Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Dark Brotherhood, major clusterfuck

Last time…

"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?"

Chapter 44 – Drive me insane

"You bastard. You totally jinxed it!" I hiss at Marcurio when the Dunmer twirls, twirls, in a full circle, hands clasped together as if searching for his 'master' and expecting him to jump out of a magic portal.

That elf is either completely out of his mind or his master is the kind of mage or creature that has the skills to call upon a magic portal. For some reason - geez, I have no clue as to why - I am leaning towards the former. Or both, when looking at my track record.

"My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people. And nothing I say can change his mind. Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It's been so many years… Won't you please help?"

'What luxury, I wish I could go on a vacation for several years' and 'This Mer is crazy as a bag of cats' are the two things that fly through my mind, warring for attention as I frown confusedly.

"Alright. I mean, it sounds odd, but alright. Where is… your master?"

Behind the beggar, Marcurio is wildly shaking his head, making gestures near the side of his head as if to say the same thing that's on my mind: This person is crazy.

I give him an unrepentant smirk.

But I'm curious. I can't help it. I need to know more.

Besides, he's my friend, not my employer.

"Last I saw him, he was visiting a friend in the Blue Palace. But no-one as mundane as the Jarl, no, no… Such people are below him."

Uhm. What? Isn't the Jarl of Solitude slated to be the next High Queen of Skyrim if the Imperials win the war?

I listen carefully, turning a blind eye to Marcurio's increasingly dramatic gesturing at the elf in front of me.

It's an odd comment to make even for a crazy person. I've met other people who are on the wrong side of sane in my life, but even most of them acknowledge that the Jarls in Skyrim are at some level of importance.

Let me think... An example of a crazed, deperaved...

Ah.

Eola eats people and I'm pretty sure she respects jarls perfectly fine. Well, jarls that aren't Igmund or Siddgeir. I guess.

And there's me. I fight dragons and delve into deadly tombs for a living. Sane people don't do that.

"No, he went into the forbidden wing of the palace, to speak with an old friend. Said it had been a long while since they had last had tea."

This story is making less sense by the minute, but I'll take it.

I mean, I'm not throwing rocks when my house is made of glass, and all that.

"Everyone should drink a nice cup of tea every once in a while. I personally find it most relaxing." I give the elf a wan smile. "Though I suppose I may have a cup after I have found your master. Any specific way in which my friend and I may help?"

I am left with a piece of a skeleton while the beggar dances off into the evening, still ignoring my companion's complaints.

"A forbidden wing? The Pelagius wing? Do you know what we're doing? This is insane! Pelagius was a murdering madman! It could be haunted by his victims for all we know."

Aye. It's insane indeed.

Hmm. Perhaps I already know who's involved here. I can't say I hold anything against him, so I suppose this small detour can't hurt. I can do unpredictable... As long as my mind doesn't give out on me out of stress.

I give the wizard a grin, adjusting the straps of my bracer as I start off towards the palace, still in my fine clothes from the wedding. "Of course. But then again, we've done weirder things, haven't we?"

The grumbling doesn't even get on my nerves. It's more amusing than anything, really. If I weren't still running on some leftover adrenaline I might have been annoyed at being saddled with another job, but as it is I'm almost giddy.

It's a pleasant change from my stressful thoughts, so I go with the flow as much as possible to preserve my mood.

Besides, I'd rather solve this problem right away than to wait until the next time I make it to Solitude… Whenever that may be. But I'm not running around with a piece of bone in my hands.

I push the hipbone into the wizard's unsuspecting hands with a pleased huff.

"If you're going to complain anyway I may as well give you a legitimate reason, pack-mule dearest."

The chiding tone wouldn't have stopped the mage from an acerbic reply – however, dancing out of the reach of his half-hearted swipe to my head does the trick. Still snickering, I make my way to the Blue Palace, Marcurio following me after standing frozen in place briefly, staring after my retreating back.

I don't stop to wonder why when I quickly dive into an ally to change back into my armour.

I hope to keep up this mood for as long as possible. Pity I have a bad feeling about going to the Blue Palace…

"Firstly, I suppose we ought to find a way into this… Pelagius wing." I comment as we pass through the courtyard heading to the palace, passing by two guards who are about to head inside alongside us, probably for a change of the tower watch outside the city – I've heard they switch between positions in- and outside in order to prevent anyone from freezing to death.

It's apparently effective.

Marcurio surpasses me with an irked huff, swaggering past them and not waiting for me to enter through the admittedly small – well-defendable – entrance. I scoff good-naturedly, looking after his back indifferently, when a trembling shout of my name echoes through the courtyard.

I blink in surprise, swiftly turning to find a courier running towards me – the most nervous and panicked Dunmer I've ever seen, actually. They are usually more composed characters.

Is this an exception, or are there merely exceptional circumstances? And if so, what does it have to do with me?

He's clutching a letter as if his life depends on it. I don't think I've ever seen a white-knuckled Dunmer before, their skin just not suited to such a thing. But he's managing it.

"Y-you – You're Fjaldi, correct?" He starts, something like trepidation drenching his every word, "I have a letter for, for you. Y-your hands only. From one very angry woman, I might add. In, in fact, I'm pretty sure my own hands w-would be gone if I as much as, as much as breathed about this letter to anyone else." He babbles near-incoherently.

The courier presses the note in my hands as if he's scared it will spontaneously catch fire. He grins uneasily, giving me a shaky salute as he moves to stand at a more respectable distance from the curious guards.

"Whatever she wants, I wouldn't want to be in y-your, in your shoes right now." He starts running again without a single word, leaving me standing befuddled in the middle of the stone path, note in my hand.

I turn it over, trying to see any trademarks, like the sign of Winterhold – I haven't heard from Onmund in a while, but I suppose he's not a scary woman. I should go visit him, and that damned library, as soon as I have the time.

One of the guards pokes me with her shield and I give her a cursory glance.

"I would read that if I were you."

The other guard, a Redguard male, snorts and shakes his head. "Angered your lady, did you? Looks like you'll be in the figurative doghouse for some time if she's that pissed off."

I don't bother reacting this time – I'm single, thank you – and frown down at the note in contemplation before opening it, angling the parchment just so, that the curious guards cannot peek over my shoulder.

The sender's identity alone is enough for all the blood to drain from my face – This can't be good. At all.

"Fjaldi.

We have a situation in Solitude. As the closest member, you will take care of it. Veezara is occupied with Vicci, don't bother him. Do not argue. Do not disappoint.

I do not know which half-brained buffoon came up with the idea, but my most trusted sources have revealed that someone resurrected queen Potema Septim. This interferes with our plans and must be taken care of. Immediately. I care not for your methods. Your orders are simple: Kill the bitch.

Understand that this assignment cannot wait. Do not disappoint me.

Astrid."

Almost a minute passes in silence as I carefully close the note, taking care not to cause any creases and methodically folding it twice more before wordlessly tucking it into my armour. My mind takes the brief amount of time to restart from where it had clicked to a halt in sheer, disbelieving terror.

Potema Septim is here somewhere. And I'm supposed to kill her.

Wasn't she the most powerful necromancer queen to ever walk Tamriel?

I am usually not one to curse too heavily, but the string of vulgarity passes through my head and over my lips regardless, the biting Dwemeris causing raised eyebrows of the still oblivious guards.

Which brings me to another part of the problem: innocent bystanders.

Do I warm them?

I eye them cautiously, before deciding that a raised alarm might cause the formerly dead queen to flee and bide her time until I leave the city. I can't risk alerting her.

With that, I enter the Blue Palace, my lips glued together to keep from screaming in frustration and fear and my skin pasty grey, the sense of impending doom sending a rush of adrenaline through my body, causing me to shake all over.

So much for a relaxing cup of tea. I can't even hold a cup like this.

As I enter, I overhear a shouting match taking place up ahead –

"I don't care what Elenwen thinks! We did not set the Thalmor up for anything of the sort!"

"Lady Elisif, please, try to understand what this looks like – Vicci is killed, and eye witnesses saw an Altmer in Thalmor garb leave the city!" Witnesses implies there were multiple people.

The thought fades to be remembered later, I'm too stressed to think clearly right now.

Gods, only one day to relax. Is it too much to wish for?

Alright, so I might be growing resentful of my responsibilities. Sue me.

"Then that is a fault of theirs and not of my people! I demand Elenwen come speak to me herself if she wishes to talk of this! I'm sick of writing letters of platitude whilst she resides not an hour from my city!"

The conversation falls back into hushed tones, making it impossible for me to hear more of what is said – not that much would register.

It takes a few meditative breaths to calm down enough to even face Marcurio, let alone speak: "Shall we?"

A small part of me, the part not overshadowed by thoughts of undead and queens, is proud at how composed I sound, even if I don't look like it. Marcurio, who's chatting with a young maid as I enter the main hall, fall quiet upon seeing my no doubt ashen face and frowns worriedly.

"Are you quite alright? The lady here was so kind as to give us the key since Falk Firebeard forgot to give it. Should we wait until you feel better?"

I shake my head mutely, gesturing him to go ahead and giving the maid a small smile. She smiles back unsurely before brandishing her broom and setting to work once more.

Being seconds away from a panic attack – or at least a massive temper tantrum – makes me glad for the dismissal as I follow my travel companion through the creaking door, heading into the forbidden wing with a hand on my axe and fingers crossed.

I hope Potema's not home, at the very least.

As the door falls shut behind me, I take another deep breath, even as I'm assaulted by dust and cobwebs.

Could the servant we met on the streets be a servant of Potema's? It seems too likely – I don't like it. Not at all. And it would not be who I expected. Though I guess, I can only deal with these problems one step at a time – the first being to search this place for anything related to the mad queen…

Fear grips my throat like an iron fist, squeezing my airways shut, but… There is something unnatural about it.

It is not normal fear, or apprehesion.

I frown, purposefully breathing slower to better sense the oppressive air, the lingering darkness surrounding us in this place. It's unsettlingly familiar, on the tip of my tongue – this feeling in the back of my head, shadows nipping at my heels as we make our way through, like creatures straight out of Oblivion attempting to drag us down with them.

…Oblivion…

I come to a stop in the middle of the hallway on the second floor, Marcurio walking ahead heedlessly, muttering spells under his breath and glancing every which way carefully. He, too, can feel the shift in the air. The Daedric energy warping this place, seeking to claw its way into our souls in a manner reminiscent of the times I spent in Namira's coven, and that time as Nightcaller temple…

This atmosphere is not just Daedric, I realize with a shocked inhale, eyes widening. Not Potema, though I now wish it was.

No, this is…

A Daedric Prince.

I was right after all. Is my first thought. Then:

Fuck! Marcurio..!

My stomach lurches as my feet catch up with my brain and I start moving towards the wizard just ahead.

"Wait! Marcurio there's a-"

I blink and suddenly, I'm in an empty hallway. There's no muttering wizard in front of me, the footsteps in the dust stopping abruptly.

Hurriedly, I run towards the spot, waving around madly as if to find some sort of immaterial handle to open a magic portal – but no luck. I make my way to the end of the hallway, the blue carpet forming dust clouds under my feet, fine particles swirling around my ankles, but the Daedric energy taunts me just at the edges of my vision, never quite showing itself or Marcurio's location.

The hallway is deserted, and another five minutes of frantic searching proves that I'm all alone, as if Marcurio – brown eyes, a merry laugh, the clinking of bottles and warmth in the night, the stars – has vanished into thin air.

Frozen in the middle of the hallway, I try to process it, my thoughts waging war with themselves – I know, for a fact, that Marcurio is more than able to take care of himself. In a normal situation.

On the other hand, Daedra of any kind are cunning, violent, dangerous – and unlike me or even Erandur, Marcurio has little experience with their wiles and dirty tricks.

I take a shuddering breath, but I can't manage to draw in any air. I sink to my knees against the wall underneath one of the windows framed by deceptively calm blue tapestries and curl up like a child, burying my head in my arms, knees drawn close to my chest. A shiver runs through me, but it isn't one caused by the cold.

Potema Septim is in or near the Blue Palace.

I'm nauseous.

Marcurio has been abducted by a Daedric Prince.

My chest aches as if I'm having a heart attack.

I'm the only one who either knows of, or is capable of dealing with, both of those issues. I curl up tighter, a small whimper passing my lips. I'm alone. I have no idea what to do.

…Suddenly, I don't feel like I'm capable of dealing with this at all.

Soundlessly, I let the panic rise and overcome me, choking me, wrapping me in a blanket of suffocation and fear and the essence of I can't and I stay like that, eyes shut tightly and fingers digging into my scalp –

Until a horrific scream penetrates the oppressive air and heavy silence, piercing the bubble of static around me like a knife tearing through flesh and bone.

With the Daedric Prince being hopefully still busy with Marcurio – not killing or injuring him, preferably – that scream can only mean one thing:

Potema has come.

A/N: Sheogorath? Bitch where? Hope this development threw you guys for a loop! Tell me what you thought and I'll see you next week!