Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): none. Transition chapter
Last time…
"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."
Another nod, and I grit my teeth as I wait for the true axe to fall –
Chapter 31 - Time
"Secondly, you will buy Breezehome from Proventus, along with any possible furnishings, and you will accept the title of Thane of Whiterun hold."
He pauses when I almost fall to the floor in shock. Is he fucking kidding me?
But no, the look on his face as he glances at Nelkir is anything but faked, even as the boy lets out a small, barely discernible sigh.
"You… have done Whiterun a great service, Dragonborn. Greater than I suspect you have any idea of. Know also that I would not offer you this title if my trust in you had been damaged in any way. You told me what could happen, and you held your word until the very end, even refusing rest after facing a Daedra! This… is the least I can do to thank you for what you have done. I am afraid your new Housecarl, Lydia, is away for the remainder of the day, but I shall inform her of her new station the moment she returns."
I let out a breath I hadn't even realised I was holding, feeling a bit faint. Nevertheless, I bow deeply to the jarl. "I… Do not deserve this."
He raises a knowing eyebrow. "You said you would accept any punishment. Will you go back on your word?"
I'm left gaping at him, floundering like a fish on dry land, even as I snap my mouth shut with a frown, gesturing as if trying to say something, then I open and close my mouth again, somewhat bemused.
"No I – what I mean is, I just - " I give up, crossing my arms and sighing in frustration, giving the jarl a crooked smile. "I… will stand by what I said."
He cornered me. Me! A Dwemer descended from a scholar! Perhaps humans and my people are not opposites, or very dissimilar, after all. Or maybe they're just as intelligent as a Dwemer, they just lack the schooling?
…It's a valid theory. Education is key, after all.
Spacing out in the middle of the jarl's court would have been a worse idea if I didn't have Marcurio and Erandur on stand-by. Balgruuf grins – outright grins at me, not that I fully register it, and he looks many years younger doing so.
"Dine with us, Dragonborn." As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I can't bring myself to answer, still finding myself utterly floored, utterly speechless – so Marcurio steps in.
My hero. I grumble inwardly with a scoff.
"He'd love to, Jarl Balgruuf."
…
The road splits off just ahead of us, and I read off the cities' names as we near the wooden sign marking it. "What's Rorikstead? I've never been there."
It's Erandur who answers even as I observe the wolves standing a little ways off, drawing one of my axes with the same ease as unfolding a piece of cloth. "It's a quaint little farming village, just up the road from here. We can lunch there before moving on to Markarth."
Wolves have long since ceased to really be a big problem for us, compared to draughr and Falmer, and so the priest doesn't even blink as he sets one scurrying away with a lightning spell.
"Sounds like a good idea. I like it. It's still in Whiterun hold, right?" I ask conversationally, already cleaning the blood of my weapons with a rag before stretching luxuriously.
Before we left, Adrienne took it upon herself to at least work out the biggest dents in my armour. I hadn't even noticed the part poking in my side until she yelled at me for leaving it. Discomfort is an old friend of mine by now.
"It is. Just like your new Housecarl is still in Breezehome." Marcurio comments humorously.
I chuckle hesitantly. Lydia. Every inch a proud Nord woman. Who looks at me in hero worship but somehow still hates that I'm an elf and she's a Housecarl. She arrived later on the day, and rushed to meet me.
Needless to say, I did not meet her high expectations. I just couldn't see myself bringing her along yet either. She was understandably miffed when I explained that to her.
"I'll take her on a few bounties next time we're in Whiterun or something." I mutter as the houses of Rorikstead come into view and I mark the village on my map - with Erandur's help to get it perfectly accurate, since apparently some of the caves I'd put down myself were placed wrong or smudged and finding them again in real life would be… a hassle.
In my defence, I am a Forgemaster, not a cartographer.
…
When we arrive in Markarth a few hours later with sunlight to spare, our group consists of four people rather than three. Erik, the young adventurer in desperate need of gear, was all too happy to come along with my little group after I went and got him some armour, fresh from the anvil.
"Somehow, I still can't believe you convinced my old man to let me go." Said teen muses, and I give him a friendly clap on the shoulder when we walk through Markarth's gates, snickering.
"Well, I can be persuasive if I feel I have to be." I smile at the boy, moving to the market to see if there were any good supplies available, still listening amiably to the boy's prattling…
…Only for a brutal murder to take place right in front of our eyes, and a stranger to push a note into my hands without as much as a by-your-leave. I am very, very sure I didn't drop anything. Now, what's this..?
Before I can even open it to read it, Marcurio snatches the note out of my hands, lips pursed. Then he burns it. Appalled, I cry out angrily. "Hey!"
But the look on his face – one of pure, undiluted fear and worry, has me falter. I still eye him warily, though, waiting for him to clarify exactly why he just tore a message out of my hands and burned it without even allowing me to see its contents. That's not what good hired help does – not that either of us really consider that to define our relationship at this point.
"Trust me," He says in a low voice, unease audible, "you do not want to get involved."
I nod. I trust you.
I really hope I can.
And that's the end of that.
"Smart lad." One of the guard mutters as we pass him up to the Keep, right after I meet up with Ghorza for a little chat. I take some time discussing my new armour with her until Marcurio tries to wander off with Erik, whispering conspiratorially to the boy and I force myself to intervene before they try something stupid. The orc waves me a cheerful goodbye, before rounding on her assistant and chewing him out. Again. Because the Imperial hadn't managed to make a proper batch of nails. Again.
Perhaps her assistant is more suited to another line of work. He doesn't seem to have any business being a blacksmith, not even with the book helping him did he make a lot of progress. I was working with moonstone when I was at his stage of apprenticeship.
After talking to Calcelmo about the expedition into Nchaund-Zel that, unfortunately, never returned, I'm torn. I want to see my friend. I don't want to go back in there. I want to know what happened to the expedition. I want to kill the Falmer there. I don't want to see the ruins that were my home once. Erik isn't ready for this. I don't…
Giving Marcurio my most pleading look, the mage rolls his eyes dramatically. "I've said it before, and I'll say it a hundred times again – I'll follow you anywhere." I blink in brief surprise at the blunt, sincere statement that just came out of the Imperial's mouth.
Actually, you've never told me that.
Erik decides that Dwemer ruins are a little bit above his paygrade and walks off with the promise to get back to us after we've finished up and the goal to help around town in the meantime – after swearing up and down to a stormy mage that no, he was 'not going to get involved with the Forsworn business, nor will I go beyond the mines just outside of the city gates without telling one of you, Marcurio, I'm not stupid'.
"I'm not getting into trouble I can't handle, I swear!"
I watch him go with a huff. I haven't seen Ondolemar around yet. He must be doing paperwork up in his quarters, or to another party at the Embassy. I wish I could go to parties every month. Even if they're political meetings in disguise. I don't think I will ever get to see the inside of the Thalmor Embassy.
(Heh.)
But instead, I'm stuck with the melancholic agony of walking through my old home, the place desecrated by Falmer and in ruins.
Several times, we're forced to stop because my vision is blurred by tears, or because I downright break down, crying or just staring ahead blankly, helplessly. I had never seen the full extent of the damage. Two broken Spheres frame the entryway to the main hall. And I know those Spheres. It hurts.
Luckily, Erandur and Marcurio understand, and maybe they're more of a family than my friends by now since they've seen every side of me – but Xrib's forges and Sait'iis… Sithis' domain, this is far harder than it's supposed to be and it's all my own fault.
Then we get to my bedroom. At first I wasn't sure, since I didn't remember crawling through a narrow tunnel created by a fallen pillar – but that whole event, making my way through the ruins looking for someone, anyone, is too hazy to recall fully.
We stand in the kitchen quietly, the place untouched since I left it. I can still see my footprints in the dust. Particles drift lazily through the dry, warm air, frozen in time, catching the blue light of the only unbroken lamp in the room, casting stark lines of shadow on the dull grey, cracked walls. There are grooves in the floor from where I broke the doors open, there are muted grey ashes in the fire pit, unstirred, unmoved.
Dead.
The Dunmer and Imperial behind me don't say a word until I finally manage to start talking, shouldering past the grief threatening to cloud my mind. "This was where I lived." My voice is flat, as dull and dead as the room itself.
As if tugged gently along by some invisible force, I continue, my feet slowly carrying me. "This room was the kitchen and living area, you can still see the ashes over there -" I gestured to the corner. The men follow my finger curiously, even as I'm already walking through the small hallway to the bedrooms.
"Here, my uncle's bedroom used to be." I feel oddly calm and little out of place here. It has been so long.
"And Ma slept next door, but all that's really left now are the hewn parts of the beds." I pause before the final doors, one still partially open. The image in front of me suddenly stutters, the edges of the walls briefly seeming to shift to and fro. I frown, now daring to push them open fully.
"Mellte and I slept here." The open chest is still there, as is my nightstand and the ruined book, the cover unreadable. Time seems to slow and space seems to twist around me, and I gasp for air when suddenly, a blue, translucent figure sits on my bed, crossed-legged. Marcurio lets out a startled yelp, and Erandur has already drawn his mace, but the small Dwemer child doesn't move. It's… It's… me?
"You're running out of time." The apparition says, tilting his head innocently, blinking at us with large eyes even as it's gaze seems to be going right through me. "I know, but I don't know what I want to do!" Comes a second voice, and I turn on my heel, nearly twisting my ankle, to see the younger version of Mellte, kicking at the air as he lies flat on his back, head turned to the other me.
"You're smart. You would be a kick-ass Trapmaster." Says mini-me, and suddenly I know what this conversation is about.
"I don't want to be a Trapmaster."
"A miner?"
"Ew."
"You know, you can just ask Ma to take you in." Mini-Mellte sits up abruptly, clenching his fists excitedly.
"She would?"
"Well, duh. You're smart, as I said. And you like mechanics, don't you? You should really hurry up and make a decision, Mellte. You're running out of time."
The figures keep talking even as they fade, but the last sentence seems to keep echoing a little, bouncing off the walls.
"You're running out of time."
"You're running out of time."
"You're running out of time."
Another voice joins in, deep and piercing:
"Come find me, Ysmir. Come find me when the Madman of the North gives you what you need. Come, for Time is running out."
A/N: Foreshadowing, fuck yeah!