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Chapter 19:
The Wheel Turns

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16th Rain's Hand, 4E200
White-Gold Tower, Imperial City, Cyrodiil
Emperor Titus Mede II

Since the Oblivion Crisis, only four White-Gold Roses had been given to citizens of the Empire, all of them posthumously.

Three during the Infernal City Crisis early in the Era, and one during the Great War; while he wasn't present for the first three, and didn't know more than the three recipients being local champions who gave their lives so their towns would have time to flee, Emperor Titus Mede II remembered the fourth as though it were yesterday.

It was for a Redguard farmhand in Hammerfell, Fodri, who ran a fatal marathon in bringing news of the Dominion's advance to the Legion at Skaven.

For all the good it did, anyway. The defeat was still bitter in the Emperor's mouth.

But today, a rare event occurred: it was the day where the awarding of a fifth White-Gold Rose would be decided.

This one was intended for Khepri the Beekeeper of Dawnstar, a purveyor of honey goods and researcher of insects, who was nominated by a Thalmor High Justicar, of all things, for her decisive assistance with the Muster of Mzinchaleft.

That event, the Muster, was a novelty for the broadsheets throughout Tamriel, a delightful distraction from the dark portents of… well, just about everything else. There, in the dark of a Dwemer ruin, every major group on the continent, from Thalmor to Stormcloak militias, to Daedra worshipper and servants of the Divines, put aside their differences and turned their blades and spells on an age-old threat: the Falmer.

Historically, other campaigns had been carried out in an attempt to exterminate the waxy horrors from their holes, to no avail; even Tiber Septim had tried in the past, before using the Numidium to subjugate his enemies. Several High Kings of Skyrim had tried it, sometimes with assistance from the Imperial Legion; each time, only defeat awaited them, the tactics of the Empire's finest unsuited for the guerilla warfare of the Falmer, or the lethality of their Chaurus pets.

But the Muster of Mzinchaleft succeeded… because that same Beekeeper, Khepri, who was barely even a woman, won the hearts of the Chaurus. Khepri, a "retired veteran" who appeared at the edge of the sea and brought fortune to a sleepy little town at the edge of the world, who walked boldly with the Chaurus and the Muster into the dark under Skyrim, the mythical cavern of Blackreach, and fought by their side until the Falmer were destroyed, to the least and last (officially), ensuring victory with a sky-darkening swarm of insects and a full legion of Chaurus…

And without missing a beat, Khepri returned to her business and tending to a small herd of Chaurus that followed her around, leaving the spoils to the Muster and the remaining Chaurus to roam freely in Blackreach, as though her actions were pedestrian, rather than the stuff of legend the common folk of the entire continent was treating them as.

Not that everyone was dancing in the streets, of course; it was more "oh, how about that?" than "by the Gods, she's the next Empress! Praise her!"

Still, Titus thought, yawning as one of the Councilors kept droning, it wasn't like he was particularly popular... though, he felt he was still an effective steward to the Ruby Throne.

Emperor Mede had received many a report on Khepri, both from the Legion and his own hidden agents. They confused him sometimes; she knew exactly how scary she was, but didn't lord it over others, only intimidating those who might do her or the people around her harm. Otherwise, she was kind and gentle, adored by children and adult alike; that her early products were of the highest quality – he'd managed to secure one of her second-runs of artisanal honey, and it was mighty fine indeed – helped buoy her popularity in Skyrim, and elsewhere. There was nothing that got the public talking like a humble hero, after all.

But still, the Emperor was baffled; no one knew where Khepri came from, not a soul, but the people of Skyrim welcomed her with open arms.

After thinking it over the previous night, after being discreetly delivered a letter from the girl herself, the Emperor of Cyrodiil had his answer: in lauding her at the highest levels of his nation's government, High King Torygg managed to bridge the gap between… not the Empire and Stormcloak, but the High King's Court and Ulfric Stormcloak.

There was talk, that'd reached Titus' ears in hushed whispers, that Jarl Ulfric was putting forward a new suggestion: that so long as Tiber Septim's legacy was allowed to be venerated, as a Saint of the Eight rather than a Divine himself, and the Thalmor were withdrawn from Skyrim, the skirmishes would stop.

It wouldn't be clean as all that; before Khepri, Titus was sure there would be a convenient accident and all sixteen hells would break loose.

And then that letter arrived, and he had his answer: businesswoman though she was, Khepri wanted a calm retirement, and anyone who interfered with that… well, look at the Falmer. High King Torygg and Ulfric Stormcloak were planning to turn every Talos shrine into a memorial to Tiber Septim's deeds before leading the Red Legions; some of those areas were near Khepri's land, or near Dawnstar, which she defended numerous times against superior enemies.

Skyrim had an army killer, and the girl only wanted everyone to get along so she could make mead and honey in peace.

In fact, that there was debate over giving her a Rose, ostensibly for saving the lives of hundreds when the Chaurus Reaper Tyrant came for the Muster's souls, struck the Emperor as odd; why shouldn't they do whatever, to please the girl who could, according to Tullius, roll over whole Legions without breaking stride? It should've been a no-brainer.

Or, it would have, if he didn't know the Elder Council better.

Currently, one of them – a bureaucrat from Morrowind, he thought – was droning on about how it wouldn't be the done thing, to award someone a Rose when they willingly spoke in friendship with a certain fugitive, namely Drevas of Mournhold, Grand Proven of the Cult of Boethiah and one of the most wanted beings on the continent.

Granted, the Dunmer Council Member had a point, but as Musters of Skyrim historically waived crimes committed beforehand – and, in rare cases, provided the chance for a pardon – and there wasn't any proof of the Mer doing anything officially illegal since he killed three Elder Council members and a Moth Priest during the Great War, all the Council Member was doing was wasting everyone's time. The Emperor had a letter from Khepri herself on his throne's armrest, the content of which he wanted to address sometime before lunch, and Council Member Sarano was going to put them all to sleep if allowed; it wouldn't be the first time.

"Thank you, Councilor Sarano, your concerns are heard by your fellows among the Empire," the "official" ruler of Tamriel cut across the Mer's droning speech, his tone anything but thankful. "However, as has been said numerous times since the Great War, actually trying to arrest Drevas of Mournhold is not being considered at this time. So long as he commits no more crimes and keeps himself in Skyrim, the Empire will leave him be."

"But what of his correspondence with Khepri-"

"What correspondence?" the Councilor from Orsinium grunted, obviously bored out of his skull, "The, what, five conversations they've had? Or are you talking about the time she told him off for not bathing?"

Sarano, in the face of light chuckles and snorts from his fellows, finally sat down in a huff; nearly an hour of trying to bore them to death, and the idiot was upset at being cut short? Titus made a mental note to find out if Sarano was still being unfaithful in his marriage; a little blackmail and subtle threats would avoid a torturous repeat of today.

Before the Thalmor "Ambassador" could open his mouth and ask if now was a good time to award the Rose to Khepri, Titus picked up the letter under his elbow with a small smile, "Before we go on, I have here a letter, from Khepri the Beekeeper herself, which I received just yesterday. As lunchtime is approaching, I'll spare you all the bore of reading it aloud, and just go over the content." No one argued, so on Titus went, mercilessly.

"In short, even if we award her with the White-Gold Rose, thereby making her eligible for election to this most esteemed Council, she will refuse it vehemently; in fact, she was quite clear that if we insisted on this matter and gave it to her anyway, she implied that she would gather up every flea and tick in Cyrodiil and stuff them all into this very city, with emphasis on my own bedchambers, and leave the, quote, 'dreadfully gaudy thing', unquote, on the stairs of White-Gold Tower."

Shocked silence followed this declaration, broken by the Councilor of High Rock, "My Emperor… she threatened us, to the effect that she wishes us not to reward her? Is she mad?"

"Hmm, no, I don't think so, on either point, really. It doesn't read like a threat, and she seems, well, mostly sane," Titus Mede II replied calmly, briefly opening the letter to check over a few paragraphs before addressing the Council once more, "No, it seems more like a promise of what will happen if we, and I quote her, 'continue to interrupt her retirement with useless baubles and titles she has no wish to carry', unquote."

He could practically hear the entire Elder Council blink in near-unison, before the Thalmor Councilor, Curlima, asked breathlessly, "Why? It's a great honor, one of the highest possible!"

"Well," Titus folded the letter back up and clasped his hands on his lap, speaking frankly, "apparently, she just wants to conduct her business and live out her life in peace, not get involved with the politics of Tamriel. Yes, that's odd for someone who seems set on living in Skyrim, nevermind that she's been declared a Knight Captain-equivalent of the whole Province, but I put it to you all: who wants to go up there and try to change her mind? Anyone want to go tell Khepri she might be elected to the Elder Council someday, whether she likes it or not?"

Not a single hand, including Titus' own, so much as twitched.

"Good. I wasn't looking forward to flea-proofing my bedchambers, and to be perfectly honest, if she wants to stay out of the ongoing conflict, I don't think anyone will argue with her choice. So… as she's already been given a Thanehood, of all of Skyrim at that, as the High King has made her rewards of the Northern Star and King's Blade official, we'll simply add Khepri the Beekeeper's name to the Scroll of Heroes; the announcement will be made at the next Arena fight. All in favor?"

Every hand went up, and the Emperor of Cyrodiil signaled to the court scribe, who dabbed his forehead of sweat and recorded the decision for posterity. Titus then smiled at the Council, "Motion carried, and on that point, let's call it for lunch." For once, no one argued the decision.

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19th Rain's Hand 4E200
Elenwen's Solar, Thalmor Embassy, Skyrim
Thalmor Ambassador Elenwen

"…what?"

Elenwen heard someone say that; it took her a moment to realize it was her.

On her couch, dressed in a custom skintight suit of Daedric chainmail between two layers of leather, her best agent, Bathes-In-Blood, one of the last Shadowscales, the only one in the Thalmor's employ, nodded, not looking up from her third goblet of Colovian Brandy.

"Yes. What, indeed. My thoughts exactly, El," Bathes-In-Blood replied, her usually dark cheeks a bit rosy from the drink. "All I've been able to think since I heard it. What the Hist."

"Vaermina… apologized… to Khepri?" Elenwen's hands were starting to hurt; she relaxed her grip on the chair's armrests, and tried to calm herself down. It didn't work very well, as her voice pitched higher, "Politely?!"

"Yes." The Argonian woman downed the whole goblet in one go, then refilled it from the bottle on the table, "I swear, El, Khepri sounded like she'd be taking a stab at the Prince of Nightmares, until they started apologizing; then it was all cordiality and manners, or, near as a Daedra and that madwoman can get to either."

"Who the hells is this woman?" the leader of Skyrim's Thalmor searched the reports scattered over her desk, only some of them relating directly to Khepri, but her trained eyes could see the pathways, the patterns.

The girl wasn't just planning to corner the honey market; that family of kiln-workers in Dawnstar didn't just make pots for her honey, they made clay casts for candles, sweetmeats, and other items Bathes or Dennir, the Spymaster in the Pale, couldn't decipher easily… but all held the same scarab seal Khepri had chosen for her mark.

Even worse, Elenwen deduced that, if the "Beekeeper" continued as she was and wasn't impeded by anything worse than Maven Black-Briar – who'd be an issue for a weekend, if that – Khepri would subvert the East Empire Company, eventually starting a dynasty that might one day reign over trade across every nation of Tamriel. Land, sea…

Khepri donated most the honestly impressive amounts of Septims that were awarded her, both as gifts from VIPs and due to the money prizes attached to the medals she was given; she only kept a relative pittance, and sank it all into building a settlement near Whiterun, which would eventually facilitate trade from Blackreach…

Because the Chaurus were digging a large tunnel to the surface; its terminal points would be a mere kilometer from the Sun Citadel in Blackreach, curving up in a spiral to exit right outside Weynon Glades.

But most of her money went to the Dwemer researches, who were working on the train that was found in Blackreach's deepest vault; the rail it rode on no longer went anywhere, the portal it used destroyed, but… but…

That path, between Blackreach and Weynon… it was surveyed by the Legion.

The same track the Dwemer Steam Train ran on… could run on that path, provided one was being built.

And she'd sent letters to the Orsimer camps in Skyrim, those that mined orichalcum. Elenwen's agents managed to get a copy of one of the letters – too much risk, should the Dominion's subterfuge be found out, and there'd been too many close calls so far – and while the letter didn't give much away, it suggested future lucrative business arrangements, particularly where Blackreach was concerned.

Khepri was planning on creating the first above-ground railway in Tamriel since the days of the Dwemer, Elenwen was sure of it… and the ridiculous thing was, she could do it, if no one stopped her.

Elenwen wanted to – it was her duty, as a member of the Dominion, to stamp out this heresy before it took root – but there were too many unknowns, too many variables… and there were 7455 Chaurus in Blackreach, with more being born each day, all of them able to raze half the continent if Khepri was killed.

Peace, always, the Praetorian said; but that peace was conditional, anyone with half a brain could see it.

And then there was Khepri herself.

"Who is she?" Elenwen whispered, eyebrow twitching, but not in annoyance.

"We don't know." Bathes choked on the last word, sounding lost and afraid. "But given what she said to that ashskin whore in the forest… El, the girl sounded like she was going to fucking market, asking the Jarl if she could go fight Daedra worshipers!"

Lost and afraid… just like Elenwen felt.

"What am I supposed to tell them?" she asked rhetorically, feeling a hysterical laugh coming on, "That the girl who saved dozens of Thalmor lives from the Tyrant, is feared-"

"No." Bathes pointed at Elenwen, cutting her off; then again, no one knew this meeting was taking place, or that El didn't much mind, if it was Bathes, "No, Elenwen. Not fear. The Daedra do not fear. No… this was respect."

"But what in the fuck does that give me?!" she asked in return, "They respect her? So does half of Tamriel! Dawnbringer, but she's not one of Meridia's; we checked!"

Bathes snorted, "As if Meridia would tell us. But," A pause, filled with drinking, for both women; Elenwen really needed it. "She can't be aligned with the Queen of Infinite Energies."

"Why not?"

"Can you see Meridia suffering the Chaurus?"

"Hmph, good point… but that still leaves us at square one," her nostrils flared, and she squinted at one particular report, "And Neloth is asking quite a lot, to put a question to Herma Mora."

"Assuming the thing even knows about her."

"Nonsense; Vaermina heard about it from… somewhere… maybe she's really from Akaviir?" it was a stretch, but maybe…

"Hmm, no; doesn't match the pictures."

"She could be, if she's descended from the days before the Reman Dynasty." A crystal on Elenwen's desk began flashing; putting down her drink, she composed herself and spoke to her most trusted agent, "We'll continue this once the meeting is over."

Bathes grinned, "Good. I'll go slip into something more comfortable." While guarding the area, no doubt; Elenwen waited until she was gone before touching the crystal.

In an instant, she was standing in a world of grey smoke, with a bright illumination from somewhere; three other figures, the only sources of color in this place, began to resolve from the mist.

On the left was a figure sitting in a wheeled chair, practically drowning in concealing robes in the usual black and gold of the Aldmeri Dominion; apparently, the healing rituals he was undergoing weren't being kind to Olquar. To his credit, he seemed in good spirits and not in the mood to complain, greeting Elenwen with a stiff nod; he looked a bit grumpy, too.

In the middle was a grim-faced Altmer in finer robes than Elenwen; he was seated at a desk, his white-blonde hair falling around and hiding his ears. Despite the overall listlessness of his appearance, there lived in his eyes a vigor and energy few others, even among the Thalmor, possessed.

He was High Autarch Solimon, one of the founders of the Thalmor movement; to him reported all high-ranking members of the Dominion outside the Summerset Isles, and at his word, anyone could die.

Last, on the right, was Inquisitor Ancarion, Elenwen's counterpart on the isle of Solstheim. He gave her a grimace and a quick nod, which likely meant the High Autarch either wasn't in a good mood, or there was bad news from that isle to be discussed. Either was bad for Elenwen…

But she still saluted her superior, proudly, "High Inquisitor Elenwen, reporting from Skyrim, your Grace."

The High Autarch nodded once, not looking up, but spoke regardless, his angelic voice at odds with his melancholic appearance, "Is it true Stormcloak and that brat of a High King are colluding with one another?"

'Damnit.' Elenwen cursed mentally, wondering who was reporting in her stead, but replied swiftly nonetheless, "Yes, your Grace. They don't do so openly, but in private they intend to unite and bolster the Empire's forces; while Skyrim would create decent auxiliaries for the Empire, they are no match for us, even as we are."

"Mn." His blue eyes rose to meet hers, "And the… Anomaly?"

Elenwen's lips pursed… and she pressed astral fingers to her temple, handing Solimon the memory of Bathes' report; after he inhaled it, and frowned, she added, "I'm vexed on what it means, your Grace."

"The Queen of Illusions respects the Anomaly. As for the title... something to do with her previous deeds, or what she's done with that town, Dawnstar. Curious..." He said aloud, thoughtfully, eyes once more seeing something only he could see; plots within plots, schemes Elenwen wasn't privy to.

She reminded herself: the jealousy she felt was artificial, an illusion of the Dream. Nothing more or less.

"Unsurprising," rasped Olquar, robes rustling in the distance as he adjusted himself in reality, "Wherever she hails from, she likely left countless nightmares in her wake. Small wonder one of them is aware of it."

"Ancarion," the High Autarch's suddenly flinty voice made the named Inquisitor stiffen, "I'll wait for your written report; those ruins will no doubt need more time than you've been allotted, to investigate fully. Rather, I hear you visited Raven Rock."

"Yes, your Grace. I wanted to mount an investigation of the ebony mine there, but the EEC's hooks are in deep with the place. "

"I thought the mine was dried up," Elenwen said.

"It is," Ancarion shrugged uncaringly, "but there's an ancient tomb under it that might aid our Work. Sadly, between the property being privately owned and the Company's protection of the cretin who holds the deed, coupled with House Redoran's watchful eye on the place, I was only allowed to view a few artifacts. There's a Dunmer up the coast, your Grace, digging at the buried ruins of another barrow, but it's deep in the ash; without ruinous expenses, he'll never see the door, nevermind the interior.

"Happily," the Inquisitor didn't look it, to Elenwen, "my visit wasn't entirely wasteful: First Councilor Morvayn's request for an Elder Tarot reading was approved by Blacklight; I managed to infiltrate and observe the reading without detection."

The Elder Tarot. That was surprising, to Elenwen; to her knowledge, only the Moth Priests could use the unique cards that, according to legend, resonated with the same energy as the Elder Scrolls, allowing them to divine lesser truths of the world.

High Autarch Solimon looked mildly interested, which was as good as a wide grin, from a stoic like him, "The subject of the reading?"

Ancarion shifted nervously, "It regarded the Anomaly, Khepri the Beekeeper."

His Grace's brows knitted slightly together, "Why?"

"I wasn't told; one of my Psionic-trained underlings was with me, but he couldn't divine the Councilor's reason fully. Near as we can tell, House Redoran wanted to find her measure."

"There were a few of their House at the Muster," wheezed Olquar, "Likely, they brought home stories, and with the tales we've heard of how the Dunmer utilized the great insects and crab of Morrowind…"

"Typical ashskins," Elenwen scoffed, "wanting her for themselves, only to use as a weapon."

"As opposed to not interfering at all, and running the risk of Skyrim's economy booming while we are entering a critical stage," she winced at her superior's dry statement, though his next words took some of the edge off, "Yes, there isn't much you can do about her, without threat of retaliation, but should we succeed, it'll be irrelevant. Regardless, we'll know more shortly." He nodded to Ancarion…

Who cleared his throat, and reported, "Unlike the 3-3-3 or 3-3-2 card readings, which are more common, this reading came out as 3-4-2. The first card," he pressed two fingers to his temple; across him, Olquar made an astral table at a gesture from Solimon, and Elenwen stepped closer to get a better look at the first card, which resolved as Ancarion's fingers left it.

"The Queen of Blades," he stated, though needlessly, "As you can see, it's an unusual form, clothed half in white with a broken crown in hand, while the other half is black, and holding a long dagger, from which runs a river of blood. She is surrounded by others that aren't usually in its presence, such as the Vizier, the Animunculus, and the Mason, and the Thief is seen in the upper-right, holding the Amulet of Kings.

"The Moth Priest interpreted the card thus: it is a representation of Khepri's past. A monarch who broke the holds of her enemies for herself, and was ruthless against those who opposed her, she was aided by other influential figures, but was impeded in total victory, by the Thief escaping her pursuit."

The next card that was laid down made the other three Altmer stiffen.

"The Conflict. The Queen of Blades replaces the Warrior and duels with the Thief, who flings his daggers while hiding behind his allies; yet both their wounds suggest their fight isn't bloodless, despite their pawns doing most of the fighting. The Thief appears to be trying to break the Amulet, but this fact is hidden from the Queen, whose forces are scattered, trying to find a quick way to stopping him. Meanwhile, in the background… the, ahm, Numidium's outline can be seen in the setting sun, its head turned slightly in the Thief's direction."

"What was this card's interpretation?" Solimon asked, voice somehow even more level than usual.

"The Priest was baffled by it; both primary actors have what usually are Heroic portents on their sides, but neither seems to truly have their people's welfare at heart," he shifted uncomfortably, "The Priest did point to the Tower, seen on the Queen's cloak, as a sign that hers was the just cause; nevertheless, the card's meaning remained unclear as the next was revealed."

It was the Cataclysm; the Numidium, wearing the helm of the Warrior, strode onto the battlefield. The Thief laid dead, the Amulet blackened and poisoning his arm. Meanwhile, the Queen of Blades retreated, with whoever was left alive; behind them, the Numidium slew many others, though…

"What do the overlapping spheres mean?" she asked, indicating the sides of the card, where the destroying light of the Numidium was lancing into spheres that crossed boundaries with one another.

"The Priest said they were representations of the Planes," Ancarion whispered, meeting each of his fellow Thalmor's eyes, "He suggested this card depicts an event that affected multiple Planes; though, note the top of the card, where eight stars are left untouched due to a barrier of flame."

"We were left alone," Olquar observed, "But why?"

"It matters not," Elenwen stated, voice iron, "This all-but ensures it: she is not of Nirn."

"So?" they all looked at Solimon, whose face hadn't changed much, if at all, during these revelations, "She is not of Nirn, yet the people love her; so what if she is not from our shores? None have followed her, and there is more to reveal."

"Indeed," Ancarion cleared his throat again, and prepared the next row of cards, "These next cards allude to Khepri's trial against the pseudo-Numidium, as far as any of those present at the reading could determine. The Moth Priest also stated that it was most unusual, for four cards to be dealt in any row."

The first card was the Oath; faced with the destruction that surrounded her, the Numidium's back to her as it struck down the Hierophant, one of her arms now missing, the Queen of Blades still managed to cut her hand on a fallen sword of darkness. The hand was held up in the sign of Oath, and an interlocking square, the sign of the Eight, surrounded her hand, outlined in white.

Elenwen ignored the spoken interpretation, instead wondering how much of the reading was allegory, and what was factual; the answer was likely "mostly allegory", as the idea of another Numidium out there was… rather troubling. The same went with anyone outside of Nirn having knowledge of the Eight, though it would neatly explain Khepri's devotions.

In the end, it was irrelevant in the present. Matters of other Planes didn't translate well in the nearly-lost art of Divination, especially when using a lesser medium tied to the Scrolls.

The next card was… odd.

"The Empress?" the depiction was odd, though. A girl took the place of the Empress, crowned and robed in royal red, arms clasped with the Queen of Blades, who stood as an equal before her; the Empress, however, seemed afraid, and the Vizier made another appearance, trying to plead with the Queen as others held them back. In the middle distance, the Numidium, in pitched battle, turned its head in their direction.

"The Moth Priest didn't know how to interpret it, but it apparently means that the Empress did something to the Queen of Blades that got the Numidium's attention; it also leads directly to the next card."

It was laid down.

Solimon jerked, face showing some emotion; Olquar started coughing in shock, and Elenwen just stared, feeling cold.

The Queen was holding a laurel crown with a hand of stars, her face contorted in disgust and pain, her crown cracked and missing gems; in her flesh hand, a sword dripped with red… ichor, stained with the lifeblood of the fallen Numidium at her feet, its four-finned crown now an outline around the Queen's head. All around the Queen, figures raised their hands in worship, or in denial; some raised banners, others readied weapons. A shadow was behind the Queen holding a poisoned dagger, and above her were all the Signs, the stars glimmering in a dome.

The card said it was the Dragon Break.

"This explains much," Solimon said softly, once everyone had a moment to collect themselves. "The Chaurus, her overcoming a great work of the Dwemer, why she abhors conflict… yes, this explains quite a bit about the Anomaly."

"There are still three cards left, your Grace."

"Show me them."

The next card showed… the laurels left in the dirt, with the sword and Queen's vestments; the poisoned dagger was stained with blood, but the former Queen of Blades was walking toward the rising sun, nine stars creating an archway over the glowing orb of Magnus. The masses of people around her seemed to be shunning her… except the Vizier and their compatriots, who looked sad but accepting. A banner with a blue scarab, wings outstretched, lay in the dirt.

The Pariah. Elenwen agreed; now they were getting valuable information.

The second-to-last card was practically inconsequential: it was Kynareth, blessing the former Queen's works, as the dethroned monarch walked with animals on a farm. Nothing new, there.

The last card, though, made her hiss.

Half-crowned with an eye of starlight, her other eye closed in pity; one hand held a blade, the other a trowel; one foot was in an ocean of blood, the other strode barefoot on green grass. The blue scarab beetle appeared again, as the decoration on a shield, laid against the figure's leg.

Yet the figure was small, standing in front of a larger structure, the focus of the card.

The Tower.

Silence reigned for a long moment, as the High Autarch stared at this last, damning card with a flat expression.

Then he looked right at Elenwen.

"I don't care how it happens, what it costs the Dominion, or how long a game you have to play: kill her."

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20th Rain's Hand, 4E200
Heljarchen Hall, Weynon Glades, The Pale, Skyrim
Khepri the Beekeeper

"Ahhhh- chii!"

"Are you alright, my Thane?" Jordis asked behind me; next to her, J'zarro the head carpenter suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, as though my sneezing had anything to do with how he did his job.

Sniffling, I turned from the inspection of my Alchemy tower's second floor and smiled at Jordis, "I think it's just the fresh smell of this place. Don't worry, J'zarro, you did a fantastic job; I especially like the bees on the floor molding. Very nice touch."

"This one thanks you, Lady Khepri," how much would I have to pay, to make people not call me that? "J'zarro wanted to carve Chaurus, but the, ah, designs would be too unwieldy, to use all over your house. He feels bees make home warmer, and by your smile, this one sees you agree."

"I do," I said breathlessly; the builders really went all-out, constructing a home for me. Granted, I didn't have much say in how the place was put together, but the end result wasn't anything to complain about.

Everything was warm brown and greens, from the bookshelves in the Library – I had my own library! Jarls Skald, Ravencrone, and Balgruuf all donated to it, too! – to the downstairs guest rooms – two of which were built for children – everything was pleasing to look at. And so many display cases; I couldn't wait to put some of Imp's shiny stash on display.

[delight] the girl in question all-but shouted into the Hive Mind, along with her brothers and sisters; there was a cavern under the guest quarters, next to the manor's basement – where my mead casks were resting – that now served as their den. A large space was set aside for Skitter, and was half-filled with glowstones from Blackreach; once the tunnel the Chaurus down there were digging reached the surface, another tunnel would be dug from my Chaurus' den to the Blackreach access, so they could visit their kin at their leisure.

But Imp's happiness had more to do with each Chaurus having their own space to live and create their egg sacs in, something that really couldn't be done back in Dawnstar. Even Sophia was [joyfully] rolling and burrowing in the soft sands with a few commons and Chevalier, while Judas and Skitter oversaw the herd's placement with weather eyes.

It was so much more spacious… and I now had a four-poster Falkreath Oak bed in my very well-furnished master bedroom, with Dwemer metal fittings, made by Adrianne Avennicci in Whiterun. I intended to put it to the test soon… and there went my mood. Bother.

After thanking J'zarro a few more times, he left to rejoin the founding party on the ground floor, where Vilkas and Skjor of the Companions were entertaining my other housewarming invitees with a tale of their deeds; something to do with fighting Forsworn at Bard's Leap. Interesting, but other matters were occupying my thoughts…

Jordis tapped my arm, drawing my attention; her armor was polished and hair freshly washed, and she was smiling. She nodded toward the Library, "Want to see the balcony?"

"Oh, yes," I grinned, and led the way, saying, "If I go down there, no doubt someone will talk me into drinking one of my mead bottles, and the greenhouses aren't settled in yet."

"It's very good mead, especially the snowberry blend," she sipped from the bottle that'd been in her hand for the past few hours, and ahh-ed in happiness again, "Reminds me of the time I ate an apple during winter, then ate a handful of snow on a dare from the Solitude guards."

We exited the house through the library's second floor, and stood on the porch of the manor, which overlooked the nearby village of Weynon Glades; the guardhouse and inn, Kyne's Repose, were all lit up and giving off a feeling of festival.

Today was the official opening of the settlement; people had come from as far away as Whiterun to take part… except the person I wanted there the most.

"Where is he?" I asked the air, and Jordis, who seemed to be enjoying the sight of the festivities over near Cristus and Wumeek's farm; I could practically hear the big Nord's laughter from where I was.

"Take heart, m- Khepri. Sorry," she smiled ruefully, "Still getting used to calling you by name in private. It's not the done thing, for a Houscarl."

"I don't… really mind."

"Right, ahem. Don't you worry much about Farkas, Khepri; you know, better than I, how tough he is. He's probably out finishing a job, like Vilkas said."

I quirked my lip at her reddening cheeks, and ignored the longing in my heart, in favor of lightly teasing my butler, "You two seemed to get on rather well."

"He's rather polite, isn't he?" oh my, Jordis was grinning?

"Should I tell J'zarro to soundproof your room?" she laughed – lightly, but progress was progress – and shook her head swiftly; abandoning my teasing, I sighed into a fresh breeze out of the south, and examined my evening vista.

Forests to the north, filled with countless insects. Mountains to the east and west, the Throat of the World dominating the eastern sky, and the distant lights of Whiterun far to the south, barely seen in the setting sun; and further, the suggestion of mountains and forests again. Perhaps, on a clear day, I'd be able to see the Jeralls.

War threatened all of this, and I was no fool; even with the conversations I've had and the letters I sent out, no doubt someone would try to upset this peace. Like the Thalmor. Or 'idiotic nobility', as Bori, Weynon's newly-minted Thane, put it.

"You look incredible, sometimes." I looked at Jordis, who blushed and found something interesting about her bottle.

"Was that a drunken thought?"

She shook her head, and replied quietly, swishing mead around as she spoke, "No. You are incredible, so precise in everything you do, and most people respect and fear you for what you, and only you, can do." Jordis looked me in the eye, still a little red in her cheeks, "But when you're relaxed, you have this… air, about you. Like you're not wholly like the rest of humanity, but someone – or thing – greater than us." She chuckled, "Makes a girl feel awed, and a little useless, you know."

"You're not useless," I insisted, "You're better at talking with Mr. Cecia, over at the barrow. And…" I trailed off, wincing at the recent-but-old memories from before. They seemed so fresh, yet so long ago… "…I've… seen things, done things, that people would consider heroic. Or villainous."

She scoffed, "You? A villain? I have a hard time seeing-"

"I once filled a man's eyes with maggots because he upset me."

Jordis took a long pull from her bottle in lieu of answering that.

"I mean… there was something he could do with his eyes, something awful, and it angered me, but the specifics…" I shook my head, annoyed at the abstract parts of my mind, and the headaches that came with trying to remember too hard. "Maybe I should schedule a trip to Winterhold, see their Master of Restoration about my amnesia."

Jordis hummed a moment, then, "…If I may speak plainly?" I gave her a dry look, and she smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, I can see why you'd want your memories back; if I was in your shoes, I'd give anything to remember what I'd lost. My parents, my origins, how I grew up… but, Khepri," she frowned, but didn't break eye contact with me, "your past, what you've told me of it, was brutal beyond anything I've heard of. So, ask yourself: is it worth remembering?"

I barely had to think about it, "While it would be nice to figure out whether or not I had a lover before, because," I scoffed, and pulled my tea flask out of my tunic, "I have no idea what I'm doing with Farkas… you have a point, Jordis. The past should stay there; what I remember is enough to give me nightmares, regardless."

"All warrior's pasts are like that, Khepri," Jordis assured me companionably; she stood from her place on the rail, and held up her bottle with a smile, "So, to the future?"

I laughed, and toasted her, "Whatever it may bring."

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And with that, we leave the initial stages of the story behind!

Next up, we have Farkas, Imp, and Brelyna's quest for the Galdur Amulet, and after that, the wedding!

Oh, the Thalmor? Ignore them, their attempts at offing Khepri from the shadows will become apparent, in time.

Thanks for reading!

EDIT: To clarify: the Elder Tarot is like the Emperor's Tarot of Warhammer 40K lore, a deck of psionically-attuned cards that resonate with a greater power. While in WH40K it's the Emperor, here, they resonate with the Elder Scrolls. They're made from the wings of Ancestor Moths - a type of moth that, through a ritual you conduct during the Dawnguard questline, help non-Moth Priests read Elder Scrolls without risking blindness, loss of sanity, or death.

Also like the other kind, the cards can change their image to fit the reading, hence the images seen in this chapter.