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

This took a while. I'm sorry. I'm glad no one will ever see the mental pile of crumpled paper balls all the drafts for this chapter have created in my brain...
I stumbled upon a few details in game that interfere with what I had planned out already and it scared my muse away. Unfortunately, I'm obsessed with detail. I wish I could explain further, but I fear it would end in spoilers...

Welcome to everyone who decided to follow and/or favorite, it warms my heart! Be assured the next update won't take this long. I'm already working on it.

Em, so glad to hear from you again! It's easy to procrastinate writing if you're just doing it for yourself, so yes, knowing my scribbles are helping you somewhat is wonderful. I feel like we're just thanking each other the whole time, but... thanks again for this and the last review! Lots of hugs!

Nat, don't worry about not leaving reviews, I'm guilty of that as well. It makes it even more precious to me that you decided to write such a detailed one! I pushed through editing this chapter so you don't have to read everything from the beginning (You really did that? I'm honored, flattered, terrified,... you might notice minor inconsistencies I'm too lazy to clean up right now...). I'm so happy I brought the mod to your attention because it's such a piece of art and deserves all the love it can get. Yeah, well about that thing in Chapter 22...in hindsight I think I was drunk when I wrote it. Is it love? Hm, I think love is a big word and doesn't quite fit (yet? ;) ). I've read many stories with opposing character falling in "love" for reasons like "she's the prettiest girl he has ever seen" and... I just don't think that's how it works. Attraction isn't love... Especially since neither Muriel nor Armion has any reason for finding the other attractive (yet? ;) ). First, let them realize they're actually good for each other... We'll see. Well, I already know, so I guess, you'll see :) Thank you for the beautiful review!

This was longer than intended. I usually skip lengthy author's notes (shame on me), but it's okay if you did the same.

Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Five

"What is it this time?"

A deep sigh followed the question. Duty alone let the man turn around to face him. They both knew, had they met in any other setting none of them would've even spoken to the other. It was rare that their mutual dislike trickled down into their words and over the years Armion had learned to appreciate the Imperial's dutifulness that allowed their fragile coexistence to last. From all people in Bruma, in the end it was the Guard Captain he had to deal with the most.

"I need you to censure your guardsmen, Vilius."

Armion looked down at the man's stoic face. It looked tired and overworked despite the tanned complexion. A feature that settled in more and more faces these days it seemed. Day-to-day business was draining all of them, just as much as the constant pressure of watching one's back did and even he found himself indulging in reminiscences on more than one occasion lately.

From his brief correspondences with other Justiciars he had learned that it wasn't just him. Naturally none of them would let it shine through, not even to their allies, but unrest was brewing in most cities since the official ending of the war. The peace treaty had turned most of Cyrodiil into a kettle an alchemist had thrown troll fat and fire salts in and then quickly slammed the lid on.

"Multiple times I have heard them exclaim 'Nine Divines' while sparring. They also refuse to listen to me when I ask them to stop", he continued and exhaled sharply through his nose. "Some even laugh."

"Can't really punish people for bad habits, Armion." The Imperial kept his expression guarded. He knew better than to join in with the other guards. It made him at least more intelligent than the average man, which... wasn't difficult to be fair. From what Armion knew, the 'average man' of Tamriel was some unwashed bandit poking meat out of his teeth with a dagger that had just killed a skeever and then wondering where on Nirn he had caught Ataxia.

Still, Armion furrowed his brows. The Thalmor hadn't even accepted this excuse twenty years ago when such a slip of the tongue could've been considered a bad habit and many of Bruma's guards hadn't even been born yet when the White-Gold Concordat had been signed. Now, more than thirty years after the signing, it was just utter and deliberate disrespect.

"But, if it distresses you that much, I'll have a word with them", the Guard Captain paddled back. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion and so Armion simply nodded to dismiss him. Pressing the man further was of little use, he knew that by now. While he was sure, he would have a word with his men, the tone would be dead certain a softer one than he would've chosen. But, as Vilius liked to remind him from time to time, he had little authority over Bruma's guardsmen. At least he was sure that, if anything, the captain was a man of duty. He surely didn't like it, but he always knew to what degree he had to act on the current laws of the Empire – a treat both blessing and curse for Armion's own work. The Imperial provided assistance, as reluctant as it might be, on every matter that clearly broke the Concordat, but on the other hand Vilius also knew precisely when he didn't have to lift a single finger. It was annoying at most times and only helpful at a few, but it was what he had to work with. And it could surely be worse. It didn't take much imagination what a pain in the backside it'd be if he had to deal with the local guard just as much as the occasional heretic.

Armion was still brooding on the matter when he resumed his way through the entrance hall. In the distance he saw another figure enmeshed in its sense of duty – and coincidentally one whose face spoke loudly of weariness as well. Only that the Dragonborn's paler skin didn't mask it as well as the Imperial's, but maybe this was just how she looked. He had never seen her any different in the past months.

When he had entered the castle after another day of long, dull patrol, he had spotted her in the distant throne room right away. In the last weeks he had made a habit of keeping an eye on her during his patrol, so it didn't surprise him that by now his mind was focused on finding her even in a crowd. During his short talk in the entrance hall, he had heard her laughter from time to time, a little too high-pitched to be genuine, while she was following the count from one display case to the other, her hands innocently folded behind her back or shyly covering her mouth.

Armion shook his head, but kept his amusement hidden behind a straight face. Her whole demeanour was completely over the top, but Count Carvain didn't seem to notice. After spending so many hours together, Armion liked to think that he knew her body language by now – both around him and most others in Bruma – and this... this immediately rang all the alarms in his head just as much as it awoke his curiosity. Was the noble really too blind to notice that the woman was after... He frowned. Well, something. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but gods-be-damned if he let that woman fool him.

Leaving the entrance hall, he decided to take a look at the real reason for her visit to the castle. Though her interest in the count's collection had sounded almost honest, his instinct told him otherwise. Studying history wasn't something the Dragonborn passed much time with, she just didn't appreciate collective experience like he did. She lived too much in the moment for this, planned too little ahead – while simultaneously trying her best not to, to meet everyone's expectations.

When he walked through the small hall connecting the entrance hall with the throne room, the Dragonborn's expression and body language changed. Tense and with angrily furrowed brows she stood on top of the stairs, looking down and for a moment he thought it was because she had seen him. But her face was turned to the right side of the room and Armion knew just from the tight line of her lips what or rather who she was looking at, even before turning the corner. He suppressed an annoyed sigh.

She was speaking when he entered the room, but her words were low and hissed and didn't reach his ears. Her hand searched for the sheath at her belt – only to find it empty. Like on most of the days she didn't leave the city, she had left her sword at the inn along with the shield he had seen her carry during their short trip.

Stopping beside the other Altmer whose cold smile had widened at her reaction, only to flicker once he saw his superior, Armion took a few moments to make a rough assessment of the situation before acting. It was anything but relaxed, just like the last time he had walked in on these two close to being at each other's throat and a tiny, curious voice whispered at the back of his mind, proposing to stand back and watch what'd happen. With a stern nod towards the dining area, he dismissed the younger elf and ignored the grudging glare he was regarded with when the other followed the silent order.

He watched him leave as commanded, well aware that he wasn't the only one whose gaze followed the reluctant retreat. From the corner of his eyes he saw Muriel watching as well, her jaw clenched and paler than ever, and he knew that somewhere on the other side of the throne, Count Carvain and his guards were listening, too.

She met his eyes when he looked over. Whatever the other Thalmor had said to her, the anger about it was still written all over her face. For a moment he was tempted to ask before ultimately deciding that this question had to wait.

"What's his problem with me?", Muriel snapped and Armion arched an eyebrow at her tone.

"You mean, beside the obvious?"

She pulled her head back like it had met a physical barrier. With her lips pressed tightly together, she glared up to him one last time before turning around to return to the count waiting to resume the tour. Armion shook his head softly as he looked after her.

He let his gaze wander to the passage through which the other had disappeared and tried to decide whether or not he wanted to follow. It was still some time until dinner would be served and it wasn't like an interesting conversation was waiting for him in the dining room.

The Aldmeri Dominion's recommendation for its representatives was to stay together, knowing how foolish men could be should they stumble upon a lone agent, but apart from all reason of precaution, there was little that had ever made him seek out the other's company. Despite them being basically stuck with each other and therefore spending almost every waking hour in the other's company, it didn't make them friends. Though having one viewpoint of what just happened could be at least somewhat revealing.

If someone had asked him to find one attribute to summarize the younger mer, he'd choose zealous. Maybe even over-zealous from time to time, considering how he and the Dragonborn always seemed to tangle with one another. His associate was passionate like most of his age, and it was, of course, a prerequisite for all of them, but sometimes lead to rather hot-headed decisions.

Despite all his zeal, Armion had never thought him to be in the right position within the Dominion. Being a justiciar was more than mere passion for their cause. It required a leveled head and a little more wit he secretly thought the other possessed. Being the one responsible for his training, Armion had quickly realized that the other's talents were lying elsewhere. Surely his strength and commitment were more useful out in the field – or anywhere else really. A more practical position, but he was hesitating to suggest a transfer.

Ever since his last visit to the capital, no, to be honest ever since the task of Muriel's interrogation – if by now it'd still be called such – had been assigned to him, he felt the constant chill of his superior breathing down his neck. Maybe even since that Nord heretic Aera had somehow managed to outwit him and had fled to the Jeralls with some others. And as things were, he just lacked the soldiers to hunt them down. A problem he had already explained to the magistrate, but one his superior seemingly didn't find reason enough to grant him the requested reinforcement.

It was a vicious cycle. The less results he managed to achieve, the less ressources he received while the orders naturally stayed the same – or even grew in number. Someday, and probably rather sooner than later, this downwards spiral would make it impossible to scale any of the set mountains of expectations.

True, the upside of the eagerness was that the adjutant rarely questioned orders, but there was more and more defiance sneaking into his eyes these days. The first time Armion had noticed it, had been at the market weeks ago. Then again when he had just come back from the capital. Thoughtfully he looked across the room. In both cases Muriel had been the common factor, both times he had to break it up, but he had still not taken it seriously. But now the displeasure had been back in the other Altmer's eyes and maybe... maybe it would prove to be useful.

He looked back at the Dragonborn and her royal tour guide. She was still pale and hadn't completely found back to her former ease. From time to time she glanced across the room while gnawing at her lower lip and Armion stiffled a smile. The sight wasn't unusual these days as well. He had watched her more closely in the last weeks. Well, more closely than he had normally paid attention when they met on Bruma's streets. She was nervous. Ever since he had presented her with the potion and she had declined, she looked anxious. Not just in his presence; he had seen her eyes go blank during conversations with others in town or while sitting on one of Bruma's many low walls, staring at the sky. From time to time she had noticed his gaze on her and more than once, she had evaded it.

Armion felt the small metal casket against his thigh, somewhere deep in the pockets of his robes. The reason for Muriel's nervousness. He knew, she was waiting for him to bring it up again and the fact that he didn't, slowly wrecked her nerves.

He wasn't really following a plan to be honest. After the Dragonborn had left the study that evening, he had been disappointed. Disappointed because, just for once, it would've been nice if things had just worked out. It had taken a few days for him to admit to himself that it had been a long shot, but unfortunately it hadn't simply solved the problem.

Had he gone too far, maybe even blew his chances? It had been rather harsh – even measured by how the Dragonborn and he normally conversed. There was always some edge to it, some lurking and baiting, but this had been a lot more straightforward than his normal attempts of getting something out of this woman. Even after seeing her struggle that night, it had still surprised him that she had given in to his taunts. It had been guesswork once more, like it always seemed to be with her. A long shot, one of many in the last months it appeared and most of them had turned into further complications and a growing bundle of orders. Each and every time the aspiration level seemed to reach new heights. And when her eyes had welled up with tears... that at least could be considered hitting the bullseye. Armion knew he should feel better about the success.

He sighed and quickly nipped the feeling in the bud. Patience, he needed patience. Wasn't it a trait of his people? Wasn't one of the advantages of being a mer not having to hurry? After all, what Altmer had probably the most of, was time. But time was pressing – as always these days.

Still, it was crucial that the Dragonborn complied – although he had given some thought to the idea of forcing her to drink the potion. But the results were just too unpredictable. With a mind like hers, he couldn't be sure there'd be no long-term consequences should she fight it. He wasn't even sure what would happen in short-term, but since they wouldn't be done after this, the side effects had to be kept as manageable as possible.

No, he had to wait. Wear her down simply by not acting up to her expectations – or wait for her to wear herself down, which couldn't be long either. And while he was waiting, he had to find a way to appease the magistrate. Even though it wouldn't keep him from sending one, a simple interim report surely wouldn't suffice. But apart from the question of her mind's state, there were more than enough other aspects he'd like to explore.

There was for example also the matter about the potency of her power, her ability to fight. Armion was sure that he had merely caught a glimpse of what she was capable of at the Ayleid ruin and he hadn't even been in the position to witness most of the fight. Admittedly, after being hit by the staggering wave of energy that had thrown him against the stones, he had no interest in finding out more first hand. It was a fact, no matter how unbelievable, that this small creature had some gods-given abilities and had successfully fought and bested foes like dragons before. Even with preparation, her Shouts were a force not to be trifled with.

Silently he agreed with Gilerion, even if it meant more work for him. None of them knew what they were dealing with, whether or not the Dragonborn seeked more influence and if so, to what degree?

To make use of the weeks of stagnation, he had read as many potentially helpful books as he could get. Luckily the castle's guest wing had an integrated reading room that none of the other residents seemed to use frequently and the range of topics was wide enough. The silence had been exactly what he had needed to bury himself in research. Alduin and anything that connected her to him, everything that could give a hint of the daedric powers she had gained. No short remark seemed too vague or unimportant, but he had to admit, the information was still sparse and all this theory only took him so far.

There wasn't a lot written facts about the dragon blood which, in a way, was even part of the reason why he was where he was in life. More than once he had cursed Nords and their apparent aversion for writing something down. There were legends and even badly composed songs he had forced himself to read through, but all of it lacked proof and sources. It was frustrating.

Most of what Armion knew about her abilities was rooted in what she had told him and the short taste he'd been given against the daedric cult of Namira. The Dragonborn had made short work of them. And watching her now, for some reason he thought about how determined she had wiped away the tears a few weeks ago and how small she had looked in that chair. Armion exhaled the beginning of a chuckle out of his lungs.

Lost.

Small.

Surely not the right words to describe Alduin's doom. Small in statue maybe, as all Bretons – and how Nedes and Aldmer had somehow managed to pass nothing of their height on was still a mystery to him – but there was certainly more to her than met the eye.

The puzzled gaze of the subject of his train of thought met his eyes and he suddenly realized he had been staring across the room for longer than intended.

Armion stepped closer into the middle of the room, ignoring how her eyes were already darkening with a warning to keep his distance. Whatever she was up to, she didn't want him to interfere and he didn't plan to, but that was something she didn't have to know. He was fully content with listening in for a while and cared little for how obvious he did it. His mood even brightened a little when Count Carvain certainly didn't look happy either. Bruma's ruler wasn't an easily intimidated man. His effort at maintaining the necessary political correctness especially around the representatives of the Aldmeri Dominion sometimes made him appear a little nervous, but never had he allowed any doubts about being the one on the throne. And like most times, the Imperial ignored him with the same grace as a mer, but only men raised in nobility possessed.

"...in your words, Akaviri inspired, yes, but they're true to their original design as far as we can tell, while this..."

Armion leaned against the pillar as the Dragonborn followed the count down the stairs towards the last display case in the throne room. He didn't miss the nervous, little glances that went into his general direction and made sure to meet each of them. She shouldn't forget he was still here.

For a second he contemplated commenting. Surely the count had already showed her the part of his collection that was located in his private wing of the castle and after seeing her sneaking around the other night, it was all too tempting to watch her trying to wriggle out of a situation he had the power of causing, but letting go of an advantage for the sake of short-term entertainment wasn't the best idea. Maybe later. Until then, the sight of her anxiously gnawing at her lip while she tried to pay attention to Carvain's words had to do.

The Imperial had led her to the display case at the southern wall of the room and Armion already knew what they were looking at. He vaguely remembered the short conversation he had once had about the smooth stone tablets, shortly after arriving in Bruma for the first time. They were old, sure, as old as the temple they had been taken from, but that was about where their value ended. Broken away from the rest of the ruins, the stones had lost their significance after the Dominion had taken Cloud Ruler Temple like the many storms gathering at the mountainside of the Jeralls, washing away everything man-made. But – and it was one of the more sophisticated thoughts the count's steward had ever directed at him – the mountains themselves would always remain unfazed by storms. How poetic.

Armion sighed without a sound. That the stones were on display, bothered him nearly as much as the polished Blades armor and katana a few meters away, but surely those were a lot more interesting to look at. Except... Muriel seemed to disagree.

"Oh", she mumbled and stepped closer to the display case. She almost seemed to forget her surroundings when she carefully tapped her fingertips on the glass and let them run over it, leaving prints and smudges in their wake. Like she could almost feel the objects underneath – Armion crossed his arms and frowned – or maybe even like she could remember the feeling. Had she explored that much of the temple back then? Nothing in her small, improvised camp had hinted at it.

"Is something wrong, Miss Vaultirne?"

Now it wasn't just him watching the Dragonborn. The count had stopped his monologue about Akaviri stone structures when he had finally realized that his guest wasn't listening at all.

She tore her eyes away from the stone tablet and her hands from the glass like it had given her an electric shock.

"Oh, no... nothing's wrong, my lord", she said and glanced nervously over to the pillar Armion was still leaning on. The insecurity was clearly flickering through the forced smile. "It's just..."

Her teeth caught her lower lip again in the same bad habit he had seen many times now. Always so revealing. "It's just... um... it has my name on it."

Armion's eyebrows rose on their own, but it was at least the only sign of his confusion. The count wasn't as good in hiding his.

"I'm not sure I understand", he said slowly.

Her ears flushed under the combined gazes and as always the tension creeping into the empty spaces between words made her talk rather than wisely keeping her silence.

"The symbol in the middle... it... uh... it means Dragonborn."

She lowered her eyes, probably silently cursing her own tongue, but Armion pricked up his ears. She knew the symbol? If he recalled the stone tablet correctly, it appeared to have some sort of arrow shape pointing downwards. Nothing he would immediately associate with the Dragonborn, so how did she know? He couldn't recall seeing anything similar at Cloud Ruler Temple and he had been at the ruin a few times prior. That could only mean...

"How intriguing!" The count sounded like a child on Saturalia as he looked down at the display case like he saw the old stones for the first time. "You've seen it before? Where?"

Yes, that was something he'd also like to know. Muriel shrunk a little when she caught his eyes and it only confirmed his suspicions. Gods, this woman really had no control over her expressions. How on Nirn had she ever managed to hold her nerves enough to pass as an actual guest at the embassy?

"Just... somewhere", she said as the pink shimmer expanded further down her neck, almost unnoticable if he hadn't been watching her this closely. "Um... High Hrothgar."

Armion snorted at the blatant lie, but Count Carvain actually seemed to buy it.

"Where?", Armion raised his voice for the first time in a long time and only soft squeaking of a leather armor indicated her wince.

"Like I said, High-"

He felt his patience slipping from his grasp. "You will tell me immediately where-", his order interrupted her sharply, but he himself was cut off.
"Justiciar!", the count came to her help, reminding everyone present that he still had the absolute authority here. "Miss Vaultirne is Bruma's guest – as are you, if you remember."

Armion snorted again before he could stop himself. Like that detail was easily forgotten in a castle stuffed with dusty Blades armors.

"Of course. Of course, I... mh... ", he then said slowly, doing nothing to hide his obvious displeasure. Patience, he reminded himself. "My apologies."

Naturally no one believed it and for a second he was sure to see the shiver running down the Dragonborn's spine. He threw her a last, meaningful glare, one that said that this was far from over before taking an invisible, deep breath to calm down.

Carvain nodded like accepting the insincere apology and turned back to the Breton like nothing had happened.

"It makes sense, doesn't it?"

Muriel's hand fumbled with the hem of her sleeve and Armion briefly wondered how many of these she had already torn to pieces in her life. "Does it?"

"It was just here in the Jerall Mountains where Reman Cyrodiil's armies met those of the Akaviri invaders. Reports differ widely and most of it is lost to time, but it is said that when they heard his voice, they laid down their weapons before him, proclaimed him Dragonborn and swore their lifes to him. They were the Dragonguard."

"The Dragonguard... so the Blades?", she asked and this time, Armion actually believed the surprised tone. She truly wasn't one for history, not even her own.

Count Carvain nodded, slowly regaining his enthusiasm. "Indeed. Most of our emperor's had the dragon blood, but of course, you already knew..."

You mean, beside the obvious?

Armion could almost hear his own voice echo in her ears as the wheels in her head started turning and slowly putting one and one together. Had she actually never spend any thought on this? It was hard to believe. Everyone knew that apart from the most recent rulers of the Empire – recent in meric terms since it was merely two hundred years of the Mede Dynasty being in power – most others had shared her blood. Loosely speaking, of course. There was no proof of any actual kinship between those of the dragon blood. The Reman Dynasty, the Septim Dynasty – all had been like her.

Muriel's mouth formed a silent 'oh' when she finally made a few connections.

"Well, I'm not planning on becoming Emperor...", she sighed. Her eyes found his and although he was watching her sharply, her gaze was anything but nervous this time. It was wide and honest and he couldn't help but immediately believe her. "...and definitely not a god."