Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Exposition chapter. Transition chapter. Basically not a whole lot happens but I needed to write some fluff.

A/N: from now on, updates will be more sporadic as a whole. Life sucks at the moment.

Last time…

I bring my head up with a momentous effort, watching his eyebrows twitch in concern at me as he takes in my no doubt vacant eyes and dazed expression. I give him a silly grin. "I love you." Then I pass out.

Chapter 65 – At Ease

When I wake up, I consider that the phenomena of me passing out after I overexert myself is becoming far too common a thing. I should probably look into that – either by taking it easier or by… well, I have no idea.

Then I consider I wouldn't mind the phenomena as much if I woke up as I do now every single time it happens. Warm. Safe. Held by my lover.

"We're at Nightgate inn, love. Don't panic, please. The innkeeper is cross enough with me already."

Why would I panic? I've slept and I feel rested, I'm being held by you and feel safe at last.

…Even though my mouth tastes like Riften's sewer, my stomach has been grumbling for the past five minutes, and I desperately need to piss.

Hmm… But why would I panic? I'm back in the present and I have the Elder Scroll…

The Scroll!

I shoot upright as if struck by a lightning bolt, my eyes dancing wildly around the room, taking in the details of the wardrobe, the nightstands, and the door – next to which the Elder Scroll is leaning innocently against the wall, not at all looking like the cause of an almost-heart attack. I can only take so much. If I'd lost the Elder Scroll now…

I would… probably have jumped off of the Throat of the World, Alduin be damned.

My entire body sags with profound relief. Thank the gods that all of that into-the-past bullshit wasn't in vain.

Marcurio sits up next to me with quite the wild case of bedhead, bandages still peeking out from underneath his sleeping clothes, consisting of a loose hanging grey shirt and dark leggings. The mage huffs, running fingers through the bird's nest on his head and scratching at the stubble forming on his chin.

"I'm glad we've finally found that damn thing. Took long enough, and you've done nothing but stress about it for weeks… You know, I almost tied you to a bed to ensure that you got some proper rest."

I turn to face him with a smile, drinking in the sight of his face and presence with relish. I'm… unable to resist. Ignoring all the bodily unease, I sit on my knees in front of him and place one hand on his face, carefully tracing patterns with my thumb, my eyes softening at feeling the firm, prickly skin underneath my fingertips. My other hand helps the mage rid his hair of the worst of the tangles, and I use the contact to ground myself firmly back in reality.

I'm so messed up.

I need this contact almost more than I need air.

This is real. Marcurio is here. I'm back in the present. He's alive. He's here. I'm here. This is REAL.

It repeats itself over and over again in my head like a holy mantra, and I'm breathing far too harshly as I dig my fingers into his clothes but Marcurio doesn't even care. He just smiles understandingly and wipes the sweat away, gently coaxing me out of bed. He murmurs soothingly, keeping firm hands on my shoulders and staying within my direct line of sight.

Of all the people to walk Tamriel, I'm truly fortunate to have found him.

Cautiously, he informs me of what happened as well.

"You've been asleep for three days now. I'm glad you didn't start screaming when you woke up – I've had enough trouble convincing the innkeeper I wasn't planning to kidnap or murder you as it is. I've used all the healing magic I could on you, but there's a disturbance in your head that I can't quite get, and I'm not confident enough in my skills to deal with it. Luckily, I only had to wait a few hours for you to show up in Blackreach. The tower doors wouldn't open for me no matter what I tried."

Three days? A few hours?

A few… Hours? I… Hours?

I blink up at him owlishly. "But I… I haven't seen you in months. I thought you were dead for months."

Is he telling me it has only been a few hours for him? What time did I get back? What day is it? What time is it? What YEAR is it, even? He has to be kidding, it has in no way, shape or form been mere hours since I last saw him.

I wince at a dull stab of pain in my skull even as Marcurio eyes me warily. When I glance away in guilt – I abandoned you. Oh gods, I abandoned you. I could have waited, could have waited and it would only have been a few hours and I wouldn't have fallen so far, wouldn't have thrown myself into the Dark Brotherhood so recklessly, wouldn't have had to regret, regret, regret… - he merely sighs.

Then places a butterfly kiss on my forehead.

"It's barely four in the morning, Fjaldi. Far too early to think deeply about serious matters… How about we talk about it later? Get some fresh air. Then, you're coming back here and get some food. I have a boiled crème treat tucked away in my pack, wrapped up just for you, alright?"

I nod, and he ruffles my hair with a smile.

Marcurio is acting far softer than he usually would, a gentle side that I haven't much had the pleasure of seeing before. I let him guide me around by my hand without a noise of complaint. Any other moment, any other situation, and I'd be mortified. Horrified. Embarrassed beyond belief. But… I'm lethargic, my body heavy, my mind fuzzy and too full of conflicting and confused thoughts to process half of what's going on.

For a breath-taking, terrifying moment, I wonder if Marcurio is just an illusion, the warmth of his hand and the heat of the fire, the robes scratching my skin and the darkened inn around us.

I stumble, and when the mage moves to catch me, I accidentally bite on the inside of my cheek. Blood pools into my mouth, but rather than further disorienting me, the pain and the taste helps, in a morbid way. A reminder that this is real, and I'm no longer caught in the past-future haze that fell over me in Kagrenzel.

Er'thk and N'dak are dead. The carriage driver is dead. The people from Windhelm I saw were dead. The guards of Mzulft are dead, the guards that kept me at the bridge in Fal Zhardum Din, dead. My father… Dead.

Marcurio opens the door, and the icy cold winds hit me square in the face. It's like a bitch slap, and serves as a wake-up call harsh enough to wrack my entire body with violent shivers.

"You'll be fine?"

"Aye. Just… Needed some fresh air." I almost giggle hysterically, but refrain from it as I'm left outside in the cold as Marcurio goes to draw a bath for me. The innkeeper will likely have opinions about that later, but for the moment, it's no concern of mine. My bladder, however, is.

I pull my robes up to my chin and wade out into the snow, my breath solidifying into tiny crystals, little flecks of snow clinging to my eyelashes almost immediately, and my fingers protesting against the cold.

It's wonderful.

Taking deep, calming breaths, I can outright feel the frozen air as it enters my lungs and leaves me in a warmer whoosh, leaving my mind clear and my senses alert.Skyrim's skies spread out endlessly above me, and I spare a precious moment looking at the moons and stars – the only thing unchanged in either the Past or the Now.

I'm home.

Another shiver brings me back out of my musings, and I take care of my business as quickly as possible before hurrying back into the inn at the highest speed I can muster through the knee-deep white powder determined to impede my movement.

Once I'm fed, watered and out of my bath, buried in a thick sabercat fur on the bed with a comfortably lounging Marcurio, I feel like a Mer reborn.

"I love you." I mumble in between sips of a hot cup of lavender tea.

"I know. Love you too." The mage grins in return, raising a playful eyebrow at me. "I take it that you're feeling a little better now?"

I hum in agreement, closing my eyes and breathing in the hot steam rising from the mug. I'm not about to ask him where he got hot lavender tea when sunrise is still a few hours away, but I do want to ask him how he is even alive.

"So," I prompt after a long pause in which we both gather our thoughts in the semi-darkness, the door closed and only two bedside candles lighting the room, "Three days?"

Marcurio drains his mug and sets it aside, rolling over onto his back, eagle-spread. In contrast, I'm huddled up with my knees drawn to my chest, taking up as little space as I possibly can, a habit from curling up in unassuming corners for hours, waiting for my assassination contracts to pass by, for a contact to show up, or for a lonely night to pass without incident.

I focus my attention on my boyfriend as he explains. "Yeah. Three days. After I, Uhm, fell -" he winces, a hand moving to his chest, and guilt makes my throat close up all over again, but I bite my lip and bear it. Marcurio takes a deep breath. "After I fell, I ended up dropping into the water. I was lucky the wound didn't get infected from it, or that the arrow that hit me wasn't poisoned… Anyway, I don't remember how I got out of that lake I fell in. All I know is that, at some point, I woke up to a dragon staring me in the face."

He snickers uneasily, dragging his hands down his face. "I was spooked, to say the least. All around me there was not much beyond a dragon, dead Falmer, and a tent that held their stash of potions. So I dragged myself to it and made sure I healed up enough to survive the trip back to you guys. I made it to the tower…"

A breath of hesitation as he frowns. "I… I thought you'd all left me for dead, at first. But then the dragon came back to me, and bid me to wait. I actually held quite a civil conversation with him. Vulthuryol, I mean. He was a bit hard to follow, but apparently you were to arrive any moment. So I sat with him and waited. For hours."

"Then…" he continues, wondering, as if he cannot quite believe it himself, "Then there was a flash of light. Just that. Light. Vulthuryol jumped forwards and became part of the light. It was too blinding to see what was going on… Next thing I know, Vulthuryol is nothing more than a skeleton, and you're standing there, all wobbly legs and weird clothes."

The mage gestures into the air with his hands. "So I caught you when you fell, and you were… Completely out of it. Babbling in Dwemeris, feverish, sick, not seeing straight. Terrified the shit out of me. So I hauled you over my shoulder and got out of that damned cavern system, dragged you all the way here… and the rest is history."

I give myself some time to process all of the information his story gives me, as well as to get over the immense welling of emotions in my chest.

We abandoned him to die. Would have abandoned him to die. I owe Vulthuryol a lot, it seems.

"So," Marcurio interrupts the silence, side-eyeing me.

"What's your story?"

I let out a humorless snort, tiredly dragging my fingers through my hair, rubbing the back of my head and not meeting his eyes.

"You're going to find it hard to believe. And you're going to like it even less."

Sharp brown eyes try and search my own, and smiles with too many teeth, but while his eyes are wary, they do not show the intentions to hurt or judge.

Then he pins me to the bed by lying down on top of me, pushing the breath out of my lungs.

"And you, my dear, are most empathically NOT leaving this bed until I know everything. I know who you are. I know what you are. Tell me the story, and let me be the judge of my own opinions."

He's not willing to compromise on this, and really…

I owe him an explanation.

And so, haltingly, carefully, mindful of listening ears at the door to the bedroom… I confess everything to him.

If he wants to end our relationship over this, I will not blame him. If he still wants me, with all I have done… Heh, then I deserve him even less.

By the time I am done I want no more secrets between the two of us. Secrets and lies have ruined too much for me.

I talk until my voice is hoarse, and then I talk some more. From my dealings with Elisif the Fair and my jaunts up to High Hrothgar to the assassination of the Emperor. From the time travel and the journey with N'dak and Er'thk to the confrontation with my own father, how I killed him. I even dig up the crumpled note still in my pocket – alongside the Dwemer key, my clothes and the Elder Scroll, it survived the way back.

Marcurio doesn't even glance at it, keeping his eyes trained on my face.

Awkwardly, I trail off when there is nothing more to tell. "Right, so… Yeah… And that's how I ended up on the bridge. You know… Uh, you know the rest of it. Yeah. So. That's it."

He lets out a humorous snort. "That's it? You just told me that you time travelled to the first era and back, killed your own father who borrowed an Elder Scroll because he wanted to see you, not to mention that you will kill the Emperor, the Emperor! On New year's day. Months from now. And the only thing you have to say to all that is 'that's it'?"

"You're… not mad at me?" I squeak.

Marcurio rolls his eyes and sits up, effectively straddling me though he doesn't seem to notice the compromising position.

"Only you, Fjaldi. Only you would get into shit this crazy and get out not just without any disfiguring injuries, but with souvenirs. No, I'm not mad at you. I already knew you were part of the Dark Brotherhood before, and I can hardly blame you for not wanting to waste any time on getting the Elder Scroll, which was the primary objective, and I'm not so arrogant that I think myself more important than the entirety of Tamriel."

I scowl at him, sitting up so that we're face to face and I can rest my head on his shoulder, trying desperately not to die of the sheer relief coursing through my veins. I curl my arms around his neck.

"You're more important than the rest of Tamriel to me." I grumble snippily under my breath.

Marcurio just laughs. The asshole.

Our next stop will be High Hrothgar – we can use my journal to ensure that I don't run into my past self. It takes a bit of struggling and arguing, but we decide against changing anything about the timeline since I – no, wait, since my past self is mostly concerned with Dark Brotherhood business and will be out of the way provided we stay clear of Falkreath, Whiterun, Solitude and to a lesser extent, Markarth and Riften.

It doesn't leave us with a lot of places to stay for the next months, but perhaps Jarl Idgrod might be willing to sell us a house. If not, then we will have to crash at Winterhold and hide ever so often. Morthal is one of the only places I've largely avoided after all, and we'll need a base of operations out of the way.

I don't even want to contemplate what would happen if I met my past self by accident. Time is already destabilizing, if the rumors the innkeeper gives us are true. I can't believe I missed something like this last time around.

People are disappearing. The dead have become more and more active, even in the Halls of the Dead they cannot rest. Dragons keep coming back to life and danger is as common as cabbages. Caravans vanish, rivers are flowing backwards, and the people of Winterhold swear up and down that they saw their entire city restored for all of two seconds under the moons' light. Markarth has rumors of Dwemer songs echoing through their halls, and there are ghosts at Helgen.

Skyrim is in chaos.

Time's run out.