Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Fights, canon-typical everything, Dark Brotherhood

Gods, how I wish I had time to edit all of this. Sorry for mistakes in grammar/spelling!

Last time…

Now, I sit and stare upwards, not seeing the stars, wondering when the night stopped being the calm haven I needed it to be.

Chapter 43 – Jinxed it

Sky Haven Temple feels all wrong. And I'm sure it's not the massive amount of Forsworn that desecrated the entrance and tried to kill us all while we made our way through to the Temple. The puzzles were challenging enough… not. Following a few tiles is hardly a challenge, after all. The loot in the chest to the entrance was pretty decent, though.

Quietly, and still feeling an overwhelming sense of wrongness, I look at the large, mannish head on the far wall. This cannot be a dead end. Behind me, Marcurio taps his foot against the floor impatiently. Rayya, Esbern and Delphine catch up far too slow, for both of our likings. I suppose I can blame the Heavy Armour and the Forsworn in Rayya's case, but the other two…

Luckily, we only have to wait for a few moments more. It better not take too long – I have only three days to get to Solitude in time for the wedding, and I'd hate to disappoint Veezara.

"Amazing, eh? To be standing at the very entrance to Sky Haven Temple itself!" Esbern exclaims to Rayya, who nods, still steadily avoiding me.

It's fine.

It's really not.

At least she can make her own decisions now, rather than being forced by duty to follow my every step like a dog. "How do we find the entrance to this Temple?" I ask when nobody makes a move, probably either waiting for another to act, or just caught up in the Nordic artwork before us.

"The Akaviri blood seal can only be opened with the right kind of blood. Your blood, Dragonborn." For a passing beat, I can only stare at the man incredulously.

"You jest." Delphine accuses disbelievingly. "Should Nord blood not be enough?"

Esbern only sighs wanly. "I'm afraid not. Otherwise, anyone could have entered in these past centuries. None did, as the amount of dust here clearly shows."

I take a deep breath. I'm getting real sick and tired of being told what to do by others. Can't I just have a book or two and learn about it myself? But no, I should at least respect Esbern, since he's a scholar.

Gritting my teeth, I draw my Dwemer dagger – Why I left the malachite one with Ghorza I will never quite know – and move up to the circle. "If you need help drawing blood, let me know." Snorting at Delphine's only half-joking suggestion, I shake my head and crouch next to the circle's centre.

Quickly, I draw the blade across the palm of my hand, ignoring the sting and letting the blood fall onto the stone, feeling quite foolish doing so.

When the floor starts giving off a watery, white light and the sounds of stone shifting against stone reach my ears, my heart jumps to my throat and I jump back too fast, stumbling into Marcurio's chest as he grabs my hand and calls upon his healing magic absently, watching the spectacle as all of us do.

"Look! It's coming to life! You did it, there's the entrance!" Delphine gasps, her voice bouncing off the walls as the golden glow of the circle does, as well… only the glow doesn't sound like a devoted priest, exclaiming over their chosen god in awed, overzealous wonder.

I watch, befuddled as the head somehow starts moving, tilting backwards into the wall as if bowing to me, until it stills once more. "Such interesting mechanics…" I mutter under my breath, frowning.

And this is reinforced with magic, since it needed my blood to be activated. A rather morbid cult, aren't they? The Blades. I think I prefer the Greybeards over them, after all.

When Rayya makes to step forwards, Delphine tugs her back with a slow shake of her head, her blue eyes still trained on the entrance. "The Dragonborn should have the honour of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple." I glance over my shoulder, briefly meeting Marcurio's eyes, who nods at me in encouragement. Without further hesitation, I start moving up the stairs. This better be worth the trouble.

…

Eyes wide as dinner plates, I look around the massive room, the miraculously intricate Nordic architecture, and the attention to detail in every single stone and wall. It's dim, a faint blue light making it impossible to see the ceiling or even the other side of the great hall clearly. "Now this is a temple." Marcurio remarks behind me, for once not seeming bothered by the Blades as they move ahead of us, inspecting the room.

This was worth the trouble. I decide, slowly following after Esbern as the old man makes a beeline for one of the carefully carved walls, depicting a fight with a dragon. When I approach the Blade scholar, he turns to me with a beaming grin.

"Isn't it amazing?" Agreeing with a nod, I glance at the wall next to us, lit by the flaming torches we all carry.

"It is. Do you suppose there's some way to defeat Alduin here?"

"Ah, of course. If I can only find the right panel…"

He walks by the wall, scanning every detail with Delphine's help, and I sit back to wait and further appreciate the architecture. Even though I cannot fully relax with Marcurio and Rayya's eyes on me. Then Esbern holds his torch just a bit higher, and the grooves in the stone finally become crystal clear, the huge dragon head almost jumping forwards at me. I flinch back at the thought of facing in battle what already looks so devastatingly deadly in carving. Probably without backup.

"Found it! The centrepiece, of course – You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – Masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him."

Delphine, impatient, holds her own torch to match Esbern's, standing next to him with a scowl. "So does it show how they defeated him? Isn't that the reason we're here in the first place?"

"It certainly is why I am here." I murmur under my breath, unable to tear my eyes away from the enormous dragon – how large it is compared to the humans in the painting. I'd seen Alduin, in Kynesgrove, yes. From a relatively large distance, and he nearly blocked out the sun with his ash-black scales. Swallowing thickly, I let my hand fall to the reassuring grip of my axes. I'm supposed to face that?

"Patience, children. The Akaviri were not straightforward people, unlike today's Nords. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism. But, from this I can say they used the Thu'um to gain the upper hand."

I don't miss the way Delphine glances at me before she asks. "They used a Shout to defeat Alduin?" She turns to me again, and now I'm sure that the gleam in her eyes does not bode well for me. Rayya and Marcurio, who stayed away in the background for so long, are bickering in increasingly escalating voices, but through the ringing in my ears and the brief panic clouding my mind, I hardly even register it.

"…Such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?"

Grimacing, I shake my head. All my better dreams involve flying in some way, these days – I can't imagine wanting to drag a dragon to the ground, when they're not meant to belong there.

I'll have to, though.

"The Greybeards might know better than I… I've never heard of such a thing. If my people wanted to take down a dragon, we'd use bolts to tear their wings to pieces, not a Shout, to get them down."

"You're probably right. I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we really have no choice." Chuckling softly at her reluctant admittance, I can't help but ask: "Why do you hate a bunch of old men on a mountain?"

What follows is a spiel that basically boils down to telling me that power isn't dangerous, the Greybeards are useless, and the great heroes whom I don't plan to live up to all learned to use their power. Also, she says there's always a choice.

"Always a choice, Delphine?" I snort derisively and shake my head.

"Yes." She affirms, the fires of zeal burning brightly in her gaze, close to all-consuming. Dangerous.

I choose to remain silent, even as the question dances tantalizingly through my head.

Who gave me a choice to become Dragonborn, I wonder?

"I'll go to High Hrothgar and see what they know when I have the time." We exchange some more small talk before a sudden burst of Sparks catches us both off-guard.

I barely manage to duck and swivel towards the threat on my heel, nearly spraining my ankle doing so and drawing my axe swiftly. Only to see Rayya and Marcurio look at us in mild discomfort, the Redguard with her scimitar against the wizard's throat and the mage holding a flaming hand just above her unguarded hand.

At the sight, I let out a shout of dismay, quickly running up to them as Delphine lingers behind, observing amusedly.

"That's enough, you two! What's wrong?" I cross my arms, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for either of them to react. Then, Rayya explodes first, the infamous Redguard temper rearing its head.

"You! You're what's wrong! You claim to be of a dead race, deader than the dragons ever were, and then you're suddenly also Dragonborn! A legend, a warrior of great valour and moral strength – and you! You use underhanded tactics and consort with killers and scum and sneak around rather than face your foes fairly!" During her speech, my eyes grow wider and wider, my ears twitching as far down as they can physically go.

My shoulder drop even as a stone hits the bottom of my stomach. I grow cold.

Is that how it is, then?

Is that really…

Wow. I bark out an unamused, dark laugh, dragging my hand down my face as I take a deep, shuddering breath, feeling my entire body shake with suppressed… I cannot even identify the chaos of the emotions inside me.

I turn to Marcurio, something fragile inside my chest creaking under pressure as I manage to utter:

"Is that… Really how everyone perceives me? As an unworthy usurper of a role I don't even want? Something I never asked for?"

…Something I do even though all the ones I used to love so dearly have been dead for literal ages?

My voice, soft as it is, echoes impossibly loud across the room. It must be the silence, thick enough to cut with my axe that reigns after Rayya is done speaking.

I had hoped she understood my position. Or at least accept it. Or at the very, very least… still consider herself a friend to me.

Clenching my fists until my nails cut through my skin and small droplets of red begin to seep between my fingers, I stay deadly still, but my mind is racing with rapidly darkening thoughts.

"…Okay." It sounds weak, the bland, monotone noise that escapes my throat in a parody of an acceptance. Taking a deep breath, I force myself not to let go of all the indignant fury that wells up within me at being given such a shitty hand in this game of the gods.

For only the gods would ever deign to mess with me like this.

"Well, if that's how I'm seen, then I guess nobody will mind if I retire early and leave you to rot? Skyrim has not really given me many reasons to protect it, from what I've seen." I bite harshly, giving Rayya my most withering glare.

"No matter what people seem to think, I can decide to quit entirely. I won't, because I like to think I'm better than that."

And… there's children out there, innocent children and creatures who can't defend themselves, or even realise what's happening around them

"We're done here."

I don't fight this for you. I don't fight for Ulfric Stormcloak, not for the Empire and not for any other faction. I don't even know WHY I fight.

Stiffly, I back away from where I'd subconsciously moved into the Redguard's personal space, schooling my feral snarl into something more neutral, if forced, and releasing the death grip on my weapon.

Exhaling through pursed lips and turning on my heel, I start stalking towards the exit.

Pity all the Forsworn are dead already. Maybe a dragon will attack so I can vent my agitation on something other than Marcurio. I really don't want him to bear the brunt of the annoyance not caused by him.

"Good control for a nineteen-year-old brat." Delphine mutters under her breath.

I don't know where she got her information about me, but I take just the few seconds necessary to rectify her mistake: "I've turned twenty by now." Comes my snarling reply, and I have a hard time not slapping myself in the face for forgetting my own birthday, of all things.

I really wasn't thinking of it – I spend my Sithis damned birthday talking to thieves in a sewer. Let that be a fact I'd never thought could be true.

Marcurio catches up with me quickly as we move back down the mountain, and within minutes, we fall back into our good old pattern of mutual barbs and teasing. The underlying tension remains, though, and if I had a chance to do it over, I would not have given the wizard those 100 coins – but confess how deeply my feelings for him run. It's almost scary, how far I would be willing to go to ensure that he's happy, and with me.

Is possessive behaviour normal for dragons mainly, or is wanting to keep him safe and near just one of my personal quirks? Or is it something all Mer in love feel?

Wait… When did 'liking him' turn into 'love'?

Back in Falkreath. Right. Another deep breath.

…

It puts my mind at ease to have Marcurio back at my side, at least. For now, that's all I can really ask for. I can't be any more of an asshole than I already am, and adding selfishness to my humungous list of flaws… Please, I have a zero point none percent chance of having him already, no need to get even more depressed.

…

Solitude is filled with Men, Mer, and merriment. We're just in time – having arrived at the day of the wedding. There's no room at all in the Winking Skeever, and though Marcurio and I would both enjoy a quick rest, we settle for visiting the clothing store in order to dress ourselves in something more appropriate. The fine clothes are an uncomfortable reminder of the Thalmor Embassy, and I don't hesitate to keep my weapons on my person and my knapsack within reach.

I also refuse to remove the leather boots and bracers I've taken to wearing since my Dragonscale armour is worn to near-shreds.

It must look a little odd, fine clothes with some random armour pieces. But I am not going to leave the building without it.

The scale set is safely tucked into my pack, the poor leather stretched to its limits. I'm considering selling the armour – even though it has the blessings of Xrib. I can hardly cling to something that's lost its primary function, which is to protect me.

Out of the entire set of draconic armour, only the bracers are still in a redeemable condition. I might as well take materials from the next dragon to come along and forge an entirely new set.

But… It will still hold in an emergency.

Marcurio, too, needs a change of clothes – the mages' robes he likes are torn, and the armour pieces I gave him are in a similar condition to my own gear.

"We need new armour. Where's a dragon when you need one?" I lament as we stroll towards the wedding reception leisurely. Weddings are strange.

"Don't say that! We don't want one to swoop down upon us while we're attending the celebrations!"

Somehow, I have a feeling I'll have other things to worry about soon enough.

The reason I want to attend this party at all is because an assassin asked me to, after all. Rolling my shoulders to ease some of the tension creeping in, I merely shake my head a bit at the mage's enthusiasm. "I'm here to meet and possibly help a friend."

Now, the wizard's eyes narrow sharply, and I'm once again reminded that underneath the sarcasm and merry-go-lucky exterior lies a wickedly intelligent mind – one of the reasons I fell for him in the first place.

"Your… Darker associates?" The brotherhood, yes. I nod subtly, and he presses his lips together in a tight line briefly. "I can't say I fully approve… But it's none of my business, is it?" The words are forcibly kept nonchalant, the underlying tone of disappointment is still impossible to ignore. Guiltily, I turn my gaze away.

The bride is just about to stand and make her speech when I see a shadow on the walkway above her, where a grotesque statue is hanging dangerously unstable. My eyes keep glued to the shadow as Vittoria Vicci starts her speech. She looks happy, but she isn't – I have a feeling she won't be much of anything soon.

Damnit Veezara! If Marcurio and Rayya know I'm with the Dark Brotherhood, and Rayya knows about me going here, she's going to blame ME for the murder! (Unless Rayya is no longer a factor…)

No. I'm not killing my Housecarl.

"My husband Aesgir and I thank you for coming to our reception. We thank you for sharing the love we have for each other. Today, the problems of Skyrim are not my problems. Nor are they yours. Today, we are joined in -"

It looks, at first, like a hiccup.

Would have looked like that to me too if I hadn't seen the shadow jump from the walkway, behind the bride.

I thought he'd drop the statue.

Instead, Vittoria suddenly makes another choking noise, her eyes wide and disbelieving, face twisted unpleasantly in agony, blood dribbling from her mouth and onto her dress – the fabric pierced by a long dagger sticking out of her heart, causing red to stain her delicate figure even more.

Aesgir, as well as the remainder of the people and guards at the reception, are far too shocked to react for a precious long time, during which the red-and-black shadow with a green scaled tail – Veezara – gracefully jumps even further down, to ground level, and manages to leave the small square before the alarmed shouts start and weapons are drawn.

While Marcurio's eyes are still trained on the bloody scene on the balcony, I grab his hand and start dragging him through the panicked crowd, away from the murder. His bare hand in mine allows me to at least think a little clearly.

I was asked to come here to see the Brotherhood in action, so they know what they expect of me. Or Veezara wanted to show off.

…I could have done it just as he did, but I'd have used the statue to avoid facing the crowd, crushing Vici underneath and then making my way back through the shopping district or near the abandoned manor. When I turn the corner, I come face-to-face with what looks like an Imperial agent at first glance.

Then I notice that the uniform, while sporting the right colours, is all wrong in design for a soldier. "Citizens," he greets us with a nod, brandishing his high-quality steel sword, "Have you seen any suspicious figures running in this direction?"

I pause to think for all but a second. Lie. "I saw someone in a black travelling cloak move towards the gates in a hurry. Seemed to be an Altmer, though they were at a distance. Why? Is it because of…?" I look back towards the reception worriedly, as if pained and distraught by the mere thought.

The agent nods once more. "Indeed. We are searching for the perpetrator. He seems to have disappeared without a trace. If you have any details… How come you think it was an Altmer?"

This time, I don't hesitate. "Due to my own size, I am always more alert as to how tall the people around me are. Only Altmer can be as tall as the person running. They also had a motif on their robes, some sort of golden embroidery? I'm afraid they wore a hood, and I can't tell you more."

Perhaps shoving the blame upon the Thalmor is not the best idea. But if it means the Imperials will be more wary of them, I will take the risk. The agent seems pensive as he stiffly moves to the side to let us pass, and I squeeze Marcurio's hand reassuringly. I need to reassure myself, as well, since this – this event – has left me reeling a bit.

I only stop walking once we're in the shadows close to the graveyard and the Hall of the Dead. A morbid place to be on an ordinary day – now it's almost ironic that I went here of all places.

"Are you alright?" Are the first words out of my mouth.

Marcurio sighs and rubs the back of his head. "I suppose. How about you? You look rather pale." I snicker nervously, glancing around as if to assure myself that nobody is here.

"I… Hadn't seen that coming. I should have, but I didn't. I feel stupid now."

A small spark lights up in the mage's eyes, one I have missed in the past days. "I'm glad you finally figured out where your intelligence level lies, my friend." Elbowing him in the gut lightly, I scoff.

"Of course. I'm obviously above your level, mister apprentice wizard."

"Hey!"

We chuckle under our breaths, and I hope he doesn't notice we're still holding hands – it's comfortable, even though his palms are clammy and warm in the otherwise frigid air. "At least we made it in time for the wedding… Even though it ended in disaster. Like most things that happen around you, it seems."

The smile on my face fades a little. "My apologies. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I step." Marcurio raises his head slightly to look at the cloudy afternoon sky, a sudden gust of Hearthfire air tugging at our hair, and the sight of the mage leaves me breathless for all but the briefest moments before I gather myself, red-faced.

"I doubt it. After all, we're not in trouble yet."

"Wait! Hear my plea! My master, he is lost between worlds and I cannot bring him back!" We both startle at the sudden voice and turn to find a Dunmer-like beggar approach us, the Mer's facial muscles twitching sporadically under his ragged cap.

Raising an eyebrow, I ask. "Your master? What's wrong?"

Marcurio, you bastard. You totally jinxed it.

A/N: Let me tell you, this is not gonna end the way you think…