Eastmarch, en route to Windhelm

A starless sky enveloped the forests of Eastmarch that night on the 24th of Last Seed. Masser and Secunda shone their celestial lights down upon the wide woody stone roads to light the way for Alfarinn's carriage. Misty had slowed down to a leisurely trot to meet the falling of eventide.

Lydia stirred in Sal's lap and slowly opened her eyes. She turned onto her back to see his admiring smile beaming down at her.

"Good evening, beautiful," Sal's eyes twinkled in the moonlight. He brushed her sleek black bangs out of her eyes and leaned down to kiss her softly on the forehead.

Lydia smiled and reciprocated the kiss. "Good evening to you, too, handsome Argonian." She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and turned to look out at the road. "Where are we?"

"We crossed into Eastmarch about fifteen minutes ago," Sal explained. Lydia sat upright beside him, wiping her eyes and yawning. "If this good weather holds, we should reach Windhelm within the next half hour."

"We've reached the White River," Alfarinn added from up front. "Won't be long now." Misty whinnied in agreement, the brown-white paint horse shaking her mane out of her eyes without breaking pace.

They stopped at the banks of the White River for dinner. Alfarinn fed Misty while Sal bathed and Lydia filled everyone's canteens.

But after they had safely crossed to the other side, Alfarinn and Misty suddenly stopped frozen.

"What's wrong, Misty?" Sal furrowed his brow, staring through the landscape ahead but seeing nothing. "I don't see anything amiss in the wilderness. You can do it, girl. Come on, shake a leg."

"Al?" Lydia asked, looking between her fellow Nord and his horse. "We need to reach Windhelm as early as possible. The night's not getting any younger. Let's move."

"I can't do that, Lydia." Alfarinn explained. A sudden strange fear had appeared in his voice. His face drained of color and his eyes fixed straight ahead, widened in abstract terror. "There's some idiots blocking the road."

His passengers stared out at the road ahead. Beneath the sparkling white moonlight, a line of five Altmer blocked the cobblestone pathway ahead. Two more Thalmor Warriors stood behind them, their armor bearing the emblems of Haafingar Hold. Sal's Dragon spirit unleashed a low bitter growl inside him. His tail began to swish from side to side in an uncanny anxious manner.

An unhooded short-haired female Altmer dressed in dark robes lined in golden threads with gloves and boots to match stepped forward from the center of the line.

"Travelers of Skyrim!" She held up an authoritative, halting hand, then turned her palm inward to ignite a bright orange flame that illuminated her face. "In the name of the Aldmeri Dominion, I demand that you temporarily halt your trek through the wilderness and submit yourselves for inspection to the Thalmor. I shall only ask you once. Forcing my hand to ask twice or more will result in your immediate destruction. Exit the carriage immediately and surrender yourselves to us."

"Sal!" Lydia gasped and put a paw to her mouth, her face whitening. "It's the Thalmor!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Alfarinn protested, throwing up his arms in exasperation. "I didn't sign up for any inspection! If you don't mind, I've got to get to Windhelm before tomorrow morning, you see; it's extremely urgent business for my passengers—,"

"You dare disobey the orders of the Thalmor?" an Altmer emerged from the line and pointed an accusing finger at Alfarinn. "Petty Nordic wretch! I ought to freeze you solid where you sit on your measly wooden carriage!"

"Silence, Ondolemar," commanded the leader. "Let me deal with them."

Sal studied the face of the central Almer outlined by the flame. His eyes narrowed into a contemptuous scowl. "Elenwen."

"Sal-Gheel," Elenwen acknowledged him in return. Vitriolic bitterness dripped from her voice. "I'd recognize your name and face anywhere. I demand that you come and face me like the so-called legendary warrior you are."

Sal turned and climbed out of the carriage. Lydia followed on his tail. Alfarinn remained behind. Misty had started to nervously hoof the ground, her owner rubbing her mane for comfort.

Elenwen scowled in the firelight as Sal stepped out of the darkness and stood in front of the carriage. "And so, we meet again. It's been a long year since you and I last met, Sal-Gheel. Time, it seems, has been more than kind to you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Elenwen," Sal shot back, not at all bothering to hide his sarcasm. "You haven't aged a day either. Still bitter over that time I kicked you out of the war council at High Hrothgar? Still waiting for me to pay you compensation over all the property damage I caused when I broke into your Embassy?"

"Both seemingly minor infractions which may seem innocuous enough to you in hindsight," Elenwen jabbed, her voice vicious and haughty. "But for a leader of the Thalmor, such destructive impertinences are not easily forgiven. Your past and present insolences ought to be punished here and now. The idea that you would dare to commit such treasons against the Thalmor. How unthinkable! How detrimental to me! Have you no conscience about how much your actions hurt me? Have you no awareness that I have an image and a reputation to maintain both within Skyrim and the Aldmeri Dominion as a whole?"

"Someone's got a bruised ego," Lydia whispered aside to Alfarinn.

"I wonder who did the bruising!" Alfarinn whispered back, unable to hide his proud smirk towards Sal.

"Quiet back there!" Elenwen barked, irritated at having been rudely interrupted. She lit another flame in her other hand for more light. "I know who you are, Sal-Gheel. I know what you are. The true penalty for offending a Thalmor is death. I hope you feel quite honored to have it delivered to you by my hand."

Lydia threw her arm out defensively across Sal's chest. "You shall not lay a hand on him unless I'm dead!"

"Oh, look, it's the Housecarl," Elenwen gave Lydia a mock courteous nod. "Honored to see you, Lydia. Yes, I know you by name. No need to fret; we've met before. How touching that you should jump so swiftly to your Thane's defense. But sentiment annoys me greatly. I do not enjoy being annoyed. I am here to exact severe retribution for the pain you've caused me, Sal-Gheel, among other insults and offenses."

"Gee, I'm flattered, Elenwen," Sal answered in a deadpan tone. "But I'm afraid I'm already spoken for."

He raised his left hand to show the golden wedding band around his ring finger, decorated by three Flawless Amethysts. "Besides, I'm sure you'd love to be anywhere else other than here." He dropped his hand by his side. "Wouldn't you rather be sitting in your excessively wealthy Embassy, drinking iced alto wine and gorging yourself on bread and snowberry jam? Don't you have anything better to do than blocking roads and interrogating random travelers?"

"Random?" a third Altmer scoffed and let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Hardly random. We knew exactly where to find you, and when you would be coming down this road. It was only a matter of timing."

"Who in Oblivion are you?!" Lydia demanded, still holding her arm over Sal's chest.

"Ancarion, High Elf Wizard," answered the Altmer, who stepped out on Elenwen's right side (Sal and Lydia's left) into the firelight. "I came all the way here from Solstheim to answer my ambassador's call to unite the Thalmor in hunting down a certain individual who is considered extremely dangerous to our plans, in more ways than one."

"I came along on this venture to aid the Ambassador as well," added the elf on Ondolemar's left. "Ancano, Thalmor advisor to Arch-Mage Savos Aren at the College of Winterhold." Dazzling blue Sparks leaped between his fingers and palms.

"I'm the one you've banded together to hunt down, no doubt," Sal dryly pointed out. One hand strayed to and wrapped around the hilt of Dragonbane. "A real charming entourage you've assembled, Elenwen. Should we expect the lot of you to break out into a special musical number planned just for us, perchance? Complete with fancy Altmer dance choreography?"

"We've wasted enough time," Elenwen interjected with an authoritative tone of finality. She stepped forward until she was nearly toe-to-toe with Sal, whose dark glower never wavered.

"Sal-Gheel. Just looking at you makes me furious. I know you are the legendary Dragonborn. You may have slain Alduin the World-Eater, but you have not slain the Thalmor. You never will. You can cut off the head of the snake, but the body is far too powerful to wither away. We are here to restore the balance of power in Skyrim, both political, magical, and mundane. You, Sal-Gheel, so-called 'Dragonborn', are to submit yourself and all that you possess to the authority of the Thalmor immediately. Refuse to do so, and expect to suffer the gravest of consequences. Now, will you submit?"

"Submit?" Lydia objected, drawing her Steel Sword halfway out of its scabbard. "On what charges?"

"Charges?" Elenwen raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes, I believe we did forget to mention those. No matter. Unlike you, we have all the time in the world."

She turned over her shoulder to the last Altmer standing in line. "Agent Lorcalin?"

The fifth Altmer materialized from beside Ancarion and unrolled a lengthy scroll, reading by his companion's firelight.

"'For extreme treasonous offenses committed against the Thalmor of Skyrim, the Argonian known as Sal-Gheel and his Nordic Housecarl, Lydia of Whiterun, are to hereby capitulate themselves completely over to Elenwen, Ambassador of Skyrim, and those who assist in her virtuous endeavor to exact personal vengeance upon them.

First, for the unlawful infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy, the illicit activities conducted, and the subsequent extensive property damage done therein.

Second, for the insolent and exceedingly impertinent removal of the Ambassador's body from the war council held at the monastery known as High Hrothgar on the Throat of the World.

Third, for being devout and public Talos worshippers, the worship of which is explicitly outlawed by the terms of the White-Gold Concordat.

Fourth, for being associated with the Blades, the elite Imperial order formerly dedicated to the protection and service of the former Emperors of Tamriel, and which has now been rendered obsolete, and for membership of which is classified as illegal according to the aforementioned Concordat.

Fifth and final, for being in possession of an otherworldly and universal artifact of extraordinary power that, from this moment henceforth, is now the rightful property of the Thalmor.'"

"Fantastically done, Agent Lorcalin," Elenwen nodded at her wizard. "Wasn't that theatrical? Thank you."

"These charges are preposterous!" Alfarinn shouted in disbelief. "They're the most ridiculous things I've ever heard!"

"What 'otherworldly and universal artifact' do you mean?" Sal asked as Lorcalin rolled up the scroll and stepped back into the line.

"We'll tell you after we've escorted you to our base of operations," Elenwen explained stubbornly, emphasizing the word "escorted" in a suspiciously knowing manner. "It's not far from here. Your punishment will be just, but torturous. You have been accused and found guilty. So, I ask you again, will you submit? Do not make me ask a third time."

The flames in her hands grew brighter and a full inch taller, turning from bright orange to blood-red.

Sal curled his lower lip over his fangs. His hands clenched into fists by his sides. His Dragon spirit growled inside his mind, a rumbling snarl like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. He found himself growling along with it.

"Listen, Elenwen. If you haven't understood already, I've got somewhere I need to be. So, why don't we bypass the formalities and skip to the part where I leave you as a bleeding mess on the ground with a fractured ribcage?"

Elenwen shook her head in disapproval. "I'll take that as a 'No' from you, Sal-Gheel. Shame. I had honestly hoped we could settle this diplomatically. I'm disappointed in you, Sal-Gheel. No matter. I'll take what I want from you one way or another. Thalmor! Arrest them both!"

"No!" In this instant, Lydia drew her Steel Sword and held it lengthwise between Sal and Elenwen. "Don't you dare touch him!"

"You dare threaten the Ambassador?!" Ancarion snapped his fingers and a large Ice Spike appeared in one hand, ready to be thrown. Ancano also raised his Sparks-filled hands.

"And disobey the Thalmor?" Agent Lorcalin clenched his fists. Lightning Bolts coursed from his wrists to his fingertips. "Your defiance shall not go without punishment!"

An unhindered sadistic chuckle escaped Elenwen. "Do you honestly think that the two of you can defeat us? Come now, it's two against seven. Three, if you count your pitiful carriage driver, and he hardly looks the fighting type. He is - what is the Nord phrase? - a milk-drinker. Your courage is admirable, yet stubbornly reckless. Not to mention that it's wasting my time. I do not like to be rushed or pressed for deadlines. Come quietly, and we won't have to incinerate both of you."

"I wouldn't come quietly if it was even to another fancy party at your over-opulent Embassy, Elenwen!" Sal snarled, clenching his fists. "I'd rather die before I surrender to the Thalmor!"

"Very well, then," Elenwen exhaled from her nose. "We'll just have to do this the hard way. Take them!"

"Victory or Sovngarde!" Lydia bellowed at the top of her lungs. She raised her Steel Sword high over her head to strike down Elenwen.

But Agent Lorcalin shot two Lightning Bolts at her arms. Lydia screamed at the sudden stabbing pain shooting through her wrists down to her elbows and shoulders. Her sword and shield fell from her grip. Elenwen thrust a third Bolt at Lydia's stomach, causing her to sink helplessly to her knees, groaning in pain.

For a single, fleeting moment, Lydia's unconscious body lay in the snow outside Fort Amol, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, a hand each on her sword and on her stomach, her head bent off to one side, away from his view.

"Lydia! No—By seed and spleen!" Sal belted out another classic battle cry of Black Marsh. He drew Dragonbane and charged into the Thalmor line. The sparks on the Akaviri katana brightened the black starless night.

Elenwen advanced and curled her flame-covered hands into fists. But instead of striking Sal, she instead hurled them at the carriage.

Misty jumped up and down and neighed frantically. The flames burned through her reins and backstrap. Alfarinn cried out to calm her to no avail. The terrified horse broke free from the carriage and galloped away into the dark forest beyond the road. Her scorched harness dropped onto the stone road in charred pieces.

"No!" Alfarinn jumped down from his driver's seat. But Agent Lorcalin restrained him by the shoulders and forced him hard onto his knees.

"In Ysgramor's name, I swear you'll pay for that!" Alfarinn spat furiously at the Thalmor and grappled his arm. Lorcalin held an Elven Dagger to the Nord's throat and glared coldly back.

Ondolemar shoved his gloved fist into Sal's stomach. The Argonian wheezed and recoiled backward. Dragonbane landed on the ground. Its sparks fizzled out. Ancano pushed Sal down onto his knees and tied his hands behind his back with thick arcane bonds. Sal hissed and snapped his jaws, and inhaled a breath to Shout.

Two Stormcloak soldiers at Fort Greenwall had disarmed Sal-Gheel and knocked him onto his knees. They each held him by the wrists and pinned him against the stone wall of the Fort. The furious Sal glared and spat at the enemy Nords and drew in the deepest breath he could muster, preparing to Shout.

Come on, Sal! he prompted himself. Unrelenting Force! Remember the Words! Think! Think—!

But the two guards from Northwatch forced a magical gag around his mouth. A freezing cold aura cut deep into his scales. He cried out at the sudden frost biting into the tender flesh beneath. He chomped at the bit, but it would not budge.

"Spare the carriage driver," Elenwen ordered Lorcalin. "He is innocent in this matter. We have who we need. Let him go free."

Lorcalin obliged and removed his dagger from Alfarinn's throat. Alfarinn immediately scrambled to his feet in the direction of the forest.

"Misty! Misty!"

"Savages…" Lydia seethed through her pain. She raised her eyes and glaring daggers at the Thalmor. "You won't …get away…with this!"

"We already have, Lydia," Elenwen chuckled. Her voice was fiendish, bitter, dry. "And there's nothing you can do about it."

The Northwatch guards clobbered their prisoners on the back of the head and knocked them limp onto the ground.

Eldergleam Sanctuary

Sal awoke to his pain first. A frigid, bleeding, tangible, perpetual pain that coursed through every single nerve in his body from his hands to his head, to the tips of his tail and toes, and everywhere in between in an endless circuit. He pried his eyes open, carefully, painfully.

He stood upright and hovered a foot or so off the ground. A pair of magical metal chains colder than ice and harder than folded steel locked tight around his wrists. Some strange force defied gravity and hoisted him up in the air. The magical gag had also been removed from his mouth. The branches of a towering majestic tree swayed above him in the gentle evening breeze, their leaves occasionally brushing against his feathers and horns.

The Thalmor had stripped his clothes down to his loincloth. His bare feet appeared to be resting on empty air. The same mystical shackles looped around his ankles from an unknown source deep in the ground. He could scarcely so much as wiggle his toes or arch his feet without a stabbing pain in his bones.

The thunderous waterfalls, the lazy drifting of leaves in the wind, and the gentle undulating of tree branches filled his ears like a synchronized orchestra of nature. The look and layout of the makeshift dungeon did not escape his memory.

Eldergleam Sanctuary, he realized to himself. Then this must be the Eldergleam tree behind me.

"Sal-Gheel?"

Sal inched his throbbing head to his left. His heart stopped in his chest. A few meters away, Lydia sat despondent in what appeared to be a magical steel birdcage no taller than seven or eight feet. A sickly green arcane aura covered it from top to bottom. Unlike him, Lydia had kept her Steel Armor from shoulders to toes, a sight that Sal honestly envied and found unfair. When he met her eyes, the desperate Lydia stood up straight and clutched at the bars of her prison.

"Sal-Gheel! Oh, thank Shor you're awake! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Sal nodded, despite the piercing aches in his skull and the strains in his cervical vertebra. His heart pounded in his ears louder than any drum in Skyrim. "I'm all right, Lydia. I'm not hurt."

He glanced down at his loincloth, his only remaining piece of clothing. "At least the Thalmor were generous enough to let me keep my modesty. But my body…"

He flexed his wrists and wiggled his fingers, to no effect. "Something about these bonds is causing pain throughout my entire body. Some accursed power has desecrated this sacred shrine to Kynareth."

He shook his head of the disturbing thought and looked back at Lydia. "How are you?"

"Well," Lydia sat down and crossed her legs. "It's not the most auspicious of circumstances. But I suppose it's better than being tied down on my back to a rock."

Her meticulous eyes roved over her cage, half-curious and half-apprehensive. "I've never seen magic like this before, not from Farengar or the College of Winterhold. Or anywhere else in Skyrim, come to think of it. Everything about it feels…wrong."

"Do you have room to stand?" Sal asked through the sudden ringing in his ears. "Room to move around?"

"Just barely," Lydia explained, standing up again. Her head hardly reached the head of the cage. A smooth steel dome formed the top above her. "I can't move more than a few inches before I hit my face on whatever this…thing…is. Such good metal at their disposal and this is what they choose to make out of it? It's an insult! I can't believe the Thalmor would do this to us, Sal!"

Her face contorted into anger. She kicked at the rigid bars of her cage, but nothing changed. "I never thought the Thalmor would stoop this low, chaining you up as a prisoner and locking me in a birdcage like some animal! I feel so disrespected!"

"We've gotta get out of this place!" Sal shouted. He began fighting against his bonds, pushing and pulling his body every which-way. "We've got to escape, find Alfarinn and Misty, and get back to Windhelm!"

In and out, back and forth, left and right and diagonally. But the chains remained as immovable as when their conjurers had first created them.

"Damn it! I can't move!"

"Please," counseled a chilling cynical voice from the darkness. "Don't struggle. It'll only make your punishment hurt more."

An aged and bearded Thalmor Justiciar stepped out of the shadows. The hood of his Thalmor robes was pulled over his head. It cast an imposing shadow on the ground of the Sanctuary. He held his hands behind his back. His pace walking up to Sal seemed unhurried.

"Bask in the presence of the glorious Thalmor while you still have your pathetic and boorish lives," suggested the Thalmor. "I am Rulindil, Third Emissary and interrogator of the Thalmor. We met once before at the Embassy party. I'm sure you remember."

"I do," Sal growled, gritting his fangs. "A shame I didn't get the chance to kill you after bleeding out your compatriots. But I didn't have the time. Sorry to make you feel left out. It would have been more than a fitting end for you after what you did to Etienne Rarnis and Gissur."

"Another day of Thalmor business," Rulindil snorted, trying to deflect his guilt. "All in a day's work for an esteemed and skillful Justiciar such as I. Now it's your turn. I hope you feel entirely honored, Sal-Gheel. Simply answer our questions, and we will spare yours and your Housecarl's lives, guaranteed. I don't want to be disappointed or surprised by a lack of cooperation, so I'm hoping that you'll perform all that is asked of you straight to the letter. Do the opposite, and this interrogation may result in, regrettably, violence. I sincerely pray that we never feel the need to resort to these admittedly less humane methods. Have I made myself clear?"

As Rulindil spoke, Elenwen and the remainder of her entourage stepped out from the shadows around him, encircling Sal and the Eldergleam. The soldiers from Northwatch flanked Lydia's cage, joined by a third Altmer peculiarly clad in the soft leather livery of the Imperial Legion. Lydia shot a dark glower at each of her guards, then returned to sitting cross-legged on the cage floor. She fixed her fearful eyes on Sal as the Thalmor surrounded him.

Sal resisted the urge to growl and snark back, and heaved a submissive sigh. "Yes, Rulindil. You have made yourself clear."

"Excellent," the content Rulindil smiled and stroked his beard. "I'm sure we're going to get along swimmingly. The only rules are these two: speak when spoken to, and answer with the sincerest honesty. Otherwise, you are more than free to speak your mind whenever you are given leave to do so."

"Thank you, Rulindil," Elenwen stepped in front of him. "I'll take it from here. When we are ready for the interrogation, I will call upon you again. Captain Valmir," she called over to the Thalmor wearing the Imperial leather. "You and the guards from Northwatch keep an eye on that Housecarl. She's run her rebellious tongue enough times on me for one night."

She crossed her arms over her chest to form an X-shape. When she broke it, a ring of red fire burst from her body and lit a series of metal braziers that lined the path from the Sanctuary entrance to the Eldergleam tree. Below, by the river and far waterfalls, Sal could see an army of some forty more Thalmor Warriors, Justiciars, Archers, and Wizards standing, walking, or lounging about the cave. Two particular Warriors and an Archer idled on the central grassy island on the other side of the stream. A female Nord commoner, a male Nord bandit, and a Breton knelt with their captors' swords (a bowstring, in the Archer's case) to their throats.

"Blasphemers!" the female Nord commoner, Asta, shouted at the top of her lungs. "Treasonous heretics! How dare you befoul this sacred space to Kyne with your demonic magic!"

"The Eldergleam Sanctuary will never acquiesce to you!" added the furious Nord bandit, Sond. "Not without Nettlebane!"

"Such High Elves of brutal violence in this consecrated chapel to Kynareth!" the appalled white-faced Maurice Jondrelle cried out through the bowstring that constricted his neck. "What would Kynareth say if She saw this? You sacrilegious sanctimonious Altmer would dare to taint the holy Eldergleam Tree and its sanctified soil with the innocent blood of its champion, the Last Dragonborn?"

"Silence, you small-brained Nords!" Ondolemar insulted back. "You as well, Breton! You were granted no right to speak, brutish mead-soaked muscle-headed unhygienic scrubs! Hold your tongues and we won't have to cut them out!"

Ignoring what had transpired below, Elenwen approached Sal levitating between his magical chains. A callous laugh escaped her mouth at the sight of his undressed and imprisoned state.

"Enjoying yourself, Sal-Gheel? Are the bindings to your liking? Is the choice of dungeon to your satisfaction? What do you think of the choice of Eldergleam Sanctuary? Too theatrical, or not theatrical enough?"

Now Sal let out a cold growl, showing his fangs. His Dragon spirit did the same louder inside his mind. "I'm not enjoying myself in the slightest, since you asked. No, these bindings are not to my liking; in fact, they are causing me excruciating pain. As for your choice of Eldergleam Sanctuary as your base of operations, I harbor no opinion as to whether or not it is too theatrical or not so enough. In fact, I'm offended, Elenwen, that you would defile such a holy place such as this shrine to the Goddess of the Elements."

"Well, I think it's a more than fitting choice," Elenwen argued, unfazed. "As we are defiling this sacred place to Kynareth, so do we intend to profane your body if you do not follow our commands. With that in mind, shall we begin?"

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking, I told you I wouldn't let you lay a hand on him!" Lydia flared up, standing again and pushing against the bars of her cage. "He told you he's already married!"

"Do you think that's what this is about?" Ancarion turned to face Lydia, one indifferent eyebrow raised. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Stupid Nord."

"Ancarion's right, you know," Elenwen nodded in agreement, though she did not turn around to face Lydia. "I wouldn't find this green scaly lizard attractive in a million lifetimes. Surely you know by now that testosterone-fueled Nords and water-loving Argonians are inherently inferior to the grandeur and flawlessness of the Altmer. Foolish children, thinking that the Aurbis revolves around you. Besides, even if that was my intention with Sal-Gheel, I'd have done it already, and done it myself."

"You couldn't stop her even if you tried, Housecarl," Ancano teased. "Elenwen is clearly the superior swordfighter."

"Superior swordfighter!?" Lydia protested and rattled the cage bars, shaking with fury. "Free me and we'll see who's superior! I'm not afraid to clash swords with you! I'll put you on your shattered kneecaps! I'll sever your self-centered head from your undeserving shoulders, and then parade it on the head of a spear around Eastmarch!"

"How admirable is your fierce courage, Lydia." Elenwen waved a dismissive hand in Lydia's direction. "How complimentary are your empty threats. But this is neither about attraction, nor lust, or even about trees. No, this is about something far, far greater."

She turned and nodded at the interrogator. "You may begin, Rulindil."

"Thank you, Madame Ambassador," Rulindil bowed extravagantly, his hood falling over his eyes for a moment before magically correcting itself. "It'll be my pleasure."

He took Elenwen's place in front of Sal. "You no doubt have many questions. I'll indulge your childish curiosity for the time being. We're in no rush. First, about that sacred artifact mentioned in your charges that you wanted identified. We promised we would tell you after we escorted you to our base. Now the moment of truth has arrived. At the very least, find consolation in the fact that we earnestly admire your thick patience thus far. Let us hope that your mind is conversely thinner."

He paced back and forth along the width of the Eldergleam's tree trunk. "The artifact we speak of is none other than the Elder Scroll. More specifically, the Thalmor seeks the particular Elder Scroll that you yourself used, Sal-Gheel. It is known as the Dragon Scroll, the power of which was previously employed by the Three Tongues to banish Alduin the World-Eater and send him forward through time from the Merethic to the Fourth Era. We know that you also used that Scroll to acquire extraordinary knowledge of a forbidden Dragon Shout. The Thalmor seek that Elder Scroll for themselves to use for our own progressive purposes."

He stopped in front of Sal and returned his hands behind his back. "Any questions?"

Sal's face drained of color in the blazing braziers. "The Elder Scroll?" the breathless Argonian asked. "How…how did you know about all of that? How did you know that I used it?"

"The Thalmor has eyes and ears everywhere, Sal-Gheel," Rulindil answered. He held up a knowing finger and pointed it at Sal in an accusatory manner. "We are not to be underestimated. To make an awfully long story short, a few of our undercover agents planted in secret in both Whiterun and Ivarstead overheard some of your conversations between yourself and your Housecarl. Seemingly innocent information to you, and no doubt personal, but invaluable information to us. Our eyes and ears went to great lengths to ensure that this information reached us, and, armed with this knowledge in mind, we set out to find you."

Sal clenched his jaw and snarled. "No…You were not allowed to stick your pointed golden Altmer noses in my private business. Those conversations are exclusive!"

"Not to us," Rulindil jeered in a low voice. "We have grand plans for that Elder Scroll. We simply want to know where it is."

"For what purpose?" Sal asked suspiciously. A new strain had entered his vocal cords, and it hurt his throat to even say a single word. His lungs pulled asunder at each other and his ribs ached every time he took a breath.

"Excuse me," Rulindil remarked, growing impatient and sounding offended. "I'll be asking the questions here."

He resumed pacing, now around the circumference of the Eldergleam. "Our grand plan is to utilize the fullest extent of the Elder Scrolls' supernatural and otherworldly power to eliminate all users of the Thu'um, and establish the Aldmeri Dominion as the dominant magical and mundane authority across Skyrim. Its power to bend the flow of time is unparalleled. If it enabled the Three Tongues to banish Alduin forward in time from the Merethic to the Fourth Era, imagine what it may be capable of against the remaining Dragons of Skyrim."

"Paarthurnax…" Sal's face turned white as the revelation dawned on him. "Odahviing…"

"That's absurd!" Lydia called out. "You cannot use an Elder Scroll that way! They don't work like that! Don't you want to know what an Elder Scroll is capable of doing to your mind? To your body? Don't you want to know what it's done to everyone who's ever tried to read it? Do you want to know what it did to Sal-Gheel, what it's doing to him now?"

"That is the second time that you have spoken out of turn, Housecarl Lydia," the aggravated Captain Valmir rounded on Lydia. "One more outburst and we'll be forced to silence you permanently. Don't give us a reason to hurt you."

Lydia stuck her tongue out in petulant response, but said nothing further. Captain Valmir snorted and flashed her a derisive smirk before turning his back to the action. The barbarous chuckles from the two soldiers of Northwatch Keep rang in Lydia's ears.

"Why me?" Sal asked, never removing his eyes from Rulindil when he came back around to him.

"As I said, I know who you are, Sal-Gheel," Elenwen butted in. "As does everyone else here. We know that you are the Last Dragonborn of ancient legend. Your coming was foretold in the Elder Scrolls. We know that you possess the blood of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. We know you also have the soul of a Dragon. You absorb the souls of the Dragons you slay and imprint their knowledge onto your mind. Through this, you are capable of using the Thu'um. Furthermore, we are more than well aware that you are a devout worshipper of the heretical god Talos. You make no secret of it. It's so blatantly obvious that it's downright pathetic how much you attempt to hide it from us. Since you too are a Dragonborn, as Tiber Septim was in his life, that means that you are, for all intents and purposes, the 'descendant' of Talos, if you will. With your Voice, you can rally the Nords of Skyrim and unite them under one banner – yours. That makes you a threat to us and our cause."

"Politics, politics, politics!" Sal ranted, rolling his eyes in sarcastic disbelief at the roof of the cave. "Have you really nothing better to do with your valuable time? Can't see I disagree with your logic, though."

"As well you shouldn't," Elenwen nodded in agreement. "Glad to see we are both on the same page, Sal-Gheel."

"Enough of this pettiness," Rulindil clutched Sal-Gheel by the neck and pulled him in until they were almost nose-to-nose. "We're wasting time. This constant back-and-forth discussion bores me, and we are delaying our objective. Where is the Elder Scroll?"

"I'll never tell you where it is," Sal muttered, glowering, his nostrils flaring. "You'll never get it out of me with all of your diabolical magic!"

"Don't play coy, lizard," Rulindil spat, curling his lips. "Tell us! Where is the Scroll?!"

He raised his other hand and smacked Sal hard across the cheek.

The calloused hairy hand of the Imperial baker from Bravil came sweeping towards the helpless hatchling, locked taut in the Guards' vice grips, and slapped him furiously on the cheek.

Sal yelped and barely had a chance to collect himself before Rulindil threw a punch into his jaw. Fresh warm blood coated his fangs and coiled over his tongue.

"This is the third time, Argonian! My patience wears thin! Where is the Elder Scroll?!"

"Kiss my tail, yellow-face!" Sal snapped back, and he spat blood into Rulindil's eyes.

Rulindil recoiled and released Sal's neck. He stepped backward and wiped the Argonian blood from his face with utter disdain. "Disgusting. Well, I must confess that I find your inability to cooperate honestly annoying. I don't think we'll be getting through his thick Argonian skull, Madame Ambassador," he told Elenwen, wiping Sal's blood on the sides of his robe. "Should we take the more extreme approaches? We promised to use it only as a last resort, but it is your call."

"If you feel it is best, Rulindil, then you may resort to the extreme approaches." Elenwen nodded her consent. "I hope it is more productive in extracting the information we need to find the Scroll than simple verbal abuse."

"Excellent!" A malicious grin spread across Rulindil's face. He rubbed his hands together in evil anticipation. "Not a moment too soon. Come on, Ancano."

"About time!" Ancano exclaimed, and he and another Altmer in Justiciar robes flanked Rulindil, wickedness glinting in their eyes. "I'd grown awfully tired of waiting. Are you prepared, Estormo?"

"I am indeed," the third Altmer named Estormo nodded, flexing his fingers in preparation. "On your cue, Rulindil."

Rulindil clasped his hands together in mock solemnity. The other three followed suit. Lengthy luminescent sun-yellow whips uncoiled from their fingers. Gripping their glowing tendrils, they leaned back for a blow.

Lydia's eyes widened in horror. "No—!" she started to one of the Northwatch soldiers put his hand around her mouth to silence her voice.

Sal screamed as Rulindil's whip slashed diagonally across his stomach. He scarcely had time to process the searing strike until Ancano and Estormo struck his sides. One right after another. Every blow left an excruciating blistering pain on Sal's scales that pierced deep into his flesh. A gleaming golden bruise stained his skin in its wake before fading into a charcoal-black scar.

"Where is it?!" Rulindil roared, every accusatory word stabbing into Sal's ears. "Where is the Elder Scroll?!"

"I'm…never…telling!" Sal's ribs twinged with every breath. "You...can't...make...me!"

Again, again, and again the whips struck him. His chest, torso, stomach, and hips were covered with fresh blood and scars by the time it was done. Sal's vocal cords grew hot and strained from screaming. Estormo struck one last lash across Sal's neck for good measure. Sal's windpipe scorched and bled as he attempted to breathe through it.

"Never let it be said that I don't enjoy my job!" Rulindil bellowed, cold-blooded laughter in his voice.

"Stop!" Sal pleaded, hot tears springing to his eyes. "Stop, please, it burns!"

A sudden cry from behind Lydia's cage interrupted the torture routine. She had bitten the hand of her captor, forcing him to release her. Fuming but likewise teary-eyed, Lydia climbed to her feet and reached out through the bars of her cage towards Sal.

"You monsters! You inhuman heartless monsters!"

"That's the point," Rulindil spat, furious. "I told you we would resort to less humane methods if you failed to cooperate. Now that I think about it," he remarked matter-of-factly, contemplatively stroking his beard. "This isn't even the worst torture we have in mind. Nothing else is of any use. We'll have to try it."

"You want to use it?" Ancano raised an eyebrow, his trepidation and hesitance unmistakable. "You know we've never tested it out on proper subjects."

"We have run out of options, Ancano," Rulindil stated adamantly. "He will not surrender the knowledge of the Elder Scroll's location until we have broken him beyond repair, beaten him to his core. Prepare the Apocalypse Anathema."

"But, Rulindil, it's not ready!" Estormo argued. "The curse is still in the relative beta stages of development, and there are a number of unstable elements that have yet to be smoothed out, and—,"

"Do it, Estormo!" Rulindil rounded on Ancano's assistant and jabbed his finger in his fellow Altmer's face. "Or it'll be you in those chains! That's an order! Do it now!"

"Finally!" Elenwen announced. "Everyone, gather around. Bring the hostages here," she called down to the grassy island below. "They won't want to miss what happens next."

Elenwen and her main entourage all gathered in a large circle around the Eldergleam. The three officers brought Asta, Sond, and Maurice up the track at dagger-point. They pinned them down on their hands and knees beside Lydia.

Captain Valmir vice-gripped Lydia by the shoulders and locked her head in place. He fixed her eyeline on Sal and hissed in her ear.

"Behold the death of Skyrim's salvation and hope. Behold the fall of the Last Dragonborn."

Elenwen lifted her palms at her eye level. "Boethiah. Prince of Plots. He-Who-Destroys-and-She-Who-Erases. Queen of Shadows who rules over conspiracy and secret plots of unlawful overthrow of authority, and who blesses our noble endeavor, hear our pleas. We summon your foul magic to strip this undeserving pile of living dust of his inferior power which he wields unworthily and recklessly."

Ondolemar copied the gesture and intoned, "Molag Bal. Lord of Brutality. Harvester of Souls. Daedric Prince of Domination. Steal the aspect of the Dragon from this undeserving wretch who is less than nothing in your shadowy eyes, and who exists alone to feed your power. May he join as one of your Soul-Shriven in mind, metaphor, and rhetoric."

"Mephala," Ancarion chanted to close the invocations. "Webspinner. Whispering Lady. Plot-Weaver. Pull apart the threads of life from this individual who dares defy our superiority and refuses to submit to our supremacy. May the threads of his very being unravel to become a feast for your spiders and lower than all things in the darkness."

"Boethiah. Molag Bal. Mephala." Elenwen thrust her arms out towards Sal. The other Thalmor did the same. "Together in tandem with your blessings and our conjurations, we summon the Apocalypse Anathema!"

"Apocalypse Anathema!" chanted all the Thalmor as one.

One by one, the braziers burst and burned out, plunging the Sanctuary into pitch-black darkness. Within the tangible perpetual shroud, Sal could make out the unmistakable countenances of three Daedric Princes.

Molag Bal in the middle, glowering through sunken colorless slits.

Mephala on the left, golden irises scowling in dark disapproval.

Boethiah on the right, ashen apertures stoic and scrutinizing.

"Do you ever wonder if it hurts? To have one's soul ripped out like that?"

"Now…" Elenwen hissed through the dark. "Rip him apart!"

"Sal-Gheel! No!"

The three Daedra's eyes glowed a blinding blood-red. Molag Bal's visage dropped his slackened jaw; the other two followed suit. Sal-Gheel raised his head to the ceiling of the Sanctuary.

Then he began to scream.

Louder than anyone had ever heard him scream before. His throat burned as if it would tear itself asunder from the effort of screaming. His lungs swelled beyond their natural size from trying to breathe through the pain that wracked every inch of his figure. It was as though every nerve, every bone, every scale, every inch of flesh in his body had been set ablaze. Fleeting blinding images of Words of Power and Dragons and Dragon Shouts flooded his mind's eye before being swallowed away into the unknown black void. His Dragon soul writhed and convulsed and spasmed inside him. Its deafening roars of agony resounded across the walls of his skull. Then it too was consumed by the shadows.

It ended almost as soon as it began. Sal slumped forward, his chin dropping onto his chest. Labored breathing was all that came from him. The faces of the Daedric Princes dissolved into the darkness. Roaring waterfalls, Lydia's quiet sobbing, and Elenwen's triumphant laughter both assaulted his eardrums.

"It works!" Elenwen exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in triumph. "It actually works! The Apocalypse Anathema is a success!"

"No!" Asta cried, holding her hands to her shattering heart, tears filling her eyes. "Not the Last Dragonborn!"

"You sacrilegious Daedra-worshipping heathens!" Sond spat, gritting his teeth. "Kyne will not let this violation of her chosen champion pass unpunished!"

"You Thalmor walk a dark and dangerous path!" Maurice glared coldly and pointed an accusatory finger at Elenwen. "Blood shall be repaid with blood, and spirit repaid with spirit! Beware nature's spiteful wrath when Kynareth's faithful come calling!"

"Sal-Gheel…" Lydia moaned, trying to keep her stinging tears from falling down her face.

"Rulindil," Elenwen addressed her head interrogator. "The Apocalypse Anathema has been an unprecedented success. It exceeded all expectations and defied all odds. But I believe there are still some facets of it that can be ironed out; the timing and the duration of it could both be shortened. Yet I have no doubt that you and Ancano and Estormo can refine it to its most perfect form, in case we are unable to acquire the Scroll."

"You haven't even tested it out on proper subjects yet?" Lydia asked, horrified.

"I'll admit it was crafted in a hurry," Ondolemar explained, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. "Hence why we require the Scroll. As Estormo said, it is still in its beta stages, and needs much refining."

"What did you do to him?!" Lydia shouted, her empty sadness turning to fiery anger. "What did you do to the Dragonborn?"

"Believe me, Housecarl," A wicked sneer tugged at Elenwen's lips. "You don't want to know. Suffice it to say that he has been…weakened beyond all manner of healing."

"What we stole from him belongs to the Daedra now," Ancano added, wringing his wrists. He was unable to wipe the sly, malicious smile from his face. "Perhaps, if they are feeling generous, they'll bestow its power upon us as a reward. I will be able to wield it for myself, his grand awesome power. Imagine how powerful we could become with it, how I could become." His look turned distant, as if suddenly lost in fantastical imaginations.

"Kill me, then!" Sal growled, lifting his head up in anguish. "Kill me and be done with it!"

"No!" Elenwen snapped back, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You must be made to suffer!"

She jabbed the finger into his forehead, pushed his head upright, and said nothing for a short moment.

"Ah…" she spoke at length, an immeasurable satisfaction in her voice. "There it is, the location of the Elder Scroll. I knew that if we broke you down to your core that you would have no protections left to hide it from us; from me. It's ours now."

She removed her finger, and Sal's chin fell back onto his chest.

"Prepare to travel to Winterhold immediately," Elenwen ordered, turning her back to him and addressing her troops. "Rulindil, take Ancano and Estormo and conjure portals outside the Sanctuary to transport our full force to the College. Captain Valmir, you and your soldiers from Northwatch may remain here. Keep watch on our prisoners. We shall call upon you if we require reinforcements. The rest of you, steel yourselves. The mages of the College are made of sterner stuff than most of their kind. They will not take kindly to our intrusion, and we must be prepared for every possible hostility. That will be all. Move out."

Rulindil pivoted on his heels and began to march down to the entrance of the Sanctuary. Ancano and Estormo walked at his sides, lighting the braziers as they went. The two Thalmor guards removed their daggers from Sond and Asta and pushed them down onto the ground in disgust.

Elenwen smirked at Sal over her shoulder, unable to wipe the triumphant glow from her face. "Thank you for your cooperation, Sal-Gheel. May whatever deities you worship have mercy on you and your soul."

She snapped her fingers in Lydia's direction. The steel cage dissolved into fine dust. Lydia fell to the ground beside the others, who immediately rushed to her aid.

"You've been cooperative thus far as well, to my honest surprise," Elenwen remarked, sneering with disdain. "Go ahead and take what is left of your precious Last Dragonborn while you still can. We'll be back later once we've acquired the Elder Scroll to dispose of you properly."

Elenwen descended the brazier-lit footpath away from the Eldergleam. The two Thalmor Warriors followed behind her. Only Captain Valmir, the soldiers from Northwatch, and one of the Thalmor Archers remained.

Asta and Sond helped Lydia to her feet. Maurice had knelt on the ground, sitting on his ankles; he bowed his head and clasped his hands together in silent prayer. Shaking the dust from the cage out of her hair, she scrambled straight towards Sal. What she saw broke her heart in two.

The Argonian was staring up at the ceiling of the Sanctuary, his eyes misted and his gaze distant. All color had drained from his face. His once labored breaths had faded into utter silence.

"Sal-Gheel?" Lydia asked, her voice weak. "Are you all right?"

For a few seconds, Sal did not reply. Then, "The sun, Lydia…" he muttered, his voice wooden, almost lifeless. "The sun has abandoned my sky. It's gone. It's all gone."

"What's gone?" Lydia took Sal's face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs in an attempt to comfort him.

"The Thu'um," Sal answered, his eyes never wavering from the roof. "I can't feel it anymore. I can't hear or sense the Dragon inside me. The Shouts…they're gone from my mind. I can't remember them anymore. They're all gone."

"Sal-Gheel…" Lydia ran her hands from her face down to his shoulders and onto his chest.

Sal lowered his head to look Lydia in the eyes. "Lydia. Listen to me. There's nothing more you can do. The Thalmor stripped the power of the Thu'um from me. All of the Dragon Souls I've ever absorbed; Boethiah, Molag Bal, and Mephala swallowed them. Every last one. The Thu'um is gone from me. I can feel it. I no longer have its power. I've lost it forever."

"No…" A strangled cry escaped Lydia. Fresh new tears filled her eyes, and she trembled as she spread her fingers over Sal's chest. "No, that's not possible! We can still get it back! I'll do everything in my power to get it back from the Thalmor, even if I have to die doing it!"

"There's nothing more you can do, Lydia," the despairing Sal shook his head. "Get out of here. Save yourself. Leave me here. I'm powerless without the Thu'um. I can't believe I took it for granted all this time. You need to go and leave me to die. I'm done. I'm dead inside. You can no longer save me."

"That's not true!" Lydia wept, the tears now freely streaming down her face. Her entire body shook with heavy sobs. "I'm your Housecarl, Sal! I can still save you!"

"Find Alfarinn and Misty and ride back to Windhelm," Sal ordered, his voice falling into a weightless whisper. "Shahvee…tell Shahvee that I loved her. Tell my brothers that I gave my life so that they could keep theirs. Tell my hatchlings…that their egg-father died fighting for them. And tell yourself, Lydia, that your Thane sacrificed himself for you."

"I'm sorry, Sal-Gheel!" Lydia collapsed on her knees, her hands sliding down Sal's body and falling to her sides. "I am your Housecarl, and I failed you! I'm sorry, my Thane! I'm so sorry!"

"This is not your fault, Lydia," Tears now filled Sal's eyes, and he could not stop them. "It's all my fault. I never should have left Windhelm. I never should have gone to Whiterun, or Ivarstead, or High Hrothgar. If I had stayed home…none of this would have happened."

"I'll make this right, Sal!" Lydia looked up, her tear-stained face and eyes a mess to behold. "I'll make all of this right, for you, for both of us!"

But Sal shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lydia. You can't make it right. We can't make it right. Not this time."

"No-," Lydia tried to say, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

"Death soon comes for me, Lydia. I can already feel it creeping up on me. All I have to do now is wait. Soon my soul shall separate from my body. Akatosh takes my Dragon soul back to be with him. As for my Argonian essence, Sovngarde is not my place. I am a child of the Hist. My body, my soul, my life essence, my memories, and every fiber of my very being; they are all one in the Hist. I will be reabsorbed into the hive mind of the trees."

"That's why you've been so traumatized," Lydia realized in a broken whisper through her tears.

"I visited an afterlife that wasn't even mine to visit," Sal completed the thought for her. "Nords belong to Sovngarde. I belong to the Hist."

His head dropped onto his chest for the last time. "Maybe...just maybe...I'll see my parents again."

"Sal-Gheel, no!" Lydia stood up again and grabbed Sal by the shoulders, trying to shake sense into him. "Don't say that, Sal! We can still fix this problem!"

"That's quite enough out of you!" Captain Valmir stepped up behind Lydia. He grabbed her elbows and forced the armored Nord to her feet. "Your melodramatic sentiments are getting increasingly annoying. There is nothing left you can do now! Come!"

"No!" Lydia objected, wriggling against the Captain's grip. But one of the soldiers from Northwatch put a magical gag around her mouth, while the other tied her hands behind her back. Lydia shrieked in vain behind the frozen-cold muzzle as the two guards began dragging her away.

"Let her go!" Sal cried out, raising his head, his eyes now burning with fresh rage. "If you hurt her, I'll rip your limbs off one at a time!"

"Silence, scaleskin!" Valmir grabbed Sond and Asta and dragged them away down the path. Try as they might, they could not wrench themselves from his clutches. The Thalmor Archer also bound Maurice's hands behind his back and towed him away. Sal could only watch in horror as the Thalmor stole them and Lydia out of the Sanctuary.

Valmir passed the three Sanctuary dwellers off to his soldiers who ascended the stone steps that led outside. Then he returned back up to the Eldergleam. He snapped his fingers at Sal. The magical chains that suspended him went slack. Sal yelped as he crashed onto the ground on his chest.

Valmir made a few swift magical gestures. The chains rose from the floor and fused as one into a thick steel collar that tied itself around Sal's neck. Valmir conjured a third chain from thin air which he attached to the collar.

"Now, Dragonborn," A sadistic laugh coated Valmir's speech. "Crawl."

He used telekinesis to lift Sal onto his hands and knees. Hoisting the chain, he marched once more down the way to the entrance of the Eldergleam Sanctuary. Sal stiffened up at first, but every time Valmir shook or jerked the chain, a cold, stabbing electric current shot through his body.

So, he crawled like a dog behind the Altmer all the way down. Sharp rocks and stray strips of bark cut into the scales of his palms and kneecaps, and bled the tender skin beneath. Dirt and dust infected the open bleeding wounds. Valmir's perverse hysterics resonated throughout the enormous cave as he dragged the pitifully degraded Argonian behind him.

Sal collapsed once they reached the entrance. Valmir grumbled impatiently and kicked at Sal's unconscious body. But the Argonian would not budge. Valmir dropped the chain on the ground beside Sal, and knelt down to whisper in his ear.

"Goodbye, Dragonborn. May your failure pave the way for your passage into the afterlife."

He turned and disappeared up the stone steps that led outside to the plains, leaving Sal-Gheel alone.