Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Very dialogue-heavy chapter! I've also been struggling with how to handle this, so it might be a bit forced.

LONG CHAPTER

Last time…

The dungeons don't lead me anywhere, but in the servant's quarters I find a door almost completely blocked by hay and bags. It's partially jammed, but when I open it, I find 'her' – the Whispering Lady's - door. I listen carefully, then hesitantly decide on the best course of action. "What… do you want me to do?"

Chapter 30 – Calling

If she at any point orders me to do something I dislike, I will turn my back on her so fast she'll get whiplash. The only Daedric Prince – of which Mephala is obviously one – I follow without question is my White Lady.

"And how do I open the door?" I ask, once the damned creature basically tells me that her power has been sealed away underneath Dragonsreach long ago… for a good reason.

"The dark child knows of what I speak. Let him… guide your path."

Nelkir. Xrib's forges, I'm going to be forced to drag that child even further into this mess, aren't I – but I will try, with everything in my power, to save him.

But, because I am a little more ruthlessly pragmatic than I often show, when it proves to be a risky endeavour that might kill me, I will no longer help the boy. If I'm to save the world from Alduin, and save possibly thousands of other children, I can excuse myself for leaving this one to rot.

Even though my moral compass shudders and vomits in disgust at the thought of NOT helping a child. This goes beyond just Nelkir, though, and if the boy proves beyond saving I might have to…

I lean heavily against the wall, clenching my jaw and fists before dragging a tired hand down my face. A shuddering sigh escapes me.

Damnit, why do these things always come up when I'm around? And why am I so keen to step in to help, anyway?

Balgruuf is a decent Jarl though, so this at least deserves my consideration. Not to mention that Adrianne, Erandur and Jenassa would be pissed if I stopped now.

I heave another sigh. Here we go, facing a Daedric Prince… Again.

…

Roughly ten minutes later, when I've pulled myself together, I walk into Farengar's study, still somewhat queasy. "Are you alright? You look rather pale." Erandur asks from where he's examining a soul gem at the Enchanter, even as Marcurio and Farengar pause in their conversation.

I ignore my companions in favour of looking the court wizard dead in the eye with the most commanding tone I can muster. "I need your help." The Nord frowns, blue robes trailing over the ground as he walks up to me slowly.

"And with what would that be then? It had better be related to what the Jarl asked of you."

I nervously glance down at the suddenly far more interesting wooden floor before clearing my throat.

"I need to have the key to the door in the basement, Farengar, before people die. I'll also need your help, Erandur. After all..." I give him a hard look, desperate to have the Priest of Mara understand the severity of the problem.

"…We're dealing with royalty here."

Erandur figures out the underlying meaning easily enough, as does Marcurio, who immediately sets to convincing a confused Farengar to give us the key when the Court Mage attempts to refuse.

For once, the Imperial's tendency to talk blithely over any interruptions works out in my favour.

Once I hold the small, innocuous little thing, Erandur and I return to the sealed door, the priest commenting on the intricate seal under his breath worriedly. As I turn the key in the lock, he steels himself for the confrontation, charging the Expulsion Ritual spell in both hands.

"Ready?" I ask him somewhat nervously, remembering Vaermina's anger all too well.

"As I will ever be, friend."

What happened next will never, as far as I or Erandur are concerned, ever leave the walls of that barren chamber. Or so we decide before moving towards the Jarl's throne room on unsteady legs.

"Never again." I curse under my breath. "Why do all the Daedra I meet want me to murder whoever happens to be conveniently nearby? Never again will I bring anyone I know within the grasp of one of those absolute bastards." Exhausion seems to settle deep inside me, draining me of all energy. Mephala was strong. It will take a while to recover from her.

"Hmph. You may not get the choice. You've not the skills to perform the Expulsion Ritual, only I do. Or, if Marcurio were to make up his mind as to which Divine he favours most, he might be able to be taught… I suppose. It's quite a delicate piece of magic."

I bite my lip, worrying it between my teeth.

"Speaking of Marcurio…"

The Dunmer's eyes swivel to me immediately, sensing the shift in mood. His dark eyes gleam, but I don't notice as I'm barely paying attention to the table I stopped to stare at, lost in thought.

"Could you stop trying to get us together?" The priest of Mara seems almost mortally offended at that, and I cut him off quickly before he can go on a spiel about 'gifts of love' or whatever it is priests of Mara rant about.

"I'm serious. It's… I'm not looking for any romantic relations right now, least of all for someone who sees me as some child and not… in that way. Besides, we're both guys. My culture doesn't condone a union of those of the same sex, as Logic determined that as they can't bear children, and so there's no point to it. Also, I need to beat Alduin before I can even think of..!"

A pause as I make an involuntary sound of frustration.

"I can't be with anyone! I could die because of that black-scaled bastard, or any other dragon targeting me! Not to mention I'm pretty sure I've made some powerful enemies, and that I'll make many more for the next few months to come. Being with him…"

My voice breaks. Don't be such a baby. It's not like a Time-traveling, out-of-place Dwemer like me deserves to be loved, anyway. Hah, Marcurio still never said he believes I'm a Dwemer in the first place! Besides…

"I would never," I stress in a low voice, keeping my gaze on the perplexed Dunmer priest, "I would never, paint a target on the back of someone I love like that. So please. Leave it alone."

I'm outright begging, and my pride is hating me for it, further driving pain into my heart like the thrust of a knife. I wonder if my pride is a result of all those Dragon Souls or because I'm a Dwemer. Ugh, what am I thinking? Regardless of where it comes from, I wish I didn't have to choke on it so often.

I'm very lucky that the servants are off elsewhere, and that the kitchens are deserted as mealtime is in a few hours. It gives the illusion of privacy, as long as we keep our voices down. Again refusing to give my friend a word in edgewise, since I prefer to cling to the idea that I've made up my mind on the issue – I haven't – I continue:

"It's good enough that I can see and talk to him." It's really not. Gods, what I wouldn't give for some sleep right now.

"For now, we should inform the Jarl that Mephala's artefact has been banished. It doesn't solve the problem of the children though, and as the seals on the door broke when we opened it, we might even have given the bitch a stronger hold on the people here. We need to ensure there won't be any more problems."

Erandur observes me quietly for what feels like an eternity, the aging Dunmer's eyes showing an odd sort of contemplative, resigned misery, belying his experiences.

"I had no idea that you had given the two of you so much thought, and for that you have my sincere apologies. As a priest of Mara, I cannot accept your decision, not when Marcurio and you are so obviously..." He stops mid-sentence, shaking his head with a rueful sigh before meeting my pleasing eyes.

"But as your friend, I can… Respect your choice. I will cease my actions."

I'm not relieved. How strange, I had definitely thought I would be.

"Thank you, Erandur. It means a lot to me."

"I can tell." The priest mutters dryly, walking off towards the Jarl's throne room. "Speaking of which, I shall see what our resident Imperial troublemaker is up to. I believe you should be the one to inform the Jarl and decide on the next course of action."

And just like that, he's gone, and I'm left alone in the middle of the Dragonsreach kitchens, surrounded by leeks, potatoes and different sorts of meat.

I look around myself, as if to make sure I'm actually alone. I could swear I just heard –

There it is again!

Voices. Low, whispering, high-pitched. I give the room another once-over, before quickly leaving the place.

I have three unruly brats to locate.

…

"How was I supposed to know he'd get rid of the Whispering Lady? She told me to get the wanderer to her!" I hear Nelkir exclaim angrily as I crack open the door leading to the bedroom belonging to Balgruuf's brother Hrongar.

"Well she never told me anything of the sort, Skeever-butt." A girl's voice drifts towards me, hushed.

"Don't call me that!"

"Well we can't call you our little brother now can we? You're not, after all. Mom didn't have you." Sounds the other one of Balgruuf's sons, whose name escapes me for the moment.

I find myself with two different options here. One: I barge into the room and demand the children confess what they're doing or planning. Two: I wait and listen in like the supposedly sneaky person I am.

Option two then, who knows what I might learn. They're still children at the end of the day, so I can't be too hasty.

"Anyway, you're lucky we're not here to discuss your whore of a mother." The girl drawls shrewdly. "We're here to see what to do about our… beloved father." If I hadn't already been doubting those kids were alright, I would have started now. I hadn't even known anyone – a child, no less – could inject so much venom and disgust in the words 'beloved father'.

This is starting to look… Dangerous. For Balgruuf, that is. Much as I hate to admit that children can be so depraved as to maybe…

"I still say we use that poison you stole from Farengar." The eldest boy grumbles, and I can just barely see him cross his arms with a scowl at his sister.

"Well, I am smarter than you, and I say that Farengar is far too busy with dragons like some three-year-old to make proper poisons. It's not strong enough, I think."

Standing, or well, kneeling, completely frozen outside the door with wide eyes, I wonder where all the guards went – that they have never heard these children speak of, quite possibly…

Nelkir pipes up hesitantly: "Uh, guys? That filthy pig likes you two more than he likes me, if he ever did at all. Why don't you go up to him while he's asleep, claim you have, I don't know, a nightmare about Kodlak, maybe? The pathetic weakling will surely believe that, he's been crying about it, I could hear him snivel last night."

A pause. Then the girl pipes up again: "Well, this Skeever-hole of a city could use someone else, like uncle Hrongar, to sit on the throne, don't you think?"

Agreeing noises.

"So we go up to him with a dagger and stab him after giving him a hug? Nelkir, I didn't know you were so cunning! Must have been that snakeskin of a mother you had!"

I hear shuffling, and see the children get up. Hurriedly, I stand up straight, crossing my arms glaring intently at the door, feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over me. This is worse than I thought. And I'm not just talking about my exhaustion.

Form inside, I still hear muffled voices, barely loud enough for even my sensitive elven ears to understand.

"So, tonight then?" Nelkir.

"Yeah. I'll do it. For the Whispering Lady." The girl.

"For the Whispering Lady." The other two voices echo solemnly, and then the oldest child opens the door as if he just wandered into the room to look for taffy treats. Almost comically slowly, he looks at my armoured chest, before his head tilts back until he can look me in the eye.

I let a cocky, dangerous smirk crawl onto my face as I spot the panic growing on the boy's previously arrogant, smug little mug. When the other two children come up behind him to see what the fuss is about, I can't help but exaggerate a bit, looming darkly over the kids with a death glare usually reserved for enemies. Perhaps it will teach them a small life lesson on biting off more than you can chew – or at least about being discreet when discussing patricide.

Still grinning, I purr darkly:

"Going somewhere?"

…

I have never been more thankful to carry around what Marcurio calls 'useless junk' in my pack. Like a length of rope to bind the children together.

"GUARDS!"

A scrambling noise in the distance, followed by the clattering sound of things falling over and muffled curses before a guard in full Whiterun uniform runs up to me, clutching a sword as if preparing to attack. Then he sees the Jarl's children, glowering and grumbling and tied up like common criminals.

"What is the meaning of this?"

I sigh. "Go get the Jarl. And my friends. Now."

"I don't follow orders from a milk drinker like you! Unhand the Jarl's children at once!"

Rolling my eyes and suddenly overcome with the urge to bash the man's head in, I snarl at the man in frustration. If everyone would just listen to me, I can still be in time for dinner at Adrianne's.

"You will follow orders from the Dragonborn, won't you? Get. Balgruuf. Now. Or I will take these three terrors into the main Hall and cause a ruckus big enough to be the talk of Whiterun for years. Naturally, everyone will be most informed it was because this one guard was sleeping at his post. Go."

He goes.

For the second time today, I am held at sword point with an angry Whiterun resident yelling "What is the meaning of this?" at the same tone of voice one would ask a thief where their life savings went. Very pissed off.

The only difference is that this time, it's not any random guard but the Jarl of Whiterun yelling, and he's brought an entourage. Irileth's sword shifts at my throat, poking it but not harshly enough to cut. Yet. A clear warning that my next words could be the last.

I force away the stray thought that it would be a relief if she killed me. I have too many tasks that still need doing.

Marcurio is white as a sheet, eyes trained on the Dunmer Housecarl and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Erandur is stoically staring down the children, who shift guiltily under his heavy, wise gaze. The Jarl himself just looks tired and a little mad at me, but not to the point of instant murder, so that's fine.

"Jarl Balgruuf." I begin, swallowing as the sword draws a thin red line across my Adam's apple. It stings, but I force myself to ignore it once more. "Your children are in need of spiritual cleansing. Their minds have been severely corrupted by Mephala, whom, may I add, you have not thought to remove to a location far, far away from impressionable children years ago."

A brief pause as the blade retreats a little before Irileth snarls. "Such insult to the Jarl is -"

"Irileth." There's a sharpness in those tired eyes now. Dulled by the man's slumped stature, it does not make him any less intimidating. Jarl Balgruuf finally looks the part again, more alert then I've seen him since arriving here. Finally.

He turns his full attention to me. "That is a heavy accusation, Dragonborn. The Ebony Blade was sealed away, centuries ago. The seal should have kept out even the strongest of her whispers."

"Not necessarily." Erandur steps in, keeping his usual soothing voice and composure as he runs a hand to smoothen out his priest robes. "Mephala feeds on dissent, disloyalty, secrecy, plots. With the war and more… recent developments, I can imagine that She has grown powerful enough to whisper through even the seal we found on the door. As a priest, I sense Daedric power clinging to the children. It would be best to bring them to the Temple of Kynareth as soon as possible, as I could use help of another goddess to ensure no harm befalls their souls in the process."

The Jarl frowns deeply. "The people of Whiterun will start talking if they see my children and I visit the temple." I step away from Irileth and up to the Jarl, ignoring her angry exclamation to whisper in the man's ear.

"I heard some worrying discussions between your children. I fear you have two options: face the rumours or face death." He gnashes his teeth together harshly, staring his children down.

I meet the Jarl's eyes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as he first glances to his children. "All I ask for now is that you trust me."

"My trust is not easily given." He reminds me gravely, and I nod solemnly. Marcurio lets out a sharp hiss.

"For gods' sake, can you not make up your mind? Will all due respect, Jarl Balgruuf, your children would not have been in this mess if you'd given them the attention and love they needed in the first place!" The Imperial's voice cracks with emotion, and I can sense a long story behind the fevered words.

Did his parents wrong him? I spot Erandur giving the man a worried look from the corner of my eye even as Marcurio and Balgruuf engage in a glaring contest. An unheard conversation seems to pass between them, only in subtle shifting of the look in their eyes. It's… highly unnerving.

"…Very well. Guards, ensure my children do not get harmed on the way. We will visit the temple right now. I seek an end to this madness, and for now, I am willing to follow your scheme, Dragonborn. I trust Proventus and Irileth can take care of my hold for a few minutes."

I glance at the jarl as we walk down the steps towards the exit side by side. "My jarl… Before we commence, I believe you deserve to know exactly what you are getting your children into." I then, cautiously, outline the ritual to him as I've seen Erandur perform it. I wonder if it will even have any effect on Nelkir. He was the first one that got involved, and he's the youngest, also. His thoughts will not be as protected as those of his siblings.

There is one thing though… Ma would have straight up murdered me for even considering to aid with an exorcism on another sentient being. A child, no less. To make sure that, wherever she is, she will not think of me too harshly, I must receive due punishment.

"In Dwemer culture, trying any sort of exorcism on the not yet fully developed mind of a child is the most severe of taboos, and a heavy penalty is paid by the aggressor as it will leave lasting marks on your son. But… My culture is gone forever, and my people are no more. They cannot pass judgement, but you are free to demand compensation in any form after Erandur has performed the ritual, as he is doing so on my behest. You may even demand my life, and I will give it… For my own peace of mind, make me pay the price for doing this."

He gives me a long, heavy look, and now I finally see more than the tired, mortal man who is always stressed and worried. I see the jarl, strong, proud, judging fairly, and doing what he believes is best for those around him.

I should have seen the near-paralysing sensation of relief coming before it washed over me like a tidal wave. There's the Jarl I first met, all those months ago. He's back.

When we finally reach the temple, I let the jarl speak to Danica, even as Erandur stands off to the side, preparing himself and the priestess for the cleansing.

Frothar and Dagny, which I now know are the names of the two oldest children, each take about ten minutes of careful chanting while the bound child sits in the central part of the temple. The brats are much calmer afterwards, and both confess to having felt weird and sick for weeks, but they didn't trust anyone enough to tell them, somehow. They're dismissed back to Dragonsreach right after, since there's no need to show them what became of their little brother.

Sounds like the Prince that plays with the bonds between people, all right. Now, it's Nelkir's turn.

…Easier said than done.

As I'd feared, but refused to think about, no matter how much the two priests try, they cannot rid the angry boy of the dark influence of Mephala. He's been listening to the Whispering Lady the longest, and with his past, has had more reason to embrace the Daedra's influence.

"What can we do now?" Comes Marcurio's question after half an hour of work hasn't produced any results with the boy, Danica and Erandur being forced to take a break and some potions.

"He is a dark child. I doubt the cleansing will help him much." Danica sighs mournfully, quickly averting her eyes when Nelkir snarls at her.

"There's nothing wrong with me! Let me go at once! The Whispering Lady will kill all of you, I swear she will!"

I snort. "Boy, if I had to make a note of every plot devised to bring about my death, I'd be up to my neck in stacks of paper. She's not the first Daedric Prince I've pissed off this century."

This prompts Balgruuf to angrily ask me the question I'd been dreading to hear: "You have been silent so far. Is there really nothing that can be done to help my son? Am I to leave my child to the wiles of a Daedra?"

"I'm afraid I cannot help you here, not directly at least. He's been listening to her for months, after all. And perhaps…"

I fall quiet as I contemplate it, Nelkir's death glares not bothering me in the slightest. But my thoughts are muddled rather than clear, my mind stuffed with cotton wads of exhaustion, my limbs leaden and not cooperative as I shift again in an effort to get comfortable, even knowing it's in vain. The only comfort now would be to pass out.

But I am getting off subject, I am completely unfocused. Ugh, I hate this.

"Perhaps what?" Erandur pokes after a few moments of silence.

"Have you considered that he doesn't want to be cured?" I ask, hesitant even as I see others contemplate the previously unconsidered option.

The silence falls again, this time heavy, painful, and all-encompassing.

"Why…Not?" Danica asks slowly, the vowels passing her lips as if they taste like something awful. Balgruuf, on the other hand, seems to have caught on. For once, Marcurio isn't the first to do so, as he frowns at everyone else confusedly.

"If my own child does not trust me, why would he wish to leave the embrace of the one who told him things I should have explained years ago?" Balgruuf sighs. And under the scrutinizing gazes of everyone else, the Jarl walks up to his son and kneels, drawing the boy into an unexpected hug.

"Words cannot express how sorry I am for all of this, my son. You hold the same place and value in my heart as your brother and sister, and I love you all equally. It never would have come to this, had I been a better father to you three, and to you, especially. I know that ruling a hold, even in the midst of a war, is no excuse to neglect those most important to me. I am so, so dreadfully sorry, Nelkir."

The boy wavers, the hatred fading and flickering as doubt starts to creep into his dark eyes. "Sorry isn't going to change this, Balgruuf."

It's a step up from 'disgusting pig', at least. I feel something tight in my chest ease at the sight, seeing not all is lost, before spotting Marcurio from the corner of my eye starting to move. Unabashed, he seats himself on the floor next to the duo, turning to Nelkir.

"You know, my parents never gave me any apologies when I was a kid."

The boy is interested in the seemingly unrelated topic, even as he tries to deny he is by furrowing his brow and turning his head away. Marcurio continues, unbothered by the obvious dismissal.

"I was a lot like you. My parents were always busy with work, and the man I called 'father' resented my mother for having me with another man." It sounds airy, as it passed his lips, but the rest of the room falls into a stunned silence at the admission, including me.

I'd never expected the wizard mercenary in a bar in Riften to have any interesting story, other than a thirst for adventure, I realise with a stab of shame at never really knowing much about the man I've travelled with, fallen in love with.

I never wanted to pry. He never tried to ask me anything about the Dwemer, either, even though I know it fascinates him. I suppose it was out of mutual respect that we never spoke of the past, but still, I could have asked him about his family, at least. Not that he knows much about mine other than their names and jobs.

"I was alone. A lot. I thought I would never be good enough for them. Talking too much annoyed them, but sometimes I felt that any attention was better than none at all, even if it was just to punish me. I felt I existed to them, and fooled myself into thinking that was enough."

Judging by the pained, surprised widening of Nelkir's eyes, Marcurio hit the nail on the head with that – a part of their lives that they share. And the Imperial is so calm about it, accepting almost.

It hurts to hear. I wonder if that's why he always feels the need to break the silence.

"And then I met an Breton mage." A pause, as if he's trying to figure out how to phrase it. Finally, he heaves a sigh, shaking his head minutely. "He told me I could become a great wizard, praised me, saw me. I adored him. He told me my parents never really loved me, anyway. Told me they'd be better off dead."

A sharp twang in my chest has me bite my lip roughly, and I cover my mouth to force myself into absolute silence, in case I break the hushed spell that seemingly fell over the entire temple. Even the ever-present tingling of bells is subdued.

And to Nelkir, it seems to sound uncomfortably familiar as he turns to face Marcurio's unreadable face. Unreadable, that is, too all those who do not know his every tick, and I see the carefully hidden anguish that makes me want to kill the bastard that hurt him with my bare hands.

"What did you do then?" The boy asks, and his voice is so unsure, so young, he never should have gotten close to any Daedra, damnit.

"I confronted them. Asked them if they truly did not love me." Another beat. "I never got any apologies for their answers. The Breton betrayed me soon after, tried to kill me. He failed. I left, came to Skyrim, and spend a few years utterly miserable."

Another, longer pause. "Then some idiot decided to bring me along to kill dragons, but that's neither here nor there." A small smirk tugs at my lips as several pairs of eyes move to me, knowing perfectly well who 'some idiot' is.

"I never got that apology. It's worth more than you think. IF your father is willing to change himself for the better."

"I am." Jarl Balgruuf vowed solemnly, before turning to Nelkir. "Please, my son. Let us help you."

A long, drawn-out silence is followed by the boy's answer, slow and childish and unsure.

"Okay."

I let out a deep breath, sliding down against the pillar I was standing close to.

Thank the gods. Nelkir will be alright. And Whiterun will be alright. And Mephala will be gone and gods, I am so, so tired…

The world disappears.

…

I wake up flat on my back, still in the temple, but on one of the beds, this time. My headache has faded completely even as I lazily open my eyes, turning my head to the side to watch Danica wander about the temple helping the – other? – patients. I feel empty, a little listless.

This little stop in Whiterun ended up being a lot of trouble, didn't it? I hope we won't have to meet face-to-face with any other Daedric Princes once we get to Markarth.

(Jinxed it.)

Danica then notices me, and she smiles genially, clasping her hands in front of her robes. "I am so glad to see you've finally woken up! You gave your husband quite a scare when you collapsed on him." She approaches, the tinkling sounds, like bells, that always seems to fill the temple with a relaxing atmosphere getting louder with each steps, to the volume of birds chirping, rather than leaves rustling in the wind.

I give her a small smile, sitting up slowly and waiting for the vertigo to pass as she hands me a stamina potion and some leek soup. "Easy now. You have been out of it for almost a day. The jarl was most impressed with your efforts. And your two companions must have told the children about all your adventures – they won't stop asking for stories now that that evil monster's influence is gone. You have caused a stir in all of Whiterun hold." Here, her smile turns teasing.

"Some have called you a miracle, having been sent to us by the gods to make Skyrim a better place." I let out a breathless laugh after taking the potion and stilling my rumbling stomach.

What husband is she talking about? I'm not married. I'm happy to hear Erandur still wants to stick around after all this.

"Well, I guess you could argue that the gods sent me here… But a miracle? Please, telling a friend to perform exorcisms on children? It's abominable, and should not be praised." She swats me on the back of my head lightly, with a stern frown and pursed lips twisting her face, though her eyes stay gentle.

"You have indirectly saved that boy's soul. Even if your people would have condemned you for doing so, that does not mean the jarl, or any of us, will do the same! You will find that in Skyrim, we believe in the worth of people's actions, rather than some outdated law!"

I can only stare at her, meal forgotten. Are… Is she saying that because my intentions and the results turned out well, the risk and deplorable aspect of what I've done will be disregarded?

I stay silent for a few moments more as I finish my bowl. "You humans are weird." I snort. "And here I was thinking that your races could no longer surprise me, honestly, after seeing how you all live in wooden houses…"

Being discharged after a lecture on being careful and taking it easy, I make my way around Whiterun to find my friends. Walking around in just a tunic, pants, and a pair of simple shoes is unsettling. I've gotten used to my full armour too much. I don't even have my axes, I wonder where they are..?

Eventually, I climb up to Dragonsreach, only to be spotted by one of the Jarl's children the second I close the large double doors behind me.

Dagny giggles when I pass her, tugging at my clothes to draw my attention to her.

"Is it true that when you were in a Nordic tomb to find a magic sword, you ran away from a draughr? And that you screamed like a little girl while you fought it? Like, like, 'For the love of the gods, please, please, get it away from me'?"

I deadpan, face burning at the memory of THAT particular Draughr Deathlord.

"Marcurio is a lying liar who lies." I say in monotone, before grinning down at the girl, pushing away the intense guilt welling up in me.

I move along, allowing the child to follow on my heels, her chatter falling quiet at the serious look on her father's face.

"After spending a lot of time in discussion with my court, I have decided on what your punishment will be."

Dagny looks at me with wide, shocked eyes, before quickly running up to her father and standing between the jarl and Proventus. I jut my chin forwards and square my shoulders, as if bracing for a lightning spell to the chest.

"I will accept anything you see fit, my Jarl, as we discussed." Whispers and mutterings erupt from the people in the room.

"Discussed?"

"Isn't that the person who helped saved Nelkir from that… thing?"

"From what the guards were saying, he isn't a bad person."

"Silence." The single word rings with authority, and I stand a little straighter, holding my breath. "You punishment will consist of two parts." I nod stoically, meeting the man's eyes and trying to hide my unease and fear from him – somehow, I feel he can see right through it. "Firstly, you will pay a fine of 5000 gold pieces."

I make a quick calculation in my head – A thousand gold more than murder. Still, it's a low fee compared to how much money and treasure I have stored in Hjerim, and even with me right at this moment… Once I locate my gear. Another nod, and I grit my teeth as I wait for the true axe to fall –

A/N: As for what happened in that locked chamber under Dragonsreach... Let's just say that Mephala was quite happy to have the seals broken AND that her 'new Champion' brought a friend to turn into a shish-kebab. Our protagonists did not agree. But I'll leave the details up to your own imagination.

And yeah, Fjaldi doesn't want to throw Erandur under the bus for acting on his request. Since 'the Calling' is a big part of Dwemer society, I figured that anything related to playing with the mind like, pretty much the entire School of Illusion would be heavily frowned upon… For Dwemer. Quite a bit different to Nords.

Fixed a couple of spelling errors! Sorry, I have no Beta reader, so some mistakes slip through the cracks.