Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Gore and blood, death, Imperials. LONG-ish CHAPTER!

Last time…

I grimace, hefting my axe and blocking a strike from Potema before a well-aimed Ice Spike sends her to back off. From here on, all bets are off.

Chapter 46 – Welcome to the Madness

It might have taken five minutes.

It might have taken an hour.

All I know is that, at some point, a madly laughing Marcurio is dancing amongst the draughr, and the bloody massacre is made ridiculous by large amounts of sweetroll crumbles, entire cheese wheels, and terrified chickens.

Literal chickens.

I'm nearly in a fit of hysterical laughter at the sight, until a Dremora Lord pops up out of nowhere and starts hacking away at anyone, be they enemy or friend.

Potema is distracted, which is a major understatement - and the battle is over quick afterwards.

I don't even bother to remove the corpse from where it topples over, partially draped over my shoulder – too busy staring mindlessly after the cheese wheel that hit her in the head and killed her thanks to the effect of multiple Marked for Death Shouts.

My companion, casually twirling a strange wooden staff between his hands, approaches me with a grin on his face, and I shrug off Potema's remains with nary another thought for the bitch. I did my job. I'm done. I'll be happy if I'm not referred to as any variety of 'little thing' for the rest of my life.

But to more pressing issues –

I make a vain attempt at keeping my voice as bland as possible.

"Marcurio, I've seen odd things in this province. But honestly, I must ask: what the fuck?"

He has the decency to look sheepish at my accusing stare. Nobody is paying much attention to us yet as the randomly transfigured draughr change back into themselves, unmoving. "I… Had to help treat Pelagius the Third's mind to get Sheogorath to return from his vacation?"

That takes a while to process. Sheogorath the Mad God. Right. No wonder this place is, well, madness. Quite the ridiculous ending to such an intense battle, though. I suppose it will help ruin Potema's credibility, if anything. Then again…

Sheogorath the mad god. The Daedric Prince. Marcurio is now his champion, since he's obviously been entrusted with whatever that artefact is.

…

My mind briefly turns to Vaermina's defeat in Nightcaller Temple, and Erik leading Namira's coven. And then myself, waking up after over three thousand years of sleep. Oh, and dragons returning to Tamriel.

I shrug. Stranger things happened.

I'm more relieved that he's back than surprised at the tricks he's pulled out of his sleeves.

"Alright. Next time, do attempt not to make me assume you're dead. I don't care if your new… benefactor has to turn the sky green with rainbow polka dots to do it. Just…" Don't scare me like that again. I want to say. Instead, I glance away with a sigh, feeling exhaustion settle in as the adrenaline wears off.

The mage chuckles softly, gently, placing a solid, scarred hand on my shoulder. Confused, I look back up at his face, feeling the tension drain from my taut shoulders at his smile, my lips parting slightly in wonder, though I'll play it off as surprise. Noticing something in my gaze, the Imperial flushes a deep pink, clearing his throat.

"I won't. Promise. You're stuck with me until Sovengarde and beyond – you still owe me four hundred septims, after all." I can't help myself – the relief of seeing him, alive, and knowing Potema is dead – I snicker helplessly, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the sudden fatigue and tidal, heart-wrenching wave of affection threatening to make my knees buckle.

Still grinning, I turn searching eyes to the rest of the room, a pang of worry entering my heart at the sight of the carnage – the bodies, the sticky foods, and the blood. Elisif, bow still in hand, approaches me. She could almost pass as a warrior, if not for the lack of scars and callouses I, Marcurio, and even the Steward have. "Will you be alright here?" I ask as kindly as I can manage, which is still pretty brusque as I kind of want to shower, badly.

She pauses, eyes roaming over the two of us as if committing our faces to memory, before inclining her head. "Yes. The messages are already starting to flow in from all across the city. I owe you my life, Mr..?" She trails off, frowning at me pensively. My grin showing a tad more teeth than necessary, I shrug.

"Fjaldi, my Jarl." There's hints of honest respect when I speak to her – she didn't faint in front of Potema, though she did not speak, she did not shriek in fright.

That means she's earned herself a few points.

With the right motivation… She can become something more. Almost subconsciously, I check for the flaws in her posture, only to find it perfect. So it's her mind and confidence that need training. Hmm… Perhaps I'll see what I can do about that, while I'm helping out around here.

She nods decisively. "Fjaldi. Solitude owes you and yours a debt, one I cannot possibly hope to repay in the near future. However, I ask that you give us aid once more." She gestures around the room, even as more guards start coming in, all heading for a ragged Falk Firebeard, who seems even more stressed than he was during Potema's attack.

Elisif follows my gaze and presses her lips into a thin line, a worried, uncertain frown on her face.

"There have been casualties outside these palace walls. A horde of draughr attacked from the catacombs and the outer walls. A young bard, Illdi, the food vendor Jala, the blacksmith's apprentice, Heimvar, and a child -"

She falters, grief clouding her expression for a moment, "Svari. They're the only ones that have been proclaimed dead so far, but the accounts of the guards still have to come through and the injured are many in number. Not to mention the cleaning up of the draughr and -" she gestures around us vaguely.

"Please. If not for me, do it for the ones who left us today." She begs, hands clasped in front of her. "Tullius was in Dragonbridge during the attack, but he's heading here soon and will arrive within three hours. I want to have things in order as much as possible by then."

I incline my head in understanding. If Tullius comes back to this, he will use it to undermine her position, effectively crippling Solitude further. He'll also order his soldiers, which leaves less people to help with the chaos. Quickly, I formulate a basic plan.

"Very well, my Jarl. If I may make a suggestion?" She nods eagerly, happy to have some, any sort of plan. Grimly, I think of the dead, before making up my mind.

"Make a central funeral pyre for the draughr, so they will not rise again. Maybe use oil to get the fire going swiftly. The injured should be gathered in one spot, so medical aid can be administered faster." I bite the inside of my cheek, frowning and looking at the gathered group of people – a haggard mixture of citizens, nobles, Imperial soldiers and city guards.

"Divide the tasks according to ability – let the soldiers drag draughr to the pyre. Those with medical ability should go tend the injured." I glance over my shoulder at Marcurio, who, bless the man, stands at full attention, face as serious as it's ever been. I'm glad he's at my side again.

"Did I miss anything?" I ask him softly, even as Elisif starts handing out orders – including the order for the deceased citizens to be brought to the Hall of the dead immediately. Good, let her think for herself. Still, it's a testament to the chaos and general shock and exhaustion that everyone listens without complaints.

It's always easier to just follow along.

"A priest should come here to sanctify Potema's remains." The mage suggests slowly, and Elisif nods determinedly, sending for 'Styrr' right away.

At least Elisif seems to have everything in hand quickly enough over here. I exchange a meaningful look with Marcurio, then can't help but let my eyes wander across the Blue Palace's main hall distantly. This… It doesn't seem real, somehow. A deep breath as I close my eyes, focusing.

I want to sleep. The fading adrenaline gives away how tired I truly am, how close to collapsing in an unconscious heap. Frustrated, I grit my teeth together harshly. I can't. I have to – I MUST endure. I have to keep moving, and help the people here.

…

The Jarl of Solitude and widow of the previous High King stands in the centre of the courtyard next to her Steward, and as people begin to trickle in, citizens of Solitude that are mostly uninjured, confused and scared, her soothing yet firm voice has them leave with a new purpose each and every time, Falk Firebeard keeping her from being overwhelmed.

I turn, content for now, and pull Marcurio along with me by his torn sleeve. "We're going to help." I explain as we make our way down to the marketplace, where smoke billows from above the buildings and a stench of burning flesh lingers. Seeing the look of disgust on his face, I offer: "Get injured to the temple, I believe they're healing there. Meanwhile, feel free to speed up the process." Gesturing at the general direction of the pyre, I let go of him.

Under his unreadable gaze, I walk up to the front of the Vicci residence, pulling a Draughr Wright from under a broken barrel and carelessly dragging it along with me by the decaying ankle. "I'll help wherever. Meet me at the Blue Palace when things have calmed down a bit."

He nods and moves alongside me until I drop the dead weight onto the surprisingly large stack of other half-rotten corpses with varying shapes and sizes, the owner of the Winking Skeever dumping another barrel of oil onto the flames with the blacksmith's wife – Sayma, if I remember correctly from my first visit.

Sighing, I unclasp my cuirass and let the badly dented and torn items clatter to the ash-covered ground, rolling my shoulder with a groan as blood can finally flow again – Potema threw me into a wall at some point, and I can tell in one glance that my trusty armour is finally done for.

I purse my lips in exasperation, rolling up my sleeves as I leave my cuirass where it fell – it barely adds to the junk littered all over the place, Ancient Nordic weapons and armour scattered across the uneven cobblestones. I can make something new at a later time, when I'm not dragging corpses and cleaning up after Potema's invasion.

For now I have a city to help.

…

…Again.

Tullius is not a happy man when he walks into the city. I spot him and the small Imperial garrison behind him as their shiny, untainted armour catches the sun amongst the otherwise grey, filthy and dreary populace of Solitude.

He's even less happy when I stop him from walking any further, halting the soldiers along with him and giving the man an unimpressed gaze. "You must be the esteemed general Elisif spoke of." I seize him up as if he's but a Dwemer Spider trying to blend in with the Centurions.

"I'd ask why you weren't here when Potema invaded, but I suppose I'll not get any honest answer. Instead, may I inquire as to what, exactly, you're planning to do to help clean this up?"

He scowls at me menacingly. Nice try. My Ma is ten times scarier than you could ever hope to be. "That is Imperial business."

I return the glare with equal force. "It is Solitude business." I smirk sardonically. "Don't worry. Elisif is taking care of it. In fact, why don't you stay to help here? It'd be a pity to throw her off by disparaging remarks about her ability. A grave insult when she's allowed you to stay here so graciously."

A few months ago I wasn't ready to antagonise an army. Today, I've decided I'm sick of their shit and I will stick up for Elisif, who really deserves more credit than she's gotten so far.

All those stories I have heard of her being a weak-willed, impressionable puppet have been from one side of the conflict. Any woman who can look Potema in the eye, sitting on the Necromancer bitch's own former throne and refusing to leave has more balls than half the Imperial army, as far as I'm concerned.

The general draws in a sharp, angry breath, his eyes flashing when one of the men behind him calls out: "Who are you?" It's not said loudly, but with authority, and the man's intricate armour – This reeks of top officials.

"The guy who made sure Potema isn't sitting on the throne right now." I give the man a small smirk. "A pleasure. Now do me a favour, come down to the ground with us common folk and help clean up this mess. I'm too tired to play politics. Or, gods help me, play nice."

Still grumbling, I turn around and set back to work, where I'd been hefting a huge draughr Death lord onto my back to get it to the pyre. I'm left struggling for almost a minute before another set of hands join in, easily taking half the weight as we make for the pyre.

"I'm Gaius Maro, son of Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus. I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Dragonborn." Spluttering, I whip my head towards him so fast I feel a crick in my neck.

"How do youknow that?" The young man snickers as we throw the draughr into the flames, both of us covering our faces from the wave of soot and dust that follows as the creature is engulfed.

"Word's gotten out about you. You have the favour of several Jarls of Skyrim and the Arch-Mage of Winterhold, helped solve the Magnus Crisis, you're recognised as a valid Dwemer scholar by Calcelmo himself… And now the Thalmor are after you – not that it's any Imperial concern. It's impressive, how you stayed under wraps for so long."

I can't help but snicker a little as we join forces even as Tullius goes off to meet Elisif regardless of my efforts. The other soldiers of the garrison, with the exception of a guard for the general, start helping with the clean-up – much to the relief of the exhausted citizens and city guards present.

Gaius stares around the mess in the city streets, groaning. "We've got a long way to go." He laments. I look around at the destruction – most of the buildings are fully intact, really. It's just the stains that are going to be a bitch to wash out.

"Aye, I think you may be right." I concede, watching as a woman hurriedly carries a pitcher of water to where the pyre flames have caught on to the nearby shrubbery.

…

It's midnight, and the fire outside the window casts dancing shadows onto the far wall, the stench of burned flesh luckily not seeping through the firm walls.

We're at the Winking Skeever. I'm standing at the edge of the bed, staring blankly down at the covers as the willpower that kept me running on empty all day splutters and fades to nothing.

Worried brown eyes glance at me, coming to rest on a bead of sweat running down the side of my forehead.

"…Are… Are you alright? You don't look so good."

My eyes meet his.

I'm like a vase that's been glues together from hundreds of shards, hundreds of problems and filled with water. Hot, painful, boiling water.

Finally, after forcing calm for so long, the lingering stress and pain boils over.

I let myself fall apart.

…

"Now there's a Mer I'm happy to see." Elisif states, the underlying relief in her voice belying her lack of calm as she sits back on her throne a few days later. Next to her, Falk Firebeard gives me a solemn nod in respect, and I return the gesture readily before turning my full attention to the Jarl.

Behind me, as a soothing presence stands Marcurio, his new staff flung over his shoulder a reminder of his new status in Oblivion.

Tullius is also in the room, looking chagrined. Elisif, on the other hand, seems rather… smug.

I wonder what I missed. I was so tired I passed out for far too long and woke back up to a new day, empty stomach, and the Wabbajack inches from my face. To my dying breath shall I deny that I let out a high-pitched scream when I woke up. My smile stiffens slightly at the memory.

"If you'd like, would you follow me to my meeting chamber? I wish to speak to the two warriors that saved my city, and all of Skyrim." As she says this, her eyes roam over me in interest.

"Though I understand," she adds mildly, "If the Dragonborn is too busy a Mer to attend such trivial things."

Crap.

I freeze like a deer in Magelight, opening my mouth as if to speak before coming up short, floundering uselessly until Marcurio takes pity on me. "We'd be most happy to."

How? How does everyone suddenly know? The Imperial Special Forces are one thing but… What bastard talked? I can only come up with one name, to be fair… Someone who knows I'm Dragonborn, someone who wanted more information on my actions…

As we follow the Jarl to a room behind the throne, equipped with a stately fireplace, a long, carved wooden table and some matching chairs, I briefly allow my expression to darken with rage before filing it away for later.

Delphine and I need to have a conversation that's long overdue.

I do understand why she'd spread rumours of me. After all, knowing the Dragonborn arrived with more certainty, or proof, than a Shout from some old guys on top of a mountain will certainly boost general morale amongst the people of Skyrim.

Of course, I allow begrudgingly, Potema DID sort of call me out on being Dragonborn yesterday.

Elisif sits down at the head of the table, still smiling pleasantly, and I blink, abashed, as I notice that I've been caught daydreaming again. Quickly, I sit down next to Marcurio, who shakes his head with a small snicker. The Jarl of Solitude clears her throat gently, straightening carefully.

"First of all, I'd like to extend my thanks. Not only did you save me and my court, you did Skyrim itself a great service in defeating the Wolf Queen, but you also extended help far beyond that grievous task, tending to the injured and burning the aggressors. Solitude is in your debt." She smiles genially, spreading her arms in a welcoming gesture.

"I never really got the chance for this, did I? Welcome, travellers, to the Blue Palace."

A/N: And another chapter down! I honestly can say I hadn't expected this development myself. My characters ran away from me and screwed over my carefully planned plot. Oh well.

Special surprise of the day: I have written a second book for the mini-series! It includes small hints for the future of this story, and I hope you all enjoy!

...And maybe you'll spot the small "Easter Egg" I've hidden in this instalment…

Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol II.

By: Fjaldi dû Bthardamz, dûn-ek Nchuand-Zel.

Introduction:

I shall keep this brief, as I have much to discuss and you may already know me from the previous volume, "Dwemer Constructs in Skyrim, Vol I". This second volume shall discuss the long-forgotten cavern system of Fal Zhardum Din – Blackreach, in your tongue, as I felt it needed a book all to itself. For the sake of continuity, I will henceforth refer to the cavern system as 'Blackreach'.

I wish to give a special thanks to the friends who joined me on the quest to uncover Blackreach, whose names shall remain unmentioned as per their wishes, for making the writing of this work possible.

Blackreach, "Fal Zhardum Din":

A geological anomaly the likes of which have not been discovered since Alftand first dug into its grand ceiling, Blackreach is a deep underground cavern which has developed its own ecosystem due to its unusual size and time spend undisturbed by the rest of Nirn. In other words, stepping into the damp, pollen-rich, glittering blue air for the first time feels reminiscent to setting foot into an Outer Realm of wonder and beauty.

Allow me to describe: All you see is cast into an unnatural, yet lovely, blue glow. Large lakes and picturesque waterfalls from unknown origins bring moisture into the air, providing the humidity needed for the local vegetation to grow – and what a strange sight it is, to see mushrooms the size of trees, swaying gently in non-existing wind! Cave walls rise high and glow with resources not yet exploited, like strangely shaped stars in a clear, rock-filled night sky. And along the cavern floor, there run yellow stone roads between the numerous Dwemer towers, buildings and bridges in almost the same state they were in three thousand years ago, excellently preserved.

It is not all there is to be said on the unique environment. It is such a strange place that mere words cannot do it justice – and so I shall waste no more words and leave you to find out the rest for yourself.

Blackreach has several natural resources that I have yet to encounter above the ground, or in other Dwemer citadels.

For alchemists, one particularly interesting find is the Crimson Nirnroot. The renowned Master Alchemist, Sinderion of Sunhold, has spent a lifetime struggling to grasp how it works, and from his notes I can now give you a general idea: as the name implies, this sub-type of Nirnroot has a rich red hue. Similar to its cousin, Crimson Nirnroot is attracted to water. On its own, this type of Nirnroot is dangerously poisonous, damaging your health. I do, unfortunately, not know all its properties, as I am no alchemist by trade. Take note that samples do not last long outside of the caverns if they are not transported in a pot with roots intact and set in local Blackreach soil.

Other interesting anomalies in Blackreach are the fused Soul Gem geodes and Aetherium deposits. According to ancient Dwemer lore I remember from childhood, it is said that Arknurlaf, the one you know as the Daedric Prince Meridia, fell from grace and was cast down to Nirn at one point in Ancient history. It was speculation that part of her power shattered around her on impact, along with the remnants of the Aether she Fell from, and many Dwemer hold her Fall as the cause for the existence of both Soul Gems and Aetherium, the strongest mineral known to my people – and, by extension, Blackreach.

It is my hope that one day, we may re-discover the means needed to mine Aetherium, but as it stands, that is a dream for the far future, when you grasp my people's creations.

The two largest buildings in Blackreach are the Debate Hall, build to serve as diplomatic centre where the Aetherium Alliance was written before it was torn apart, and the Tower of Mzark. Whereas the Debate Hall has since lost its purpose and has become a Falmer stronghold, the Tower of Mzark has faithfully held one of the most powerful artefacts Nirn has ever known: an Elder Scroll. It has since been removed as its power was needed, but perhaps I might return it one day and seal it as my predecessors did.

Blackreach, overall, is a place I both loathe and adore, for whilst I have gained much insight from my visit to the great caverns, I have also lost someone most dear to its depths. And if, perhaps, you are still wondering who uncovered the fabled deepest city in Skyrim, then look no further, for the ones to rediscover Blackreach and put it back on the maps were my companions and myself.

I remind you, finally, that Blackreach for all its beauty is not a pleasant place to be. The waters is toxic, the plants are poisonous, the Falmer run wild and own slaves of all races whom they have dragged from the surface: be cautious when you descend, for the greatest wonders of the earth you will see can as easily become your final resting place.

A/N: I can't resist adding lore. Information on the Dwemer is a rare commodity in the game, so I'm technically not breaking canon.