Chapter 42: Smoke and Mirrors
Some time around midday there was a break to my blur of firing and Shouting. I had sighted a large and purposeful-looking figure in heavy Legion armour making haste toward the first gate from the direction of the city.
I squinted, watching their approach with interest because they seemed so different to all that I had observed for the past hours. I tapped Lydia to draw her attention – she was firing over the farm side of the gatehouse, then turned back to continue watching the newcomer. While the soldier – she, I determined – certainly attacked any Stormcloaks in her way, she moved along from them swiftly and did not engage unless she had no other choice. She seemed to be in the middle of the battlefield for a reason other than to defend Whiterun.
"What is it?" Lydia turned, and as she did, the figure drew close enough for me to place her.
"That officer," I pointed toward the oncoming woman. "She...was at Helgen."
It was the Legate who had ordered my death, believing that I was Giselle.
"Celeste?" I heard caution in Lydia's hesitant reply.
I turned to her swiftly, feeling pale, despite their being no confusion over whose side I was on today. "What is she doing?"
The golden barrier that Farengar had been maintaining around us flickered. "Ask her yourself; she appears to be headed our way."
The mage's unaffected tone made me shake my head to dispel my immediate, irrational panic as in a snap, I turned back to see if what he had said was true. The Legate, whose name I either didn't know or didn't remember, was swinging her sword and blocking with her shield before her, her mouth curled into a snarl as her opponent dodged and continued running toward the second gate where the barricade was still being faultlessly maintained.
The Legate moving against all of the other soldiers let him go and continued her steady path toward the breached, first gate. Farengar had been right, but I was still taken aback when her head swivelled in our direction, and her eyes, though she was still too far away to be certain, searched for and then appeared to settle on me.
"You should probably clear her way," Farengar prompted. "She is one of our allies, after all."
Lydia cursed in an undertone and lifted her bow, and by the time she had let her arrow loose, mine was placed. As the Legate fought her way to us, Lydia and I did what we could from our shielded platform of relative safety to fell the wave after wave of attackers raging around her.
Eventually the Nord woman ascended the ramp leading up to our gatehouse. The Legion and Whiterun officers posted along it let her pass without a second glance.
Then she was on our platform, and storming toward us; her hazel eyes cold, hard and narrowed on me.
For a second, I felt fear, exacerbated by Lydia's reaction as she flinched into a defensive position, half-stepping in front of me.
The Legate slowed before us, her unimpressed glare shifting to Lydia, then the woman drew to a halt. She almost pointedly remained a step outside of Farengar's ward.
"Lady Dragonborn," her eyes were back on me, and her voice oozed authority as she dipped her head. "It is an honour to meet you. My name is Rikke," she lifted her head, meeting my eyes and offering her hand. "The Jarl has given his consent that you accompany me to Rorikstead at once."
What? Questions fired in my mind, but my tongue didn't seem to be able to wrap itself around any words as my memories of Helgen and her callous manner there assailed me.
Lydia gratefully spoke up, maintaining her protective pose. "We are in the midst of battle, defending our home. What reason could the Jarl have for sending us from it at a time like this?"
Nobody missed her pointed use of the word us.
The Legate lowered her hand slowly, crossing her brows as she glanced to Lydia. "You are aware that Giselle Passero has been captured by the Legion?" she asked directly.
The mere mention of my twin untied my tongue. "I saw the Legion capture her," I confirmed, drawing Legate Rikke's attention back to me. "Is she being taken to Solitude, to stand trial?" I tested.
Legate Rikke shook her head, oddly forthcoming as she added, "No, not until Whiterun is secured."
Once again, relief flooded me, though I felt conflicted in feeling it. My sister did not deserve anybody's compassion; least of all mine after all she had put me through, and all that she had ruined in her wake.
"She is being held in Rorikstead," the Legate continued, casting her gaze about, then with a grimace, side-stepped into Farengar's protective barrier. The moment she did, an arrow flew past our shield, making a chink sound on the wall she had stood before, and clattering to the stone platform.
I stilled as I knit the threads of what she had told me together. "You..." I cautioned. "You want me to see her?"
"Put simply, the situation is this," Legate Rikke spoke swiftly, barely moving, her eyes still glued to the battlefield between the first and second gate. "Giselle has refused to talk to anybody, except you."
I arched an eyebrow, despite my heart racing at her words. "Isn't it a little unorthodox to indulge the request of a traitor?"
"Under the circumstances, we would allow it," the Legate cast a final glance to the scene below, then sighed, turning to face me. "I understand if you would rather not, however-"
"No," I cut in, perhaps a little too hurriedly, for the Legate looked alarmed. I took a steadying breath before I added, "I would go with you. What do you want me to draw from her?"
Facing my sister, asking her my questions and demanding my answers was finally within my grasp!
"Good," she nodded sternly. "We will discuss the particulars en route. The Jarl has requested that you remain in Rorikstead under our protection until the all-clear is given here. Each journey we make through the battlefield puts more lives at risk than anybody likes."
I inclined my head to her, agreeing. "Jarl Balgruuf knows best."
"Quarters and an honour guard have been prepared for you. You will be well protected under our watch."
"Honour guard?" Lydia relaxed her stance finally, taking a step back as she shouldered her bow and drew her sword instead. "Give Celeste her Hadvar, if you must assign anyone. That boy would battle an army with his bare fists before he would allow any harm to come to her."
Gods, I flushed. I didn't dare meet her or the Legate's eyes while my cheeks flamed crimson. Had she been taking lessons from Vilkas; was Lydia really teasing me about this in front of an Imperial Legate?
Was Hadvar in Rorikstead, my heart fluttered unwittingly?
Legate Rikke's reply was just as hard as her previous, and I had to wonder how the woman could remain so disinterested, unless she had already known about our relationship, or truly cared nothing for such information. "It shall be considered," she quipped, "if such an assignment might benefit the Dragonborn's duty while she is among us. Though, I can promise you nothing," I could feel her eyes on me now, and made myself meet them, despite my blush. "He is no longer under my command, and Reidarsson's duties tend to extend a little further than your average officer, these days," she added.
Lydia waved her hand in a dismissive manner as she responded. "Of course; he is a busy man. And I will be her shadow at the garrison, no matter whom else you assign."
"And you are welcome," the Legate replied swiftly, turning next on the mage. "Whereas you are to take us beyond the fighting zone, and then return to Dragonsreach."
Farengar pursed his lips. "If the Jarl requests it..." he muttered stiffly.
"He does," Legate Rikke confirmed, then turned back to me. "The Stormcloaks will fall on us the moment we are off the platform. Mind you stay close to Farengar."
"I can fire," I spoke up swiftly, shrinking inwardly as the Legate cast me an incredulous, sideways look.
Indicating my bow with a wave of my hand, I added, "And, I can use the thu'um, if we need it. If they get too close to us."
"Yes, you can," the Legate murmured, dipping her head toward me once. I could only assume it was a signal of respect, but I felt that it was given begrudgingly.
Legate Rikke glanced away from me, her focus now on Lydia. "Our latest maps of the area suggest that if we double-back toward Bleakwind Basin, we will be out of the Stormcloak's range. Their efforts are entirely focused on these gates, so once we are out of their sights, they should not pursue us further."
Lydia frowned, shaking her head. "Bleakwind Basin is giant territory."
"I'd rather take my chances sneaking around a couple of giants than against whoever's hiding out at the Western Watchtower," the Legate said dismissively, and then motioned that we make our move.
"Let's go," she confirmed.
Once we had descended from the gatehouse, which due to the haste of our departure I managed with surprisingly little anxiety, I did as I had been told. I linked my arm through Farengar's offered elbow, and the mage both maintained our barrier, and lead the way. The Legate defended our path, breaking free of the ward at times to take care of any Stormcloaks who took an interest in us.
Most didn't. The majority of Stormcloaks seemed to have only one thing on their mind, as the Legate had said; breaking down the second gate barrier that was keeping them out of Whiterun.
I startled as a huge Stormcloak wielding a warhammer screamed and ran toward our bubble of protection. Lydia leapt out of the ward to meet him, and Legate Rikke joined her less than a second later, holding him off and screaming for my housecarl to return to me. She did at once; her sword raised and ready and her green eyes hard and watchful.
It mustn't have taken long for Legate Rikke to dispatch the man, for she was beside us again in no time as well. As much as the sight of the woman brought a thick fear of what had almost happened in Helgen to my throat, I could not deny that she was an excellent fighter, and that I was grateful to be on her side.
From the farms beyond the first gate the roar of battle was but a muted echo, and those fighting were spread out and almost too easy to avoid, as they were focused on one another. The bark of the occasional Stormcloak order could now be heard, but their words were largely indiscernible. Before we had reached the boundary of the stables, we veered right, picking our way between rocks and bushes.
Farengar maintained his swift pace, and his ward. We left the mayhem of battle behind us, and Legate Rikke signalled toward a shallow cave within the boulders Whiterun had been built upon, calling for us to halt.
"We've done it?" I turned back toward the city, my eyes widening as I looked upon Whiterun from a new aspect. The city was in fire in several places – impact points reached by the Stormcloak's siege engine, no doubt. What would be left of our home, even if we won the day, I thought in distress? But before I could take in or think of it any more, I was hauled into the cave and out of Farengar's protective shield spell.
"We're away. You can lower that thing now," the Legate instructed Farengar as she righted me on my feet.
"Finally," he sighed, flicking his wrist to dispel the ward and leaning against the cold stone wall of the cave as he chugged back the contents of a magica potion.
The Legate cast the mage a frustrated glance. The look would have silenced any sensible person, but Farengar didn't seem to care.
Lydia stood at the edge of the cavern, her eyes watchful. "We're not far from the giant's camp. See the smoke over there?" she pointed. "I'm fairly sure that is their bonfire."
The Legate stepped up beside her, resting her hands on her hips as she observed the scene for herself. "Yes, I see it. All right, from this point, we travel west. We stop for nothing and nobody. Farengar," she added over her shoulder. "You are dismissed. Return at once to Dragonsreach."
Farengar pushed himself off the wall. "You're welcome," he muttered in a disgruntled tone.
"Wait," I turned on him hastily, clasping my hand to his arm. The mage stilled, glancing at my hand, and all I could make out underneath the shadows of his hood was a slim frown.
"What is it?" he asked, though not confused, merely interested.
I hesitated; now was not the right time to bring up the Thalmor attack. "I will return to Whiterun, when this battle is won. I will call on you for a chat, on the day I return," I told him steadily.
Farengar's frown curled up into a smirk. "I would like that very much, Miss Passero."
"Thank you." Nodding in what I hoped was a significant manner, I lowered my hand and joined Lydia and Legate Rikke. "I am ready."
"Good," Legate Rikke sighed. "Because the sooner this is done, the safer everyone will feel. I know she is your twin," she cast me a sideways glance. "But something about the little witch makes me question whether we should risk detaining her at all."
Her words bore such an edge that my stomach clenched in realisation; Giselle's final hours were upon her, and by doing as the Legion requested, I was shortening them.
I nodded, feeling pale as I drifted after the Legate.
She deserves whatever justice the Empire metes out to her, I told myself.
Telling myself and convincing myself were two different matters, and I couldn't push aside the pool of guilt swelling within me, wondering if I might have prevented Giselle's defection, had I only been a better, kinder, more attentive sister.
She was the one who changed, I reminded myself somewhat sullenly; another matter which I questioned the truth of as we walked.
Our departure from the scene of the battle was silent, and we spoke only when it was necessary. The Legate directed Lydia and I around the giant's camp, and then across the plains. There were so many small hillocks and rises between us and Whiterun that it was impossible to see, let alone hear the war taking place for it any longer. Not knowing how the city was faring only deepened the nauseating pool of guilt-laden nerves in my belly as we drew further from it.
Silently, while the Stormcloak's eyes were focussed elsewhere, Legate Rikke, Lydia and I hastened to Rorikstead to face their captured Commander; my sister.
–
"There it is," the Legate motioned toward the horizon.
I looked up, assuming she meant Rorikstead was in sight, and could make out a cluster of low buildings in the distance, surrounded by plot after plot of farmland. The structures were too far away to determine much of their make up, but by the smudges of grey and brown, I could reason that it was a village of stone and thatch. The farms reached so far out from the hamlet that we were already nearing the boundary of one such plot. I looked down the rows and rows of plants in a muted wonder. What was being grown here? Potatoes, perhaps? I was no farmer, so could not truly say.
But my silent awe was not over the pristine crops laid out either side of us, but for the plain-clothed people I could see, toiling over the farms. The battle for Whiterun was taking place not half a day's walk from here, and there were people here, now, in a field, tending to potato plants.
As I shook my head and turned my eyes back to the road ahead, the Legate spoke up.
"Our encampment is beyond the rise, there," she shifted her hand in the direction of some sparsely-grassed hillocks. "And, once we reach it, I must insist that you remain with your appointed guard, at all times," the Legate cast me a hard look.
I glanced to Lydia, wondering if my housecarl had any answers for the Legate's manner, but she was nodding, agreeing with her it seemed, and grim-faced.
"Okay," I responded uncertainly. "Is there...any particular reason? I am...loyal to the Empire, you must realise that by now, despite what happened in Helgen..." I murmured.
"Best if we don't mention the H-word," the Legate grimaced now, then halted, turning to me and fixing me with a softer, verging on regretful look. I reasoned that it was all the apology I was likely to get regarding what she had ordered to be done that day.
"You must understand," she almost entreated me. "Word will get out, about what occurred in Whiterun today, but that struggle is still being fought as we speak and the outcome is anybody's guess at this time. As such, many of our officers will not yet be enlightened, and will believe you to be the Stormcloaks' pet Dragonborn."
I shook my head, turning away as a flush of anger swelled within me. So, it was true, despite the assurances I had been fed that the Legion did not believe Giselle and Ulfric's lie.
But, she is right, I countered, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm myself. Nobody will believe the Dragonborn is aligned with the Stormcloaks after today. There were too many witnesses.
The farm on the other side had the same crop growing, I noticed dully, for my eyes had been turned toward it. "You have captured Giselle," I murmured, watching as a girl as young as Lucia with a woven basket on her hip dipped down onto her knees to determinedly dig around in the dirt by the plants. "Are those stationed at the garrison not aware of who she really is?"
"Perhaps many are, by now," the Legate shrugged. "But, Lady Dragonborn, we are fighting a war today. There are more urgent priorities for our officers to focus on than the status and allegiances of the Passero sisters," she added with a wry twist to her tone. "And a lot of officers were harmed in that disaster at Korvanjund, and lost to her attack on the Pale."
I remembered with a thud that Hadvar had been part of the former, as she had called it, disaster. What had truly happened while the two armies had fought to secure the artefact Hadvar had written to me of? How close had he come to being taken from me that day, be it by my sister, or one the soldiers in her command?
"Can you tell me what she did at Korvanjund?" I dared to ask, though my words left my lips quietly, almost pleading.
Legate Rikke shook her head. "A dark tale for another time. My point is that until it is common knowledge that Giselle Passero has been exposed and dealt with, you must be careful of where you show your face. Now, as I told you earlier," she proceeded immediately. "Giselle has sullenly insisted that she will not speak to anybody but you."
"Why?" my voice cracked as I interjected, deeply confused. "She must know that I am not her ally."
Lydia handed me her water skin in an offhand manner, and chimed in. "Perhaps she feels remorse and wishes to answer for her sins, before she is led to her trial?"
The Legate hmphed. "Unlikely. Even in chains and gauntlets to inhibit her magic, she wears a proud face as though she were the High Queen of Skyrim itself."
I hadn't needed the reminder that if Stormcloak won his war, she might well have been, had the Legion not captured her today. To direct both Legate Rikke and Lydia away from what I felt was approaching – talk of what would certainly be Giselle's impending execution – I spoke up with more purpose. "What do you want me to learn from her?"
The Legate nodded with appreciation, and went on to explain a number of uncertainties that the Imperial army had which Giselle might shed light upon; the name of a traitor in Markarth, the exact location of officers taken prisoner in Winterhold; details of a weapons shipment they believe to be moving about the Rift.
I nodded, finding a place in my roiling thoughts for the major points. "All right. Do I have anything to offer her in exchange for this information?" I posed flatly, uncertain as to whether I was actually bargaining or not.
Legate Rikke was quiet for longer than I expected her to be, and when I glanced at her, her stern eyes were fixed on Rorikstead before us.
"She will not tell us anything for free," I prompted.
The Legate nodded, tight-lipped as she replied, "I know. That is why I am delivering you to her, instead of fighting with my men right now back in Whiterun."
Lydia scoffed. "Delivering-?"
I shook my head swiftly at my housecarl. The Legate had not chosen the right word, but I had understood her meaning. My arrival was the bargain to secure Giselle's secrets; she would receive no more from the Legion than that.
The Legate didn't bother confirming what I had deduced, and once again, we fell into silence. As we neared the village of Rorikstead, the Legate veered off the road and down a path that ran alongside two of the fields, directing us toward the knolls she had indicated earlier, behind which the Imperial Legion had set up its camp.
–
At first glance, my sister was a picture of defeat.
The tent that Giselle was being held in was heavily guarded. Five Legion officers stood outside of her prison, and four more were silently assembled inside of the canvas tent.
While I observed my sister, I couldn't help but wonder at this apparent danger she posed; the caution with which the Legion were detaining her. How could she be of such importance to the Stormcloaks, and such a threat to the Legion? I had heard many stories of her exploits, and had tasted her reputation for myself during that fearsome and confusing evening at the Nightgate Inn, but...was she really so terrible?
The tent was empty of other prisoners, and my sister sat in the centre of the large, canvas abode, secured to a heavy wooden chair by an arrangement of criss-crossed ropes and chains and surrounded by tall wooden stakes that had been sharpened at their tips. The tent was illuminated by only two lanterns, both placed on a table by the far wall, but in the flickering light I could still make out that her head was downturned, her Stormcloak armour was dishevelled and her hair was a tangled mess of curls.
To look more like you, I prodded my sluggish thoughts.
I stood in the entryway taking in the sight of her with my honour guard of three Legion officers and Lydia behind me. A strange sense of emptiness overcame me the longer I remained and looked. I had not properly seen my sister since the day she had departed for Wayrest, and I recalled her vigour that day, her happiness as she had hugged me and expressed how relieved she was to be returning to her studies.
Studies. Crossing my brows at her, and wondering where the boat she had boarded had really taken her, I glanced down and noticed the large metal gauntlets encasing both of her hands and wrists. The Legate had told me that they were preventing her from accessing her magic with gauntlets; these must have been the means to accomplish it.
One of my guards shuffled on the hard-packed dirt, and the sound was enough to alert the four guards within the tent of our arrival. When they moved, my sister lifted her head slightly, though her shoulders remained slumped.
Our eyes met. Whatever her guards said to me, I didn't hear. Her face mirrored mine; not only in appearance, but expression; entirely devoid of emotion.
Lydia spoke up from behind me; thanking and dismissing the guards, I thought. As they filed out, I felt a gentle, but somewhat shaking hand tentatively land on my arm to direct me forward; Lydia again. The shuffle of booted feet against the earth came to my ears. I stepped inside, barely aware of the crossover from the clear brightness of the afternoon into Giselle's shadowed prison.
As we drew nearer and I was able to make out more and more of my sister, I began to feel again. The first emotion was pain; the deep, sea-blue of her eyes reminded me of my father. Our father.
I felt as though I hadn't outwardly reacted, but I must have betrayed myself somehow. Giselle glanced away from me, lifting her head and sitting straighter as she frowned at my entourage.
"You may leave," she uttered to them; a steady and authoritative command. "I will speak only to my sister."
The sound of her voice broke the spell of remorse that had taken hold of me; incredulity gushed through me in its place. With a light, disbelieving huff, I glanced to Lydia.
"We are going nowhere," Lydia growled; her green eyes narrowed and fixed on my sister. "You are in no position to make demands."
"All of you go, then," Giselle somehow made her snide remark sound lofty.
My honour guard moved to the seats that had previously been occupied by the Legionnaires watching over Giselle, seemingly unaffected by her orders, though I caught one of them sending her a dark look as he lowered himself onto the chair by the wall.
I stood before my sister's wooden cage, digging my fingernails into my palms as the incredulity was overtaken by a steadily boiling rage, fuelled by her pompous attitude. A desire to understand what had possessed her to do what she had done consumed all else.
If she won't talk, you'll never know.
"It's all right," I spoke up quietly, my voice trembling with restraint. Giselle's eyes flickered back to me, and I maintained her gaze, though I spoke to my guards. "Wait outside for me. I will not be long."
There was no protest from the Legion officers; they must have been ordered to obey me, I realised as they rose and filed out of the tent. When only Lydia and I remained, I turned to my housecarl, and lay my hand on her arm to get her attention.
"Please," I whispered to her.
Lydia's eyes were still fixed on Giselle; dangerous and accusing, but then she glanced swiftly to me. I expected a protest, or a look of betrayal, but she only gave me a small, barely perceptible nod then turned on her heels, exiting the tent with a stiffness about her manner that I had never seen.
"They can be taught," Giselle muttered in an undertone.
With nothing and nobody remaining to hold Giselle's tongue any longer, I turned back on her and stepped closer to her cage.
Giselle watched my approach, though her eyes flickered to the open door flap of the tent a few times as I did.
She said and did nothing else until I halted, a hands-span from the wooden spikes surrounding her.
"All right, Giselle. I'm here, as you requested," I managed cooly, grateful that my voice no longer shook. I could do this. A thick haze seemed to have gathered in my mind, for the moment disconnecting me from what was occurring.
My sister bore my hard gaze for a second longer, and I wondered what it was that she saw in me; what exactly she was looking for? Did she believe me as changed as she was? Did she fear the dragon within, whom she'd witnessed defending the gates of Whiterun that morning?
She lowered her eyes.
"Thank the Gods, you came," she whispered, her voice quivering as she spoke.
I frowned at her tone, then was immediately put on guard as she glanced up hurriedly; her blue eyes imploring as a look of fear emerged on her face.
"Sister," she pleaded, holding her gauntleted hands out to me. "Loosen these. Please," her voice cracked, thick with tears. "I won't break out until later tonight. They won't know it was you."
I raised my eyebrows, tearing my eyes off her to steady my response. "You heard my housecarl. You are in no position to make demands," I replied as emotionlessly as I could manage.
Giselle sobbed in reply. I glanced back swiftly, surprised by this display from my usually uptight and reserved sister. She had lowered her head again, perhaps so that I wouldn't be able to tell that she was faking her tears.
It doesn't matter, I told myself hurriedly, furiously, despite the prickle of uncertainty that was crawling along the back of my neck. She is desperate, and believes you to be weak, believes that she can trick you. She is a traitor.
"You can drop the act," I murmured quietly, sighing as I retrieved a chair and placed it opposite her, before her bars. I sat, feeling that her eyes were on me again as I settled, and took my time to adjust my bow so that it rested more comfortably on my shoulder.
I looked back to my sister; our eyes level now. "You have been lying to everybody for so long that it appears to have become natural for you to do so," I tried to dispel the passion from my tone, but it seemed that I couldn't prevent my words from twisting into a snark. "But you cannot lie to me."
"No – please. I'm not lying," Giselle hushed, shaking her head; a small, hurried, panicked motion. Her eyes were wide, making her appear smaller and younger than she was. "I wanted to go to Wayrest."
"Just stop," I closed my eyes, for it was impossible to ignore the vulnerability of one who I had loved for so long, and it infuriated me all the more to know that she knew this; knew how to affect me.
"I know everything," I bit out as I clenched my teeth. "You have been allied with Ulfric Stormcloak – no," my eyes flew open, flashing in accusation; "sleeping with Ulfric Stormcloak – since you left Solitude for Winterhold over three years ago. How does that even work, Giselle?" I fired, gaining timbre as my sister shrank back. "He's old enough to be your father! Who, I might remind you, is dead because of you?!"
Giselle's lower lip trembled and she closed her eyes swiftly. Tears leaked out from the corners, trailing slowly down her cheeks; their paths shimmering briefly in the lantern light.
I wanted to shake her, to slap her; to snap her out of this facade so we could argue properly. If she had not been behind bars and out of reach, I might have done, for her feigned remorse was infuriating. How could she dare appeal to me in this manner, when underneath the mask of timidity and grief lay the blackened heart of a snake who had lied and plotted and hunted and murdered her way into the arms of our enemy?
There were so many things that I could have said to her but I remained silent while she cried, waiting for her to begin her attempts to justify her actions. They would come, I reasoned, and while I waited I took the deep, slow breaths of my bard's training in an effort to regain a sense of calm. If I could not remain calm, then I could not do this job; do what the Legion had asked of me.
My sister wept quietly for a few more minutes, but then through a shuddering breath, finally replied. "You don't understand," she almost whispered. "You can't understand what it was like," she opened her eyes, still pooled with tears and puffy around the edges. "I was so young, and he is so strong, Celeste. He has more power and influence than anybody realises, and he's smart," she blinked slowly; visibly sinking in defeat.
I watched her closely and said nothing, pushing down the part of my soul that wanted to step through the wooden barrier between us and comfort the woman before me.
With another shuddering breath, she leaned forward a little; her voice even softer. "He has plans for us, both of us, after he wins this war."
I bit my tongue as my gaze narrowed and the prickle of sympathy I had felt fled. Okay. Now she was talking; albeit not about what the Legion wished to know. But surely, anything of Ulfric's plans would be welcomed.
Again, I waited, arching a single eyebrow when she sat back with a huff at my lack of reply. Her eyes expressed disbelief and betrayal, and the look nearly made me FUS her across the room.
Use FUS and she escapes, I tempered myself quickly. And, perhaps that is her plan. Calm down.
I made myself reply to her, when I felt steady enough to do so. "Tell me of these plans Stormcloak has for us."
Giselle held her gauntleted hands out again, begging, "Loosen my binds, and I'll tell you everything."
My reply was another glare, which I maintained until my sister sank back in her chair and lowered her eyes.
Whether she was telling the whole truth, or executing an elaborate script devised to trap me, it truly did not matter, I realised. And I voiced my realisation to her in a low, steady tone.
"This is your fault, Giselle," I stared at her, willing her to look up again. "Because of you – be it your disloyalty, or your cowardice – Skyrim is at war. Do you understand how many people are dead because of you?" I asked. "Our parents, the High King, Ralof-"
This got her attention; her eyes snapped to me, suddenly as hard and sharp as a knife.
"What do you know of Ralof?" she spat.
Sitting back a little in my chair, I frowned at her sudden ferocity. My heart was simultaneously satisfied, and disappointed, by her outburst.
You see? It was all an act. Here is the viper; the woman half of Skyrim fears.
I made myself answer her. "I know that he was a good man before you and Stormcloak fed him and his kind enough lies to convince them to take up arms against their own kin."
Giselle lifted her head higher, laughing weakly to the roof. "You know nothing. I am such a fool to assume you could-"
"You are a fool," I cut her off sternly. "And you are wasting time, continually reminding everybody within hearing range of the fact," I stood, motioning toward the exit. "I left my people – in the midst of battle, to come to you, and for what?" I glanced her up and down, feeling disgusted. "This – this pathetic entreaty from a murderess-"
"He killed our mother," Giselle cut me off loudly.
I hesitated, biting my tongue to again stop myself from using the thu'um on her. I closed my eyes; desperate to regain control of my senses before I unwittingly did exactly as she wished. "I don't believe you."
"It is the truth," Giselle's voice was pained. "Her death was not part of the plan. Ralof killed her, while they were escaping. Ulfric told me and...gave him to me..."
I opened my eyes as she left the rest unsaid; glared into my sister's troubled soul. "And our father, who as Thane to the High King would have been considered your enemy?" my voice was laced in ice. "Did you calmly plan his death in one of your war meetings?"
"No!" Giselle insisted, sounding horrified.
"I was at the Blue Palace too, that day – was my death part of the plan?" I spoke quickly, standing tall, clenching my fists as I bore down on her. The memory of Giselle sweeping into the Blue Palace to retrieve me after the attack; what I had taken for shock and grief on her features; the words she had spoken to me – all pressed on me in that second while she looked up through her tangle of dark curls with tear-filled distress in her eyes.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head minutely. "Why do you think I fought so hard to go with you to the palace? Why do you think I came as soon as I could?" she continued in a quiet, horrified voice. "My presence would have prevented any harm from coming to father, and to you-!"
"Stop lying!" I cried; the tether that had been supporting what remained of my calm snapping. I grasped the bars that separated me from my sister, my knuckles turning white as splinters of wood dug into my palms.
"What do you think of me?" Giselle's voice rose with an audible tremor, her eyes still wide and searching; her brows crossed in confusion. "Do you honestly believe me capable of plotting our parent's murders? Do you detest me that much-"
"Don't," I grated, cutting her off through a mouthful of clenched teeth. "Another word appealing to our connection and I will leave this tent and forget you," I threatened, meaning every word I spoke. Giselle sat back a little, her eyes flitting over me with actual worry.
"For months," I made myself continue speaking, "you have pretended to be me and made the whole of Skyrim fear the name Passero," I grated. "You are responsible for your actions, Giselle. You plunged Skyrim into civil war, and have wreaked havoc on my life and the lives of those I love ever since," I laughed; a cynical bark. "You hunted me, while I slept, as though I were nothing more than a skeever to be trapped! Why, just this morning you shot balls of fire directly at me as you tried and failed to Shout in the language of the dragons! And you expect me not only to listen, but sympathise with you?"
Giselle's voice wavered as she replied quietly, "I was under orders-"
"Why?" I screamed. "What do you owe Stormcloak that could make you turn on your family like this?"
Giselle regarded me from under her messy hair, and then lowered her eyes to her gauntleted hands, now resting on her lap.
My breaths came hard and fast as though I had been running, and I detangled my hands from the wooden stakes so I could sit again. Once I had settled, I watched and waited for her to reply.
Again, her words were soft, but they were steadier than they had been before; more resolved. "All I have done, all I have endured," her voice thickened with tears, "has been for the good of Tamriel."
All she has endured?! I bit my tongue to keep from snapping a retort, for I felt that there was more to come.
There was. Giselle looked up; the blueness in her eyes bright. "You can't understand, because you were handed your birthright by one of the Divines, with no explanation to accompany it."
The corner of my mouth twitched as she bore my unimpressed gaze. "You've done all of this for fame?" I confirmed softly, incredulously.
"No," Giselle closed her eyes, laughing bleakly as another tear slipped from her eye and trailed down her wet cheek.
I couldn't help but continue along this path, "You have destroyed our family and started a war to satisfy your cravings for status, and have attached yourself to one of the most dangerously volatile men in Skyrim to achieve it?" I uttered in a low growl.
Giselle looked up in horror, shaking her head again as her tears resumed falling. "You cannot be so impossibly naïve, Celeste! Nothing could have prevented this war – and it has occurred because you and I exist. Ulfric opened my eyes to the truth, and his actions now pave the way for us. Both of us! You're the Dragonborn, Celeste!" she added somewhat desperately; as though this explained everything.
I threw her a disgruntled and disappointed look as I suddenly wished that Vilkas had come with me, so that he might determine if a single word she had uttered contained a shred of truth. "That I can understand the language of the dragons and use the thu'um is irrelevant to your actions and Ulfric's personal quest for glory, and I will not be drawn into it," I drawled.
Giselle closed her eyes, issuing yet another a small laugh as she shook her head. "You don't understand what it means to be Dragonborn, then," she settled, almost to herself. "But Ulfric – he does," she opened her eyes, fixing me with a bright, verging on fanatical look. "He knows why this is happening to you – and not just the hearsay and legends that the plebs have been fed all their lives. He has archivists, and documents to back his claims – he understands why you were made Dragonborn by Akatosh."
She paused, perhaps expecting me to relent or at least reply to her.
I gave her no such satisfaction; my eyes ever watchful of her next move. She was baiting me yet again; of this I was certain.
Giselle continued, smiling as she added. "Don't you understand? He can teach you as he's taught me; he can make you ready for what you must face. I was asked to bring you to him so that he could explain-"
"Funny," I grit my teeth, unable to stop myself from cutting her off any longer. "He mentioned none of this to me when I stood before him in Windhelm a week ago. In fact," I took a deep breath, glancing away from Giselle. "He ordered that I leave before he set his guards on me."
I only heard Giselle's laugh this time; another light, familiar, and emotion-filled breath. "You appeared before him as the Thane of Whiterun with a message from one whom he had believed to be his ally."
"Allies don't wage war on one another," I bit out.
"And he may have answers for you," Giselle continued as though I had not interrupted her, "but he is also a stubborn, proud, infuriating fool, sometimes. If I had been there, the meeting would have gone very differently."
"You hold such influence over him, do you?" I scathed. "When I walked into this tent, you implied that he had forced you into his schemes and his bed, under duress."
Giselle smiled patiently, fondly. "I didn't say that."
"Then, what did you mean?" I asked, my tone infused with darkness; her words and manner making my stomach twist; nauseated to learn that she did feel affection for the brute.
Her maddening, warm smile persisted as she replied. "I know his nature, to his core," she glanced up to me, her expression more serene than it had been for our entire audience. "Which is why you must loosen my binds. I must go back to him, and keep him on track. I would ask you to come with me, but I know that you won't," she glanced down for a moment, then turned her eyes up to observe me through her lashes. "But I believe that you will, in your own time, now," she murmured knowingly. "When you are ready to understand this gift you have been given," my sister shrugged, "come to Windhelm. Give Ulfric a chance. We will welcome you, and you will finally understand why events had to play out this way-"
"Stop," I gasped out the word, alarmed to find that I was close to tears. I shook my head, trying to cast off the unwanted emotions. "I will never come to Windhelm as your ally. I will never swallow Ulfric's lies, or yours," I grated thickly. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as I stood and took a step back from my sister's cage, watchful as her eyes flickered over me in weary disappointment.
"If you will not tell me what Ulfric has explained to you, here and now," I raised my eyebrows at her, "then I must assume as I have always done; that you intend to capture me, only to silence me."
"Celeste," Giselle implored. "You are not thinking-"
"Enough," I held my hand up, taking another step away and closing my eyes tightly; pushing the tears and all she had said back for a moment longer so I could finish this. "There will be no returning to Stormcloak. The Legion has you now. You will be taken to Solitude, where you will stand trial for all you have done," my voice trembled as my restrained anguish threatened to topple me. "You will be executed for treason and murder, and then I will visit you," I turned, marching toward the exit, "but only to scratch the name Passero from your tomb, for you do not deserve to bear it."
"Don't go!" Giselle hushed desperately. "Please! Don't let them kill me – I'm your sister for Shor's sake!"
The words I have no sister stuck in my throat as I bolted out of the tent, and burst into tears.
A/n: Giselle is a frustrating and infuriating woman and she gave both Celeste and I absolute hell in this chapter. Apologies for the shorter length.