from a lot of real-world problems right now. Could you please hold onto that thought for maybe ten minutes?"
And then he went back to enchanting.
Mirabelle stood in shock for almost a full minute just processing the sheer audacity of the statement.
She had half a mind to walk up, remove the axe, and demand that he talk to her properly…but then she remembered that the last thing that Xander had done before coming here was Speak To Deadly Assassins.
So she went and brewed a pot of tea, sat down, and waited.
Eight minutes later, every light on the enchantment table flashed in unison, then went dim.
Xander plucked the axe out of mid-air, twirled it, staggered briefly under its weight, then winced as Azura's Star clattered to the table, whispering "Sorry, sorry—" at the gem placatingly. Then he scowled at it, and protested "Oh, come on. Tell me this isn't the greatest work you've ever been used for." A pause, "Okay, greatest work that wasn't done by primordial god-spirits, or elven craftsmen who were centuries old." Another pause, then "I'll take it."
He turned and grinned at Mirabelle, hefting the weapon. "Look at this! Three guesses who just broke the rule of 'one enchantment per weapon', and the first two don't…"
He saw her expression and trailed off, then winced.
She raised an eyebrow.
He carefully lowered the axe onto a nearby pedestal, then moved over, sitting across from her on the chair.
"I…haven't been very good to you, have I?" He started.
Mirabelle blinked. It was a much more self-aware statement than she'd expected to come out of his mouth. "Well…how do you mean?"
"It has come to my attention," Xander continued, clearly picking his words with serious care, "that I have an unfortunate tendency to take advantage of my friends. We made that deal where I act as the figurehead and you do all the work, and I just sort of went 'that's that' and skipped merrily on my way." His eyes narrowed. "And that's not how friendships work. They're not the same thing as deals, they change and evolve as you learn more about each other. And you can't just think about how to optimise your time so you get the most help for the least input, you have to go the extra league. And you can't just expect to win 'friend points' by doing favours, you have to actually care, and—"
He looked up at her, took in her expression (which she imagined was mostly bewildered), and looked down again.
"And this is probably all absurdly obvious stuff that most functional humans know. Sorry. I had a lot of 'deals' growing up and not a lot of friends. Point is, I've been treating you like an NPC."
"Pardon?" Mirabelle prompted.
"NPC. 'Not Particularly Conscious'." Xander coughed. "It's a term Julius came up with and it sort of caught on in the family. We use it for people you don't really have to treat as a thinking agent, they just sort of…Do a given thing when prompted. I've been viewing you as 'the lady who runs my college if I give her money and talk to people for her'. But I should have been viewing you as my friend." His eyes flicked back up to hers. "Uh. If, that's, what you want me to do."
Mirabelle stared. Once again, she found she had no idea what to do with this man. On the one hand, the things he'd just admitted to thinking about her were…outrageously offensive. Treating her like she wasn't even thinking was the sort of behaviour she'd want to slap someone for.
On the other hand, he had come to the realisation that it was a problem on his own. And he clearly felt really, really bad about it. And…
"Yes, Xander, I would like for us to be friends." She said, quickly qualifying it with "Provided you do know what that actually means. But you at least seem to understand what friendship isn't, which is a start. That was extremely heartfelt."
"Thank you, I'm dying of embarrassment." He said, calmly.
"You're welcome. I…" She looked down at the cup of (now cold) tea in her hands. "Hmm."
"Hmm?" He prompted.
"Sorry, I just…'NPC'." She chuckled. "That was an incredibly blunt way of phrasing it. But now that I think about it, I'm wondering how many people I know are doing exactly the same thing when they think of me."
"A lot of people do it without realising." Xander explained. "People are complicated, it's a lot of effort to try and model them accurately."
Mirabelle hummed. "Indeed. Savos Aren was certainly aware of it. He left me as much responsibility as you do, and didn't confide in me half as much."
"Savos Aren was awesome." Xander protested.
"Yes, but he was a bit of a prick." She smiled. "In truth, I much prefer working with you."
"O—Oh." Xander blinked, flushing. "So…does that mean you accept my apology? Are we good?"
"We are." Mirabelle said, and found that she believed it. "Though we do have other things to discuss."
"Point. You probably want to know about the axe and I need to know about whatever you said the Dragonborn was doing." Xander paused, and winced again. "But, after that, I am going to have to leave again. Fairly soon."
"Of course you are." Mirabelle rolled her eyes. "Saving the world again?"
"Not quite." Xander leaned in, conspiratorially. "I've found out a way to deal with the Dark Brotherhood."
"Okay, so F major, 'we drink to our youth, to the days—days—' is that D flat minor? 'To the days come and—' D flat major, got it, 'days come and gone, for the age of aggression—' and then we're up to E flat major, and then it goes down to…"
"Oi! Girl!"
Cassia Meteuse looked up from her lute, annoyed, and squinted against the sunlight.
The wooden palisade in front of her had quite a few confused looking green people stood on top of it. One of them was a woman (she thought), and that was the one that had addressed her.
"Are you Borgakh?" Cassia shouted up at her.
"N—No! What are you —"
"Well then go get her!" Cassia rolled her eyes, and went back to her lute.
She'd learned to play it back in high school. Well, 'learned to play', she'd gotten bored of the lessons a lot sooner than her parents would have liked. But she could play the scales and chords of all the different keys, and that was the important part, because most of the songs the bards sung only used four of the things anyway.
"So it ends on the B flat major, so. 'Dun dun dun dun, dun dun, dun dun age of aggression is just about done', and then I think it doesn't just repeat? Because the next bit is like—"
"Hey! You! You wanted me?"
Cassia scowled, and looked up again. "Are you Borgakh?" She asked the other lady that had shown up.
Sure, they'd described the important person, but—Well. She couldn't say all the Orcs looked the same. That was racist. But they did.
"I am!" The Orc shouted back down at her.
"Oh. Great then!" Cassia stood up and brushed her robes down, then squinted again. "Huh. You really aren't as pretty as your sister."
The person-who-claimed-she-was-Borgakh made a flabbergasted face, and then turned to one of the Orcs next to her. "Yamarz, who is this sassy…lost child?"
"Oi!" Cassia protested, huffing and crossing her arms. "Really? You think I got lost and made my way to the outskirts of an Orsimer army?"
She was, in fact, relaxing in a nice patch of grass outside the walls of the expanded Mor Khazgur stronghold. There were a frankly absurd number of greenskins currently staring at her, and she was starting to feel a bit nervous—
Can't think that.
What? Why not?
You can't call them 'greenskins'.
It's accurate!
Yeah but you don't call the Altmer 'yellowskins', do you?
Mum does, sometimes. When she's drunk.
Are we mum? No. Check yourself.
"My name is Cassia Meteuse!" She shouted, interrupting her internal dialogue before it could get out of hand. "I'm here as an envoy of the city of Solitude and it's Jarl, Elisif the Fair!"
That got a reaction. A wave of muttering went along the Orcs she could see poking their heads over the battlements, and their general expression went from confused to outright hostile.
Borgakh herself grinned. She vaulted over the wooden barricade, dropping a good ten feet before landing on the grass in a kneel.
"I've heard it's a lot easier on the knees to roll…" Cassia muttered, as Borgakh rose to her feet.
"So they sent you alone to meet the savages, did they?" The warrior asked. "Bold of them. Or are you just expendable?"
"I can handle myself." Cassia replied, rubbing her thumbs across her knuckles and resisting the urge to manifest flames there. She wasn't worried about protecting herself; she had more than enough magicka to blanket the area in flames and make a break for it, if things went south.
Then again, things might not go so smoothly regarding that hammer…Cassia's eyes narrowed slightly when they saw Volendrung peeking out over Borgakh's shoulder. Octavia said it buffs the wielders physical capacities and can overcome magic. I don't want to throw a fireball at this lady if she might bat the thing back at me.
"Random question, but does Malacath talk to you through that thing?" She checked.
Borgakh frowned, one hand reaching back to grasp the hammer. "No. What, should he?"
"Eh, I dunno. Maybe it's my brother that's weird."
"I—" Borgakh huffed. "Alright, enough. You said you're an envoy, so what are you here to say? Is Solitude offering its surrender?"
Cassia opened her mouth, then paused. "What would you actually do if it did?"
Boragkh blinked, then looked down. "Huh. Don't actually know."
"Hehe. No, not a chance." Cassia coughed, and straightened her posture. "First, obligatory machismo horse manure. Solitude would like to give you the chance to take your orichalcum-clad behinds and sod back off into the hills you came from, so we don't have to whoop them there ourselves."
"Really?" Borgakh sounded as unimpressed with the declaration as Cassia felt making it. "They don't actually think we're going to accept that, right? After all the effort we put into coming here?"
"Right?" Cassia exclaimed, grinning. "Just once in history I want to see an army go 'oh, wow, that threat sounds serious guys, we might want to lay off' and just leave."
"Ywah, and just call off the battle and go back home? Hah! Ah…but no."
"Didn't think so. Okay, actually important thing." Cassia reached to the back of her belt, stuck her tongue out, and wriggled around a lot. This put a very confused look on Borgakh's face, but Cassia clarified "This next message is from your sister."
Immedaitely, Borgakh's expression soured. "What on Mundus does Dulurza have to say to me?"
"This." And Cassia pulled the Orcish handaxe free from her belt, and hurled it overhand into the grass at Borgakh's feet.
Everything went silent. Cassia hadn't realised that the Orcs had all been talking to themselves until they all very suddenly stopped, leaving no sound except for the wind blowing through the leaves.
"Do you know what that means, girl?" Borgakh asked, lowly.
"I'd have to be a very stupid messenger not to." Cassia replied. Apparently, the Nords did something similar.
"She wants to fight me." Borgakh said, somewhat pointlessly. "One to one. What in Oblivion is her game?"
"I would imagine its that if she wins she gets the hammer." Cassia said, shrugging her shoulders. "Seems to me like a much less bloody way to handle things."
At first, she'd thought Dulurza's suggestion was insane, but the Orc had explained her reasoning. There was no official 'whosoever defeats Malacath's champion becomes Malacath's champion in turn' type deal. But if Dulurza won a duel against Borgakh, it proved she was a better warrior. And the dark lord might just rock up and announce that Dulurza was in charge now, or that Borgakh was unworthy. Even without that, with their champion brought low, the effect on the Orcs' morale would be crippling.
Of course, this was all assuming Dulurza won.
"What kind of trick is this?" Borgakh demanded. "Dulurza can't possibly stand up to me. Do you mean to lure me out so you can kill me?"
I think it's the Daedric artefact more than you yourself that we're worried about…
"No tricks." Cassia said, spreading her arms. "We'll let you pick the location; set whatever precautions you want. Would you rather this be unarmed, equalised weapons—"
"I do not fight without Volendrung." Borgakh warned.
"All magical equipment allowed? Very well." Cassia managed to hide her smile. "All we ask is for three people to be permitted to accompany Dulurza in, witness the duel, and leave without being attacked."
"You want to sabotage the fight." Borgakh immediately assumed.
"If we try, you'll have every right to kill us." Cassia pointed out. And when that didn't seem to sway the Orc, she dropped other boot: "Jarl Elisif wishes to watch the fight in person."
And she's an absolute bloody nutjob for it. Sweet merciful Julianos, I knew being court wizard would be stressful, but I didn't know my Jarl would be literally suicidal.
The onlookers exploded into muttering again.
Borgakh just grinned, and Cassia didn't have to guess at what she was thinking.
"I accept my sister's challenge!" She called, loud enough for everyone to hear. "We will hold the match here, in Mor Khazgur. Let all the tribes of Skyrim see who the greater warrior is! You may come with your retinue; we will not harm a hair on their head. But if you try anything, we will fall upon you like a pack of wolves."
"Agreed." Cassia felt her pulse quicken. Should not be getting so excited by all this… "When?"
"I see no reason to delay. We hold the match tomorrow, at noon. Our forces will not attack until after the duel is concluded."
"Sounds good to me. I'll see you then." Cassia turned to leave, but was stopped by Borgakh shouting one last thing.
"You know how a challenge of this kind works, don't you girl? This fight is to the death."
"It is." Cassia said, not looking back. "Unless the winner chooses mercy."
"L'laarzen! Your weird friend is here, and he's brought another weird friend!"
L'laarzen looked up, and almost regretted telling Xander about the secret entrance to the Thieves' Guild.
The young mage was walking through the Cistern with a confidence she knew he did not feel, because his expression faltered the moment he met her eyes. Still, his back was straight and he didn't look away from her, despite the consternation on his face.
"Alexander." She greeted, coolly.
"L'laarzen." He replied. "Mind if we talk?"
She glanced over his shoulder. Standing near the graveyard entrance was a…man in a jester outfit. Apparently. The short stranger was visibly impatient, one foot tapping persistently on the floor, and he gave her a cheery wave.
"Is your…friend coming with us?" She asked.
Xander pointedly didn't look behind himself. "No, absolutely not. Cicero is…well, he's part of what I want to talk about. Privately, if possible."
L'laarzen wasn't stupid. She sighed, jerked her head, and led him into her chambers.
"I take it this 'Cicero' is one of them?" She asked, once the door was closed.
Xander nodded, standing awkwardly with his back to one wall. "An assassin. Yes. Don't worry, he's not here for anyone in Riften." He sucked in a breath. "L'laarzen, I'm sorry. Again. For hiding things from you, for involving you in things you weren't comfortable with. It was wrong, on a lot of levels."
The right words, at least. But they meant nothing if he didn't mean them. "Did you kill Alain Dufont?" She asked, calmly.
Xander looked to the floor. "I did."
Damn it, Alexander… "Then you are now a man who will kill for profit." She said, pain welling up in her gut. "Khajiit hopes that whatever you gained from it was—"
"Okay, if you could stop taking taking that tone with me, I'd appreciate it." Xander snapped, interrupting her.
L'laarzen's mouth hung open in surprise. He was meeting her gaze again, and his eyes were hard. "Pardon?"
"I didn't do it for the money." He corrected. "I didn't even do it for my soul. I did it because it was the right thing to do."
"So you say." She retorted, hotly. "Believing that does not make it true, and it being true does not make it right. Are you truly willing to bring death upon someone who has done you no harm on moral grounds? To be judge, jury, and executioner?"
"Yeah, cos that's how decision making works." He clarified, visibly annoyed. "I'm not a religious person, L'laarzen, I don't hold things sacred. Death is awful, when taken in isolation. I don't want it happening to me, or to anyone I care about, if I could stop everyone in Mundus from dying I would. Matter of fact, if I do make godhood, that's step one. But it does happen, a lot. And sometimes it's necessary, and sometimes it's even right. If I can think of a better option, that's great, but if I can't, then refusing to do it because it would make me feel bad makes me a coward."
He crossed his arms, working his jaw. "I did get those nightmares. Look, we can debate whether I'm assigning the right weights to my priorities, and you can judge my poor decision making, but if you still respect me? Don't criticise me for doing what I thought was right."
L'laarzen scrutinised Xander's face, really taking the time to focus on it. There were bags under his eyes, and his muscles were tense. But his gaze was certain.
"You have grown up, Alexander." She determined. "For better or for worse."
"I suppose we'll find out which fairly soon. Either way, took me long enough." He cracked a small smile, but it quickly fell. "I need your help."
"You may be able to convince yourself that the Brotherhood's targets are justified, but that does not extend to L'laarzen." She warned him.
"Not what I want." He admitted, "But in the interest of not lying to you anymore, it is a bloody job."
"Explain." She said, curtly.
He did so. "I worked things out with the Night Mother. She certainly has a…strange way of viewing the world. I'm not even sure if she can be viewed as sentient, or…point is, she doesn't care about the Brotherhood. So I'm ending it. Properly."
"The Dark Brotherhood." L'laarzen clarified. "That you are a part of."
"Technically." Xander shrugged. "I have three evil murderers living in my College and putting my students in danger. I have the all-clear from their god, so they need to die. I suppose arresting them is also an option, but I doubt any fair hold in Skyrim would do anything besides execute them, so we may as well minimise the risk of them escaping. I didn't want to fight them all at once, and there's a very short list of people I trust to fight them with me. You're on it."
"Which is why you have brought your jester here." L'laarzen glanced at the door. "Do you want us to attack him now?"
"We could, but he's really good. I don't want to risk him killing any of your guildmates in the chaos or fleeing into the sewers." Xander, too, turned to the door. "We're going to investigate a contract, in Whiterun. I've told him that I've come to you for additional information on the guy we're looking for. If you agree to help, I want to come up with some excuse for you to come with us. Other than that, I wanted your advice on how to deal with him, with as little risk as possible." He coughed. "I heard what you said, in Markarth, about the, uh. Point is you seem to know what you're doing."
He started pacing, which was difficult because there wasn't much floorspace for it. "After we deal with Cicero, we go to Solitude and explain the situation. Pick up Dulurza, ideally Octavia as well if we can grab her. I'd go for Hjar too, but I understand she's a little busy in Markarth. I don't expect that the other two assassins will buy any excuses I give for Cicero dying, they barely trust me as it is. So I just want to bring everyone I know can fight back to Winterhold and kill them both there."
L'laarzen's heart ached, to see him talking about such a grisly matter so blatantly. Poor young man…Is it my fault that he must make these decisions? Did I enable him by joining him into Mzulft, or at the shrine to Azura? Would he have been a better man if I had advised him to run away? Would he have been happier?
She didn't think she could answer affirmatively to either. And looking at Alexander Meteuse, she suspected that he would have been on this path with or without her.
"Sit down. I'll make some tea." L'laarzen gestured to her table, and moved over to the kettle in the corner. "There is much we must clarify before we leave this room. I need to know everything you know about the assassins. Their names, races, appearances, habits, fighting styles, intelligence, level of competence. What you think they think about you. Then I will actually see if I know who your contract is looking for, and I will explain the variety of ways we might go about this."
"Got it. I'll do my best." Xander sat down, then paused. "Does…that mean you're going to help me?"
She directed a small wave of fire magic from her palm at the bottom of the kettle, then turned back to him. The smile she gave was a genuine one. "L'laarzen was always willing to help you, friend. Please forgive her if she was too cold in trying to do so."
She glanced away, the smile waning. "However, Khajiit must warn you…she is exceptional at violence, yes. But she does not like the person she becomes in order to do it. Well, perhaps that is entitled of her to say, it's not like there is a different cat scratching around in her brain. But L'laarzen prefers to hide that part of herself. She…I don't want you to be afraid of me."
"Hey." Xander said, drawing her attention back to him. "I trust you. And, also, Cicero murdered and plucked a sparrow for fun on the way here, so I don't think you could be any worse than what I'm already dealing with."
"In that case…" the kettle boiled. L'laarzen began to pour. "Let us plan our murder, shall we?"
Red Eagle's Fury did not want to fit into the pedestal slot. Oh, it was clearly supposed to go there, but it was just as clearly not in the mood to, and Hjar had to spend over a minute trying to jam the thing into the appropriate slot while Margret and Kiae tried not to laugh at her.
Eventually, however, the rusted old Nordic blade clunked down into the pillar. There was a rumbling noise, and ahead of them, a section of the stone wall slid down into the floor, exposing the cave within.
"Well, guess this is the right place…" Hjar looked back at Kaie, who had walked off a few steps and leaned against a wall. "You not coming?"
Kaie snorted. "Remember all the stories where the people who tried this died? No thank you. If you're not out in six hours I'm taking the sword and leaving."
"What did I do to inspire such loyalty in my subjects…" Hjar rolled her eyes and nodded to Margret, who nodded back. "Well, you'd better hope it doesn't take us that long. I've told the others that if I don't come back, they need to kill you."
"Yeah, yeah." Kaie didn't look concerned, waving a hand. "Have fun, don't talk to strangers."
With that, Hjar and Margret stepped through the opening.
"Did you actually warn the Forsworn to kill her?" Margret whispered, once they were through.
"Nope." Hjar whispered back. "Only just thought of it."
"What if she pulls the sword out and seals us in here?"
"Then we die."
"Sweet merciful Divines…"
The cavern they walked into was expansive. Tall, wide, ornate, and somehow still lit by torches after all these centuries. Seriously, how? Even if it had Draugr waking up and tending to the tomb, they didn't have unlimited pitch or oil.
On the subject of Draugr, there was a large, wrought iron coffin up at the back end of the tomb.
Hjar hadn't made it halfway up the stairs before there was a loud resounding crack, and the lid of that coffin was hurled up and off, landing on the floor nearby.
Oh dear.
"Flank around?" Hjar offered, drawing her mace. Margret nodded and slipped off behind a pillar, as Hjar continued up towards the coffin.
A bony hand emerged from the coffin and clamped onto the side. It was followed by a horned helmet, and then the rest of a sinewy, skeletal body.
The corpse of Red Eagle was clad in dented scraps of Nordic armour, and unsheathed a sword from its waist. There was a gaping hole in its chest where its heart should be.
"So…" Hjar muttered, mostly to herself. "Do you have to put that lid back on the coffin when you go back to bed, because that sounds really inconvenient…"
"Who dares disturb my ancient tomb?" Demanded the Draugr. "Are you another who wishes to claim my legacy?"
"Oblivion no." Hjar rolled her eyes. "I'm only here to prove my worth to some idiots. I want nothing to do with your legacy."
Red Eagle tilted its head. "…What?" It said.
Oh. Actual dialogue. "I mean I don't want to be seen as the next 'you'." She clarified. "Why should I want the legacy of a failure?"
"FAILURE?" Red Eagle's eyes flashed brighter, and he pointed his sword at her, snarling "I am the greatest king the Reach has ever known! I am the one who defended us from outside rule! I—"
"Failed." Hjar cut across him. "I've heard the stories. Your fort was under siege from a force you could never hope to defeat, and what did you do? You charged out alone to fight them. Answer me this, 'Red Eagle', what did you hope to achieve?"
"Victory. What else?"
"Against thousands?" Hjar shook her head. "Liar. You knew you could never defeat them all. So why?"
The tip of the Draugr's sword lowered.
"…That I might die with honour." It said, eventually. "That I would not be skewered to death while hiding in a cave. That I would not have to live under the injustice of Imperial rule!"
"An honourable death." Hjar tested the words, and found them bitter. "You were a king. And yet you abandoned your people so that your story could have a satisfying ending? Selfishness, plain and simple."
"I did not do it for myself alone!" Red Eagle refuted, swiping his sword to one side. "I sought to be an inspiration for my people! A martyr, a figure for them to rise behind!"
"Mmhmm. And you want to know how that story ended?" Hjar spread her arms. "You became a legend, alright. A legend extinguished. Your people surrendered the moment you died. Centuries have passed since that night, and your people are still hiding in the wilds, unable to worship their own gods or live in their own cities." She snorted. "But 'not to worry', they think. 'For the great Red Eagle will return one day to save us from our oppressors'. And here you are. A Draugr in a tomb, unwilling to leave, killing anyone who comes for you."
Red Eagle looked down at himself. He turned one of his hands about, inspecting his hooked fingers and parchment-like skin.
"…The situation was hopeless." He croaked. "What would you have had me do?"
"Retreat." Hjar offered. "Flee into the night, abandon the fort and launch a guerrilla war. Attempt to ambush the enemy army at a time of your choosing. Parley, and negotiate terms. Surrender completely, that you might rise again and strike back at a later time. Compromise. Accept a partial victory, rather than claim a pyrrhic one. Use your brain, if the Hagravens left you one."
She took a hesitant step forwards. She could see Margret behind a nearby pillar looking on in confusion, and shot her girlfriend a pacifying glance.
"I know what it's like to lash out in rage, because you feel like you don't have any better options." Hjar continued. "I have butchered dozens and changed nothing, because I didn't even consider what the consequences might be. Violence that doesn't achieve a goal is meaningless. You are a king. You must be better than that."
After a few seconds, Red Eagle looked back up at her. "You are the chosen of Molag Bal and Hircine." He rasped. "Do you intend to lead the people of the Reach?"
"No." Hjar shook her head. "I intend to save them."
There was a long silence. Then the Draugr turned away, stabbing the point of his sword into the ground and resting upon it. "I stand here and await a worthy successor." He said. "I challenge those who come here to single combat, and the one that strikes me down shall wield my renewed sword and take back their homeland. So far, none have been successful. I had hoped that one who could defeat me could succeed where I failed…but perhaps that thinking is flawed."
He turned back to her, leaving his sword stuck in the ground. "Perhaps the Reach does not need a hero who can do what I could not. Perhaps it needs a hero who can do what I would not. What is your name, Reachwoman?"
"Hjarnagredda." She answered. "Daughter of Greta."
"I am Faolan. Son of prophesy. It was said that I was destined to bring freedom and unity to the Reach. When exactly I lost sight of that goal, I am not sure…" Red Eagle extended a hand. "But now, I entrust that destiny to you."
By the Old Gods, did I really just…
Hjar reached out, and shook the hand. The cave itself shook around them, dust and pebbles falling from the ceiling.
And when that ended, all that could be heard was the sound of clapping from the cave entrance.
"Well, well, well." Said a gruff man's voice. "Pretty speech. For a pair of monsters."
My unhealthy addiction to cliffhangers is only surpassed by my unhealthy addiction to writing this in the first place. Who's this mysterious new arrival? Place your bets in the reviews!
Xander spends the majority of this chapter apologising for things, and the rest refusing to apologise for other things. Most of what I could say here about that was already said in the chapter. He's still a dork, but he's got a backbone.
Meanwhile Cassia is setting up the finale I imagine plenty of you expected. Prepare yourselves for...I guess Khazgurbowl? Larakbowl? They don't really have a surname so I can't do the thing.
And yes, I did actually mess around on piano to come up with the chords Cassia is using for Authenticity(TM). Not in the original key, probably, but whatever. Incidentally, did you know that the notes for 'just about done' in Age of Aggression match the repeating bit of The Road Most Travelled, from Morrowind and the Dragonborn DLC? No idea if it was deliberate, just a funny thing to learn.
Next Time: Someone argues with their sister, someone goes to a pub, and someone counts down from eleven.