Eye for an Eye

8˂

When L'laarzen stepped into the communal room the next morning, she noticed an amusing reversal in temperament. She was feeling pleasantly refreshed, whereas Enthir looked like...

"Oh, great, the Chaurus lady finally awakens from her beauty sleep." The Bosmer glared at her. "Is my bed free yet?"

"Yyyyes." L'laarzen remembered his words from the previous night and smiled apologetically. "Ah...sorry?"

"Good. Move." He stood, shoved past her, and stormed out into the meadery.

"Don't mind him." Karliah requested, also in the room. "He's just spent the last eight hours translating a fifty page journal from Falmer into Dwemer into modern Tamrielic. Frankly he deserves a break. I told him he could probably just do the last few pages, but no, 'too high a chance for mistranslations' he said. I think he was actually having fun...for the first few hours."

Karliah's complexion was also rather sour, but frankly the Dunmer had looked sleep deprived every time L'laarzen had seen her, so it was hard to tell whether she'd rested or not.

"But he has succeeded?" L'laarzen asked, joining her at the table. "The journal is legible?"

"Oh, it is." Karliah sighed, pinching her nose. "I almost wish it wasn't...take a look, he's written it out." She pushed a creased stack of handwritten pages across the table.

L'laarzen reached out for them...then stopped, and looked back up at Karliah. "You could have had him write anything you wanted here." Stupid, Khajiit should have stayed throughout the translation. But would that even help, if both were committed to lie to me?

Karliah just rolled her eyes. "You can take the rubbing and the journal to any other scholar in Skyrim and check, if you'd like." She offered. "But I don't think any of us have the time. And if what Gallus suspected is true, there'll be a much simpler proof once we get back to Riften."

"Hmm...then Khajiit shall trust you for now." L'laarzen leaned back. "So? What have we learned?"

"Another three or four reasons for me to want that scheming, lying, traitorous bastard Mercer dead." Karliah replied, unhelpfully.

L'laarzen raised an eyebrow, and Karliah sighed again. "I suppose I'll have to tell you everything now. You'll need to know it all if you have to come face to face with him again." Karliah leaned in. "Tell me...have you ever heard of the Skeleton Key?"

L'laarzen's eyes widened. That...is not what Khajiit was expecting. "What thief hasn't heard of that?" She replied.

"What hairdresser has?" Karliah shot back, wryly. L'laarzen winced, and she continued, "but what have you heard? Specifically?"

"It is the tool any criminal would want." L'laarzen answered, thinking about it. "A key that can open any lock. Any door, any safe. L'laarzen always assumed it was a myth, though with the number of frightening artefacts we do know of, that might be a somewhat close-minded opinion."

"Hmph. That's the basics of it, yes." Karliah nodded. "I suppose I should drop all the bombshells at once:

The Skeleton key is real. It's a Daedric artefact of Nocturnal. The Nightingales are the servants of Nocturnal, and up until recently, our duty was to defend the Key."

L'laarzen blinked. Blinked again. "...You are part of a Daedric cult?"

"It's not a cult!" Karliah snapped, defensively. "It's...well, more of a company than anything. Or a supplier and her customers."

"Do you offer your life or soul to a Daedric Prince in exchange for power?" L'laarzen asked, flatly.

"...Yes."

"Then it's a cult." The nice lady at Azura's shrine, Aranea, she mentioned something about Nocturnal...L'laarzen's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's how you evaded Khajiit!"

Karliah went from offended to confused in a second. "You...what?"

"When we fought in Snow Veil! You vanished into thin air with no warning!" L'laarzen pointed a finger accusingly. "That was some Daedric power, yes?"

"It...was, yes." Karliah straightened, recovering somewhat. "I'm a disciple of the crescent moon. Once every moonrise I can turn completely invisible on a whim. I...honestly wasn't sure it would still work, but you pushed me to try."

L'laarzen crossed her arms and sat back, smiling smugly. "So L'laarzen would have won."

"Excuse me? I was going to shoot you if you hadn't-"

"You ambushed Khajiit, and she still would have won if you didn't sell your soul to a Daedra. That makes her better."

"If you'd been the only one I was aiming for, I would have no problem landing that shot."

"Odd, then, that you still-" L'laarzen stopped herself, then coughed. "Ah. Forgive Khajiit, that was immature, she did not mean to-"

"It's fine." Karliah chuckled. "Good to see some geniune bitter pride from you. Frankly, I'm just glad I could get the mask to break."

"What mask?" L'laarzen asked, while thinking 'Damn, she saw through the mask.'

"You know what I mean. You're always so perfectly nice, it's- nevermind." Karliah waved a hand. "Anyway. Me, Gallus, and Mercer were all Nightingales, as you know, which means we all worked for Nocturnal. However, it seems Mercer was less than faithful." She picked up Enthir's translation, flicking to nearer the back. "Gallus started to suspect that Mercer was stealing from the guild's secure vault, almost caught him trying once. Breaking in there would be impossible, we've made sure of it. Well, unless he has the Key. If he did, it would be trivial."

L'laarzen frowned, thinking back to her shared journey with the man through Snow Veil. "Was he expert with picking locks before?"

"No." Karliah snorted. "He was lousy, by a thief's standards. Mercer was a bruiser, ran the protection rackets and other dirty jobs."

"So not good enough to open a Nordic puzzle door without a corresponding claw?"

"Daedra, no. I'm not even sure that's possible." Karliah grit her teeth. "I was wondering how he got through to me so quickly...it was one of the first clues that set me on the idea." She gestured at L'laarzen's neck, which still bore an unnatural swelling from the time she'd been gripped about the throat. "It would also explain why he was such a juggernaut during our fight..."

L'laarzen's arm unconsciously moved down to her ribs. They were still hurting, and the rough treatment she'd put them through on her way to and from Markarth (and her exertions in the city) had done nothing to help matters. Need to visit a priest, but... "How could a key make a man hit harder?"

"It's not just a key for regular locks, it's-" Karliah grimaced. "Damnit, Gallus was always better at this...It's the ultimate key. In the vaguest possible terms, a 'key' is just 'something that opens the way'. And the Skeleton Key does. To anything." She leaned backwards, looking to the ceiling. "Gallus said it could open doors between dimensions. Unlock the Evergloam, or break into any other realm of Oblivion. He was demonstrating it when he first recruited me, and he used it to find this tiny crack in a wall that brought the whole thing down. He said it could unlock the way into people's hearts, too. He held it while talking to me, and in less than a minute, he sent me from raging with fury to shaking with laughter, to damn near depressed to a-" she coughed, "excited. I could hardly understand what was happening to me; I am not an emotional person."

"That's a very wide range of abilities for one artefact." L'laarzen observed.

"That's Nocturnal for you. Molag Bal or Malacath might give you a weapon that makes you nigh unstoppable, but the lady of shadows is...subtler. Frankly, the only limit to what it can do is how imaginative you are with defining a 'lock'." Karliah drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. "Gallus said a wielder of the Key could use it to unlock limitations within themselves. You ever heard of hysterical strength? Mercer actually mentioned it to me once, the idea that the body is capable of much more than it lets on, but you're consciously restricted from doing it because you might hurt yourself. Fun fact, you could chomp through your own finger as easily a carrot, but your mind stops you."

"What cheery things Mercer speaks of." L'laarzen responded. "And you think this 'hysterical strength' is what he used to strike so brutally? That something similar allowed him to overcome the poison?"

"It's entirely possible." Karliah shrugged. "Gallus gave me a warning, that the Key could open restrictions in your own mind. Cut through doubts, biases...remorse." She narrowed her eyes. "Mercer has held the Key for years now. He might not have anything left in his head beyond pure avarice."

It was a concerning thought. Everyone L'laarzen had ever met could be counted on to have some kind of weakness. What is L'laarzen's? Her mercy? It certainly seems to get in the way a lot...

She dismissed the thoughts and changed the subject. "This Gallus...you seem to value his advice highly."

"I loved him." Karliah responded, confirming that theory. "He was my mentor, my confidante, my lover...my everything. The gold was always secondary, to be honest. Fun, but all I really wanted was to come back home to him...that's why I can't just let this go and move to any other nation in Tamriel. I need to set right what was done to him." She stared down at the table for a few seconds, then looked up and huffed. "And you've done it again! You've got me talking about my feelings. How?"

"Sometimes a friendly face is all that's needed." L'laarzen beamed. "If you'd like, this one could cut your hair too?"

"Not on your life." Karliah chuckled and leaned back, some of the gloomy mood leaving.

L'laarzen snickered with her. "Very well. Then, what do you think is our next move?"

"We only have one option." Karliah answered. "We go back to Riften. Try to convince them to hear us out. At this point, we have enough evidence to at arouse their suspicion, at least, and if they open the vault and find less than they're expecting, it should be enough to turn the tables on Frey." She blew out a breath, not seeming very keen on the idea. "But he's had years to get into their heads. I'm not sure if they'll listen to me."

"Perhaps not." L'laarzen admitted. Her eyes narrowed. "But they will listen to me."

"I...thought you only spoke in third person?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a second-language quirk, the Khajiiti language is structured differently to Tamrielic. L'laarzen- I can speak like a local if I must."

"Oh, good to know. It was more dramatic in first person."

"Yes, I thought so too."

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Short fight. Simplest possible truth. I cannot let Elisif die. Which means...

Dulurza heard the footsteps behind her. The sudden burst of speed had forced the ambushers to break stealth. Good.

She stuck a leg out and used a tree to stop herself suddenly, then push herself off in the same motion, turning around to see the shocked face of another Orc rushing towards her not three metres away. She recognised him, actually, a warrior she'd trained with more than once.

The butt of her axe shot forwards and cracked into his forehead.

He stumbled, stunned, and she moved past him, grabbing his face with one arm and slamming the back of his head into a tree. He dropped.

"Dulurza! What in Oblivion do you think-"

Another male's voice, to her right. She spun anti-clockwise, swinging her axe around with one hand. This target was more prepared, ducking underneath it, but he wasn't ready for her knee cracking into his chin, the upwards momentum sending him almost off his feet. Probably enough, but Dulurza wasn't certain, so she brought up her leg and slammed her heel into his chest, forcing him down onto his back with a groan and the sound of cracking ribs.

"KEEP RUNNING!" Dulurza yelled at Elisif, who had stopped a few metres away to turn and look. The startled Jarl didn't need telling again, fleeing towards the walls. Dulurza turned back, to see two more Orcs charging towards her.

Idiots, this pair (she couldn't remember their names, so just designated them One and Two), but here that stupidity worked in their favour. They didn't bother to question why she was suddenly an enemy. They just came in, maces swinging.

Dulurza deflected One, letting his momentum carry him past her, then stood firm and blocked Two, stonewalling him. He staggered backwards and she cracked him twice in the face with the haft of her axe,left and right, then spun around and brought her weapon down on the wild upswing of One, knocking his mace down into the floor. She punched him in the jaw with her off-hand, kicked his bent leg and heard a break, then brought her axe over her head and blocked Two's retaliation at the elbow. She moved into him and brought one arm up to grab his weapon hand, used her axe as a pivot and yanked. He cried out as his arm broke, then again as she threw him down over her shoulder and slammed into the floor. He was done, but she stomped on him anyway, putting her weight on him as she swung her axe up and clocked the recovering One right on the forehead as he tried to get up, rendering him unconscious (and very concussed) before his head hit the ground.

The whole ordeal had taken less than ten seconds.

"Runts. The lot of you." Dulurza spat at one, irritated. Then she got to her feet, and sprinted after her charge.

It didn't take very long to find her.

"Hey, little sister." Growled Borgakh the Steel Heart, sword to the throat of a whimpering Elisif the Fair. "Mind telling me what in the name of Malacath you are doing?"

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"Ah, yes, the troublemaker." Thonar looked down at Hjar, who (alone out of her compatriots) had not taken a step back at the sight of their much more armed and armoured foes. This left her stood feeling pretty exposed, actually, but she'd be damned before she backed down with this audience. So she just said "Yep, that me."

"And as I understand it, this is something of a reunion." Thonar clapped his hands together, gesturing to the others beside him. "Logrolf, you've left quite an impression on. He promised me Markarth if I only gave him you in return. I'd say he's more than fulfilled his end of the bargain so far."

Logrolf chuckled to himself, and Thonar continued, moving his arm to point at the next woman along. "Ah, Urzoga, you are deserving of a raise, my dear. I was worried when Logrolf started talking to you, but I'm glad those fears were unfounded. I didn't know you could act."

Hjar glared at the Orc. "You lied about being a Forsworn."

"And you believed me." Urzoga laughed. "I have no idea how that worked! Were you desperate, or just dumb?"

"That...is a good question." Hjar, despite being absolutely furious, was able to admit when her mind had let her down. "I'd like to say it was the latter; it felt wrong, I just didn't have any...oh, now I remember." Hjar narrowed her eyes. "You never mentioned that Madanach and I were related. If he'd wanted to prove it to me, that'd be the first thing he'd have you say."

"You two are related?" Urzoga blinked, before laughing again.

"Sloppy..." muttered Madanach, from Hjar's right shoulder.

"Oh, shut up. You're the one who sent two traitor guards to help stop six from trying to kill me." She hissed back.

"How was I to know-"

"And finally!" Thonar cut across them. He slapped a palm down on the shoulder of the person directly by his side. "My wonderful guest of the last week. Margret, anything to say?"

Margret had spent almost a full minute alternating between staring right at Hjar and staring blankly into space. Eventually she refocused on Hjar, opened her mouth, and said "...You're a Forsworn."

"...Yeah." Hjar replied.

"You've been a...since we..."

"Mmhmm."

"...I am a terrible spy!" Margret shouted it at the ceiling, and Hjar couldn't help but snicker. "Oh, Divines it was so obvious. With the 'family' talk, then you literally went after the Forsworn, and then all the talk about Hircine, and the way you dress, and the way you forgot to dress, I-This is embarrassing. Please, we can't ever tell my superiors about this. I'll never live it down."

"Noted." Hjar looked back at Thonar. "Any more introductions? Got my presumed-dead dad squirrelled away back there? Or are you going to stop grandstanding and get down to business?"

"Hah! Very well." Thonar crossed his arms. "Logrolf assures me you're a threat. I'm inclined to believe him. So I'd like you to surrender right now, or we'll kill the pretty girl."

He gestured, and Urzoga pulled up her sword closer to Margret's throat, meriting a hiss. "You're damsel-in-distress-ing me?" The redhead was able to gurgle. "I'm being damseled? Oh, this just keeps making me look worse and worse..."

Inside, Hjar was panicking. You son of a Falmer-groping, milk drinking, dog-snogging fetcher! You die first! Outside, she raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Behind her, Madanach let out a bark of laughter. "Hah! You're trying to hold an Imperial spy hostage against the Forsworn? Are you desperate, or just dumb?" He repeated Urgoza's words back at them, unaware of Hjar's profanity-based internal monologue. "My granddaughter might have taken a liking to the girl, but she'd never betray her brethren for her. Do as you wish."

"And, you know." Hjar added, crossing her arms to match Thonar's indifference. "If I do surrender, there's nothing to stop you killing me and then her. As a matter of fact, it would be stupid to do anything else. So no."

"Oh really?" Thonar glanced at Urzoga, who brought the blade tighter to Margret's neck, drawing blood.

Margret started breathing shallowly, flexing her arms in her restraints, while Hjar tried to stop her hands from tightening into fists or her wolf form tearing free. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, but her opponents must be too far away to see it.

If he murders her in front of us to no reaction, it'll look bad. That was what she was banking on. Margret's an Imperial agent, Markarth technically works for the Empire, if he murders an ally in cold blood the guards might frown on that. If he doesn't think we'll care, he logically would be taking less of a risk if he didn't kill her...Of course, this was all just subtitled beneath the big and glaring There's Literally Nothing I Can Do.

Thonar seemed to be having the same ideas, causing a glimmer of hope to appear in her heart. His eyes flickered back towards his men, and his posture became tenser as the seconds passed.

Hjar began to think she might actually get away with it...

Until Logrolf (who had been staring at her face the whole time) suddenly grinned, walked over, and whispered something in Thonar's ear.

Thonar paused, and then chuckled. "Oh, how devious. My advisor here makes a good point! It's hardly a fair test of your motives under these circumstances, is it?" He glanced over to Urzoga. "Let her go."

...Oh, for f-

Urzoga looked confused, but did so, and Thonar stepped up behind Margret and gave her a mighty shove, sending her stumbling down the steps to the entrance. She tripped partway down, and with her hands bound she ended up crashing roughly and rolling the rest of the way.

Hjar couldn't help but flinch forwards, barely stopping herself running to help the woman.

"Let's see what kind of people you are!" Thonar called out. "She's yours now. An enemy, but a helpless one. Are the Forsworn barbarians, or can you be civilised?"

No. No no no, Logrolf must have fed him the word 'civilised'-

"We want no part of any civilisation ran by slavers, thieves and profiteers!" Madanach shouted, the final nail in the coffin. "A poor choice! If you had unbound her, she might have helped you." He turned to Hjar. "It seems they doubt your resolve, granddaughter. Time to show these people where your loyalty truly lies."

Hjar stared at him for a long moment. Then nodded, and turned.

She was trapped. Logrolf had played her like a damn fiddle. He's a madman. He got his own Jarl killed, just to advance his own goals, and now...If I kill Margret, the Forsworn only look more like monsters, and the guards come down and butcher us. But he doesn't think I will. And if I don't, my own people turn on me. Damn him! He's thirty feet away but he has me by the throat.

She walked slowly, then knelt down beside Margret, who had managed to pull herself up to her knees.

"Hey." She said, quietly. "Sorry about all this. I should have been smarter, maybe it wouldn't have come this far."

"S'fine." Margret looked up at her, wincing, and smiled. "If I'd've been smarter, I wouldn't have got caught. Logrolf, he knew you'd come after me." She glanced away, then back up to Hjar's eyes. "So, if you're a Forsworn...then you're my enemy."

"Mmhmm." Hjar admitted, looking to the floor.

Margret nodded, and took in a shaky breath. "So then why did you save me? Why did you help me? Why...when you killed Nepos, why didn't I die?"

Wasn't that the question of the hour. "At first, in the marketplace, I didn't know what was going on. I was just helping someone in need." Hjar admitted. "Then I thought you were useful, and then, I..." she sighed. "I thought you had pretty hair."

Margret stared at her. Then broke down giggling. "Pretty hair?"

"I like the red, okay? And the waviness. And it's so smooth, how do you get it so smooth?" Hjar was blushing, and Margret had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud.

Then someone somewhere coughed, and they both winced.

"In that case." Margret met Hjar's eyes. "What are you going to do now?"

Hjar breathed out. "I'm going to do the right thing."

The question then became: what was the right thing to do?

Hjar stood up, and began thinking.

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The Augur had said that the Staff of Magnus would let one see through the wizard-god's eye without being blinded.

The Staff itself certainly helped one see. It was a tool of both observation and manipulation, magnifying glass and surgical knife all in one. It connected Xander to whatever he aimed it at, and allowed him to view it's workings. Be it a mere bank of cells like those within a mage, the defensive structure of a ward, or the twisted, entangled wrongness of an anomaly. (Those things were nasty, by the way. The reason they'd been discharged by the Eye was because they were such a messed up jumble of magicka it had had to purge them for its own safety.)

This was why so many theorised that the Staff was somehow intelligent, consciously abandoning those wielders who grew too powerful, and why those wielders seemed to grow in magical knowledge so quickly.

But looking at the Eye itself...

Alexander could not comprehend it. Literally. He physically could not understand it, because he wasn't an Et'Arda level consciousness. His puny mortal concepts of time and space, cause and effect, could not stretch to fit the vastness and complexity of what was inside.

But while a flat painting would not be able to understand it's painter's three dimensional glory, it might be able to comprehend the painter's shadow on the wall. What Xander did know was...

The Aetherius.

Sweet Merciful Divines, it's a portal to the Aetherius.

Home of the Magna-Ge, final home of all uncorrupted souls, font of all magicka, the place only accessible to mortals through death or achievement of Chim. The only other portals to the Aetherius were the sun and stars, estimated by different scholars as anywhere from one to one thousand to one million planetary radii away. But this one was in the mortal plane, and it was sitting in the College's lecture hall.

I think I know now why the early Nords hid this under Saarthal...

But Xander didn't need to understand the Aetherius to use it. He had a star, gift wrapped for ease of delivery, and a drinking straw poking through a hole in the wrapping paper.

Magic please?

Magic was given.

He lit up a fireball in his hand and threw it.

It crashed into Ancano's face, making him stumble, but did no visible damage to him. Neither did the blast of chain lightning, nor the ice storm that followed it. Ancano scowled, generating a blue ball of energy in hands and launching a storm of magical something.

Xander put his hand out, and summoned a ward. What had until now been all but impossible was just a matter of whim. He made the shield grow to an enormous size as the energy crashed into him and billowed out to either side of him.

"UNLIMITED-" He declared, switching the ward out for electricity-

"POOOWEEEEEEER!"

The masters, stood in the courtyard, stared with mouths agape as the doors to the Hall of Elements were blown open. A deafening crackling sound filled the air, accompanied by a booming voice from inside, as the walls lit up with masses of electricity, purple lightning jumping through all the windows and vanishing into the night.

"Incredible..." Breathed Drevis.

"The magnitude of power on display..." Exclaimed Faralda.

"Even wielding the staff, this is..." Sergius muttered.

"Xander simply cannot be an ordinary apprentice..." Phinis summarised.

"And the Archmage knew the whole time..." Colette gasped.

"But if not an apprentice, then...what is he?" Tolfdir wondered.

"Everyone focus!" Mirabelle shouted, eyes on the motes of light that were escaping from the hall. "Xander was right! More anomalies, coming this way!"

Outside, the masters held the line. Inside, the two titans clashed again.

Xander reached his hand out and tugged, casting the telekinesis spell but on a scale he'd only ever dreamed of.

Whatever ward Ancano had summoned around himself absorbed energy, but couldn't do anything for simple momentum; he was swept up off his feet and dragged forwards to Xander's waiting palm. Jumping up, Xander grabbed the Mer around the face, blasted it with as many volts as he could channel, and then slammed him into the floor.

I've always wanted to do that-OH GODS-

An explosion of energy sent him flying up into the air. Ancano (unharmed) grabbed Xander's leg, spun, and threw him across the room, sending him crashing into a pillar.

The pain was indescribable. So he healed it. Golden light pulsed through his off-hand, revitalising exhausted cells, healing torn muscle and broken bone. He stumbled back to his feet, and just barely was able to raise a ward in time to block Ancano's next assault.

His right arm never left the Staff of Magnus, and it's beam never left the Eye.

Above them, dozens of anomalies swirled in erratic, eddying circles. The Eye was practically falling apart, segments splitting and hovering to vent energy from inside, revealing a blue light that almost blinded Xander when he looked straight at it. Not to mention he was sweating buckets; the temperature in the room had skyrocketed and Xander genuinely thought he was getting a sunburn.

I need to end this now.

He focused on Ancano and narrowed his eyes.

The mage's connection to the Eye was novice, halting, primitive and inefficient. But he'd had long hours to master using it. The invincible shield (reminiscent of the first Draugr guarding the Eye) was proof of that, as was the fact that he had both hands free to fight with, letting his 'cord' attach automatically to his body somewhere at his chest.

Need to separate him from the Eye, but how? Use the staff on him instead?

Xander had no better ideas, so he tried it.

The moment he broke contact with the eye, every anomaly in the room instantly turned and started flying towards him, and his eyes widened as a storm of white-blue converged on his position. They're not just excess corrupt energy, they're programmed to try and hunt down what's causing it distress. Every outside magicka signal is a target for them, no wonder they keep attacking people! He turned and found his next target quickly, and his staff's beam cut through Ancano's next attack and took the Elf in the stomach, eliciting a howl of rage. The moment it did so, the anomalies instantly lost interest, breaking around Xander and scattering across the room again in...Flocks? Schools? Murders? Let's go with murders.

"YOU PARASITE!" Ancano howled, which seemed a bit hypocritical. "YOU DARE TO STEAL WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE?"

Xander stole Ancano's magic as it entered his body, yes. But Ancano responded by drawing on even more magicka from the Eye. The stream of lightning connecting him to it intensified, almost doubling in width and height, and Xander winced as actual cracks started to appear in the artefact's surface.

"You dismissed me! The Archmage dismissed me! Everyone always has! BUT NO MORE!" Ancano screamed, clearly having lost the plot entirely. He stretched his arms outwards, and blasts of magical power tore out, turning in midair and homing in on Xander.

Oh bugger.

He created another ward, realised too late that they were coming from above, the sides, behind, and switched to just buffing himself up with as strong a flesh spell as he could before the bombardment hit him.

The force of the attack was muffled, but each one still hurt like a kick from a horse. He was shoved in all directions, finally losing his grip on the staff entirely and crashing to the floor, groaning. A chittering noise became more pronounced, as once again the murder of anomalies began to swarm towards him.

He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears, and looked up. Ahead, Ancano, eyes burning with rage. Behind him, the staff clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop. Behind that, the Eye, minutes from collapsing. Above it all, a torrent of white crashing down towards him.

He breathed in.

I get it, Ancano. I really do.

"FEIM!" The wave of anomalies hit him, and passed through. With the last of his strength, he forced himself back up to his feet and started running.

You want recognition. You want power. You want people to quake as they pass you, to be helpless before your knowledge and might. I know what it's like; I want it too.

Ancano fired another blast of magic, and once again it passed right through Xander, who charged straight for the Mer with determination in his eyes.

Issue is, there need to be people. There'll be nobody to cower in fear and adoration if you've killed them all.

Ancano stumbled backwards, eyes wide, as Xander reached out for him-

And then passed through.

But I'm not going to pretend this is for any kind of ideological reason. I'm here because of one simple thing.

He emerged out from the other side, spun around, and stuck his foot out, hooking it beneath the Staff of Magnus.

"You tried to kill my friends." He snarled. He kicked the staff up, and caught it in his hand as the etherealness relented.

The lightning from the Eye struck him in the back, and indescribable pain rushed through his body. Broken, unbalanced magicka flowing into him. But now he had intercepted the flow, Ancano was cut off.

"And now..." He grit out, glaring as his body shook. "You're going to die."

Ancano, for the first time in the fight, just shut up.

Then the anomalies fell on him from all sides, and he was engulfed in white.

Xander didn't waste time trying to confirm the kill. He just turned around to the Eye with the staff and reattached to it, energy entering through his chest and leaving again through his arm.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to stop a planar level crisis."

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Hjar's mother had taught her a very useful phrase, once. 'If the sky is blue, I want to believe the sky is blue. If the sky is not blue, I want to believe the sky is not blue'. It sounded a bit silly, but it's meaning was obvious. It was a reminder that trying to make herself believe things that weren't true would only cause her more problems.

So. What is true?

Thonar Silver-Blood is a bad person.

That was an easy one. He was a slaver, a greedy man who cared nothing for human life beyond what he could take from it, who cared nothing for his city except that it was where he happened to own property. And he had tried to kill Margret.

Thonar is guilty. He deserves to die.

Okay, what else?

Fact: Bretons used to live in the Reach. So did the Nords. Bretons used to own the Reach, but based on some stories of Man's arrival in Tamriel that might not always have been true.

Fact: Shortly before my birth, the Bretons of the Reach launched an attack on Markarth, believing they were entitled to it. Many Nords came to hate them for this.

Fact: Igmund hired Ulfric Stormcloak and his militia to retake the city for Skyrim, as the Empire (which Skyrim was a part of) was too busy with a war. During this retaking, many Reachmen and innocent Bretons were killed. Igmund later reneged on that promise and was reabsorbed by the Empire.

Fact: Since then, Igmund and the Silver-Bloods have enslaved or murdered any and all Forsworn (or suspected Forsworn conspirators) with no respect for due process, while also allowing Madanach to control them from within the mine.

Fact: During this time, Forsworn camps outside the walls have persisted in the face of persecution by the nation's forces. They have also behaved as violent criminals, attacking debatably innocent people.

Fact: The most widely accepted reasoning for the Forsworn attacks is that they believe that they are entitled to ownership of the Reach, and that their targets are all impediments to this cause.

Fact: Nords and Bretons can both trace lineages until the end of living memory within the Reach. Those who identify as 'Reachmen' or 'citizens of Skyrim' are not necessarily drawn on racial lines, but cultural ones.

Fact: Neither side can realistically claim that their culture deserves dominion over the region for any reason other than ability to enforce this dominion.

Fact: Members of both sides, particularly their orchestrators, are therefore responsible for reprehensible acts without a justifiable goal.

Conclusion:..

Hjar didn't want to think it. She'd been trying not to think it for weeks now, shying away from the idea. But if she wanted, at this critical moment, to be correct...she had make herself admit it.

Conclusion: The Forsworn as they exist today are in the wrong.

Result:..?

Hjar drew her mace.

"I am Hjarnagredda of the Reach." She declared. "Daughter of Greta, granddaughter of Madanach. Champion of Molag Bal. Devotee of Hircine.

And I judge all of you guilty."

Then she spun on the spot, swinging her mace around with all the strength she could muster.

Madanach didn't even have time to react. The mace crunched into the side of his head. Hjar felt his skull cave inwards as he went flying off his feet from the force of the swing. Death was immediate. Goodbye, grandfather.

She completed the full circle swing, turning back to a shocked Margret as everyone else was still too surprised to respond.

She grabbed her arms, leaned in, and said "But not you, sweetie, you're doing great." She dragged the mace down, ripping through the bindings on Margret's wrists, and then-

Oh, why not.

Hjar dropped the mace, grabbed Margret round the back of the head, and kissed her full on the lips.

It was fast, it was passionate, it was needy, and it was the best damn thing Hjar had ever felt.

Still, she let herself enjoy it for barely a second, just long enough for Margret to get over her shock. She knew when Margret did so because suddenly, the redhead started kissing back.

YES!

She didn't know if the wolf was howling or it was just her. Either way if she didn't stop it right that second she wouldn't ever be able to, so she pulled away, releasing Margret and sprinting past her, straight up towards Thonar. He and Urzoga both looked in complete disarray from what they'd just witnessed, but Logrolf was grinning like all was going to plan, backing up behind the hired muscle.

You may have outsmarted me, Logrolf. But I know something you don't know.

Hjar reached within herself. For the first time in weeks, she didn't just release the wolf because she had to. She invited it out. And it was more than happy to oblige.

Her tattered and drenched clothes fell to the floor. Her bones shifted, clicked, repaired themselves and enlarged. Torn muscle healed, grew, sprouted fur. The hair she could never control fell into a magnificent mane down her back.

She howled, dropped to all fours, and kept sprinting.

"WEREWOLF!"

There was only a moment to savour the expressions on her enemies faces before she fell upon Thonar, beating him to the floor.

I told you you would die first.

That was the last coherent thought she had.

Her claws tore into his head until there wasn't a head there anymore, just a painting of blood and bone along two square yards of floor.

She didn't waste another moment, bounding back up to two feet and searching for her other target. Urzoga raised a weapon and Hjar batted her away with one arm, sending her flying, then charged straight for Logrolf.

Two more guards tried to get in her way and she dealt with them just as casually, simply moving them away so she could continue her charge for the desperately fleeing Logrolf. He was two metres from the door when her claw sank into his upper left arm. He screamed, and she ripped, tearing the entire limb into ribbons.

A warhammer slammed into her head, then another, then swords and axes started stabbing and swinging at her.

The simple steel could hardly penetrate her fur, let alone her flesh, but they were desperate and more than six of them could take a swing at her at any given moment. The sheer momentum they imparted was enough to bear her down to the floor. She snarled, swung a claw, batted some of the weapons away, but more attacks kept coming, bludgeoning her head until it started ringing.

She roared, trying to get her feet under her, it was only so long before one of them hit her eye-

There was a flash.

Margret darted in front of her with a snarl on her face and a dagger in her hands. She looked down at Hjar, and grinned. The guards weren't prepared for her, she slit three of their throats before one swung at her with a sword and forced her to back away. But by that point, Hjar had gotten up again, and turned her sights simply on whoever was closest to her.

A moment later, the mass of guards starting to surround her suddenly buckled. The Forsworn had finished chasing Hjar up the stairs, and now crashed into their oppressors, blasting them with magic or swinging at them with whatever weapons could be found in a mine.

Maybe they somehow thought Hjar was still on their side. Maybe they doubted that the guards and mercenaries would let them escape (or help slay the monster) without attacking them. Maybe they simply hated their oppressors so much that a rational course of action didn't occur to them.

It didn't matter to Hjar. The two sides tore into each other, and she tore into them both, indiscriminately.

After that, it was nothing but a bloodbath.

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡|

"Dulurza?" Elisif gasped, eyes wide and darting about. "What's going on?"

"Let her go, Borgakh." Dulurza warned. "You don't want to do this." She stopped about ten feet from the pair of them, and started slowly circling left.

"That's not an answer, sis." Borgakh shot back, through gritted teeth. "Have you gone out of your mind? We had a plan! Is this some kind of elaborate ruse, or what?"

"Dulurza what is she talking about?" Elisif begged, shaking.

"Elisif. Stay calm." Dulurza told her, before moving her gaze higher. "Sister, listen to me. Something's wrong about this. The Thalmor, they-"

"You're bringing up the Elves now?" Borgakh looked genuinely flabbergasted. "Have you-No. You've gone soft, haven't you? You spend a month around the pretty Nord girl and now you can't bring yourself to kill her?"

"Put. Her. Down." Was all Dulurza could think to say. Her heart was pounding, and she kept measuring and remeasuring the distance between them in her head.

"No! You know what, I don't think I will!" Borgakh bared her teeth. "I knew this was a bad idea. I knew they should have sent me!"

"You're jealous?" Dulurza huffed. "Really? Borgakh, I told you, I-"

"This has nothing to do with jealously! It has everything to do with you betraying us!" Borgakh spat, anger in her eyes. "Do you even realise what you've done? You've just turned your back on your whole tribe! Your family! Where's your damn loyalty, Dulurza?"

Dulurza locked eyes with Elisif. "It's right here." She said, simply.

Elisif stared back at her, mouth agape.

"Oh, I cannot believe this." Borgakh groaned. "I literally cannot believe-I am not going to let you ruin everything!"

She tightened her grip on Elisif. "You were sent do Solitude to do one thing, sister. To kill the Jarl of Solitude. And if you're not going to do that-"

"NO!" Dulurza started running-

"Then I WILL!" Borgakh shifted, readying her sword to drag it sideways-

And stopped. Surprise flashed across her face, and she tensed, then started heaving, but the sword still didn't move. Her body was locked in place and Dulurza slid to a stop just in front of them.

Elisif stood in Borgakh's grip, face a rictus of rage. Her arms were free, and dark blue light glowed in her palms. "You dare to try and kill my host?" She uttered, eyes flashing with power. Her fingers twitched slightly, and, trembling, Borgakh's arms slowly opened, blade moving away from Elisif's throat and out until both limbs were stretched out to either side.

"Pathetic, primitive, idiot creature." Elisif stepped out from Borgakh's grasp, her posture, speech patterns and movements all very much changed. "To think an animal like you would dare to lay your hands upon my form without my consent. Do you have even the slightest clue as to the magnitude of forces you meddle with?" She raised her arms, and Borgakh began to float up into the air.

Paralysis. Dulurza recognised, seeing her sister try and fail to speak. But, how? Elisif isn't a mage!

No. Said a voice in the back of her head. But the Wolf Queen is.

"No, I think not." Elisif's head tilted. "You are just a pawn, little Orc, always have been. Always dancing to the tunes of your betters. It would be childishly easy to make you mine...but I think not. You have offended me. So instead I will tear all four limbs from your body and watch you bleed to death." She curled her fingers, and then twisted them.

Borgakh's face was released, allowing her to scream, and scream she did. Her arms and legs were stretched out from her body, fingers curling, body shaking with the strain as her joints threatened to break-

"Elisif!" Dulurza shouted. "Stop!"

The Jarl's face turned to hers, a bored expression on its face.

"Please." Dulurza begged. "If you can even hear this. She's my sister."

Elisif's face looked at hers for a long moment. Then it sighed, daintily, and flicked it's arms. Borgakh was tossed through the air, crashing into a nearby tree and crumpling to the floor.

Elisif blinked once, then again, and then she swayed where she stood. "Dulurza? Wh-what-"

Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Dulurza caught her before she could hit the ground. Malacath's left testicle...I sure do know how to pick 'em.

"You're-ngh-insane." Borgakh's faltering voice reached Dulurza, and she turned to see her sister struggling to stand.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" The elder demanded. "You're our enemy! Everything you've ever loved, gone! What are you going to do now?"

"...I don't know." Dulurza replied, simply. "But I know that I can't let you hurt her."

Borgakh's jaw snapped shut. She shook, fists clenched, before turning and stumbling away into the forest.

Dulurza couldn't do anything but watch her go.

*chews popcorn*

That's two dramatic personal choices made in two chapters, folks, I hope you're keeping count. Hjar's internal monologue there basically sums up my thoughts after several hours of research over almost a year on the Forsworn Conspiracy. Ah, Skyrim, you and your 'no impartial narrators' style of worldbuilding. It's what makes conflicts like the Imperial-Stormcloak one so compelling, but it makes it a pain in the ass for my characters.

But after long deliberation, Hjar's conclusion is 'just freaking murder everyone'. Let's see how that works out for her. Also, THE KISS! That's two arcs of pining before the romantic payoff, am I doing slow-burn properly yet?

Elisif survives a dire situation, but the influence of her little friend is just growing stronger and stronger. Alexander demonstrates once again why intangibility is one of the most broken powers you can have, and Ancano is no more. L'laarzen...gets a lore dump. I really like what the sources say the Skeleton Key might be capable of. It's just a shame it's so boring in-game. Then again, the fact that so many players still keep the thing instead of finishing the Nightingale quest is incredibly...poignant, given the morale of the dangers of greed the questline is trying to give off.

Next Time: The Arc Finale. Someone needs a wash, someone needs a nap, and someone needs a break.