Trigger warning: More F-bombs and prejudice and anti-immigrant stuff

Land of Confusion, p3

Damnit. Someone really wants that damn elf dead. Five down and in recovery from all the attempts on his life. Fucking poisoners. Arrows, darts, daggers, and one from an amateur who killed a dozen people. Only Sadri's anti-poison earring, his wife's gift, saved his life. Too bad Ralf couldn't control his hunger and grabbed a piece of sauced baked carrot. The court mage's anti-poison tokens reduced instant death to days of cramps and nausea even under the care of a Gray Guard healer.

They tell me they've got agents in Cyrodiil trying to track these Black-Briars. Never heard of them, but Brill and Kassi are Riften-born, and they got the stories from their relatives. What a piece of work that family is. Treasonous filth. I have to admit, Sadri did good work there.

It would be convenient if they were the only enemies to worry about, but this elf is like the center of a friggin' target disk! A circle of immediate enemies, enemies of his wife who'd kill him because they can't get at her, and the usual enemies of high-level, throat-cutting politics because a Felix is destined to be the next emperor.

I guess I can see Ilya's point. I can't blame him for Gunnar's death. Gunnar didn't die protecting an outlander dark elf; he died protecting our king's interest. That meddlesome elf naturally has his own enemies, but he has gotten legitimate enemies as our king's agent. Our king wants him kept alive. Well, he has sworn loyalty, and as long as he continues to serve, keeping him alive is protecting our king and Windhelm. Damned escort mission turned into front-line combat.

And that last fact was why she was sitting down with the commanding officers of those guarding Horace Felix and Nicholas Felix. All the leading members of the Felix Clan were in Windhelm to visit the pregnant Lady Helsette and then to present themselves to the Grand Council of Morrowind to demand House recognition. This week and next, they and Sadri had many joint business meetings and political parties to attend.

She didn't see the attraction. This just meant more assassins. She'd like to bury the dark elf in a cave somewhere until this whole coronation madness was over, except that her king made it clear Sadri was conducting a lot of business on his behalf. The payoff for Sadri was a Morrowind House allowed to build itself in Skyrim under Windhelm's protection.

Julio Dalia and his second, Vincenzio Piscatus, protected Nicholas Felix, the primary traveling agent for Felix Enterprises. One of his daughters owned Goldenglow Estate in the Rift, his son-in-law ran the Wolf Teeth Mercenaries, and his son was to be the next Emperor. Miranda Avilez and her second, Beryl Cruel-Seas, protected Horace Felix, who managed the home office and production estates. His daughter owned Honningbrew Meadery, and her fiance was the Harbinger of the Companions.

Vincenzio and Beryl represented teams hired from the Bruma Fighters Guild to supplement Felix's regular guards. They had years as the preferred hires when the Felixes needed additional help. Cruel-Seas was a Windhelm native and she had experience in Skyrim and the northern borderlands of Cyrodiil. Piscatus knew the lands from Bruma, through the heart of Cyrodiil, and to the borders of the cats and the lizards.

Olaf was here too. He and the two other apprentices, the dark elf, Gilavin, and the Reach barbarian, Yannig, were also guarding Sadri as their time and duties allowed. No one questioned their presence as they shadowed their master as part of their training. Hrafnhildr had learned what kind of danger to expect depending on which apprentice showed up. Olaf meant physical, close-quarter attacks, Yannig meant poison or ranged attacks, and Gilavin meant or poison or magical attacks. The one making this judgment was Yannig, and how she knew, Hrafnhildr assumed Breton witchcraft, even though Yannig looked like she was a Nord, except for her accent, the way she dressed and put up her hair, and her choice of Forsworn weapons.

Ilya stood as her second for this meeting. Karl, her second after Gunnar's death, was recovering from taking two poisoned arrows as he shielded Sadri with his body.

"I don't see any problem transferring across people to support yours," Julio was saying. "Master Nicholas will continue their payroll, so that isn't an issue. It's all in the family, after all."

"Do you have any mages?" ask Hrafnhildr. "Ilya's a healer. Ilya?"

"Apprentice in restorations and novice in alterations," said Ilya. "My majicka reserves aren't anything to boast about."

"You're thinking destruction? We —"

"Any of them Nord?" Hrafnhildr asked bluntly. "I'm thinking if we keep as many Nord faces around Sadri, the more we'll stay underestimated."

"I'm not sure that's working anymore," stated Cruel-Seas. "You've prevented base physical attempts, making it obvious magic should be the next attack strategy. You've discouraged the individual freelancers; you know that next will come coordinated attack teams. Teams and new freelancers that use magic.

"I want to know why the fuck is Ulfric setting him up to draw all the fire? Because it seems to me that's what he's doing. Is the whole of Windhelm's ambassadorial company incompetent?"

"His Majesty is well aware of how this game is playing," Hrafnhildr snarled. "And I want Nords. I'm going to keep up the pretense that the king will only trust Nords to guard Sadri. If you don't have any magic users who can't pass as Nords, fine."

"Well, if that's the case," interjected Julio, I have four I can loan to you. A bit on the young side, but they're big and quick to learn. They're Cyrodiil born, however, will that work?" He turned his head and grinned at Olaf. "You probably know them. Your misfit friends."

Olaf grinned back. "Glad to know they've earned their place. As long as they don't talk too much, no one will hear their Imperial accents."

"Shouldn't be too hard to teach 'em how to grunt like Nords," said Vincenzio.

"Eh?" grunted Beryl, leaning sharply towards him to lightly punch the side of his head.

"Yes," said Vincenzio, rubbing his head. "Just like that. But no punching. That makes you an Orc."

They paused for lunch. The food table in the tent had been restocked and her guests joined in the line. She saw Vincenzio and Beryl go to Olaf, both slipping arms behind his back and Olaf draping his arms across their shoulders. She knew Cruel-Seas was Olaf's mother. She wondered what the smaller Imperial's relation was to them. Probably close family friend since they were all from the same fighters guild.

"Nords only? You might want to tell them why. I understand it's a political point the king wants to make to the many critics in his court, but they don't understand that yet. So tell them," advised Ilya. "It doesn't do any good if they think you're just being stupidly prejudiced."

Hrafnhildr grunted, but she knew Ilya was right. She needed their cooperation.

"Ah, so that's why Sadri isn't using any of his Gray Guards," said Miranda after Hrafnhildr had stumbled through an apology for her earlier Nord-centric attitude and explanation of her instructions from Jarl Ulfric. "Politics," she drawled out in tones of disgust.

"I can imagine how difficult it's been for you," said Julio. "What makes a good battle team doesn't always transfer over a good bodyguard team without some retraining. What you can do on the battlefield and in camps has to be modified a lot when your field is the crowded streets of a city or the fine halls of the gentry's party."

"We've managed to avoid too many mistakes," Hrafnhildr said sullenly. Thanks to Olaf, who'd lectured them on those very differences.

Miranda frowned. "Come to think of it, could you not have asked Lady Helsette for the use of her Nord housecarls? I'm sure one or two of them have been trained how to protect in high society or know magic."

Hrafnhildr ground her teeth and looked past them. It hadn't occurred to her until now that that was a possibility. She recalled the two housecarls attending Lady Helsette weeks ago, and who had left days ago to return to their posts, that fancy one from Solitude who handled nobles every day, and that spellsword from Morthal. If she'd been thinking back then …

"The young Nords I'm sending to you, unfortunately, haven't been trained for those types of situations," said Julio apologetically. "They're good caravan guards and general combat, though. They can do the basic house and street watching, leaving your people free to do escort."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

Olaf shadowed Sadri tonight. Hrafnhildr and her five stood along the walls at various points of the room along with the bodyguards of other nobles in this affair. Julio and his team were there, too, for their employer. This was a gathering of mainland Morrowind nobility. Mostly Redoran of various subhouses and representatives of Houses Indoril, Hlaalu, and Sadras.

She hated this. How in Oblivion was she expected to guard Sadri when she couldn't understand one word being said? To her, the dark elf language always sounded like they were cursing or threatening. Sadri had assigned Gilavin to stand beside her to answer her questions or to translate, but that hardly eased the churning in her guts or the odd rhythm of her heart.

Sadri had worn a sword tonight. A long, one-handed ebony blade of an akaviri-style katana. It was in a back-slung sheath, most of it hidden by his long cape, but the hilt poked out. He couldn't tell her why he was wearing that weapon instead of the green glass dagger for when he had to meet these Morrowind Dunmer or his everyday stahlrim dagger. He was even wearing old light-leather gloves that didn't match his fancy robes; gloves that she'd heard one of his apprentices refer to as "stop-thief" gloves because, if another rumor about Sadri's Used Wares was true, those gloves could paralyze a thief or robber with a touch. Hrafnhildr suspected a dishonorable trick of poison, but she supposed a successful, long-standing shopkeeper in the former slum the Gray Quarter had been needed such a disgusting survival advantage. She'd demanded to know why he was wearing those things. What did he know? All he could say was that he was following a sudden hunch. She gave in. There were too many times in the Reach when a hunch was the only thing that kept her and her unit alive.

It wasn't as if Sadri and Felix were alone in a hostile crowd. They had friends and allies there, three or four, even, who ranked as high as a jarl in their own right.

Halfway through the evening, there was a commotion. Two latecomers. Hrafnhildr saw a tall, handsome Nord in glass armor of a style she'd never seen before. Not high elf styling. The glassy parts were a rich deep green and the metal, instead of gold, was silver. He posed, staring haughtily at the crowd as the silence around him spread. He removed the gauntlet from his right hand and made a fist, which he raised to the level of his eyes. The ring on his forefinger glinted.

"Nerevar. Nerevarine," Hrafnhildr heard. Curious. The tones were of reverence, of wonder, and some harsh with fury and anger.

The gatekeeper bellowed introductions. Gilavin translated: "Severus Timberwolf, Hortator, Promise of Azura, Nerevar Incarnate, Far-Star marked, Dragonborn."

A step behind the Nord was a round-faced, half-blood Dunmer in Winterhold mage robes, the power glittering robes of an archimage rank. "Taliesin Faro-Felix, archimage, House Felix."

Hrafnhildr stared, stunned, at this Nord who claimed to be Dragonborn. How dare he? But … could it be?

"I know what you're thinking," said Ilya in normal, conversational volume. "He's a dragonborn, but not The Dragonborn of our prophecies. He was born for Morrowind. The Archimage Felix of Winterhold College is the one who is Skyrim's salvation."

Many crimson eyes glanced sharply at her. A wave of whispers.

Hrafnhildr wanted to ask her for more information, but, maddeningly, this was not the time for it.

Timberwolf walked to Nicholas and Sadri. They greeted him formally with slight bows.

The Dunmer shifted around, forming a sort of line from hosts then highest rank on down. Felix and Sadri trailed after this Morrowind dragonborn.

"Ilya, if you know anything, tell me," she ordered.

"You know the Sadri and Felixes are trying to form a small House in Morrowind. Well, everyone's now learning that their legendary Nerevarine is alive and a member of the Felix house, therefore, the future House Father of the new House if the Grand Council acknowledges it."

"So … His sudden appearance in that strange armor instead of formal dress, this is a rushing attack?"

Gilavin made a small sound. The women looked at him. "Aye, sera. He wears the glass armor that only the highest of Vivec's armigers may wear. Volcanic glass made by the fires of Red Mountain and silver-steel for foes both mortal and spirit. He comes ready for battle should any here choose to contest his identity and rank."

"He's drawing his sword," said Hrafnhildr tightly. "Is there a challenge?" Gilavin studied the scene.

"No," he said finally. "Someone must have asked for further proof. That sword's shape and its fires are unmistakable; that is Trueflame."

Well, it made for an interesting evening even though she couldn't understand a word being said unless Gilavin translated. Still, just watching the crowd dynamics, studying poses and stances, she was starting to build impressions, recognize patterns. At some point, Olaf switched places with Gilavin, and now he softly pointed out to her Morrowind mer body language that he was learning as a future trade ambassador; basic clues to identifying which were Morrowind-born versus those that were not, and, more importantly, recognizing the degrees of aggressive body language.

"Now the next one is an Indoril but his house badge and the style of his cape is central Morrowind. Indorils are traditionally hostile to the Nerevarine even though King Nerevar was Indoril. Adopted Indoril, if we're being technical. You can see Timberwolf maintains a neutral stance. But look behind. Taliesin looks relaxed, but he's a mage. Up until now, his hands were out in the open, now they're in his sleeves. The master and Nicholas have neutral poses, but they've moved apart, and you can see Gilavin's moved forward a step, ready to shield the master."

"No shouting?" Hrafnhildr observed.

"They're not Nords."

"What's this?" Hrafnhildr demanded as Sadri abruptly moves past Gilavin to stand beside Timberwolf. He appeared to be speaking sharply to the Indoril. Timberwolf did not move and seemed content to let Sadri take over. Another Indoril pushed forward, a relative by their shared looks. She could tell without Olaf's help that this was a challenge. She wondered how the armored warrior could hold back to let an old man take on a younger challenger.

"Don't interfere," said Olaf. "Trust me, it won't get that far."

Hrafnhildr realized Timberwolf still had his sword out. Now Sadri drew his black sword.

She didn't need Olaf again to tell her the Indorils and the others were reacting with fear. The Indoril spoke to his younger champion who didn't hesitate to put his sword away. The two immediately left. Sadri sheathed his sword and Gilavin settled and smoothed Sadri's cape back into place. Timberwolf's sword also went back into its sheath.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"The master bluffed them into withdrawing by bringing out the daedric weapon called the 'Ebony Blade' or 'the Vampire.' It was created by their goddess Mephala. It drains life and destroys the soul of the victim. I know the master spent hours in prayer before wearing it."

"Why in Oblivion does he have that weapon?"

"I have no idea, ma'am."

"So … Does that mean he's the favored of this goddess then? And no one here wants to challenge him?"

"Apparently. He also has something of a reputation ever since a new Morag Tong assassin saved him from the old order of Morag Tong. The Morag Tong serves Mephala. Most Dunmer I've talked to won't say for certain what it means, just that, for now, killing Sadri isn't worth risking the displeasure of the goddess."

"Huh." Hrafnhildr mentally grumbled as she foresaw investing some sleep hours studying dark elf gods. "Does he even know how to use a sword?"

"I'm not sure. I know Master Ambarys has been sparing with him to sharpen his knife skills in preparation for this season. I don't believe the master is comfortable with swords. I think he once mentioned the weapons training he's had in his childhood was primarily spear and knife.

"He was bluffing then. Damn it." She glared at her charge.

"The challenge wouldn't have gone far," said Olaf. "If you will notice, Morvayn and Selvaai were poised to interfere. Morvayn's rank is greater than the Indoril's and Selvaai would've disarmed the other. And I have no doubt the Nerevarine would have pulled family rank to order the master to stand down."

X—X—X—X—X—X—X

"Commander," said Ilya patiently, "all I'm saying is that you got an apology from both his lordship and from Timberwolf. They didn't plan any of this. His lordship certainly didn't. It's known in the college that he's an unusually strong spirit channel, and if he says his ancestors told him to bring the Ebony Blade instead of his usual knife, he's going to bring the sword. He and Nicholas didn't expect those two to show up uninvited. They had a completely different plan of attack, most of which they were able to salvage. And they've promised, after they have their family meetings, to bring you and the other commanders in on their plans.

"Now, speaking of plans and maybe an advantage, I want to tell you the mer I'm guarding wants to help. He's actually going to be joining this new Morrowind house. Master Curtis will be arriving in three days with devices that will help us talk with each other when we're not in the same room or even the same part of the city. He calls it distance communicators."

It was on the tip of her tongue to assert that they didn't need more magical devices. Instead, she asked, "Will his lordship be getting that device?"

"I don't think so. Those devices have to be worn on our heads, which is why we have to wear our full helmets." Ilya ran a finger from her ear to her mouth. "We have to hide the part of the device that goes in front of our mouths that allows us to talk to each other."

"Who else gets this device?"

"Just us."

"Why not the other Felix teams?"

"I suppose that would be your call. I know Master Curtis was not planning to make too many of these devices. He wanted to keep the numbers low to minimize theft because he knew the panic and greed of others that would come upon him for it. He says it may be inevitable, but he wants a safe place to occasionally hide in before that happens. 'Go to ground,' he says." Ilya had a strange smile as she said that. Hrafnhildr scowled, knowing that Ilya had some secret she was keeping.

"Banish that frown, commander. He's not a coward. He's already been captured and interrogated once by the Thalmor for other knowledge they knew he had. Coming back so soon after, and into this crush of people from gods know where, is dangerous for him."

"Will you be abandoning us to guard him then?" Hrafnhildr demanded.

"No. His other guardians and Lady Helsette's battle companions will handle that."

Distance talking. Hrafnhildr thought about it as she lay in her cot that evening. She thought of past battles, how they could have been changed if they'd been able to talk to the other an advantage one would have in battle and in trade. Yes, she could see why someone, no, why nations would fight to obtain such an advantage.

Oh, how I hate this! When I was a fighter in the field, I didn't have to think so much beyond the day's survival. I had my set of orders and I didn't have to give a fuck about anything beyond those. The world's suddenly changed once I came back home. I don't recognize it. The elves are suddenly our friends? The dark ones anyway. We're trying to make an alliance with a dark elf nation that hasn't fully declared independence from the Empire? This… this wasn't what I was fighting for. We wanted Skyrim for only us, but we're allowing all these godsdamned refugees to flood our lands, taking our resources even before we've seen to our own kind? Ever since I got assigned this dark elf, I've had to see the world from the king's point of view. I can't handle it. I admit it. I can't handle it. I don't understand this type of warfare. It's too big. It's all too confusing. I just want…

I just want…

I just…

I can't sleep. Hope Ilya's back from her meeting with Mikel and she's not gone to bed yet. I need to talk to her about… about stuff. Get more information about those things her dark elf clever crafter is bringing to us. Maybe she can also tell me more about these fucking dark elf gods we're supposed to overlook. They're daedra! Why in Talos's name are they even allowed here? I don't understand it …

Ted Hsu: Maven Black-Briar, the manzanilla de la muerte, the Manchineel tree with the deadly poison apples.
GalacticHalfling: Eh. Hang around the college and Curtis long enough, and weird becomes normal.

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