Pactmaking
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'Oh, wow' was Alexander Meteuse's first thought upon entering Riften. 'And I thought Falkreath was bad.'
Falkreath had been a backwater, yes, but Riften was a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Just looking around the market resulted in visions of destitution and general nastiness he'd only seen in the Imperial City's roughest back alleys. And this was the central district? Did this place even have districts?
Gods, this country is a mess. At least Winterhold has an excuse...need to visit Windhelm or the capital, see if those are any better.
The Bee and Barb was (embarrassingly) the main tavern of the whole city, so Xander suppressed his cringe reflex and entered.
The Dragonborn was not a hard man to spot. He sat alone at a table with his back to the wall in the furthest corner of the room, and locked eyes with Xander immediately as he entered. There wasn't anything particularly eye-catching about the Nord's appearance, he just oozed Presence in a way Cyrodiil nobles would kill for, and almost everyone in the room was shooting occasional glances at him.
Xander raised a finger at him in a request for patience, then walked up to the bar where an Argonian was cleaning a mug.
"Hail, friend." He began, in what was (probably?) a normal way for Nord strangers to greet each other. Wait, crap, she's a lizard-
"Hail." Said the woman in a raspy voice, not looking up. "I'm Veezara, I run the place. Can I getcha anything?"
"Aye." He glanced at a board hung up nearby, and started counting septims out of his pouch. "Can I get a slaughterfish stew, and an ale for my surly friend in the corner."
Veezara huffed and gave the Dovahkiin a glance. "Bout time. Man hasn't paid for anything besides a room since he showed up."
Xander slapped down a good five more septims than the total he was due, then added "I was also looking for a friend of mine, wondered if you could help. A Khajiit woman, name L'laarzen, dark grey fur?"
It was impressive, how quickly Veezara's face snapped into focused mode the moment he said the name. She looked up at him, narrowed her eyes. "That so?" She said. "And by that do you mean you're a friend of hers, or...a 'friend' of hers?"
...Eh?
"We're not a couple, if that's what you're asking." He replied, tilting his head.
"Ha, ha." The Argonian replied, apparently not catching that he had no idea what she meant. "Go join the grumpy Nord, I'll have your food and drink brought to you. And I'm pretty sure there's someone here that knows your 'friend', I'll tell them you're asking."
"Thank you." He smiled and left the bar, walking across the room to pull up a seat next to the Dragonborn.
"So...Hey." He said, with significantly less idea of how to talk to the demigod. "Kill any dragons on the way here?"
"One."
"Wait, what? For real?"
"Turns out the person we saved lived in Riften. Did some jobs for the Thieves Guild based here." The Dragonborn began, completely ignoring Xander's outburst. "Says if Esbern's anywhere he's in the Ratway. Oversized sewer and tunnel system under the city. We'll head there now; prepare yourself. We might have to fight through the city's criminal elements to get where we need to go."
He moved to stand.
"Ap-bap-bap-bap-bap! Or." Xander put a hand on his arm to stop him, weathered the following glare, and continued "First of all, I've just ordered dinner, and I am starving. Second of all, we could consider not immediately antagonising anyone who gets in our way."
"Hmph. We may not have the chance." The Dovahkiin replied, returning to his seat. "There are Thalmor in the city."
"There are?"
The conversation paused, as a dark-haired woman approached and slammed her hands on the table, rattling it.
Xander looked up at her and blinked. "Oh, did Veezara forget the order?"
"I'm not a waitress." The woman bit out.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure you'd make a great one, you're very beautiful." Xander paused. "And you've just drawn a knife on me, so I feel like that was the wrong thing to say."
"What do you want with L'laarzen?" She hissed, digging her pointy thing into his abdomen.
"She's my friend!" Xander exclaimed, raising his arms. "What, do Nords not make those?"
"Oh, sure. And how do I know you're not one of Mercer's lackeys? Do you really think Brynjolf or Karliah will let you within ten paces of L'laarzen?"
"I don't even know who those are!" Xander sighed. "Ten bloody minutes after I walk through the gates...look, miss..?"
"My name's Sapphire."
"Oh, wow, really?" He snorted, and her glare sharpened. "Uh, lovely name. Sapphire, please just tell L'laarzen that her friend Xander wants to see her. Or, you know, just let me know where she is, I'm sure those two (three?) people you just namedropped will be perfectly capable of keeping her safe from me. Look at me. I'm scrawny."
"He is scrawny." The Dragonborn added.
"Oh, screw you!"
Sapphire snorted. "Take you to her? Are you sure you want to take a walk into the Cistern, kid? Because that just might be a one way trip."
"Oh." The Dragonborn nodded. "Your contact in Riften. She's with the Thieves Guild. You were telling the truth about being useful."
...EH?
Xander glanced across at Sapphire's face (which noticeably wasn't staring in confusion) and then thought very very fast.
"Of course. L'laarzen's with the Thieves Guild." He said, giving the Dragonborn a smile. "What, you didn't just think I was talking about some hairdresser, did you?"
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"YOU'RE WITH THE THIEVES GUILD?" Was the first thing L'laarzen heard when the doors to her private room slammed open.
Brynjolf and Karliah both jumped to their feet, and L'laarzen looked up in shock to see-
"Alexander?" She gasped.
"How was I supposed to know you were a criminal?" The irate young man demanded, putting his hands on his hips. "Just because you're an excellent pickpocket and an excellent sneak and an excellent fighter and-oh, wait, no I see it now."
He paused, breathed in, gave her a once-over. "Hi L'laarzen! Good to see you! Wait, oh my gods are you okay-"
He tried to move closer but Karliah was immediately in his face with a knife, declaring "One more step, boy, and I cut your head from your shoulders."
"It's fine, Karliah. He is a friend." L'laarzen had learned not to try and raise her arms in protest, relying on her voice alone. She leaned to see around the Nightingale's shoulder and smiled, relieved. "Alexander, it is so good to see you. Apologies for the deception, Khajiit did not mean to conceal this part of her profession. And yes, as you can see, this one is very much not okay." She looked down at herself and winced "Thank you, for responding to the letter so quickly."
"The letter?" Xander tilted his head (once Karliah had stepped away from his neck).
"The...letter." L'laarzen clarified. "Khajiit sent a letter to your college asking you to come here. She didn't think it would have arrived so quickly, however-"
"Oh, no, didn't get that at all." Xander shook his head. "I'm here to help the Dragonborn save the world. What did you need me for?"
Well, now or never... "L'laarzen would like you to represent her in making a deal with a Daedric Prince." She said.
Karliah turned and gaped at her.
Xander tilted his head the other way until it was straight. Then said "Huh. We lead interesting lives."
"We do."
"So...tell my friend about who's living in the Ratway and I'll help?"
"Deal."
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Hjar woke up with a strangled gasp. It took a few seconds for her surroundings to properly register; the black oppressiveness of the tunnels beneath Markarth replaced with a wooden ceiling, low candlelight, white sheets, and a not-unpleasant weight on her midsection. She looked down her body, and smiled.
"Hey, sleepy." She said, nudging Margret's head where it rested on her stomach. "I'm not dead."
Margret's eyes fluttered open, and she stopped drooling on Hjar's bedsheets. She then immediately jerked upright in a panic, overbalanced, and fell backwards in her chair, hitting the floor with a clatter.
"Hjar!" She shouted, frantically trying to get up.
"Aye, hello." Hjar winced at the noise. "Maybe not so loud, please..."
"Right, sorry." Margret got back to her feet and then knelt down by Hjar's side, running a hand through her hair. "Are you alright?"
"Do I not look al-Agh!" Hjar's retort cut off when she tried to move her neck the wrong way and was met by a lance of pain. Gingerly reaching up, she found that the entire right side of her neck and shoulder was bandaged, and that both of her legs (especially her left) would sting if she so much as moved them. Almost a dozen other spots on her body demanded her attention as well. "Okay, I'm not alright." She amended. "Owie, what..."
"You got hurt pretty bad while you were...wolfing out." Margret explained. "Sindig, that man who was helping you, said that wounds you get when transformed stay when you go back to normal."
"Well, he's right." Hjar tried to shift her position and winced. "Not used to taking this much damage, though. Always used to feel invincible as a wolf...Sindig, is he okay?"
Margret nodded. "He's a few rooms down. Still asleep, probably, he ended up even worse than you. Uh, we're all in Morthal right now. You transformed back right after dealing with that other werewolf, and immediately passed out. Sindig only got a few sentences out before he did the same. Both of you were in bad shape, but I was able to snag a patrol of guards and get their help bringing you both here for treatment."
"Oh...wow." Hjar felt her body sag with relief, and then immediately spike with tension as it considered what might have happened. "Thank you, Margret. Thank you very much."
"You're welcome." Margret smiled, but there was a hint of venom in her tone. "So...do you mind telling me what on the Divines' good Nirn you were doing out there?"
"Right." Hjar grimaced. "That...is a long story."
Days ago, Hjar's fur had gone red again. Some of it might have been hers, these hunters were well equipped, but most of it belonged to the few dozen corpses she'd left in her wake.
Sindig pawed up next to her, idly tossing away the body of another hunter, and growled.
He wanted to know if she'd caught all of the fleeing men; she barked back an affirmative, and allowed herself to begin transforming back. It was odd, she mused, how well they were able to understand each other even without words. Some magic, perhaps? Or just a feature of the transformation? Ordinary wolves were able to hunt in packs just fine, and they didn't have half the brains of an intelligent humanoid...
She realised that she was internally rambling to avoid thinking about what on Nirn she'd gotten herself into, and made herself stop.
"Well, that's that." She spat out a mouthful of blood and fur, once again finding herself wearing a carpet of the stuff.
"Aye." Sindig said, transforming and finding himself in a similar position. "I know a stream nearby we can wash in."
"Sounds wonderful." Hjar chuckled. "Heheh, heh...Ah, crap...now I've got to figure out what to do next..."
Someone started clapping.
Hjar spent less than a second confirming that it wasn't Sindig making the noise before whirling around on the spot, Molag Bal's mace manifesting in her hand from basically nowhere as she tried to find the source of the sound. It didn't take long for it to appear; a ghostly blue foot stepped out from behind a tree, followed by a pair of hands and the body of an ethereal man. His features were vague, and seemed to change every time she blinked, leaving her unable to tell if he was young, old, elf, beast or man. But he was clad in furs, and had a bow slung over his back.
So...three guesses who this guy is...
"'Suuup." She said, calmly.
"Well met, Hunter." Said...Hircine? As obvious as Hjar had thought it was,
"I don't get the stag this time?" She asked, just checking.
"A stag? Now why on Nirn would I appear to you as prey?" Hircine chuckled, walking closer. His eyes hardened. "You did not kill Sindig."
"No." Hjar licked her lips.
"You defied me."
"I did."
Hircine's form began to flicker more violently, features of animals and monsters flashing across his ghostly form.
But then it stabilised. And he smiled. "And what a defiance it was. Bravo!"
Hjar's brain felt like it had just started charging one way, smashed face-first into a pillar, and then immediately started stumbling back in the opposite direction.
"You're...not mad?" She asked.
"Mad? Not at all." As the god of the hunt, Hircine by definition had the best 'predatory smile'. And oh boy was it on display. "You turned the hunt upon the hunters. They ran their target into a trap, only to find that they themselves were truly the prey. It was delightful to watch. Ah, and your resolution...well done. You no longer feel the need to make excuses for yourself."
"This is a lot of celebration for digging myself deeper in the horse dung." Hjar felt compelled to say, trying to hide the part of herself that was squealing in joy.
"Eh, sounds like a 'you' problem. But perhaps I can help you with it somewhat..." Hircine extended his arm.
Hjar felt a tug at her hand, and looked down to see the God's ring shifting about on her digit. Okay...
She raised her arm up, and the ring slipped right off, flying across to land in the palm of Hircine's hand.
"It is actually made of silver, you know." The god mused, wrapping his palm around it. "And that wasn't just for ironic reasons. It is a weapon, Champion. For you, or against you. The Ring of Hircine does not let you control the beast within you. It simply helps you to understand it. To break down the wall between you and it, until perhaps you learn that there is no wall at all."
Hircine looked across at Sindig (who had been trying his hardest to remain innocuous the whole time) and narrowed his eyes. "That is why I was enraged by you. Your weakness is the same as Hjarnagredda's was before; a belief that all you need is some God or artefact that will solve all your problems for you. It is never so easy, especially not for one of my disciples. You hate what you are, and so even in its true form, my ring would have done you no favours."
He turned back to Hjar, and gave her a flat look. "I know what you're thinking. Don't try and hand this off to him, not unless he learns."
"I wasn't-"
"Don't lie to me."
"Okay."
He opened his palm, took the ring between two fingers, and flicked it back over to her. She caught it, gasping slightly as it touched her hand. The artefact was warmer, and...somehow lighter?
"So...what now?" Asked Sindig, looking between them. "Am I..."
"I will rescind the order to have you hunted." Hircine turned around, and began walking away. "You are forgiven for your transgressions, for now. Do better in the future. And once again, to both of you: That was an excellent hunt. I look forwards to the day you join me in the Hunting Grounds."
His form flashed, and then vanished into thin mist that dissipated through the air.
The grove was silent.
And then Hjar rounded on Sindig, and declared "Alright, bastard, you owe me a big favour."
Margret leaned back in her chair, staring at Hjar with wide eyes. "You deliberately picked a fight...with the god of werewolves." She said.
"God of the Hunt, but yes." Hjar nodded.
"And then you deliberately picked a fight...with the Dark Brotherhood."
"That too."
"Hjar-" Margret's mouth opened and closed a few times, before she finally managed "why didn't you just kill Sindig?"
"Because it wouldn't have been the right thing to do." Hjar looked away. "Because I tore apart my old family to do the right thing, because I don't have anything else to motivate me, because...because if I'd killed him I probably would have had a mental breakdown."
"And now we have to fight the Dark Brotherhood." Margret breathed out, heavily. Then looked up and nodded. "Alright. I understand. And I'm with you, even if that means fighting the Brotherhood."
...Oh, by Hircine, who built this girl?
"Margret, you..." Hjar shook her head, laughing, and trying to think of what to say. And then stopped, because she did think of something.
"You are with me. And, more importantly, you were. In the swamp." Hjar made a confused face. "Not that I wasn't happy to see you, but why were you there? You just sort of popped out of nowhere, how did you know where I was?"
"Ah. That." Margret bit her lip, then started fishing around in her pockets. She withdrew and opened a small hand-mirror, the kind Hjar had seen some of the richer ladies in Markarth carrying, only this one had a small map of Skyrim drawn into the bottom.
Margret tapped it, and a small blue glow flickered into existence right atop Morthal.
"I knew where you were because of this." She said, wincing. "Before you left, Captain Octavia placed a tracking spell on you. This has been following your location the entire time."
"It WHAT?" Hjar jolted, trying to sit up but being betrayed by her body. "What-ngh, son of a-Is that even possible?"
"The Captain does a lot of things most people think are impossible." Margret coughed.
"That cheeky whore! I didn't do anything to suggest I was a threat to her, why in Oblivion would she want to track me-"
"Because I asked her to." Margret said, quietly.
There was silence in the hut.
"You...what?" Hjar stammered.
"Hjar, you wouldn't tell me where you were going." Margret winced, drawing in on herself. "I asked the Captain for a way to follow you. I saw you go to the swamps, saw you leave for Falkreath, and then when you came back up I decided to head out on horseback and meet you halfway. I got worried when you went back into the swamp, so I started making my way in, and then when I heard the fighting-"
"You stalked me?" Hjar gaped. "You tracked me across the whole country without telling me?"
"I was worried!" Margret shot back, guilt clear in her eyes.
"Worried isn't an excuse to-"
"YOU ALMOST DIED!" The shout shook the room as Margret stormed to her feet, sending the chair clattering backwards again. "You wouldn't tell me what you were doing! And I already knew you were a werewolf Forsworn kinslayer, so I knew it had to be bad! 'Unfinished business' you said, with your glances off to the side and your grimacing, what in Oblivion was I supposed to think?" She started pacing, throwing her arms into the air. "And then I find out that you're rushing off to put your life in more danger than it's ever been in, and you didn't even take me with you? Why?"
"It was none of your business, that's why!" Hjar snapped back.
Margret looked outraged. "None of my-I'm your girlfriend!"
Yes! My very human, very fragile girlfriend, who-"
"Oh, don't you dare pull that with me, Hjarnagredda, I've killed more werewolves than you! And I come attached to an army of Imperial Black-Ops soldiers!"
"I didn't mean to say you were weak, I-"
"Then what?"
"Give me a second, please!" Hjar held a hand up, ignoring the ache in the limb. Margret stopped pacing, and Hjar flopped back in her cot, groaning and thinking.
Why didn't I tell her? Why really?
"It wasn't because I don't think you can fight." She said, slowly. "It wasn't because I don't trust you. I think I was going to tell you afterwards anyway, I just..." her voice fell to a wheeze, and she grimaced.
Margret sighed, and then walked over to a nearby table, pouring a mug of water and bringing it over. "Here."
"Thank you." Hjar drank deeply, soothing her throat as she put her thoughts in order.
"I think I...I just didn't want to make you hurt with it." She explained, eventually. "I didn't want to put you at risk, I didn't want to make you go trekking across the country for me, I...Margret, this was my stupid problem that I got myself caught up in. And you're absolutely amazing and you care about me, and I still don't have any idea what I should do about that, but I feel like I should be trying to make your life better, not throwing more problems on top of it. And I don't know how much of that is me being used to solving problems on my own, or the wolf bleeding across and affecting me, or if I was afraid that if I threw any more burdens your way you might stop caring about me-" her bottom lip started trembling, and she clamped her mouth shut.
"Oh, Hjar..." Margret sat down on the side of the bed, and started stroking one hand through Hjar's hair. "I do care about you. And if I wasn't willing to care about the parts of you that were inconvenient, that would make me a really rubbish partner."
"I s'pose..." Hjar mumbled, leaning her head into Margret's side.
"If you'd told me, I would have insisted upon coming. I would also have probably insisted on bringing some of the other agents to help, but I wouldn't have abandoned you.
If you and I are really doing this (and believe me, we are doing this) then we need to be able to trust each other. I promise you, it's worse for me to have to sit in Dragon's Bridge wondering if you're okay than it is for you to keep me in the know." Margret coughed. "Plus, at this point, I sincerely doubt that there's anything you can tell me that would be any worse than this."
Hjar didn't say anything for a good few seconds. And that was because she was properly digesting the words, and not because she was far too comfortable just lying where she was.
"Alright." She eventually replied. "I'm sorry. Tell you what; if I promise to tell you anytime I'm doing something dangerous, you have to promise not to sicc your scary witch boss on me whenever I leave your sight. Deal?"
"It's a deal." Margret smiled, leaning down to lay a kiss on the top of Hjar's forehead. "Now then, are you hungry, or do you want to try and get some more rest? Because Captain Octavia is going to be here within the day, and we've got a lot to do once she does."
"Right, yeah. The cult of deadly assassins. Last chance to back out?"
"Not on your life."
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"SO!" Alexander Meteuse slammed a massive leather-bound book on the stone table, displacing a great cloud of dust. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, 'Dealing with Daedra 101'."
"Did you bring that down from Winterhold?" The man called Bryn-something asked.
"Oh, it's one of the books I take with me everywhere I go. Now!" Xander pulled open the cover, and started flicking through the pages.
He knew he probably shouldn't be having so much fun, but come on. He was in a Daedric Shrine being given explicit permission to talk to it. This wasn't anything like that one time in the Synod with the Minor Sequel To The Oblivion Crisis.
He brought one of the candles closer and span the book around so that L'laarzen could see it, standing next to her and pointing out the relevant sections.
"So. The basics. Rule number one: Never deal with Sheogorath, Hermaeus Mora, Clavicus Vile, or Sanguine. So we're good there."
"Why not those four?" L'laarzen asked, looking across at him.
"Because Sheo will drive you insane, Clavicus' whole thing is making bargains that ruin people, Herma's whole thing is tempting people like me into endlessly pursuing knowledge and destroying ourselves, and Sanguine will try and get me drunk. It is very dangerous for me to get drunk." Xander explained. "But the others (mostly) can be reasoned with."
He stepped back (the book was mostly for L'laarzen's benefit, he'd helped write it) and started pacing. "The issue to dealing with Daedra is that they generally want your soul. And I'm assuming you aren't inclined to give that away."
"Of course not." L'laarzen agreed. "Who would be so foolish as to sacrifice their immortal soul for any mortal gain?"
Karliah coughed, and mumbled "yeah who would do that that would be really dumb huh..."
Xander continued. "Right, but that puts you in a difficult spot. The very nature of a deal involves you giving them something they want, and them giving you something in return. My two Daedric artefacts (oh, crap, I really gotta go and pick up that sword) are from doing the Gods favours and reaping the rewards."
"This kid has two Daedric artefacts?" Karliah pointed at him. "He's what, seventeen?"
"I'm twenty-one!"
"Khajiit told you he was good." L'laarzen purred.
"Thank you! But yes, you're going to have to do something for Nocturnal." Xander paused, and held up a finger. "I...wouldn't advise trying to trick her. It could work, but your odds aren't good, and even if it does you're going to have a Prince mad at you for the remainder of your life. It's not a smart play."
"L'laarzen has seen what happens when one earns the ire of a Daedra, friend." The Khajiit visibly shuddered. "She does not intend to make that mistake."
"...You know I forgot how refreshing it was to work with someone with common sense." Xander said. "I'm used to werewolves and Orc teenagers, this is nice."
"L'laarzen is trying to deal with a Daedra in the first place."
"A fair point. But just because you're not trying to trick the Daedra doesn't mean the Daedra won't try to trick you." Xander turned, looking to the woman in the dark grey armour. "Miss...I want to say Karl..?"
"Karliah."
"Oh, wow, you have 'liar' in your name, that's not foreboding. Uh, before we start I'm going to need you to tell me everything you know about how you contact Nocturnal, how you yourself were inducted, and anything that might constitute accepting being her worshipper forever and ever. I don't want to step in the wrong ritual circle and accidentally forfeit my existence."
Karliah looked somewhat overwhelmed, but nonetheless nodded, jerking her head one way and leading them deeper into the hideout.
"Nocturnal is a reasonable Mistress." Said the Nightingale. "When I was inducted, she was very explicit about what she would give, and what she would take. The pact was only signed when I formally and verbally agreed to it."
The tunnel they walked through opened up, and ahead of them was a larger cavern with stone platforms and walkways within, dimly lit by sunlight filtering through the rocks above.
"That is the ritual chamber." Karliah pointed out, in case it wasn't obvious. "Don't worry, it's completely safe. To call the lady of Shadows, those willing must don the armour of the Nightingales and stand on the podiums, while I recite the correct words. Until then, it's just another room."
"I see..." Xander walked past her, stepping further into the room and looking around. "Ooh, this is fancy. So, if I wanted to negotiate with her, I'd have to wear the ceremonial armour. Okay, a few questions. Is the armour enchanted by Nocturnal? You know, Daedra do that thing where-"
His foot touched the central circle.
Everything went dark.
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Dulurza knew she wasn't very good at social situations. It had been repeatedly shoved in her face recently, and she was starting to get really annoyed about it. However, her problems were largely due to being a Stronghold Orc trying to make her way through Nord cities. While she may not know the ins-and-outs of Man honour and customs, there were some things that she understood were universal, meaning she was quite capable of sitting in a tavern (as she was doing now) without causing any trouble.
Her companion, however, seemed to have messed that part up.
"Oi." Dulurza muttered across at Octavia. "Piece of advice. Even if you think that woman over there's pretty, staring at her for five minutes straight is a bad way to get her to talk to you."
"Hm?" Octavia glanced away from the (admittedly gorgeous) Nord woman stood chatting at the bar, looking back at Dulurza. "Oh, no, you misunderstand. She's a vampire. I'm trying to decide if I should do something about that while I'm here."
"She's what?" Dulurza hissed. Octavia's tone was low enough not to have realistically spread past their shared table, but the woman in question's head snapped up, looking across at them with panic on her face.
"Mm." Octavia nodded, looking back. "Her name's Alva, she was only turned in the last year or so, and she's at least indirectly responsible for that burned down house we saw on the way in. Still not sure if she's blatantly immoral or just struggling with her hunger, though. I'm trying to decide if I should help her or kill her."
Alva abruptly stood up and walked briskly for the door.
"You knew all that before even coming here?" Dulurza asked.
"No, worked it out just now. What do you think all the staring was for? Ah, look sharp, my associates are here."
Dulurza looked back to the door as it opened again. Entering the tavern were two more women, one a redhead, the other-
Huh?
"Dulurza?" Hjar exclaimed, walking over to the table. "What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question." Dulurza found herself smiling, standing up to clasp forearms with the Reachwoman. "Last I saw you you were around Markarth, what happened?" She also gave a significant glance across at the others. Do they know about the Forsworn thing?
Hjar caught the look. "They know all the secrets you know and I'm not sharing the rest, so don't worry."
"You two know each other?" Margret blinked. "How did that happen?"
"Long story." Dulurza turned to take in the four of them. "So an Orc, a Forsworn, and an Imperial mage walk into a tavern. What's the punchline?"
Octavia leaned back in her seat and hummed. "That depends on these two. They called us here, and by the looks on their faces, it's serious. Hjar, Margret, good to see you're both okay. You're nowhere near as injured as the panicked letter I got implied."
"I'm secretly a prodigal restoration mage." Hjar deadpanned, taking a seat. "Right then, suppose I should get to the point..."
And then she explained.
Dulurza's eyes grew wider and wider as Hjar summarised what had happened. Halfway through, Octavia had looked around the tavern and cast some spell or another that put a dome around them, muffling all sights and sounds from outside.
By the time the Breton had finished, all Dulurza could think was '...I need to start making friends who aren't waist deep in chaos.'
"You want to pick a fight with the Dark Brotherhood?" She said. "Hjar, even the Orcs know that they're a big deal."
"They are skilled, and they are powerful." Margret spoke up. "But the myths of them being unstoppable untouchable ghosts are overselling them. They can die. We just killed two of them out in the swamps."
"And what's more, we know where they live." Hjar continued. "My only-partially-intentional gambit paid off. If we're fast enough to get to Falkreath before they realise what's gone wrong, we can catch them unawares."
A low cackling noise began to build up, and after a moment Dulurza realised it was Octavia who was making it. The noblewoman was grinning like a cat who had been offered the mouse and the cheese on a silver platter.
"Oh, you have no idea how perfect this is." She said, looking between them. "Normally I have to work for days to try and make these kinds of opportunities, and you have just dropped it into my lap."
"Are...you okay, Captain?" Margret gave her a slightly worried look.
"Oh, I'm feeling wonderful." Octavia steepled her fingers. "Suffice it to say that the Penitus Oculatus has a very good reason to try and cripple the Brotherhood over the next few months. I want this done and I don't want to waste time going back and grabbing more of our soldiers, so I need your help. And yes, Dulurza, I know this isn't what I promised you, but I will give you almost anything you want if you help me."
"We're still tracking down Mor Khazgor afterwards?" Dulurza checked.
"We are."
"Then I'm in." She nodded across the table. "Hjar's helped me out before, and stopping assassins is...probably part part of my job?" Certainly can't hurt how Elisif sees me... "Just do your best to save my Jarl."
"I'll do everything in my power. And then everything in everyone else's power, if that doesn't work." Octavia smiled. She clicked her fingers, and the dome around them faded, letting the noise (and the stares) of the tavern in again. "Ready your things, I want us to leave within two hours. That gives me time to sort out this vampire problem if I hurry..."
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
"Uh...hello?"
Xander gulped, and looked around. He was in a completely black space. Only his own body could be seen, and he stumbled on the spot as he realised there was not only no sound, but also no floor to speak of.
"Hello, Conduit. I was wondering how long it would be before I got to meet you."
Uh oh. The voice came from directly behind him. He took in a deep breath, turned around...and promptly broke.
"Alexander." Greeted the Daedric Prince. "Welcome to my shrine."
"Nocturnal." He squeaked. "You...are not wearing very many clothes."
Nocturnal looked down at herself, and at the translucent strips of purple and gold cloth that were hugging her form in total defiance of physics and barely concealing her private areas. "I suppose not." She agreed, looking up at him with a smile. "Does that bother you~?"
Wow, she had a sultry voice. Xander would normally feel like an asshole for using the word 'sultry' but gods, that was the sultriest voice he'd ever heard-
FOCUS!
"Um, no, you're good." He shook his head. "Sorry, hi, it's a pleasure to meet you. I was hoping that the two of us could make a deal."
"Business before pleasure? I respect that in a man." Nocturnal crossed her arms under her-(NO! Look at her eyes, dammit!) "So, what can I do for you? Finished dabbling with Azura and Meridia and ready to deal with a real Daedric Prince? Because the darling of dusk and dawn is a Magna-Ge, no matter how she styles herself."
"Well I did already know-Oh! Sorry, I should have specified." Xander smiled. "I'm not here for me."
"I'm...sorry?" Nocturnal blinked.
Xander reached into his robes, and pulled out a notepad and some charcoal. "I'm here as the legal representative of a friend of mine called L'laarzen, and by extension her associates Karliah and Brynjolf. They would like to discuss a deal regarding (but not limited to) the lifting of a bad-luck curse, the reparation of L'laarzen's physical body, and the recapture and return of the Skeleton Key."
"...Ah." Nocturnal only took a second to recompose herself. "You're here about that little issue. I'm amused that Karliah has finally worked up the courage to come back to me about it." She leaned backwards, then backwards further, and her legs came up to cross in front of her as she began floating in the void, as though resting on a particularly comfy chair. "Well, she has the right end of the stick. All she asks for is possible, of course, providing I receive the right payment. I take it that these other two are the ones being offered to me?"
Alright, Xander. Showtime.
He fixed a confident smile on his face. "Payment? Now, why should they be expected to pay you when they're doing you a favour?"
One of Nocturnal's eyebrows rose.
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o 8˂
In the real world, L'laarzen had Karliah by the throat. Her arm felt like it was burning as she did so and she was quite certain there would be consequences for trying to use it like this but she was far beyond caring.
In in front of them both, Xander's body was floating a good foot above the floor, surrounded by a purple vortex of energy. He wasn't moving.
"You lied to him!" She hissed. "You dare!"
"I didn't!" Karliah choked out, both her hands in the air. "I had no idea this was going to happen, I don't even know what did happen, he just-"
She was interrupted by a flash of shadow that darkened the room for a split second, before Xander was gently dropped back to his feet. He opened his eyes, rolled his neck, and groaned. "Well...That's about the fifth strangest thing I've ever felt."
"Alexander!" L'laarzen dropped Karliah, rushing over to him. "Are you alright? Was that-Did she-"
"I'm fine. Just...beginning negotiations." He turned back to them, and smiled shakily. "Good news, team! We have a proverbial seat at the proverbial table! But, uh, you might want to bring through some more literal seats and tables. I think this might take a while."
Gotta love Gods! Well, gotta love writing them. Some of them are kinda assholes.
To be honest I'm having a lot of fun just writing Hjar and Margret getting along. I've written my fair share of romantic tension but not many actual relationship moments before this fic. Always good to try new things.
This also might be the first chapter that's just six thousand words of people sitting around and talking. I apologise, but. It's pretty obvious what it's building up to.
Next Time: Someone has tea, someone plays cards, and someone opens a door.