The League of Dragonborn
Chapter Two: Queen of Murk
Another installment for my lovely readers!
"SHOW YOURSELF, OR I SWEAR I'LL END IT!"
The violent, desperate threat clung to the musty air, bouncing off of the stone walls and spreading down through the caverns of Nightingale Hall. For nearly three days, Freja had spent every waking moment in Nocturnal's chamber, the antechamber, outside on the cliff, the hallways in between, and anywhere else she could think of trying to speak with the daedric prince.
Now, Freja stood gasping, holding a jagged, rusty knife to her own throat. Her eyes darted around in the darkness. All she wanted was for the prince to make a new deal that would release her and Brynjolf from their bonds of earthly servitude. Every time Freja thought about the promise she made—that foolish, stupid promise binding her and Brynjolf to Nocturnal in life—her brain burned and her body tensed up. She had to find a way to fix this; it was the first step to making everything right. She just had to get Nocturnal to speak with her.
Biting her lip, Freja pressed the sharp, rusted edge of the knife further against her throat, pricking herself. She could feel just a drop of warm, wet blood drip down towards her collarbone. "My servitude to you will mean nothing if I'm dead," she whispered. Of course Freja didn't want to shove a dagger in her own neck; however, despite everything she'd been through in the past, she'd never felt more desperate in her entire life.
"Now, now, my child," a voice suddenly bellowed, winding its way through the darkness. "Let's not be hasty, hm?"
Freja gasped, laughing breathlessly. Finally. Blinking, Freja was suddenly transported to a grassy field, covered in purple trees and flowers. Nocturnal had a knack for showing off. Great, Freja thought, rolling her eyes, another one of Nocturnal's little dreamscapes.
"I want to make a new deal," Freja bellowed, looking around to catch a glimpse of Nocturnal. Turning on her heels, she saw the daedric prince reclining on a deep purple sofa, her eyes closed as she erotically lowered a bunch of grapes between her full, dark lips. Freja always felt immediately and extremely unsettled during her little encounters with Nocturnal; she was sublimely beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"You've made that abundantly clear, Freja. Come closer," she beckoned, sitting up slightly. "Sit." Snapping her fingers, a black velvet chair suddenly appeared a few feet in front of the daedra. Freja, still gripping the dagger in her hand, trudged forward.
"I'm displeased with you, Freja," Nocturnal sighed, her grayish skin looking so soft in the sunlight. "We had a deal, and it was binding. This, you know."
"That deal with a load of troll dung, and that's what you know," Freja yelled back, gritting her teeth. Nocturnal merely raised an eyebrow before picking at the ends of her hair, as if she were utterly bored.
"Do I? You traded your service, and that of your lover, in exchange for his life. He's alive—"
"And he would've lived anyway," Freja spat, her thin fingers digging into the velvet arms of the chair where she sat. "He's blessed as one of your agents. Surely you knew the blessing he chose. He's not easily injured."
"It is not for me to amend the deals based on your best interest, only mine," Nocturnal whispered, her eyes gleaming. She stared at the human. Freja was so young, but on her beautiful, pale face was the wisdom of a much older woman. A woman who had seen pain over and over again. It delighted Nocturnal. "My dear, you don't look well. You need rest. You have an air of desperation about you that I find… Unsettling."
"And you need to agree to a new deal, Nocturnal."
"I'll agree to a new deal when you offer me something better than what I already have."
Freja bit her lip, her eyes falling shut. She'd thought about this since the moment Brynjolf came back to her. And right now, there only seemed to be one thing that would fix this—if Freja offered herself back to Nocturnal as a servant both in this life and the afterlife.
"Fine, I offer—" she began, brushing her light blonde hair behind her ear. Nocturnal interrupted.
"I want your life, as well as your afterlife. You will be guildmaster, and you will become my human right hand. As for—" Suddenly, Nocturnal sat up, her eyes widening with a fury Freja had never known before.
"How dare...that imbecile bring them…" Nocturnal's voice quaked, and Freja's mouth fell open; although Nocturnal looked exactly as she always looked, Freja swore something was different...that her hair had turned to snakes, her eyes to slits, her mouth to fangs…
"Freja!"
Blinking again, Freja found herself suddenly huddled on the ground of the Nightingale's special chamber. Stumbling to her feet, she turned around and saw him. It was Brynjolf, followed by a small, red-headed woman and a black-haired man.
"Bryn…" She whispered weakly. "How did you know…"
"I didn't," he answered quickly, half-running, half-walking towards her. "I came to see Nocturnal."
Brynjolf reached for Freja, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Her eyes never left the forms of the two strangers standing at the doorway of the chamber. "They can't be here," Freja whispered up to him. Bryn nodded, turning back towards his new companions.
"A moment of privacy, please, Sofja and Vilkas?" Brynjolf muttered quickly, his eyes pleading. Vilkas looked as if he wanted to punch something, but Sofja simply nodded, dragging him from the room and shutting the door behind them. They stood awkwardly in the antechamber.
"This is a joke, right?" Vilkas asked, running his calloused hands through his dark hair.
"Vilkas, I know a lot is at stake, but we have to have patience," Sofja replied, biting her lip.
"There are dragons out there destroying everything, taking out villages, people disappearing, and we have to wait out here while they...what...fight about their relationship problems?"
Sofja sighed, walking towards Vilkas and letting her fingers run down his cheek. "I know you want to help, and I know you see the bigger picture here. But we won't have a chance if Freja doesn't join us. I can't do this alone—" Sofja caught herself, clearing her throat, "we can't do this alone. We can't force her to help us. So let's just let Brynjolf talk to her, okay?"
Brynjolf and Freja stood a few feet away from each other. Her eyes were on the ground, but his were on her.
"You've got to stop running away, lass," Brynjolf said finally, sighing.
"How many times do I have to explain that I had no choice—" Freja began.
"Don't try that drivel on me, lass. We all have a choice, in every path we take. And I don't fault you for helping Karliah," his green eyes gleamed as he spoke, fixed on her form at every moment. Freja couldn't sit still, and so she continued walking back and forth. Bryn remained still as ever, leaning on the stone altar behind him. "I do fault you for doing what you do best—shutting me out. For turning inwards, and isolating yourself from the people who care about you most. When things get hard, you disappear. Up until that moment, I saw the real you. And after that, I've hardly recognized you. Only bits and pieces. Why did you run this time?"
Freja finally stopped moving, turning to face Brynjolf. The color drained from her face, and she balled her fists up so tightly, she felt as if her fingers were going to crack. A silence stretched between them, until finally, Freja spoke. The young blonde shrugged nonchalantly, her gaze falling to the floor.
"What do you want me to say?" Her tone was that of boredom, though inside, she felt shattered. "Who the hell are those people out there?"
"Dammit, the woman's the other Dragonborn. Do you know that dragons attacked Riften the other day? Thankfully only a few people were hurt, but there are more and more sightings everyday. Something's shifted," Brynjolf bellowed, clenching his jaw. "And when you got that note from the Greybeard's you ran! I'm sorry, but you have a responsibility to the people of Skyrim, and to yourself, and to me… And you receive a letter telling you to expect possibly the only other person in the world who can understand you," Brynjolf pointed to the door, "that woman out there, and you run? Because you say you have something better to do? What could that possibly be, huh?" Brynjolf was almost yelling at the top of his lungs now. Freja felt so small, and felt his disappointment so acutely. "Please, tell me!"
"I…" She trailed off, crossing her arms against her chest, still unable to meet his gaze. If there was ever a time to tell him about what actually transpired with Nocturnal after Mercer's defeat, now would be it.
Brynjolf sucked in a deep breath of air, holding it captive in his chest for a moment, before letting it escape through his nose. "I know what you've been through, but right now—"
"You don't know," she whispered, finally looking up at him. "I watched as Karliah fell to her death—and I was the one who let her go. I watched the light leave your eyes—and I was the one who shoved the blade in your gut," Freja's tone grew louder and more uneven with every passing word. "It doesn't matter that you came back on some technicality, on some foolish parlor trick of Nocturnal's. Seeing things like that? They change you. And you know what the worst part is? I made a deal… I made a deal with Nocturnal to save your life, and she tricked me."
Brynjolf furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean, lass?"
Freja shuddered, feeling the weight of her secret falling over her. "I thought you were gone… And so, to get you back, I told her that we would serve her every day of our waking lives. But, it turns out that you were going to be fine. I came here to fix it, because I sold us both, and I've ruined everything."
The tall, redheaded man just stared at Freja wordlessly for a few moments until he could gather his thoughts. His eyes softening, he opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly, the door to the chamber burst open.
"Enough!" It was Vilkas. "We have to face Alduin, the most powerful dragon who's ever lived, who's threatening the life of everyone we've ever known, bringing back an entire legion of deadly dragons, and what, you're in here kissing and making up?"
As Sofja stepped inside behind Vilkas, the chamber door suddenly slammed shut, and the stone walls of the room began shaking.
"How...dare...you….." A smooth, silky voice said gently. The words didn't match the tone of voice. The room seemed to be darker, when suddenly every candle burst to flame. Towards the front of the room, Nocturnal sat on the stone altar near Brynjolf. This time, there were no tricks, no dreamscapes, no velvet—only her, her smooth legs crossed beneath a silky, violet dress, eyes burning.
Brynjolf moved to open his mouth, but Nocturnal simply raised a hand to him. "You bring outsiders to my chamber, and you insult me by raising your voice to discuss your trivial human conundrums… I'm enraged, my darling Bryn."
They all stared in awe. Sofja had seen some strange things, but as she met Vilkas' gaze, she realized that this was something entirely different.
"However…" Nocturnal said, suddenly smiling. "I have a new deal to offer both you and Freja."
Freja took a few steps forward, skeptical. "What could possibly be better than the deal you already have?"
"Simple," Nocturnal said, chuckling softly. "I want Alduin. And you're all going to get him for me."
