Epilogue I: One Thing
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Kaie walked through the door to Arnleif and Sons' general goods store. It was not owned by Arnleif, nor in fact by anybody at the moment, because it's owner had turned out to be a cannibal and the new Jarl had murdered her. And then there had been a small civil war.
Gods, this city…
Still, while the arguments over who should inherit the building continued, it functioned perfectly as a staging area for their current festivities. Unimportant people were scurrying about, and Kaie made her way to a door through which talking could be heard.
"Really, on my head? This is ridiculous."
"It's tradition. You gotta make some concessions."
"I feel like my life would be much easier if all culture just ceased to exist. Ugh. At least I don't have to wear a dress…"
"I think I'd quite like you in a dress."
"I think you much prefer me without a dress."
"I see you missing your clothes all the time. Maybe I want to be teased for a change~"
Not wanting that to escalate any further, Kaie pushed the door open and walked in. The sight that greeted her was that of Margret pinning Hjar against a cupboard, one of her hands holding a flowery laurel wreath, and her face gradually leaning in closer.
"Oh my gods, whaaat?" Kaie said, putting one hand over her mouth. "The bride-to-be is seducing the bridesmaid? What will the groom think?"
Margret squeaked and jumped backwards. Hjar just sighed. "Kaie, how have you forgotten to knock since we were in the hills?"
For a woman who'd almost died multiple times a few days before, Hjar was looking utterly resplendent. Her clothing was what the Forsworn would classify as very fancy, in that it actually covered most of her midriff. There were beads, bones and other trimmings sewn into the outfit, meant to bring luck and blessings from a variety of the Old Gods (not that anything was likely to trump the spooky mace hanging at Hjar's belt, the red sword on the other side, or the silver ring on one of her fingers). Her white hair had been done up by some outsider earlier that morning, and for the first time Kaie had seen, it was in a proper Reachwoman hairstyle. No clue who managed to tame that rat's nest…
"You should know by now I will always do what inconveniences you the most." Was Kaie's answer. She walked in, took the wreath from Margret, and dropped it unceremoniously on Hjar's head. "Now come on. We don't have time for you to get your rocks off before the ceremony, you're already late."
"Get your what?" Margret whispered, audibly, as Kaie turned for the door.
Hjar muttered something back, which was followed by an "Oh!"
"Stop flirting and walk!" Kaie called behind her, making her way back to the door.
There should be more ceremony to her part in this, but she had made it very clear she didn't want it; Hjar had only insisted on it because Kaie was the only person from the (ex)Forsworn she actually knew the name of.
The walking disaster is better than what we had before…
Repeating the mantra was all that kept Kaie sane these days. She sucked in a breath, and shoved the doors open.
An awful lot of faces stared back at her.
"Ladies, gentlemen, assorted maniacs!" She declared, sweeping a hand behind her. "Your…whatever!"
Hjar the whatever walked out, and the crowd went utterly ballistic.
The three of them emerged into the remnants of Markarth's market square, which was filled with people of all races and creeds. Some of them were throwing up flower petals, which Kaie irritably blew away from her face.
"Remember how I almost got killed in this square?" Margret shouted above the din.
"Remember how I saved your life in this square?" Hjar countered.
Kaie looked back and confirmed that yes, despite everything, they were smiling.
The next step was simple: Walk through the city. Hjar took the lead (it was her big day, after all), and started her way up the main street.
"Ooh, look!" She said, pointing. "That's the house where a Daedra almost got me killed. Twice." Then,
"That's the alleyway where a group of guards tried to scrag me."
"That street's where I first met the Dark Brotherhood werewolf."
"I got my hair done over there…"
"Oh up there's Nepos' house! The site of the first of my fun massacres."
"You live a very interesting life." Margret said, following at her shoulder.
"We do." Hjar turned back at the pair of them and smiled. "Let's hope it gets a little less interesting going forwards, eh?"
"Oh, I promise you, I will keep things interesting." Margret replied, grinning from ear to ear.
"Please don't kiss, we're in public." Kaie groused. "And since when were you in such a good mood?"
"Isn't this the happiest day of my life?" Hjar asked, blinking back at her innocently.
"Don't."
"We just saved the world!" Hjar shouted, throwing her hands up. What the citizens thought of that was unclear (there were a lot of rumours around what exactly had happened at the Throat of the World, even among those who'd been there), but it was met by a wave of increased cheering anyway. "And now I get to have a big celebration and eat lots and get really drunk! Let me enjoy myself."
"You can enjoy yourself once you're done with this bit." Kaie nodded past her. "Eyes up."
Hjar looked, and groaned.
Their well-wisher-lined route ended at the steps of Understone Keep. At the top of said steps stood Thongvor Silver-Blood, dressed in what the Nords considered finery. He had a sword on his belt, which made Hjar's decision to gear up for the event slightly less embarrasing.
Stood slightly back from him was Brother Verulus, who was grinning like a man who thought this was the funniest thing ever but wasn't allowed to laugh at it. Kaie found that she had a very similar expression on her own face.
"Alright, bridesmaid." Kaie clapped Margret on the shoulder. "Walk the lucky woman up the stairs, huh?"
This was not a traditional Nordic wedding (which would have required a priest of Mara), nor a traditional Reachfolk wedding (which would have required more running naked through the hills. Yes, really). Much like Markarth it was an attempt to amalgamate the two cultures, and much like Markarth it had fallen apart at multiple stages.
The current plan had been thrown together earlier that morning, and they were largely winging it.
"Everybody!" Brother Verulus called, bringing the crowd gradually to silence. Hjar stepped up until she was stood across from Thongvor. Kaie and Margret moved to the edges of the crowd, nodding to Faleen and Calcelmo, who were in a similar position on Thongvor's side.
"We are gathered here today to celebrate the union, not only of two people, but of two peoples. An end to a time of violence for violence. A time of hatred which, no matter how just and true its motivations may be, was only continuing the cycle of death and suffering." The giddy glee on Verulus' face had transformed into a genuine, wholesome smile. "Now, a new time can begin. A time of peace and prosperity for all of you…and a time of love and joy for today's special pair."
More cheers from the crowd.
"Aw yeah love and joy." Hjar muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for those closest to her to hear.
"Can't wait to do a bunch of love and joy with you." Throngvor grunted back, his face not changing.
Kaie snorted.
"Now, before we begin." Verulus said. "Should anyone have a reason why these two should not be wed—"
Kaie, Margret, Hjar, Thongvor, and Faleen all drew their swords and pointed them at the crowd.
"…Say so now."
There was, blessedly, silence in the crowd (except for a few who were laughing).
"Okay, good." Verulus coughed, and everyone sheathed their weapons. "Now. Do you, Hjarnagredda, take Thongvor to be your husband? To love him, and—"
"I mean do I gotta?" Hjar interrupted.
Kaie's face twitched, as she tried not to laugh. She met the eye of Margret (who was clearly attempting the same) and it nearly made her break.
"…I mean, yes." Verulus said, blinking. "That's sort of the—"
"It feels a bit disingenuous to tell her to love me." Thongvor pointed out. "Surely that should be done independently of the—"
"Right, yeah, like it shouldn't be in the contract, is what I'm saying—" Hjar agreed, gesturing at him.
(Margret covered her mouth and turned away, shoulders shaking.)
"I knew you'd be like this—well what do you want to do?" Verulus asked, spreading his arms.
The crowd, at this point, had apparently taken the ceremony as the performance it was. Some were whooping, others openly laughing.
"Oh, screw it—" Hjar rolled her shoulders. "Thongvor!"
"Yes, sweetie?" He deadpanned.
(Kaie had collapsed backwards against a pillar clutching her chest, Margret was now on her knees gasping for breath—)
"Do you swear to join me in dragging this stupid bloody city and its holdings back into an age of relative happiness?"
"I do." Thongvor replied. "Do you swear to actually do your share of the work in exchange for keeping your room in my massive castle?"
"I do!" Hjar said. "Do you swear to pump a baby into me at some point, so when I inevitably get killed doing something stupid, nobody can argue our kid gets to run this place?"
"I mean if I have to!" Thongvor shrugged. "Do you swear not to massacre any more huge swathes of our administration so the Hold can keep running?"
"Well if you really insist!" Hjar tilted her head. "Wanna throw a big party about it?"
"Sure, why not."
"Verulus?"
Brother Verulus put his head in his hands. "I can't believe my career has led to this—SOMETHING SOMETHING, HUSBAND AND WIFE! You can now do the thing!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd. Amidst the screaming, Hjar sighed, stepped forwards, grabbed Thongvor about the head and kissed him, which only made the applause larger.
She pulled away less than two seconds later, wiping her mouth, and Thongvor proceeded to spit on the floor. But it didn't seem to bother anyone.
Kaie silently decided that maybe letting this self-entitled, heretic, patricidal, Nord-loving, utterly insane wench run the country was worth it. Because this was the funniest damn thing she'd ever seen.
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General Tullius of the Imperial Army stared across the table.
In the back of his head, a migraine began to form.
"…I'm sorry," he said, "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Jarl Elisif the Fair blinked owlishly back at him. "Really? I should have thought that was all quite clear."
Tullis glanced to his left, where Legate Rikke shared a flabbergasted look with him.
"Then…could you extrapolate a little?" He asked.
They were sat around a table in a side-room in the Blue Palace. An open window let in fresh air, but no sound; the room had been magically warded against any scrying eyes.
Elisif (who had raised those wards herself, which was more than a little concerning) smiled warmly. "Of course! Extrapolate on what?"
"On what happened at the mountain." Tullius pressed.
"Oh!" Elisif nodded. "Certainly. Which version?"
Stood behind her chair like a green armoured shadow, Dulurza exhaled through her nose like she was just barely containing a laugh.
"There are multiple versions?" Rikke asked.
"Four, yes." Elisif wiggled the requisite number of fingers. "First is what actually happened—"
"Which we're not saying." Dulurza piped up. "For a couple reasons, like the fact that you wouldn't understand or believe it if we did."
"Quite." Elisif turned and smiled briefly at her Thane. "Second is the simplified version, which we just told you. Third we're waiting on your input to solidify, which is what we're going to tell Solitude's court later today. And fourth is what we're going to tell the Thalmor."
"Right…about that…" Tullius turned his head to his right. "This is…are you sure…I don't really know how to say this, but—"
Occupying the fourth seat at the table, the First Emissary of the Thalmor produced a smile as sweet as nightshade. "Having some trouble there Tullius? You can say what's on your mind, there are no judgements here."
Elenwen, in many ways, looked exactly the same as she always had. The devious smirk was still there, as was the glint in her eyes that only hinted at the horrific thoughts going on behind them. But her hair was done up differently (in what Tullius didn't recognise as a Potemic Wolftail), and most shockingly, the wardrobe she'd chosen was strange. Gone was her standard Thalmor attire; the black and gold was still there, but it was frilly and lacy and opened up like curtains to reveal a distracting amount of her midriff. A midriff that was dotted with an uneven shrapnel of what surely, couldn't be, actual diamonds embedded in her skin.
….Screw it, honesty, why not.
"You're telling me Elenwen is an Imperial spy." Tullius said. "I...I don't believe you. I just don't."
"Good, because I'm not an Imperial spy." Elenwen replied. "I'm Elisif's spy."
Which made even less sense. "And why are you working for her?"
"She's my dominatrix." Elenwen replied, tone not changing in the slightest. "I do everything she says, including satisfy her in—"
"Elenwen." Elisif snapped.
"Yes mistress." The Thalmor First Emissary bit her lip and lowered her head.
Tullius just stared in bewilderment.
This was an act. That much was obvious. Thirty years ago he had watched a bload-soaked Elenwen behead fifteen Men one after the other and grin while she was doing it; that monster could not be cowed like a penitent schoolgirl at a sharp word from a superior. So what was the act's purpose? Clearly the pair were aligned in some way, but for Elenwen to stow her pride and play the submissive one in the relationship (he tried with considerable effort to shove the inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind) there must be some serious power plays going on.
Blackmail, it had to be. Elisif had something on Elenwen. There was no reason Elenwen would agree to this otherwise; she was already one of the most powerful people in the Thalmor, there wasn't much of a carrot Elisif could offer.
Unless being consort to the High Queen of Skyrim would beat—STOP IT.
But that was the rub. As suspicious as he was of this (and Eight Divines, was he suspicious), there was no reason for Elenwen to play these games if she wasn't, in some way, arrayed against the Aldmeri Dominion.
Especially since…
"So to clarify." Rikke was saying while he thought. "The Thalmor wanted to use the Dragontruce as an opportunity to attack the Greybeards, a source of religious and cultural opposition, as well as to steal a powerful weapon they thought the Greybeards had. And…a ragtag group of independents came together to stop them, and succeeded."
"Pretty much." Dulurza said. "The main result of it was a lot of dead Elves."
"And this…weapon?" Tullius asked. "What of that?"
"In the hands of certain trusted independents." Elisif said.
"So effectively, in your hands."
Elisif smiled.
The headache got bigger.
"So what do we tell the Thalmor?" Tullius asked, not sure who to direct the question to. "We've just butchered over a hundred of their agents! This could be war!"
"It won't be." Elenwen reassured. When he stared at her in confusion, she elaborated "This is, from their perspective, an unmitigated disaster. They're not positioned for war, not immediately. And if they had been, losing almost all your active combatants in Skyrim would be a terrible way to start it. Such a shame, that 'bad tactical information' led to such a large blunder."
"But they could still demand recompense." Rikke pointed out.
"From who?" Elenwen giggled (she actually giggled). "The Dragontruce here is a godsend; they can't blame either the Empire or the Stormcloaks because neither of them had any forces in Whiterun Hold, as per the treaty."
"Elisif was there!" Tullius exclaimed.
"Was she?" Said Elenwen.
"Was I?" Said Elisif.
There was a pause. Tullius glanced at Rikke.
"…Not necessarily."
"And who else are they going to target? The Reach? Orc tribes? The Morag Tong, the College of Winterhold, the Dark Brotherhood?" Elenwen spread her arms. "The facts are absurd, and the rumours that inevitably emerge will be even more so. There's no one culprit to pin the blame on, I mean, who would ever imagine that such a smorgasbord of factions and peoples could come together into two cohesive sides and have a team deathmatch—"
"Team deathmatch?" Dulurza snickered at the term,
"—Team deathmatch on top of a mountain. They took a gamble and lost, big time. You're very welcome." Elenwen finished, sitting back and radiating smugness.
"So current plan, unless you have any alterations you think are prudent," Elisif took over, "is to tell the court in public that 'oh, no, a mad splinter group of Thalmor went and did something bad, we sure are glad that they were stopped!' Execute or imprison any of the survivors. Then Elenwen tells the Thalmor that they miscalculated the defences around their objective, and…" She shrugged, "Well, a lot of other things you wouldn't understand or believe."
"They'll want me punished, but if the Empire says you're willing to keep me on as First Emissary, there won't be much they can do." Elenwen smirked. "Especially given how tenuous their position in Skyrim is right now."
"And…that's it." Rikke looked between them. "We just…won?"
"For now." Dulurza grunted. "They know what they want, and they'll be back for it. And, you know, they still want to tear down the world. But with Pot—Elenwen infiltrating them, we'll know ahead of time what they're planning."
Tullius looked between the three of them. The future High Queen of Skyrim, her incredibly dangerous Thane, and the First Emissary she had (perhaps sometimes literally) on a leash.
"Elisif." He said. "Please…just tell me you aren't planning anything that will harm my homeland."
Elisif's expression softened from the focused confidence it had held throughout the entire meeting. A smile more reminiscent of the woman he'd spent months working with appeared on her face.
"I don't want anyone else to be hurt, General." She said. "I just want to save my homeland. And possibly yours, and a good few others, into the bargain."
Tullius stared at her for a few seconds more, and in his peripheral vision, at Dulurza stood behind her. Elisif was not the same as she had been before that Orc had entered her life, this was clear. But he didn't think she was lying to him.
"Very well." He leaned backwards. "I suppose I'll leave it up to you. Last thing; what about the war? You said that the Dragonborn had returned successfully. Are we reconvening at High Hrothgar?"
Another glance between Jarl and Thane.
"…We were thinking that, unless Ulfric insists otherwise, we would let the sixty-day timer run out rather than meet immediately." Elisif said. "You're the General, it's your call, but…I think I've grown quite tired of war."
Tullius found that he couldn't help but agree.
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Maxim settled in his seat. Fidgeted until he was comfortable. Reached down and checked that his bag had all the supplies he thought he'd need. Fidgeted some more.
The Hall of the Elements was quickly filling up, students settling into the semicircle of desks around the central fountain. There was a chalkboard set up in front of it, and some teachers standing around the edges, but as yet nobody had appeared to take the stage.
Maxim fidgeted again.
"Ants in your pants?" Asked the Dunmer sat next to him, "Or are you just new here?"
Maxim almost toppled out of his chair, but recovered, turning to look at her. "Uh, new. Sorry. Um, I'm Maxim."
"Brelyna." She smiled. "Thought so. We got a lot of new students for the start of the second term. Three guesses why. Don't worry, I was new this time in Last Seed. You'll get settled in quick."
"Thanks." Maxim smiled back. He checked the stage again (still no-one), before leaning closer and whispering to her. "So, is it true?"
"Is what true?" She whispered back.
"The rumours. You know, about the Archmage."
"All rumours regarding Archmage Meteuse are 100% true. Yes, all of them." Brelyna said, at full volume. "And yes, he is the mortal incarnation of Azura and Meridia and Nerevar and Sithis and Shalidor, and Uzumaki Naruto."
Some of the other (more experienced looking) students nearby laughed at her words, while some newer ones stared at her in awe.
Maxim stared too. "I…really?"
"Really." Said—not Breylna, Maxim turned to see the Master Wizard, Mirabelle Ervine, blithely confirming the comment as she passed by. "Now hush. The lecture's about to start."
They did hush, silence spreading across the hall.
Maxim's head whipped around, trying to see which of the teachers was going to come to the stage—
"FEIM!"
And gasped along with the rest of the crowd, as a ghostly figure fell through the roof.
It plummeted through the not-inconsiderable height of the hall before landing right in front of the chalkboard, not even bothering to brace its legs against the impact. Then with another subsonic boom, the etherealness vanished.
Looking across the hall was a man with short black hair, golden eyes, and a clean-shaven face. His mage robes were simple but fur-lined, and just peeking out from underneath them, Maxim could spot the glint of a crystal and a glowing sword hilt.
He looked young, but not young; youthfully energetic, but calm, and confident.
There was no doubt. This was Him.
Archmage Meteuse spread his arms, and shouted "Curiosity!"
A startled silence, before he turned to write the word, large, on the board. "There was a time when I held curiosity as the highest of all virtues. In a world of war and of mystery, where alliances could shatter and friends could lie, where truth and justice and kindness all varied in meaning from person to person, I held to curiosity. For what could be more noble, in the world of uncertainty, than to want to know?"
The Archmage underlined the word, and turned back to them. "But say you were curious about, oh, I dunno, who was right? Imperials or Stormcloaks? Don't worry, I'm not going to bring politics into this, but how would you find it out? Ask people? But people don't agree, they have different opinions on everything, they mess up, nobody's going to be certain about what happened. You could ask the Gods, sure, but they exist subjectively based on how they're worshipped so there's not much certainty to go on there either. And yeah, I guess if you really wanted to, you could read an Elder Scroll. They're objectively true, right? Oh wait, no, because not even Elder Scrolls can properly parse Dragonbreaks, and I happen to know that we had one of those about…half a week ago?"
Maxim, not taking his eyes off the display, leaned in towards Brelyna. "Is this normal?"
"Very normal, yes."
"Oh."
"So if you can't know anything with any certainty, what's the point of being curious?" The Archmage asked. After another beat of silence, he turned, drawing a line on the chalkboard that led to a second word.
"Empathy! It's what separates us from the animals. It's what makes us care. About friends, family, lovers—even strangers! Look across the hall, meet the eye of someone you've never met before. You still don't want them hurt, right?"
Maxim met Brelyna's eye. She grinned at him.
"And we sentients are very weird creatures; we can feel empathy for just about anything. But what do we do about it? What if we want to help someone, but it's hard? Because there are many times recently when it would have been much easier for me not to do the right thing." The Archmage waited another beat, then began writing a third word.
Left on the chalkboard was a great big triangle, with it's final vertex…
"Determination." The Archmage said. "You all got it, somewhere inside yourselves, there's a fire burning in you. It's what made you traipse all the way out here through the cold, its what you use to study even when you're sick of it, its what soldiers and scholars and healers and farmers have been using to win since the conception of the soul. And this is the final piece of the puzzle. These three things are what you'll all need, if you're going to succeed. Not just here, but in the world."
He tapped them each with the chalk in succession.
"Curiosity: To want to know.
Empathy: To give a damn about what you find out.
Determination: To do something about it.
You have these three? You can change the world. Maybe you can even save it."
He tossed the chalk over his shoulder, and grinned at them.
"I am Alexander Meteuse, Archmage of the College of Winterhold. And class is now in session."
8˂
"Which is about the extent of it, good Lady." L'laarzen finished with a bow.
Jarl Lalia Law-Giver let out a long breath.
"You know when you just did crime sometimes?" She said. "That was a lot simpler than this."
The Khajiit's story had been utterly absurd, while still leaving Lalia with the worrying feeling that this was the toned down version of events.
Maven Black-Briar looked like she'd had a lot of questions answered and a lot more questions left to ask, and Brynjolf and Karliah (two also-criminals, as she understood it) looked like they barely understood what had happened even though they'd participated in it.
L'laarzen herself looked almost exactly the same as she had when Lalia had first seen her. Happy, well-groomed and well-dressed, quietly confident. The concerning part was that even as circumstances evolved, even to these frankly absurd extremes, this cat remained unflappable.
"Okay, brass tacks." Lalia leaned forwards. "What does this mean for my city?"
"Very little, good Lady." L'laarzen replied. "You are a Stormcloak allied Hold; the Thalmor have no presence here anyways."
"But you're saying the Thalmor broke the Dragontruce." Lalia pointed a finger at her. "You think this won't mean he goes right back to war?"
"I bet Ulfric finds this whole thing hilarious." Karliah muttered under her breath.
"L'laarzen and her friends will endeavour to ensure he does not." Answered the Khajiit. "We are sending someone he respects to explain the matter to him." A small smile. "Schemes are in the works, Lalia. But for now, we are safe."
"Are we sure there's no way to claim an advantage out of this?" Maven asked. "The Thalmor have just suffered a huge loss, and we know before the public does. I smell profit."
Lalia frowned minutely, but L'laarzen outright sighed, a flicker of irritation on her face. "Maven, for the love of Azurah: Do not mess with this. The situation is precarious enough as it is."
"Was that an order?" Maven raised an eyebrow. "You do remember that I—"
"You are a mead-peddler with criminal contacts. Khajiit just helped kill a god." L'laarzen replied, voice flat. "I would advise learning, quickly, that you are not as powerful as you think you are."
There was a long pause.
Then L'laarzen was beaming again. "In any case, that is that. Business can continue as usual!"
"Then I suppose you had best get back to business." Lalia said, standing.
L'laarzen bowed and turned to leave.
"You've done me another great favour." Lalia spoke up, making the Khajiit halt and turn back. "And I know you said you don't like those, but I can't keep letting these add up."
"While this one appreciates your generosity, there is truly not anything she desires in return." Came the (perhaps predictable response).
"And yet, you've expressed a desire to own property in my city." Lalia said. "You just saved the nation, if not the world. Honeyside is yours, if you want it. No cost and no questions asked."
L'laarzen's eyes widened.
It wasn't just an act of generosity, of course. L'laarzen was an asset, and an incredibly versatile one. She'd already set down roots given her links to the Thieves' Guild, but from what Maven had said, L'laarzen was still in an unclear, 'will-they-won't-they' relationship with the guild (which was especially odd, considering some reports had her running the thing).
Giving L'laarzen a permanent home in the city would help keep her attached to it, rather than leaving to ply her trade somewhere richer, if equally corrupt.
And if she's a permanent fixture of the city, I can have her style my hair on the daily…
After a few seconds, however, L'laarzen shook her head.
"This one is afraid she must decline, though she greatly appreciates the offer. Circumstances are still in flux at this time, and it would do the house a great disservice to have such an irresponsible cat in charge of it."
Brynjolf and Karliah both looked surprised at the decision. Lalia herself found that she had been expecting it from the start.
The question being, did she see through what I was trying to get out of her…or is she really just doing her own thing?
As always, L'laarzen's polite smile gave nothing away.
"Very well." Lalia inclined her head. "Have a good day, all of you, and thank you for your service to this Hold. And, if you cause any more trouble…make sure I don't hear of it."
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When Hjarnagredda had first come to the Reach, she'd only wanted one thing: Her people back.
If she'd known how much she'd have to go through to get it, she might have just grabbed her girlfriend and ran off into the woods. She was still considering it.
The hour was late and the celebrations had died down somewhat, leaving a lot of people sat around fires that had just been built in the middle of the city streets. At some point, the priesthood of Dibella had come out in force to bless the union, and whatever in Oblivion they were doing, everyone seemed to be enjoying it.
"Stop soddin' glancing at me." Hjar glared at Thongvor, before taking another swig from a bottle of wine. "I know what has to happen later tonight, goddamnit, but I'm not drunk enough to think about it yet."
Her, Thongvor, Margret, and Kaie were all gathered around the same fire, after too many hours of partying and mingling and trying to otherwise distract themselves.
"You're glancing at me too!" Thongvor shot back, prodding at the fire. "Once again, neither of us want do this."
"How are you not drunk enough?" Kaie protested, pointing at the bottle in Hjar's hands. "You've had, like, three of those by yourself today."
"I'm a bloody werewolf!" Hjar shouted, throwing her arms up. "And this is technically poison. It takes a lot."
"I don't remember it taking this much when you got smashed with me and Octavia after the Dragon." Margret pointed out, leaning against Hjar's shoulder.
"No it didn't." Hjar narrowed her eyes. "Did…did she enchant me? Oh, that bitch!"
"Welp, I'm leaving." Kaie stood up, patting Hjar on the head. "Imma try and find someone who's both single and not chronically depressed to shack up with. Hey where's that cute guy who showed up on the magic horse? I wanna roll in the hay with him."
"Winterhold, probably." Hjar sighed. "Said he was putting together his own party for all the people who helped win the thing at the thing. The mountain thing. He's not here."
"Bummer. Oh well. Ladies, gentlemen. Enjoy your consummation~" Wiggling her eyebrows and laughing, Kaie walked off.
"Bitch…" Hjar muttered. "Urgh, this is gonna be awful…"
"I'm not that bad!" Thongvor protested.
"It's the principle!" Hjar shot back, before taking another swig.
"Oh stop acting all hard-done-by, at least you like my gender!" Thongvor groused. "This is the reason I never got married before…"
"You gonna be able to perform?" Margret snickered.
"I'll manage."
"Just close your eyes and think of Arkay." Hjar piped up, smirking.
"Or if not, then think of his sexy priest." Margret added, before exploding into a fit of giggles and leaning over to press a kiss against Hjar's neck.
Thongvor stared at the two of them for a long moment, long enough for Hjar (even half inebriated) to take notice and raise an eyebrow at him.
Then he groaned, and stood up. "Screw it. Screw it!"
Hjar squinted. "Screw it what?"
"Screw it I'm not bloody doing this screw it, that's what." He put his own bottle down. "Not while you two are being so happy and all that nonsense."
"You don't wanna—" Margret started—
"But I thought we had to—" Hjar also started—
"We'll chalk it in for later this week, or something." Thongvor dismissed, stretching. "This is supposed to be a fun night. I'll not ruin it. You two enjoy your evening, I'm gonna go find Verulus."
He started to trudge away. Hjar held up a hand, calling "Thongvor?"
He stopped, glanced back. "Yes?"
"…Thank you. For, letting me come home."
His expression softened. "Thank you for showing me what home means."
He turned, moving away towards another fire.
Hjar and Margret were left alone in the night. They paused, and then looked at each other.
"So…" Hjar began. "It's getting late. Think we should go to bed?"
Margret tilted her head. "You do mean 'go to bed together and have lots of sex', right?"
"Yes, that's what I mean."
Margret smiled, then leaned in and kissed her. "Hjar, I thought you'd never ask."
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|
When Dulurza had first come to Hjaalmarch, she'd only wanted one thing: To kill the Jarl of Solitude.
…Like, Malacath's left testicle, she'd actually wanted that.
She shivered involuntarily, causing Elisif to look across at her. The pair were walking away from the throne room after a late but productive court meeting.
"Something wrong?" Elisif asked.
"Just…just thinking about when I first met you. Why I first met you." Dulurza crossed her arms, grimacing. "I never—I was so stupid back then, it's hard to imagine it now, but if things had gone differently I might have—"
A hand rested on her shoulder. She turned to see Elisif looking up at her, smiling. "Dulurza. Remind me what happened in the grove, when the pressure was on and it was time for you to complete your mission?"
Dulurza sighed. "I didn't kill you—"
"You didn't kill me."
"But it was close!"
"Was it?"
"Well, no, not once I realised I was just lying to myself, but a week earlier I might have—"
"Dulurza." Elisif's hand moved up until it was cupping her cheek. "You wanted to kill me. But you didn't. And now you don't want to do anything of the sort. I know that, and you know that. So you can say it aloud if it helps, or just never think about it again if it makes you feel more comfortable, but either way, I'm not worried."
Dulurza touched her own hand to Elisif's, meeting her eyes. "I am never going to hurt you again, ever. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure nobody else does either."
"That's my Thane." Elisif beamed at her. They stared at each other for a moment, before Elisif leaned up onto her toes—
"Sweet merciful DAEDRA are we DONE now?" Potema slumped on the balcony beside them, making them both dart awkwardly backwards. "Seriously. It has been days since we got down from that mountain. Can I relax now, please?"
It was still weird to see Elenwen's face wearing that combination of exhaustion and exasperation; doubly so when Dulurza had last seen it on Elisif's face while she was possessed.
"Sorry for foisting so much work onto you." Elisif said, composing herself. "We did need to make sure that neither your body (nor Tamrielic politics) was going to spontaneously combust."
"Ugh. Yes Mistress…"
"Why are you doing that?" Dulurza asked. "I didn't take you as a, well, you know—"
"Dulurza. Baby. Darling." Potema clapped her hands together. "I have not had sex in four hundred and ninety-seven years. I am kinky and I am desperate."
"Believe me, I know. I had to share your head for the last few months…" Elisif rolled her eyes.
"Exactly! And, uh, sorry for that." Potema winced. "That's part of the reason for the flirting, by the way, with which I am being deadly serious. I caused you both a lot of stress, which I now regret, because you've been very good to me. So let me know if you ever decide you want to relieve some of that pent up stress by, say, grabbing my hair and pulling me—"
"POTEMA." Both of them chorused at once.
Elisif sighed. "Just…go. Have fun."
"Yes Mistress." Potema cackled. "You two have a good night. I am going to do my best to utterly destroy Elenwen's reputation! Ta-ra!"
She jumped over the balcony, floated magically down to the front door, and shoved them open.
Dulurza side-eyed Elisif. "Think we'll regret that?"
"I find I'm too tired to care." Elisif chuckled. She glanced over at her door. "So…It's getting late. Think we should go to bed?"
Dulurza opened her mouth to agree—
Froze, as the implications caught up with her.
"Do you—" She pointed at Elisif, then at the door, then at herself. "Do you mean—"
"For the first time in many months, I am alone in the privacy of my own mind, and in the presence of someone I love." Elisif said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Yes. I do mean."
"Oh." Dulurza said. "I mean. I mean, yes, but, I've never—Like I haven't—"
"Oh? Then I suppose it's time for me to be the confident one." With that, Elisif turned to her room, and opened the door.
Dulurza didn't hesitate in following her through.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
When Alexander had first come to Winterhold, he'd only wanted one thing: To become a God.
And…he'd sort of done it? Technically? He really hadn't expected to hit that checkbox so fast, if he was being honest.
"Excellent speech, as always." Mirabelle said, squeezing his shoulder as she walked past. The staffroom (of course the College had a staffroom, it had always had a staffroom) was a busy place, all the masters moving about and getting their things together for the start of the new term.
"Mm, the students seemed excited." Faralda agreed, leafing through papers nearby. "I saw some of them rushing towards the Arcanaeum the moment the assembly ended. Urag's probably going to be furious…"
"Oh, don't worry, it'll wear off." Xander chuckled, scribbling some notes of his own. "Student motivation tends to cave the moment actual homework starts. Trust me, I would know."
"Oh, we know." Phinis spoke up from across the room. "Happens every year. First the initial excitement, then when that wears off its boredom and missed deadlines. And then the crimes against humanity start…"
"Let's try and keep a lid on those." Xander advised, wincing. "Any interesting new students?"
"One of them came to me and confessed they were a vampire that wanted to be cured." Colette said, tinkering with something in the back of the room. "One claims to have read an Elder Scroll and lived, another insists that they escaped from a mad cult on the island of Solstheim, and another says they're incapable of doing any magic between sunrise and sunset every other weekday."
Xander met Mirabelle's eye. "I'll have a word with them later in the week. Glad to know my life's not going to be boring…"
"Does that mean you actually intend to hang around for any extended period this term?" Drevis asked, without much bite to his words. "Or will you still be running off at random every few days?"
"We'll burn those bridges when we get to them?" Xander scratched the back of his head, and coughed. "I am currently trying to organise a party sometime next week for all the people who helped save the world, but that's just one evening. And—"
ALEXANDER. WHY IS THE NIGHT MOTHER'S COFFIN IN YOUR ROOM.
...You're noticing this now? Meridia, Cicero moved that there this morning—
I AM NOT SHARING A ROOM WITH THE CREEPY DEATH LADY. SHE'S A GHOST. YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THOSE.
Xander closed his mouth and sighed. "Sorry everyone, Daedra troubles. Mind if I call it a night here?"
Multiple overlapping agreements and well-wishes emerged from the rest of the staff, and Xander stood, stretching.
"I'll come with you." Mirabelle hastily offered, standing up as well.
"Oh, sure!" There was some snickering from the other staff members, but Xander just chalked it up to some kind of outfit malfunction from him and ignored it, leading the way out the door.
Mirabelle was quiet and fidgety as they walked, leaving Xander the one to instigate conversation. Normally that would mean this was a very tense and serious situation; but the halls were empty and this was Mirabelle. Funny how she'd gone from terrifying to one of few people he felt relaxed around.
"Still hasn't really sunk in that I'm doing this, you know?" He said.
"Hm?" She blinked like he'd jolted her out of some deep thought. "Oh. Do you mean running a school, or having dark Gods as roommates?"
"Well, either." He chuckled. "It's weird to think that this is a…normal state, you know? That I have a default now. Before I was just flitting from one thing to another, but Winterhold is…"
"Home." Mirabelle supplied.
"Heh. Yeah. Home." They came to a stop in front of the door to the Archmage's quarters. Xander opened it, and paused. "I…really couldn't have done all this without you, Mirabelle. I mean that."
Mirabelle's mouth opened and closed a few times, before managing to form the words "I—Yes. Thank you. It's been my pleasure."
She glanced back down the staircase, as though checking it was empty. Xander was about to head inside when she piped up again.
"So…It's getting late. Think we should go to bed?"
Xander looked at her. Smiled. "Well, that's what I was planning."
Mirabelle's eyes widened—
And, concluding that this conversation was now over, Xander shut the door in her face and went to bed.
8˂
When L'laarzen had first come to the Rift, she'd only wanted one thing: To open a luxury haircutting and fur styling parlour.
And today, when one had been handed to her on a silver platter, she'd turned it down.
"Are you out of your mind?" Karliah said, following her out into the misty morning. "The Jarl just offered you eight thousand septims, clean and tax-free, and you said no!"
"Houses have upkeep costs, remember?" L'laarzen said, making her way over to the marketplace.
"Aye, but the guild could have used the building." Brynjolf stepped up beside her. "And in any case, what about your dream, lass? I thought this was what you wanted?"
"Indeed…" L'laarzen took in a deep breath, and let it out. "L'laarzen's 'dream' was one predicated on lying to herself. Or, about parts of herself. She fears it is simply not in her nature to settle down…but that does not mean she should behave as she did before first coming to the country. Some things are simply inexcusable."
She turned back to them. "L'laarzen will travel, she thinks. Peddle her skills around the nation. There are a good many important people who desire her services, after all, and she would hate to disappoint them."
"Still chasing the thrill, huh?" Karliah chuckled, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Finally, you say something that makes sense."
"Well, yes and no." L'laarzen sighed, leaning on a railing and looking down at the river. "Khajiit has always chased excitement. She has found it to be a fleeting thing; an addiction of sorts that always asks more and more of you. And at the same time, she has always desired the simple comfort of a home…but they would seem to be mutually incompatible, no?"
She looked back at her two friends. "But a home is not brick and mortar, a cistern or a hair parlour or a palace. It is the people who make it up. The friends and loved ones who will support you when you are struggling. Family."
The smile that spread across her face was an earnest one. "L'laarzen will be quite happy continuing her adventures, she thinks, so long as she family to come back to when the day ends."
(Across the marketplace, Dinya Balu swooned, and somewhere in the cosmos Mara was probably doing the Aedric equivalent of going "Aww" very loudly.)
"…Have you considered quitting your job and just writing poetry?" Brynjolf asked.
Karliah burst out laughing.
"I'm serious! I'm too wretched to work with someone who can say things like that, your aura of kindness will burn me away!"
"Stop, stop!" L'laarzen laughed too, waving a hand demurely. "Please, you are embarrassing this poor old cat. Anyway, she had best get going. There is an appointment she needs to make, and then she is leaving town for a while."
"Planning on scaring Maven a bit more?" Karliah asked. "I think you did a good enough of that in Mistveil."
"Not quite." L'laarzen's voice took on a melancholy tone. "L'laarzen is going to visit Honourhall Orphanage. It has been much too long, and there is a young boy there she must speak to."
I have been waiting for a very long time to callback to the chapter 1 'only wanted one thing'. Was pretty proud of that opener to be fair. Establish character motivations immediately, and run the joke of gradually increasing ambitions followed by 'become a hairdresser'. Good stuff. The issue with chapter ones, of course, is that its hard to know whether you've done them right or not. Did me starting with a long list of promises help? Did it hinder? Hard for me to say.
But this isn't chapter 1, this is chapter 84 and the second to last chapter in the story (probably, there's still a lot of scenes left). I'll save the big heartfelt speeches for after the next one. For now, we just get to see the aftermath of the battle for our titular protagonists. And that, for the most part, they're doing okay.
Also if I got a little preachy/philosophical in this chapter, I am sorry. There are probably better ways to demonstrate character development.