Tolfdir sat in the cold torchlit room, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He had been standing for some time but had eventually brought a chair in from the rest of the excavation. He idly stroked his beard as he considered the strange items before him. They had no idea what they were. Well, they were strange short swords, that much was clear, but no ordinary pair of swords melted their way up through bedrock into an ancient ruin, or had long chains running from their pommels.
He sat a fair distance back from the blades, but could still feel the heat emanating from them. The heat was more pronounced than before almost as if in warning. Tolfdir's brows furrowed, and a warning it was. He recalled when Onmund had called him into this very room to see the blades beginning to emerge. After some discussion amongst the senior wizards of the college, the decision was made to simply observe. Over the next several days the blades had slowly worked their way up until, the mages assumed, only a small portion of the blade remained embedded in the stone.
After more discussions and more impassioned discussions at that, one of the wizards, Cosnach, told them all that they could simply study the things at the college and went to go pull them from the ground. Tolfdir shuddered at the memory. Cosnach had grasped one of the upraised handles and instantly flames had rushed up his arm, flowing over and coating his flesh. He had screamed and tried to pull away but his hand remained sealed to the handle and he only burned hotter.
No one had been able to react quickly enough, but even if they could have done something, even now with the benefit of hindsight Tolfdir did not know what could have been done to save him other than to have never touched the blades in the first place. Cosnach had died in moments, but even then the blades did not release him. He had burned down to a fine ash before the flames finally flickered out. The blades were untouched but the stone where Cosnach's body had fallen was blackened from the heat of his passing.
Tolfdir sat back and sighed. This had been a troubling and tragic expedition, but he had to admit, a remarkably successful one. Yes, they had lost one careless researcher to a trap, another to an unforeseen swarm of draugr, and finally Cosnach to… whatever exactly these things were. However they had discovered a strange floating relic. A sphere that either generated or served as a conduit for vast amounts of magicka and then, of course, these blades.
Many theories had been bandied about amongst the research about what exactly the nature of the two items were. One of the strangest aspects to the entire situation was that the items seemed to be completely separate and distinct. The sphere was covered in what appeared to be the ancient snow elf script while these blades exhibited none of the characteristics of either the ancient snow elf or ancient nordic cultures, making it a complete mystery as to why they would be in Saarthal.
Tolfdir was rudely pulled from his ruminations when he heard raised voices and a general commotion taking place back towards the center of the research camp. He quickly left the room and stalked down the winding tunnels to the main cavern where the camp was located.
He quickly took in the situation, the senior members of the research expedition were facing off with a large group of elves, heated words flying in both directions. Ancano of course was in the lead. Tolfdir's lip curled in anger. He had never trusted that blasted elf! Always scheming and plotting behind his honeyed words. Tolfdir raised his voice, drawing the eyes of both parties "Enough! What is the meaning of this?"
Ancano turned to face him with a sharp, thin smile on his face, "Ah, Master Tolfdir. So good of you to join us." He gestured to the rest of the Winterhold contingent, "I was just informing your colleagues that Thalmor will be taking over the excavation of Saarthal. You have found ancient elven relics here that are dear to our cultural heritage."
Tolfdir could not help an incredulous scoff that burst from him, "This is the first capital of men on the continent and you come to us regarding cultural significance? This is beyond ridiculous and a poor jest!"
Ancanos' grin grew sharper still, now little more than an almost feral baring of teeth, "Yes, Ysgramor's capital. He himself is a figure often linked to Talos worship, yet another reason we will be taking over. And the reason that we are empowered to do so by the White Gold Concordant," his contempt was clear now on his face, no longer hiding behind his false smiles, "to discharge that duty we can and will use force if necessary." Spells lit the hands of several of the justicars and others drew blades.
Tolfdir and the rest of the mages took a step back, shock writ large across their faces. "You would spill blood on the thinnest of pretenses?"
Ancano merely shrugged, "Gladly. Now. You have five minutes to gather what belongings you need and leave the site." His blasted smile was back. "I suggest you hurry."
Kratos strode purposefully up the road, Lydia at his side. The sun struck him with a warmth that he had not felt in some time. The scents and sounds had changed as well. So far south in the Rift had moved him sufficiently from the alpine climbs that he was accustomed to. Lydia noticed him breathing deep, scenting the air. She cocked her head at him as they made their final approach to the city, "Is something amiss, my thane?"
Kratos let out a forceful exhale before looking over at her, the creases at the edges of his eyes deepening, "No, girl." He was quiet for a moment and Lydia knowing him stayed silent, her expectant air prompting him to continue. "It has been... many years since I have been in a milder climate. It is strange."
"Were you born in the north then?" She missed no opportunity to ask a question, to learn more. Kratos wasn't often forthcoming about his past and when the mood struck him she needed to capitalize on it. Her eyes shot open as she considered her question. She cleared her throat nervously, "You were born? Not just…?" She gestured outwards with her hands.
Kratos let out a bark, "Yes, I was born." There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked down at her. "I did not merely appear."
Lydia grinned up at him sheepishly and shrugged, "You are a divine being from another realm!" He cocked an eyebrow at her which prompted her to flap a hand at him, "I'm just saying that it wasn't a completely ridiculous question."
He let out a snort and shook his head, "To answer your question, no. I was born in the south. Near the sea. Summers were far hotter than this."
Lydia hitched her shield to lay a little more comfortably across her back before continuing, "You have not been back to the lands of your birth in some time then." She paused and looked around her, taking in the forest and far away to the west the incredible snow capped heights of the Throat of the World. A soft smile crept onto her face as she looked around, "I would miss Skyrim."
Kratos nodded, "It is a strange and beautiful land." He fell silent for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought, "I do miss my natal land at times. The hills of Laconia. The fields and vineyards. Simple times." A shadow fell over him then, a grim spirit that Lydia could feel almost palpably. Kratos thought of his home and, inescapably, of the events there. Flashes of memory, hazy and dim from the rage at the moment of their formation. Blood on the ground. Kratos ran a pale hand down his arm, rubbing at his skin. Lysandra... His voice was harsh when he spoke again, "It is dead to me now. A land of ghosts, and I am one of them. I lost count long ago but it has been well over 1000 winters since I departed that place. I do not expect to ever return."
"You are haunted by regret."
Kratos nodded, "Yes. I have done much that is wrong and have had the power to make mistakes of great magnitude."
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him before she spoke again, her voice a low and rough impression of Kratos' own voice, "Do not be sorry. Be better."
Kratos froze for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter, "Fair enough." He nodded as much to himself as to her, "I am better than I was."
Lydia reached out somewhat hesitantly and gave his hand a soft squeeze, "Then do not be sorry. Let the ghosts of your past rest and strive to be better still."
He looked at her and gently held her hand in return, "You have grown wise."
She released his hand with a final squeeze and gave him a sunny smile, "I have been learning from the best."
Kratos let out a rumble of assent, "Now I know you jest. Few have called me wise."
Lydia shrugged, "Probably only those who bothered to listen, those who knew you." Kratos only shrugged but Lydia could feel that it had pleased him. Like a cloud drifting by and letting the full warmth of sunlight fall upon you again, she could feel his attention and regard. It was an awareness that had grown over the time of their association, underscored by her experience in the Myriad Realms.
It was good for him to be happier. He had been more dour since Agatha's death. He had immediately sent messages and begun asking questions. Somewhat unsurprisingly all of the contacts with which Kratos was close enough to request aid were not the sort of people who hired assassins and so had little more than rumour to offer them regarding the Dark Brotherhood.
Eventually a message had come from Sigrunn that she knew the Thieves Guild in Riften had dealings with the Dark Brotherhood at times and to go ask after a friend she had there, Brynjolf. That had been enough of a lead. Kratos had immediately ordered an expeditionary group of 50 men to be assembled. They set off later that very same day. They had avoided conflict on their journey through stormcloak territory and had dodged several stormcloak patrols. Now here they were approaching the gates of Riften while the men set up camp nearby.
Kratos' eyes narrowed when he saw the guards exchange looks with each other as they approached, an unspoken conference among the four men.. An inaudible growl built in his throat. He could feel the charge in the air, read it as easily as words on a page. Conflict. One thing caught his attention that he did not anticipate. Lydia instantly read either the situation the same currents he did, or perhaps she simply read him, but she had eased both her sword and a broad bladed fighting knife in their sheathes.
One of the guards stepped forward, raising a hand, "Halt, travelers. Access to the city is closed. All seeking entry must pay the entry tax." Kratos lip curled at the man's hesitation, clearly he was calculating a sum, "For those traveling under arms it comes to 75 septims each. We don't want that trouble in Riften so you need to compensate us for -"
"No." Kratos did not have the patience for this. "You are corrupt fools." His gaze traveled across the four men, "If you want my coin, take it by force. I will defend myself, killing you all." He shrugged, "Do what you will." Kratos resumed walking, completely ignoring the guards and heading for the city. Lydia followed closely on his heels, fighting to keep a grin from her face but her eyes were active, searching for any sign of hostile movement from any of them.
Kratos swept by the guards in moments as they spluttered and tried to figure out a way to salvage the situation. Kratos gave no backwards glance but raised a brow at Lydia, "They are dogs, bristling and barking behind their office. But they will not fight." He let out a rumble, "Those with power believe that everyone will respect the rules that protect them. All it takes is one who does not. A knife in the dark with no regard for tomorrow." They walked down the cobbled streets of Riften, past various shops and hawkers. Riften, if not too clean of a city, benefited from being the trading hub with Cyrodil to the south.
Lydia only shrugged, "I'm only a little surprised. I was expecting a punch or two. You don't look kindly on corruption. Especially of the vulnerable, who I'm sure are their targets."
"I do not. But time is pressing -" Kratos cut off abruptly as he heard a conversation that caught his ear. He turned on his heel and made straight for a man and woman who were speaking intensely in low-tones. The woman was wearing worn plate armor, carrying a greatsword, and had her face painted with blue woad while the man looked like any of a dozen imperials, in simple clothing.. Their conversation trailed off as they noticed the pale spectre of Kratos approaching.
The woman shifted subtly in front of the imperial and challenged Kratos, meeting his eyes with a glare, "What do you want, stranger?"
"You spoke of the Thieves Guild. Where are they?"
The woman spluttered at the abruptness of Kratos' words before recovering, "Excuse me? Why would I tell you a blasted thing? And what's your business with them anyhow?"
Kratos' face was stony, "My business is my own. That guild knows something I need to know. They will tell me." A vicious grin spread across the woman's face at Kratos' final statement.
The man was shaking his head gently, "Mjoll, I don't think that we should be involved in… whatever this is. It's only going to make trouble!"
Mjoll flapped a hand at him, her grin unwavering, "Oh, Aerin, but I'm just giving directions to some newcomers to Riften. I'm just being neighborly." She turned back to Kratos, eyeing his size and gear, "It's clear you're no thief, so I'm going to assume that they have crossed you somehow. Well, I don't know the path exactly, but I can lead you to the entrance to the Ratways." She grimaced, "Those are tunnels under the city. Somewhere in those tunnels is a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. The guild operates out of there."
Kratos nodded, "My thanks. Lead on."
Mjoll's grin only grew sharper, "No, thank you." She turned to Aerin, "I'll meet you back at your place later." She glanced back at Kratos and Lydia, "I need to show these people to the Ratways."
Aerin merely looked resigned, "Fine, Mjoll" he said with a defeated gesture, "Just try not to get yourself wrapped up in even more trouble." With a final sigh he left.
Mjoll looked back to them, "Shall we then?" The trip through Riften was quick and uneventful. Soon enough they descended from the main city level to the down a nearly vertical embankment to the wooden walkways along the river which ran through the city. They arrived at a rickety looking wooden door that led into tunnels beneath Riften. Mjoll gestured to it grandly, "The Ratways.
They made their way through the Ratways quite quickly. Kratos was in no mood for delays. When two footpads leapt out of the darkness at them they were met by overwhelming force. Lydia wasn't sure if they were alive or dead. She shuddered. The skeevers she knew were dead. She could now say that she had seen a skeever stomped in half. Not that she wanted to. She had fought on battlefields and seen horrible wounds inflicted by both blade and magicka but for whatever reason this was a bridge too far for her. Perhaps it was the sound. A wet, squelching, crunch. She swallowed heavily against the rising nausea at the memory.
Kratos stood in front of a wooden door, a better fitting one than the others they had seen in the Ratways, with a sign that proclaimed it to be The Ragged Flagon. Kratos paused a moment looking at the door and then scraped off the bottoms of his boots on the rough stone floor. He looked over at Lydia and cocked a brow. She nodded in reply and he pushed open the door and they stepped in.
The tavern was located in a large, open, and roughly circular cavern. On the far end was the bar and the tavern proper. In the center there was a sizable open cistern of water. Part of the tavern seating was on a wooden platform out over the cistern, giving it a waterfront feel. Torches and lanterns hung from numerous places, giving the rough place a warm illumination. There were quite a few people seated at the tables. Silence fell at their entrance and all eyes turned to them.
Kratos completely ignored the attention, the pressure of their scrutiny slid from him like water off a duck's back. He set out for the bar with no hesitation, as comfortable as if he were in the Red Fox back in Havverfjord. As he neared the seating area, a large nord man stood and placed himself in Kratos' path. In any other situation that man would have looked large and intimidating as he stood well over 6ft tall and was heavily muscled, but standing in Kratos path it was clear who was larger and had the weight advantage. The man had long blond hair pulled back into a tail and what Lydia thought were some especially heinous mutton chops.
The nord raised a hand and spoke in a raspy voice, "We don't like strangers snooping 'round the Flagon. Maybe best you find another place to get a drink."
Kratos stopped and looked down at the man, completely unconcerned, he spoke loudly to the room at large, but kept his eyes locked on the man before him, "I come seeking information. I was told to speak to Brynjolf."
The bouncer narrowed his eyes, "Maybe Brynjolf doesn't want to talk to you. I think you should turn around and leave."
Kratos' eyes narrowed dangerously in return, "No. There is no need for conflict. But I will speak to Brynjolf."
The frustration finally sparked in the man's eyes, "Oh there's a need." With that he stepped forward and viciously shoved Kratos. Or would have, if it had done anything. He may as well have shoved one of the stone walls. Before he could react, Kratos seized him by the throat with one hand and before he could do more than have his eyes bug out in shock, swept his feet out from under him and drove him straight to the ground. Kratos was on one knee, pinning the bouncer to the floor by his neck as the man scrabbled ineffectively at Kratos' hand and wrist futilely trying to free himself.
Everyone lurched to their feet at the sudden burst of action, knives appearing in hands, but Kratos' voice cut across the room again, "Hold! He is fine. I only wish to speak to Brynjolf."
A red headed man with a short beard stepped forward from the crowd. His voice had a moderate brogue, "Well, you're an insistent bastard, I'll give you that much." He gestured to the bouncer, "Let him up and we can talk."
"Brynjolf?"
"Aye. Now…" he gestured again a bit theatrically to the man still thrashing on the ground, "if you would?" Kratos released him and stood. The bouncer scrambled back and to his feet, crashing against one of the tables, a hand rubbing at his throat.
Brynjolf smiled, "Well at least that's out of the way. Come. Sit." He gestured to a table, "Let's try to have a civilized conversation." The tension in the room was slowly ratcheting down, as knives disappeared back into sleeves or other hiding places and other patrons made a wide berth around Brynjolf's table.
Kratos approached slowly and sat down opposite the red headed man. Brynjolf's eyes were hard, "Alright. Let's talk. I will warn you, Dirge was right. We don't take kindly to strangers. So you may want to pick your words carefully. First let's start off with who told you to come and see me."
"That is irrelevant."
Brynjolf's grin was sharp, "Oh, no. You see, to me it is very relevant, as someone is bringing trouble to my door, because that's exactly what you are." He leaned forward on the table. "So tell me that first off or we are done here."
"Sigrunn."
"That girl." He looked upwards in exasperation, "Of course, it was Sigrunn." He focused on Kratos again, "Fair enough. I won't guarantee an answer, but I will at least hear the question."
Kratos' face was as unreadable as Brynjolf's was active, "Where is the Dark Brotherhood?"
Brynjolf's eyebrows shot up, "Well you cut straight to the heart of it don't you?" He paused, "This is a dangerous topic. Why do you need to know?" Kratos was quiet for a time, eyes boring into Brynjolf. The silence went on long enough that Brynjolf's facade seemed to crack slightly, him impatience showing "You still with us he -"
"I will be clear with you." Kratos growled, leaning forward at the table. The air was suddenly heavy and charged. Everyone heard it in his voice. Not rage but inevitability. "I am going to kill them. I am going to kill those who hired them. And I am going to kill their associates." He paused for a moment, shock was clear on Brynjolf's face; you could have heard a pin drop in the tavern. "Now, I am considering whether you fall into the associates category." No one moved but the tension in the room was approaching unbearable levels and violence simmered just below the surface.
Brynjolf swallowed. Despite the man being here with only a single woman for backup, he did not like the idea of trying to fight this pair. He feared that they would be all too capable. "Well, I like your honesty, so I'll be honest too. You clearly already know who we are." He cleared his throat, "We don't take part in their business. But they do some business with us. That is to say, they sometimes buy and sell supplies with us. Nothing more. We don't like them. But they pay well. Barely well enough to keep us from saying good riddance to the whole creepy bunch." He shook his head, "We're thieves. Not murderers. And certainly not murderers for hire." There were nods from the other patrons in agreement with Brynjolf.
Kratos sat back in his chair and the oppressive charge to the air began to lift, "Very well. Then where are they?"
Brynjolf grimaced and ran a hand back through his hair, "The guild does not need to be in the middle of this…" He looked back to Kratos, "Alright -"
"Bryn!" came a cry from a slender altmer, "You can't be serious! That's money the guild needs!"
The redheaded man snapped right back, "But the guild doesn't need their enemies! We've gotten lucky, Vex. But they have a lot of enemies. And our luck has been far from good of late. Sooner or later it's going to run out." He sighed and rubbed his forehead before focusing again on Kratos, "Falkreath. Whenever we send them something, we send it to the inn in Falkreath, Dead Man's Drink, care of Gretta." He shrugged, "That's all I can tell you. We aren't exactly close. But there's your next bread crumb."
Kratos nodded, "My thanks." He stood and immediately began walking for the door. After a few steps Kratos paused and turned back, "Brynjolf. I know your face. I don't need to tell you the consequences of lying."
Brynjolf merely returned his look, "You don't. And I haven't." He shrugged, "I would wish you luck, but I really don't care."Kratos nodded and set off again. Lydia followed after him, walking backwards for a few steps, keeping a close eye on the gathered thieves, checking the glares for hidden violence. Seeing none she turned and followed her thane.
Brynjolf merely shook his head and let out a gusty breath. He raised a hand in the air and called, "Vekel! I could use a drink." Well this certainly was a day. Sigrunn had better have a good explanation for sending that man down here. Not that the outcome might be that bad, Brynjolf mused. He had been concerned for some time about the relationship that the guild had with the Brotherhood. That was just a disaster waiting to happen.
That man seemed a bit unhinged, but for all of that, he didn't try to take out his vendetta on the guild. Not the worst outcome in Brynjolf's eyes. With a new flagon before him, he waved over one of the young bucks seeking to make a name for themselves, "I don't like being caught by surprise. Find out more about that man."
When they had exited the Ratways, Kratos turned to Lydia, "Go to the market and acquire what supplies we need. We go directly to Falkreath, straight west, passing south of the Throat of the World. It will be faster." They walked together up the wooden steps back into the city proper. "We leave immediately. Lingering only increases the chance that stormcloaks delay us."
AN: I realize that Dirge is an imperial technically. He just seems like more of a nord character. Given that his brother Maul is a nord, even with one different parent he is still at least half nord. Anyway. That's why, just in case you're feeling nitpicky
Also I realize that this may have felt again more like a set up chapter, but it just seemed like a good break point and wasn't too short to stand alone. Next installment will definitely have a bit more action if that's what you've been waiting for.
Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. Big thanks to all of those who have been consistent reviewers and especially those who give specific feedback.
Really this chapter came out quicker driven by the community support. And I've had some more time recently, which certainly didn't hurt.
