This is Baked the Author, reminding you that Elves are, mostly, for lewding.

With that, enjoy the latest chapter.

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Chapter 20

The Lost City of Saarthal

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19th Rain's Hand, 4E200

Elenwen's Solar, Thalmor Embassy, Skyrim

The rest of Elenwen's meeting with the High Autarch blurred together in her mind, a tangle of plots, possible angles of attack, and the promise of more agents to gather intelligence on her target, not all of them Altmer, some of them trained in assassination as well as subterfuge. Returning to her body, however, Elenwen was not reassured by Solimon's backing of her operation.

She felt cold inside. Small and insignificant; only now that she was no longer in her superior's presence did she allow a shiver to rattle her frame, covering her mouth to keep herself from screaming in frustration, or vomiting in terror.

Bathes wasn't in the room; a swift check with Detect Life showed her Argonian mistress/best agent was in Elenwen's bedroom.

Good. That was good. Elenwen could have a nice, relaxing breakdown in relative privacy.

The High Autarch expected her to kill Khepri; the rational, Thalmor part of Elenwen said the act would be easy, so long as it was undertaken with calm and care.

Khepri was a human, but this human was, possibly, the most dangerous one to their cause in the past 200 years; the Legion would refuse to attack her, the Stormcloaks were singing her praises, and most organizations throughout Tamriel – her own included – had a vested interest in the woman's abilities. If the Dominion was implicated in an assassination plot on her… well, no matter what the Elder Council's visible stance on him, Drevas of Mournhold still held quite a bit of clout among the higher echelons of the Morag Tong; the Aldmeri Dominion could deal with the Legions, so long as they were unsupported, but becoming the target of every Daedra worshipping cult from Summerset to Sheogorad was less than optimal.

Plus, Elenwen was no fool; the Dark Brotherhood had snubbed Black-Briar, and the Morag Tong refused to even deal with the brewer. A classical assassination was useless against someone like Khepri; having seen the Tarot reading, coupled with the reports echoing in her mind, Elenwen understood this truth completely. And she did not like it at all.

'Oh, for the days when Ulfric Stormcloak was the largest of my worries,' thought Elenwen, rubbing her temples.

Therefore, seeing as a direct approach would be tantamount to suicide, both for Elenwen and the Dominion as a whole, a complex plan would be better, given the target was one of the most intelligent and crafty threats they had ever faced.

In other words, it would need to be an assassination that wasn't; there would need to be several degrees of separation between the one to attempt the deed and the Dominion. A simple matter; this would hardly be the first shell-game Elenwen had to play. There were dozens of fanatic groups who could be convinced Khepri was a Daedra worshipper – not any aligned to the Divines, or the Dawnguard, but there were a few Valenwood and Black Marsh groups that could work.

There were also plenty of mercenary bands with an axe to grind, or an idealistic cause to serve, or were greedy enough, that could – with a bit of work, funding, and some choice Alchemical supply – be pointed at Khepri; all Elenwen needed to do was find a reason to point them in the Beekeeper's direction. The "Queen of the Chaurus" was known to spend time with a certain Companion – Farkas, if she remembered correctly – and there were more than a few mercs out there who sought to root Lycanthropy out of Tamriel.

But there was another part of Elenwen, the little girl who saw Crystal-Like-Law crumble to the ground, who trembled at the very idea of crossing Khepri.

Unlike many other members of the Dominion, she wasn't a fool; yes, she'd joined because becoming Spirit again was preferable to the painful existence of her life. On that day, so long ago, she died. Her people died.

And the Wheel kept turning.

Briefly, so briefly, hope returned; a whisper on the wind, a rumor in hushed whispers, that Umaril had returned. Surely such as he, who fought the Bane on even footing, could turn the Daedric hordes aside.

The hope was dashed.

Pelinal Elfsbane returned; lesser than the stories proposed, but Umaril was still struck from the sky above White-Gold, again. His followers were hunted down and murdered without mercy, again.

And the Wheel kept turning.

Mankar Camaron's attempt to make it stop was shattered by the Star-Made-Knight, the legions of the Deadlands, the immortal Dremora, throwing down their arms and cowering at their approach, and Martin Septim mantled Akatosh, an unbreakable marble statue proof that Man could rise high as any Mer.

So many dead, their Gods abandoning them…

…and the Wheel kept turning.

It wasn't until nearly a century passed that Elenwen decided to join the Dominion, having worked in the shadows for much of that time, networking and building contacts; she'd met Bathes after becoming an Inquisitor, and they'd become close. Crystal-Like-Law was raised again, even if it seemed to shine less than in her memories, and one by one the other Towers began to fall, the Eagle spreading its wings to encompass all of Tamriel…

For now, the Wheel kept turning.

And now Khepri the Beekeeper threatened everything she'd worked for, her people worked for, since the day they all began this living death; ordinarily, this would cause Elenwen to dive into her work, sort reports, brief and deploy agents by the score to see that this cancer, this heresy, was removed from her sight…

But this time, her target wasn't an ordinary woman, no garden variety person who could be sniped from a long range, or poisoned discreetly, or stabbed in a crowded market.

This time, the threat to the Dominion… had caused a Dragon Break and not only survived, showed the mettle and will to cast aside divinity…

Khepri could destroy them, utterly, if the situation warranted it.

All it would take was the right spark, the right mistake on Elenwen's part, and the Dominion would be devoured.

"Do not mistake my kindness for pacifism."

She had felled the equivalent of a Numidium; small wonder she showed no fear, in the face of adversity. To Tamriel, the Muster was the toast of a thousand taverns, something for the history books; songs, poems, and plays would be made of it, both the whole and heroic moments of individuals, to last a thousand years, if the Wheel turned that long.

For Khepri, it was Fridas.

Elenwen rubbed her face, muttering, "And to think, I was looking forward to hosting her in Midsummer…"

Realization struck her, and Elenwen furiously went through the Midsummer RSVPs- Khepri would be attending… and – Elenwen paled – the utter wench had labeled Praetorian Skitter as her plus-one.

"Fuck me sideways," she dropped the reply letter back into the drawer and shut it quietly; checking on Bathes again, Elenwen saw her lover getting a little impatient.

Closing her eyes and counting to ten, she composed herself; tomorrow, she'd collect as much information as she could, examine what assets were available between the Iliac Bay and Blacklight, and then she would outline a very careful plan.

For now… she needed a distraction, something to take her mind off all the horrors to come, and Bathes no doubt had one already prepared for her.

Elenwen blew out her candle, made sure her appearance was immaculate in a conjured hand mirror, stood from her chair, and made her way briskly to her bedchambers…

Where Bathes-In-Blood was standing at her bookshelf, clad in what looked like a series of provocatively-placed belts; the Argonian wiped a layer of imaginary dust from a shelf, tsk-ed disapprovingly, then noticed Elenwen.

"Well, if it isn't my lusty goldskin maid~," Bathes grinned at Elenwen, who felt a thrill go down her spine, spotting a maid's uniform laid out on the bed; yes, this would be a good distraction from the matters at hand, until the sun rose, "Not only slacking off, she's not even in uniform; ahn, whatever shall I do with her?"

'Fuck me sideways, indeed~.'

"Forgive me, mistress," Elenwen replied demurely as she slipped into her practiced role, simultaneously shutting the door and throwing up every privacy ward she had. "I'll get to work right awa-aahn!" she cried, as Bathes grabbed her roughly by the hair – just as she liked it – and started popping buttons while dragging the Altmer woman to stand next to the bed.

"You'll get in uniform first, or I'll have to find… other ways to motivate my disobedient, sultry maid," a beaded flail smacked the bedpost; the four-poster Valenwood Oak bed that cost her a hefty chunk of her savings. Elenwen would probably be tied to it, before she was allowed to sleep; the thought made her loins clench in desire, "Now get dressed."

"Of course, mistress," Elenwen allowed herself a private smile as she peeled off her Thalmor uniform, so she could exchange it for a different one, "Anything for you…"

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22nd Rain's Hand, 4E200

Saarthal Excavation, Pale Glacier, Winterhold, Skyrim

College Apprentice Brelyna Maryon

Turning her body side to side, clad only in her smallclothes, Brelyna Maryon smiled at her reflection, chuckling, "For all they're up themselves, Bretons really know how to do lace."

The ruby red two-piece had cost her more than a few Septims, but after the Muster – and her being awarded a Horn of Julianos for her part in protecting the communication party on the frontline – Brelyna could afford pretty things like these. Even better, the Dunmer teen thought with a blushing grin, she'd been given a post at Saarthal, mostly to help with figuring out the warded walls that barred access to certain parts of the buried city.

Why the blush? Well~, the mercenaries that were hired to protect them were consummate professionals, which also meant a couple of the younger, dishier boys knew what 'discretion' meant. Brelyna's bed was rarely cold, these days.

Currently, though, it was empty, but that wasn't anything to worry over; they were usually gone before breakfast, more to avoid getting their bell rung by the former An-Xileel Argonian who ran the merc's band. Creepy prick, always leering at everything…

Dismissing the thoughts, Brelyna went about the process of putting on her thick robes, though her newer set was lighter than the one she'd worn when Master Faralda took her to Dawnstar.

More than a month had come and gone since she saw her first baby Chaurus – the thought of which still made her want to squee – and Brelyna had used that time to bulk up some muscle and add a layer of fat to her lithe body; if living in Skyrim and participating in the Muster taught the young Mer anything, it was that natural insulation was better than piling on the robes.

Sure, most everyone was musky, but she had a reputation to keep! She was the Assistant Ward Expert at the Sarthaal Dig Site!

And speaking of the dig site, getting private quarters had taken nearly a week to secure; on top of being submerged beneath a glacier, the ancient Nord city had been completely backfilled with gravel and stone, right up to the doorway. Luckily, work on unearthing the place had continued throughout the Muster, but that work was now slowing; aside from the large amounts of amazingly preserved artifacts and pottery, to say nothing of the magical barriers that protected the deeper tombs…

Saarthal was massive. A Telvanni geomancer had been through, on his way to Mzinchaleft and Blackreach – where he'd probably be turned away, as it was illegal for Telvanni to enter Skyrim without alerting the College and the High King and the Empire, and then they'd need to secure all three's permission – but the mushroom-lover had thrown up his hands within minutes, explaining the reason for his frustration before storming off in a huff.

As it had been built more-or-less vertically, when laid flat the whole of the city of Saarthal, including its myriad vaults and catacombs, comprised a full eighth of the Pale Glacier's surface area.

In other words: this ruin dwarfed Labyrinthian, was bigger than Windhelm, or nearly any other city in Tamriel for that matter.

And, seeing as most of it was backfilled or magically warded, it might take more than a century to unearth the whole thing.

Brelyna didn't care; it was busywork, sure, but it also gave her time to engage in more pleasurable pursuits that wouldn't be available due to the lack of privacy and quiet at the College, such as developing new spells to use – her research into Transmogrification was coming along splendidly – and a more… private, but sure to be lucrative one day, hobby.

Refining and adding color to her many sketches, something Brelyna had been getting better at since she started drawing at 10 winters old.

One of her watercolors, of the College's courtyard in spring, was framed in the Arcanaeum, and she'd bought some expensive pastels and paints for her next undertaking: Khepri's Chaurus, and the Muster of Mzinchaleft.

Shrugging on her work bag – she was going to take another look at that door with the necklace on it, so Brelyna packed her pencils, charcoals, and a large assortment of restorative potions – the young Dunmer walked over to her easel to take one more critical look at her most recent work: a pastel rendering of the Dawn Fields, with the Cairn of Kynareth in the background, as the Windward Ruin had been renamed by the pilgrims who made a shrine there, with the permission of the Spriggans.

It was a big challenge, getting all the colors right with enough detail, but Fairsi and Yannick, the two mercs who she'd been bedding, always liked looking at – and complimenting her on – the image's fine progress; it was on their advice she added people walking on the roads, a child handing a flower to a young Spriggan, and the Spriggan Earth Mother standing next to the run.

The dig site's supervisor, Arniel Gane, also commented well on her works, having seen the watercolor-and-colored charcoal Brelyna made of Khepri feeding her Chaurus woodchips and berries with a Hunter at her side. It was good lighting and fine-detail practice, and Brelyna was very proud of it; one day, she planned to show it to Khepri, who was easily the most amazing human the young Dunmer ever met.

But… she sighed and wrapped her thick, frizzy hair into two buns on either side of her head; first was taking a crack at that wall, and possibly frying a draugr or ten… maybe she should ask Fairsi to accompany her?

As if summoned, there was a knock at her door, followed by Fairsi's muffled voice, "Apprentice Brelyna? You awake?"

Oop, there was someone with him, if that was the greeting, "Yes, Fairsi; what is it?"

"A Companion Farkas, here to see you?" Oh? Now that wasn't something she expected to hear today.

During the trip to Dawnstar, the seemingly-forbidding Companion showed himself to be calm and kind, if not very talkative. Brelyna also noticed he spent that first evening with Khepri on her porch, and, to put icing on the sweetroll, while eating dinner at the Inn with Master Faralda, the mages were approached by a few dockworkers of the town. There was a betting pool, apparently, regarding who would be man enough to court Khepri.

Brelyna had ten Septims on Farkas, so the fact he was currently at her door was… confusing. And a little irritating, but she wouldn't let either emotion show. That might ruin everything.

Opening the carved blackstone doors of her room/laboratory, she found Fairsi in his glass half-plate, and Farkas…

He was clearly doing well for himself: the signature Wolf armor of the Companions was now shimmering with enchantments – resistance of some kind, from the look of them – and carved-in Stalhrim accents; a steel helm, also enchanted, was under one arm, and Brelyna could see the hilt of a Stalhrim greatsword peeking over his shoulder. With the Champion's Ribbon around one shoulder, and his hair actually taken care of for once, Farkas looked every bit the professional warrior Brelyna knew he was.

She greeted the Companion with a smile, "Farkas, been awhile; I see you decided to get a little shinier since I last saw you." Leaning on the door next to Fairsi, she raised an eyebrow at the chuckling Companion, "What brings you to this musty old ruin?"

Farkas shrugged with a smirk, "Business, mostly," he thumbed the strap for his rucksack, "Got a couple books the Harbinger wanted to send over, and I talked to that Tolfdir guy; he said you're the one to talk to about warded architecture?"

And thus, Brelyna's curiosity was piqued; she nodded her head toward her room, then said to Fairsi, "Hey, after I see about this, I'm going to take another crack at one of the doors in the second chamber; cover me?" A smile should do-

The Redguard teen shrugged, "Beats standing around counting rocks. I'll go let the captain know," nodding to him, Brelyna watched him go for a moment, admiring that ass, and turned over to Farkas, who'd pulled two books out of his pack.

Thankful he hadn't noticed, she shut the door-

"Nice catch. Your Master knows about him?"

-damn, busted. Rolling her eyes, Brelyna folded her arms and scoffed, "No, and I'd like to keep it that way for now. She needs to learn I'm not a child anymore."

Farkas met her eyes, "Ain't a snitch, just saying, it's clear you like him; might wanna try kicking him over to the Companions before he gets himself killed, though. Merc work ain't pretty."

"You just think the Argonian captain's a creep," granted, he was, all one-eyed and staring with those grinning teeth…

"You don't?" Farkas handed over a really old book; there was no writing on the spine, or the cover. It was just a book bound in red fabric, "Title's on the inside."

Brelyna flipped it open, and read the book's handwritten title aloud, "The Cairnlands: An Examination of the Architecture and Internal Composition of Nordic Tomb-Cities, by Harbinger Tulvar the Unmentioned," she blinked, and met Farkas' eyes again, "Was that really his-?"

"Yeah. Book's about as boring as his life, but I tested some of the stuff he wrote about, like how the trap variety and placement can give you an idea of what to expect next and how to tell which doorways are blocked due to backfill instead of cave-ins, and it checks; plus," Farkas picked up the other book: a newer-looking leather-bound journal, "when I added that architecture stuff to some 1[sup]st/sup] Era records I found in Windhelm, I figured that one of Archmage Gauldur's sons, Jyrik, is buried here."

Brelyna blinked again, kicked herself because it was Farkas she was about to stupidly disbelieve, the guy she was pretty sure couldn't tell a lie if he was paid; having mentally rallied, Brelyna held out her hand, "Want me to check your work?"

He handed her the journal with a thankful expression, "Please. If I've fucked this up, means I've come out here for nothing, and I'll be back to square one."

Brelyna snorted, "Yes, like being in my illustrious company is such a bad thing," he replied with his own snort, and didn't complain when Brelyna waved him toward a chair while placing the journal on her desk to get started.

Fifteen minutes headache-inducing research later, mostly due to Farkas' habit of using pictures instead of words to put his thoughts to paper, and Brelyna had to agree: between the claim from the Palace of Kings' archives, that Jyrik was entombed in 'a vast, warded crypt on the Pale Glacier', and Farkas ruling out the inscriptions on all nearby above-ground Nordic ruins, there was no other logical conclusion.

One of Archmage Gauldur's traitorous sons, likely the eldest, Jyrik Gauldurson, was buried in Saarthal.

"This your work?" glancing up, she found Farkas eyeing the picture of the Dawn Fields; when Brelyna nodded proudly, he gave her an impressed nod, "Nice."

"Thank you," Brelyna shut the journal and gave Farkas a sidelong glance, "You know… my Skyrim history's a little hazy, but I could've sworn the few remaining legends regarding Archmage Gauldur state his sons shouldn't be disturbed, that their resting places are cursed."

The big Companion rolled his eyes, "That's some shit we write to keep foreigners out of our ancestor's resting places… though a few are pretty damn cursed, like Labyrinthian and Dead Men's Respite over near Morthal; still, no ancient law's gonna stop me on this one."

"Mind if I ask what you're looking for?"

"I'm trying to find all the pieces of the Gauldur Amulet."

He had her curiosity, what with his meticulous research and interest in warded architecture; now, he had her attention. There were only whispers, but legend had it the complete Amulet granted the wearer a considerable power boost.

The problem was: Farkas didn't need it. The guy was big enough to wrestle a troll and win; in armor, sure, but the point stood.

Therefore, the question was, "Why?"

"Personal reasons," the Nord shifted uncomfortably, while Brelyna's mind whirred through what, or rather, who, those reasons related to. She decided to take a guess.

"It's for Khepri, isn't it?" the Dunmer girl grinned, looking forward to a sweet payday from that betting pool.

Farkas gave her a questioning look; that couldn't hide his blush, though.

Doing a little victory dance in her head, Brelyna explained, "I know a few things about your culture. Nords do things to impress the person they love, like bring a flower from a mountain peak, or poke around a Dwemer ruin or Falmer den for a shiny trinket-"

"Yeah, but how do you know it's for Khepri?"

Brelyna looked at him dryly, "Farkas, half of Dawnstar saw you two kiss on her porch; gossips in Bruma probably know about it by now." He grumbled something unrepeatable in polite company, so Brelyna decided to lay off for now; waving the journal, she stated, "Anyway, I think you're right about how they sealed Jyrik away; there's a wall in the next chamber over with a necklace attached to a clay bar, like Harbinger Unmentioned described. Master Arniel wanted to study it more, but there's not much more we can learn by staring at the wall, and I was planning on experimenting with it today."

Farkas nodded slowly, frowning, "You don't gotta come along, you know."

"Uh-uh, big guy," Brelyna wagged a finger at him, a foxy grin on her face, "This is a College dig site, so letting you go running around without supervision would reflect badly on me; besides, if there's more warding deeper in, how are you gonna get past it?"

He sighed, obviously resigning himself to letting her tag along, "Fine. But remember: once we're in there, we're not coming out until we have the amulet piece."

"Hey, if we find it, you mind having some help with the last piece? With how big this place is, we're likely to find a lot of old pottery, and I have an arrangement with Master Arniel; if I make a big discovery, I can get a month off working here. So, interested?" Farkas seemed to think about it, then nodded in agreement; grinning, because she finally had something exciting to do, Brelyna pulled her hood up, already looking forward to testing some of her spells on the draugr. "Awesome, then let's do it!"

Opening her door, Brelyna was only mildly surprised to find Fairsi stumbling a little, her 'bed-warmer' having had his ear pressed to the door.

"Uh, I was just making sure you were okay-"

"Uh-huh, whatever. We're ready, so let's go," Brelyna waved him on, noticing some of the other mercs gathered, "Oh, good, you brought backup; excellent. Let's go crack this tomb open."

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23 Rain's Hand, 4E200

Outside Jyrik Gauldurson's Crypt, Lost City of Saarthal

Farkas of the Companions

It was one of the oldest cities in Skyrim, the burial place of countless Nordic ancestors; the legends he read said one could spend their whole lifetime plumbing the Saarthal's depths, and there would still be vaults and halls waiting to be discovered.

Having spent the past day descending into the shattered ruin with Brelyna, that Redguard kid Fairsi, and the Daedric-clad Argonian merc captain, With-Teeth, Farkas came to one conclusion.

Saarthal should've been named Labyrinthian.

With every narrow hallway, other paths wound away into the dark, only faded and worn Dragon Runes carved into the walls suggesting what lay at the ends; traps, identical rooms, and pitfalls by the score, draugr by the dozen, and one head-scratching puzzle after another made for a more confusing advance than Farkas could remember having, when it came to delving Barrows.

Eventually, after a cylindrical hall full of coffins, some kind of blue barrier that drained both life and magic if touched, and more than a hundred draugr, they arrived at an antechamber with impressive bas reliefs and a pair of heavy doors where, if Brelyna's translation of the runes carved above the archway were correct, Jyrik Gauldurson was laid to rest.

Oddly, the lesser draugr that'd been in the room looked like they were packing things up; now, however, they were lying inert on the ground, until the magics of the barrow repaired them, which would take some weeks if past experience said anything.

Still, their behavior had been suspicious.

Kind of like With-Teeth's, the Argonian sending unfriendly glances in the little Dunmer girl's direction whenever he thought Farkas wasn't looking… he'd kept an eye on the asshole, knowing the damn lizard might try pulling a fast one on them at the last second.

Farkas rolled his shoulders and glanced at Brelyna, who was stuffing his journal back into her bag, the girl's pack near-overflowing with trinkets she'd taken off the draugr; tradition said if you took it off the draugr, it was fair game, but anything else was off-limits. And Farkas had seen the Argonian rooting around a few urns, so the lizard was no friend to real Nords; at least the Redguard kid was more respectful, even giving a quick salute to the draugr after taking a chamber.

"Next hall, then?" Farkas asked Brelyna; she nodded, so the Companion glanced at With-Teeth, who was also limbering up, "You ready?"

"Of course," the ancient lizard replied with an oily tone, "After y-"

The double doors opened before he could finish the sentence…

And Farkas said a curse word that even Aela wouldn't approve of, mainly because what came through the doorway might violate his promise to Khepri regarding ancient horrors.

Four Deathlords, each clad in masterwork armor and toting enchanted ebony weapons – from left to right: sword and shield, warhammer, greatsword, and war axe – stepped into the room, their bright blue eyes glowing with malice as they took in their ravaged hosts… and the four intruders gaping at them.

"Volaan, Thur Jyrik!" the greatsword Deathlord growled, drawing its weapon with its brothers as a fifth Deathlord, taller and wearing more ornate kit than the others, walked out of the darkness beyond the doors.

A staff was slung over this new arrival's back, and an axe with a pus-green enchantment on it was held in a tight grip; inside his horned helm, the undead wight of Jyrik Gauldurson glared and snarled balefully at the gathered party. Flicking a hand, Jyrik's body became encased in a prismatic barrier, a jewel on his belt shining brighter with the action, before waving his sword at the chamber.

"Daar joor kriist ko dii miiraad," the fiend snarled, voice shaking Farkas' bones as the Companion prepared to face the undead monsters, "Drun zu'u nust klov, ahrk hi fen piraak faraan."

"FUS-" the axe-wielding draugr began, aiming at With-Teeth, who was stupidly charging at it with a battlecry and warhammer raised; Farkas strafed to the left, getting between sword-and-shield and Brelyna, who shot off a couple fire spells at warhammer as Fairsi, smartly, moved closer to her so the mage would be protected.

"-RO DAH!" With-Teeth didn't stand a snowball's chance in the Deadlands; yes, the Daedric plate he wore was too heavy to easily move and provided great protection, but it wasn't enchanted, and against the Voice, that made all the difference.

The Argonian damn-near exploded inside his armor; the beheading sweep of the greatsword was practically a mercy.

Warhammer ignored Brelyna's spells and charged at Farkas, weapon coming down for a brutal overhand blow; sword-and-shield was held back by a knife from Fairsi and a bolt of lightning from Brelyna, so Farkas didn't have to worry about getting flanked from the left.

Dodging the blow to the right, the Companion brought Skyforge-tempered Stalhrim and steel down on the Deathlord's elbows, severing them like they were made of cheap paper; quickly beheading the shocked beast with the backswing, Farkas was nearly knocked off his feet when he desperately blocked greatsword's vengeful blow, the snarling Deathlord pressing down on Farkas' guard while sword-and-shield came in for a flanking run-

A neon-green spell slapped into the charging draugr, followed by an explosion so bright and loud, it blinded and deafened the draugr as much as Farkas was; shoving against the Deathlord – it gave ground, allowing Farkas to back up himself for breathing room – the Companion shook the spots from his eyes and bells from his ears…

"Ha-ha! It works!" Brelyna cheered while Farkas felt his mind physically freeze up, "I'm a genius!"

Meanwhile, Farkas, Fairsi, the two remaining Deathlords, and Jyrik Gauldurson gaped at the Deathlord-turned-cow looking around the room in confusion, armor and weapons lying on the ground.

"Moo!" the bovine blared in distress and alarm.

Both the Deathlords looked past Farkas at Brelyna; getting his head back in the game, Farkas swatted the greatsword stabbing at him aside and punched the Deathlord in the face, stunning it. He finished it with a stab through its face-

"YOL-"

'Oh fuck.' Farkas thought, having been on the wrong end of this Shout a few times. "RUN!" he yelled, dashing in one direction; the draugr followed him rather than the kid and the mage.

"-TOR SHUL!"

Dragonfire ripped past Farkas, tanning his face and singing his armor as he ran around the flames, using the Deathlord's stationary position while Shouting to his advantage; a couple brutal stabs and slashes, plus a lightning bolt from Brelyna, and the last Deathlord's axe went skittering over to the young Redguard's feet.

Fairsi knelt to pick it up-

-and an ice spear shattered against the kid's side, armor denting from the hit, sending him flying into the far side of the chamber, where he slumped in (hopeful) unconsciousness.

Jyrik advanced, exposed teeth curled into a disgusted snarl, staff glowing with barely-restrained power.

"Grik paak, dii kendov, viik naal lir," the beast shook his head, each step seeming to shake the ground; it turned to Farkas, "Nu hi oblaan, krivaan do fron. FO KRAH DIIN!"

Too fast, that time; Farkas' teeth chattered from the freezing cold that tore over his body while thanking Eorlund and the Nine he'd gone for Stalhrim reinforcement and Resist Magic enchantments on his armor. Jyrik closed the distance quick, that barrier on his body shrugging off one of those blinding green spells, but Farkas was ready for the bastard; a little cold, even from the Thu'um, was nothing to a Nord like him.

Waiting until the draugr was close, he moved, plunging his sword into the Death Overlord's chest-

CLANG!

-and felt his arms scream in protest as his blow did fuck all except knock him back a few steps.

The wight chuckled, then started swinging its axe at Farkas, each blow strong enough to shatter stone; the Companion was no novice, though, and wasn't looking forward to whatever the enchantment on that axe did, so he danced around the blows, occasionally taking a stab at the jewel on its belt or at the helm, trying in vain to find a weak spot.

A rock suddenly bounced off Jyrik's head, drawing both fighters' attention to Fairsi, who was back on his feet and had taken up the ebony shield and sword the cow had dropped; the boy slapped the blade against the shield and sneered at Jyrik, "Not gonna be that easy, you fuck-ugly bag of bones."

Scoffing, the Death Overlord drew his staff again, loosing a frost-colored bolt of lightning at the boy; Fairsi dodged manfully before joining Farkas in harrying Jyrik.

Meanwhile, the Deathlord-turned-cow having backed into a far corner of the room to watch the brawl with frightened eyes; Farkas knew, in his heart, that Vilkas was never going to believe this.

"Where's Brelyna?" Farkas roared after blocking a blow that sent him flying through a rotted table; once he was back on his feet and saved the kid from getting bailed up by Jyrik's assault, the Redguard caught his breath and answered.

"She went deeper into the crypt; said a barrier of this strength needs an anchor to keep it go- there!" right as the boy was explaining, a sound like breaking glass came from the deeper crypt, and Jyrik's shield flickered.

Farkas took advantage and slapped the flat of his blade across the draugr's face; a second later, the shield came back, and both young men started dodging spells and blows all over again, with mixed success.

"There's two more!" Brelyna shouted as she ran past the door Jyrik and his personal guard came out of, "Keep him busy!"

"The fuck she thinks we're doing, having a tea party?!" griped Fairsi after chugging a healing potion, his shield-arm having broken from one of Jyrik's glancing blows.

"Save your breath for fighting!" Farkas instructed, circling Jyrik, waiting for the shield to flicker- there.

His stab was turned aside by the axe, and then the head of the staff was pressed to Farkas' chest.

"Faal." Everything went red for a moment.

Coming to, Farkas found Fairsi struggling to rise over near the cow, which was pawing the ground suspiciously, like it was going to charge; picking up a loose brick, Farkas chucked it at the bovine with a snarl. It backed off with a hurt moo.

Jyrik was nowhere to be seen.

"You good, kid?" Farkas called over, pulling a regenerative potion out of his pack and chugging half of it, saying a quiet prayer to Stendarr for good measure; he also collected With-Teeth's warhammer, just so he'd have a backup weapon in case Jyrik pulled another trick out of his dusty ass.

"Fucker broke a few of my ribs," Fairsi gasped, gratefully finishing Farkas' potion, plus another small potion to deal with the breaks, "It's after Brelyna!"

Agreeing that this was a really bad thing, both Companion and mercenary tore off through the barrow, looking for mage and Overlord.

They found them after Brelyna let out a scream of fright, followed by explosions and breaking pottery.

Jyrik's crypt was dominated by an ornate sarcophagus, the walls of the circular chamber lined with four other opened coffins; the Overlord was chasing Brelyna around the chamber, the frightened Dunmer mage having summoned a ghostfire Flame Atronoch to claw at the draugr. Jyrik seemed content to ignore it in favor of chasing the screaming girl around his burial chamber.

"WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU TWO?!" she screamed as Farkas hurled an urn into Jyrik's face; the Overlord screamed in frustration and drew its staff again.

"Asshole knocked us out, now take out his fucking barrier," Farkas paused to dodge a couple spells, "for the love of the Nine!"

"What he said!" Fairsi rejoined, tossing a lit oil lamp onto Jyrik; the fire covered the draugr, but did exactly fuck all except light the unstoppable bastard on fire, "Oh come on!"

Parrying another couple strikes, Farkas swore to himself: once the Amulet was remade, he was never going into a Barrow again unless the honor of the Companions was on the line. Khepri was worth it, but fuck was Jyrik earning his status as the eldest of Gauldur's sons!

A few endless minutes later, a loud buzz and a yelp from Brelyna preceded the jewel on Jyrik's belt shattering, followed by his personal shield failing.

"Zu'u fen oblaan hi!" Jyrik screamed in rage, swinging his staff at Fairsi's head; the kid ducked and swiped his pilfered ebony sword at the Overlord's offending hand, slicing it off and removing the staff from play.

Jyrik replied to this by kicking the boy across the chamber, following that up with an ice spear that Fairsi just barely managed to block with his shield.

And then Farkas got to the bastard, swatting him aside with the flat of his blade; another quick exchange of bone-rattling blows, and Farkas managed to send Jyrik's axe flying into a corner of the room.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" and then the cheating bastard draugr's Shout sent Farkas' sword flying out of his hand, the expensive sword landing closer to Fairsi, who was still slowly getting up. Brelyna was nowhere in sight.

Jyrik's hand came up, and loosed an ice spear into Farkas' face at point-blank-range.

The spell shattered into thousands of frost motes, the enchantments on Farkas' armor stopping the attack like it was nothing.

The draugr gaped at Farkas.

"Yeah, not so tough now, are ya?" Farkas nodded grimly, kicking Jyrik in the chest, knocking the undead bastard over with a shove from his left hand, drawing the Daedric warhammer he collected earlier in the same motion.

Jyrik Gauldurson's scream was cut off with a very definitive crunch of denting metal and powdering bone.

Panting with exertion, Farkas looked over Fairsi's way; the kid was kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He still managed to give a thumbs-up.

Definitely Companion material, Farkas mused, while turning in the other direction to find… he bit his tongue to stop the laugh that threatened to burst forth.

"Don't." Brelyna hissed, her furious expression and frizzy globe of amber hair making her look like an angry squirrel, "Say. A fucking. Word."

It was only through a sense of self-preservation that kept Farkas and Fairsi from busting up laughing. Instead, the three victorious adventurers collected what spoils they could find – Fairsi got Jyrik's axe, Brelyna took an ebony war axe and Jyrik's staff, and Farkas got the Amulet fragment – before heading back to the main rooms, the College scholars and mercenaries still dawdling over something nearly half an hour away.

The merc band took the death of their leader with a shrug and a chorus of 'what can you do?' Luckily, Farkas managed to take Fairsi aside and give him the Companion pitch, with Brelyna sidling over to add her two cents; agreeing to give it a try, the kid got his severance pay from the new merc leader, an Redguard like him, and agreed to accompany Farkas and Brelyna to Whiterun, and possibly to Morthal's swamps, where the final Amulet fragment was rumored to be hidden.

Two days of rest later – for Farkas; Brelyna and Fairsi only got one day of real rest, but that was their own fault – and the party of three set out at first light on 25 Rain's Hand, all of them in high spirits and glad to have the ruin of Saarthal behind them.

"Farewell, Saarthal!" Brelyna cried once they reached a high point on the glacier, near the exposed Dwemer towers of Alftand, the Dunmer waving at the distant ruin, "You can keep your dusty secrets, because we don't want 'em!"

"Hear-hear!" Fairsi loudly agreed.

Then a bear, wondering about the yelling, came over to try eating the noisy snacks, and the rest of the trip to Whiterun was done with considerably more discretion.

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Dovazhul Translations

Volaan, Thur Jyrik! – Intruders, Master Jyrik!

Daar joor kriist ko dii miiraad – These mortals stand in my path

Drun zu'u nust klov, ahrk hi fen [piraak faraan.] – Bring me their head(s), and you will [have wealth/be rewarded].

Grik paak, dii kendov, viik naal lir – So shameful, my warriors, defeated by weaklings

Nu hi Oblaan, [krivaan do fron] – Now you die, [killer of kin/kinslayer]

Faal – Die (formal, respectful)

Zu'u fen oblaan hi – I will kill (you all)

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Beware the cows… lol.

Yes, the ruin is considerably different from canon, BUT, here is the reasoning: there are several thrones and empty sarcophagi between the entrance to Saarthal and the Eye of Magnus. Additionally, the idea that the Ancient Nords would put Jyrik, a certified motherfucker, anywhere near the Eye of Magnus just… seems like a terrible idea, even with baseline Elder Scrolls logic. So, here, he not only has his own tomb section, but his own personal gank squad.

Good thing Farkas went and bought some plot armor, eh?

REVIEWER RESPONSES!

Aetherium21: Not so much horny as more open to the idea of sex than before. Part of that is the underlying lewdness of the setting, part of that is amnesia erasing her various hangups.

Rydan fall: Khepri's lucky she still knows how to lace her boots, honestly, but your comment also has philosophical implications: was the railroad a bad idea? The answer is: no. If we, as a civilization, put certain skilled trades before the progress of our species as a whole, we risk stagnation, and with stagnation comes comfort in where we are; no one got anywhere by being comfortable in their lot, and stagnation is anathema to progress. The Thalmor are fucking evil; they could give a shit about the tailor or shoemaker or railroads, they just want to kill everyone and become spirits again. Because they're salty over Tiber Septim using Walk-Brass to conquer their shitty little islands.

SkyCaptain502: She has no desire to become Divine, so the second theory - that Khepri defends the Tower - is correct. And yes, the Thalmor are dumb.

dragonnargus: Khepri will not be the Dragonborn; that is someone else in this setting, who has been introduced already. PLACE YOUR BETS NOW!

GiantPsychoGecko: Yes, the Main Quest will be covered, but don't expect it to follow the canon exactly; too many apple carts have been flipped for that to happen.

AnFan-n-More: The Thalmor's endgame is total genocide of all thinking races on Nirn, themselves included, so they can ascend to the spiritual realm. So no, not a single Thalmor is really gonna complain about them going after Khepri. Then again, as this past chapter pointed out, the Thalmor aren't gonna be obvious about their attempts.

ranma hibiki: *Imp nuzzles you and frolicks happily away with more shinies for her Queen*

As always, thanks for reading folks!

Next time: What about the Eye of Magnus? And will Khepri ever be able to fully retire?