(I should probably clarify that the spelling mistake in the title is deliberate)
How To Solve You're Problems
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"What am I going to dooooo..." Hjar sobbed, her forehead thudding into the table.
Because come on. Hjar had just lost a friend, commit a dozen counts of murder, almost died three or four times, fought a Dragon, then started drinking. What else was going to happen?
"There, there..." Margret cooed, leaning on her and rubbing her head with one arm.
On the other side of the table, Octavia chuckled, taking a small sip from her own glass of wine. Her stomach was heavily bandaged.
"Everything's on fire..." Hjar moaned into the table.
"We put those out a while ago." Octavia pointed out.
"Metaphorically!" Hjar flailed an arm. "I just...just ruin everything! My homeland is in pieces and it is completely and utterly my fault!"
"No..." Margret said.
"Pretty much." Octavia said.
"Huh, some people don't like each other, what do I do? I murder literally all of them!" Hjar's cheek did not leave the table. "Oh, the Dark whateverhood want me to kill Sindig, what do I do? I murder literally everyone even tantially-"
"(Tangentially.)"
"-related to it! Including Sindig! I just..." her flailing hand dropped to the table, and she groaned. "What am I doing wrong? I mean what's my alternative, die? I don't wanna die! I have a girlfriend!"
"Aww..." Margret swooned.
"I can't run away from the problems, it'll break me. But I can't just hit everything in my way with a mace, it doesn't...doesn't...it's not good!"
"Not often good." Octavia agreed.
"It's just stupid." Hjar grumbled, removing her head from the table so she could bury it in her arms. "It's all stupid. It's all stupid and I'm the stupidest of them all..."
She reached for the bottle of wine that she knew was on the table somewhere. After a bit of flailing, she found it, but a quick shake told her it was empty. She groaned, again, and knocked it over petulantly, considering just going to sleep.
That plan was dashed, however, by the annoying clapping noise coming from just across the table.
She looked up, blearily, to see Octavia giving an enthusiastic one-woman applause.
"...What?" Hjar asked.
"Congratulations." Octavia explained. "For coming to the conclusion I didn't see until I was a good few years older than you."
"Which is?" Margret asked, leaning on Hjar for support.
"Your girlfriend fancies herself a smart cookie." Octavia leaned forwards in her chair. "I do too. And like most of us, she came to the conclusion fairly early on that 'people are idiots'. That's step one. But it's only now that she has reached step two: 'I am people'. Impressed you got it while drunk after a Dragon fight; my Intendent had to beat me with it half a dozen times before I got the message."
"So I'm stupid." Hjar summarised, flatly. "That's what you're saying. I've realised I'm stupid."
"Yup." Octavia smiled. "And that's a very important step."
"Why?"
"Because if a man with no arms thinks he's a great swordfighter, then whatever, good for him. Doesn't matter, does it?" Octavia's eyes sparkled. "But if someone who has actual potential with the blade thinks it, there's a problem. Because they can't go from 'good' to 'exceptional' unless they get their head out their rear end and start noticing their own flaws."
Margret snorted. "Heheheh. 'Rear end'...that means butt."
"You're saying I could be better." Hjar parsed, slowly. "But I'm not better yet, because I suck. Okay, great. How? 'Be less dumb' isn't helpful."
"That is a very complicated question." Octavia admitted, leaning back. "But I think a good first step is to start putting more effort into thinking through your problems, and deciding what you actually want to get out of them. Tell me, Hjar, as a thought experiment." She steepled her hands. "Why haven't I killed Ulfric Stormcloak?"
Hjar blinked. Okay, tangent. "Because he's supposed to be some big badass who'll kill you with his ancient Nord magic?" She tried.
"Hehehe. Ass..." Margret giggled.
"There is that. I'm not certain I could beat him one on one, and getting him alone to try would be difficult." Octavia twirled magic between her fingers, a small purple blade appearing there which she began to play with. "But I could absolutely assassinate him. Sneak into Windhelm at night, go invisible into the Palace of Kings, slit his throat while he sleeps." She leaned further in and whispered "I've trialed it before. Got in there at three in the morning and stood over him while he slept. But I didn't do it. Why do you think that is?"
While Margret gaped and demanded "You did what?" Hjar rested her head in one hand and thought.
"I've drank too much wine for this conversation..." She growled, meriting a chuckle. "Okay, uh. Well you're not refraining because 'assassination is immoral'. Because you're a psycho."
"Fair." Octavia nodded.
"So...maybe if you killed him like that it would just make the Nords angrier?" Hjar tried. "Because he beat Tommy or whatever in a fair-ish duel. So if you killed him in his sleep, more holds might turn against you, and they'd just pick someone else to follow."
"That is one factor." Octavia nodded. "Killing him might make the Nordic rebellion fall in on itself, but it might also turn him into a martyr, make the resistance even more bitter. But ultimately, that wasn't what decided it. I didn't kill him because I didn't want to kill him."
Hjar made a face. "Aren't you at war with him?"
"The Empire is at war with the Stormcloak insurrection." Octavia specified, with a smile. "But I am an individual. Who says I want the Empire to win?"
"...Um?" Margret uttered, pointedly.
"Oh, right." Octavia snapped her fingers, and a flash of green light flew across and hit Margret in the head, making her slump backwards in her chair.
Hjar narrowed her eyes, "What-"
"Relax, she's just asleep. And I'm not secretly a Stormcloak spy, either, or I'd've assassinated Maro and Tullius instead." Octavia stood, walked over, and put her hands on Hjar's cheeks, lightly slapping them. "Focus. Think. What happens if the Stormcloaks retake Skyrim, declare Ulfric High King?"
It might be the adrenaline from her girlfriend's sudden KO, but Hjar was suddenly feeling a lot more awake. She gulped. "Uh. Well, the Empire has to decide whether to let them leave or just...keep the war going, refuse to recognise Ulfric and keep fighting. But as I hear it, the Empire's in a rubbish state as it is. If Skyrim leaves it's just...them and High Rock, right? They have to choose between an extended war that exhausts both them and Skyrim completely, or give in. Accept international irrelevance."
"Now, what if the Empire wins?" Octavia asked. "What happens to Skyrim?"
"Well, the people aren't going to just take it." Hjar realised. "Even with no official army, the Nords are going to be furious for decades. The Empire's probably going to have to keep soldiers here just to maintain order."
"And to make things worse, consider the Thalmor." Octavia continued, releasing Hjar's face and stepping away. "Either side can break the White-Gold concordat with virtually no consequences and go right back to war. The only reason they don't is because they're still recovering from the last one. Men may repopulate faster than Mer, but make no mistake; if we retook Skyrim tomorrow and attacked Summerset Isle, we probably wouldn't win."
"Then why don't they attack you?" Hjar asked, finding herself genuinely curious.
"Because they're not certain either. And because every second they delay only benefits them." Octavia rested her head against the wall behind her, one hand straying to the bandages about her midriff. "They've infiltrated our government, their soldiers are on our streets, their culture and religion is seeping into ours, they're reinforcing their bonds with Elsweyr and Valenwood. Meanwhile here we are, slaughtering each other while they get to take a breather..."
The Imperial sighed, looking genuinely exhausted for the first time Hjar had seen. The facade of an aloof, elegant noble had finally dropped. Remaining was a tired young mage who had seen too much.
"And here I am using 'us and them' terminology. Bad girl..." Octavia looked up. "Me and Julius have talked about this a lot; he's working the Thalmor angle. We estimate there'll be less than a decade before the Second Great War breaks out. Less than thirty years before the Aldmeri Dominion is the dominant force on Tamriel."
"Hircine's left testicle..." Hjar breathed. She'd known the world was in bad shape, but it hadn't quite dawned on her that it was this bad. "Why are you telling me this? Actually, scratch that; what are you going to do?"
Octavia snorted in an unladylike manner. "Isn't that the question. For a while I was contemplating sneaking over to Summerset Isle and just..." she thrust with her ethereal knife, "slaughtering as many important figures as I could before they killed me. But even then, what do I gain? Why would I prefer the Mer to be the whipping-boy of the next century? Because they're 'different' to me?"
"But if you do nothing, then..." Hjar spread her arms, helplessly.
"Precisely." Octavia walked over, reclaiming her seat. "I have to do something. But to know what to do, I have to know what I want. And I am in an unenviable position: My actions have the power to shape the lives of large numbers of people. You do, too. The state of Markarth is evidence enough of that, and the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood will have long-lasting consequences for the world."
"It's terrifying." Hjar whispered, looking down. "There's so much I can...destroy. And I don't even have to mean it, look what I've done just by trying to do the right thing-"
"Because you were only focusing on the short-fight." Octavia pointed out. "That's Dulurza's word for it, right? I prefer to take a much more positive outlook on the situation. You have the potential to do so much good for the world, if you're smart about it. Because when you start truly thinking about what you could do? The question becomes 'how far are you willing to reach?'"
"Hmph. You know, you never did say what you wanted." Hjar said, because frankly she hadn't had time to think of a proper response.
"I want everybody that exists and ever has existed to be happy, immortal, and free from all suffering and want." Octavia replied immediately, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I also want at least three sexy husbands, knowledge of the innermost workings of the human mind, and for Xander to get a girlfriend. I want to be a good person. But unlike some of my siblings, I don't harbour any illusions that I will become a God...so I suppose I will settle for doing as much good in the world as I can in my lifetime."
"And just going around solving people's individual problems would be-" Hjar realised-
"Highly inefficient." Octavia finished, with a smile. "Hence the accruing of political power and influence. What about you, Hjar? What do you want?"
"I..." she didn't know. "I'll need to think about it."
"You do that. But first-" Octavia snapped her fingers, and Margret stirred. "I'd advise you focus on getting very slobbery with your partner and then getting a good night's sleep. You've just killed a Dragon, for Akatosh's sake, enjoy yourself. You'll have an easier time thinking in the morning."
"Mmmnnn...wha-?" Margret rubbed her eyes. "What happened?"
"You two have fun now!" Octavia gave them a cheery wave, opening the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do~"
A moment later, she was gone.
"...Did she knock me out again?" Margret huffed. "I hate it when she does that."
"She's done it before?" Hjar snorted.
"It's a bad habit of hers. Whenever she can't be bothered to explain herself, she just-" Margret pointed her fingers and made a 'pew!' sound, meriting a laugh. "Ugh...so? What now?"
Hjar hummed. "Well...we could kiss each other a lot?"
Margret grinned. "I like that plan."
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The morning sun shone through the curtains. Dulurza yawned, sitting up and stretching-
Then jumped halfway out of her skin at the slam from right in front of her.
"WHAT in the-"
"Hi Dulurza." Xander said, as the stack of about six books he'd just brought shook on her bedside table. "Got you a present."
"Why are you in my room?" Dulurza demanded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"The door was unlocked."
"It has a lock? Who locks their room doors?"
"Everyone in a civilised-" Xander stopped his tirade. His eyes dropped below hers, then back up. "You, uh. You aren't wearing clothes."
Dulurza also looked down, then back up. "No. I'm in bed. You're in my room. What did you even bring me?"
"I'll explain, just put a shirt on or something, Shalidor's sake!" Xander turned away.
"Imperials and your stupid modesty..." Dulurza sighed, leaning over to grab her undershirt from the pile beside her bed. This was the room she'd been granted for when she was staying in the palace, and frankly she wasn't sure how Xander had found it. At first, she hadn't even known she had a room in the first place. Well, until she'd asked, and learned that it was one of the last things Falk Firebeard had organised before his demise. "So? Talk."
Xander turned back around, and nodded. "Right, yeah. So those are what we call books-"
"I know what a book is, prick."
"Good to know. I wrote some of them. Those are the first copies of the patented Alexander Meteuse 'Negotiation for Dummies' textbooks. And since I figured you were looking for something more immediate, I'm also here to give the key points verbally."
"You-" Dulurza paused, her shirt halfway over her head. "You're teaching me to talk?"
"Yep." Xander cringed, visibly. "You said you were having a problem with Elisif, right?"
"Well, aye, but-" Dulurza finished dressing herself and looked at him. "You said you didn't know how to help."
"I did." Xander nodded, not meeting her eyes. "But then I thought about it, and I realised I was just being a massive coward. I was worried that you'd blame me if you went in with my advice and it didn't work." He inhaled, sharply. "But I'm your friend, and if there's one thing I refuse to be a pathetic waste of space at, it's that. You deserve better. You all do."
Dulurza blinked, genuinely shocked. "Xander. You don't have to prove anything to me-"
"I know." He interrupted, looking at her properly. "But I do have to prove something to myself."
A moment passed.
Then he clapped his hands together and went "So, the summary-"
"You want to do this now?" Dulurza confirmed.
"I'm in a hurry, now would be good."
"Alright, Malacath's name..." Dulurza actually got out of bed, then moved over and opened the curtains, almost pulling one off it's rail by accident. Stupid trappings, what's a curtain even for-
"Excellent." Xander pulled a chair over and sat on it. "So as I understand it, what you want to do is somewhere between an apology and a discussion. That about right?"
"Well-" It was far more complicated than that, but she supposed... "Basically."
"Got it. So you're lucky, because neither of those involve actively trying to 'beat' the other person." Xander threw up weird finger gestures around the word 'beat'. "The two of you have a problem. You want to understand her point of view, and you want her to understand yours, and then you can work towards a solution."
Dulurza huffed. "Sounds great. But it's not that simple."
"Of course not, that's why I'm here." Xander grabbed one of the books off the pile, started flipping through it. "First step, understand yourself. This problem is about something bad you did, right? Why did you do it?"
"Uh-"
"It's fine if you can't answer now, sit down and think about it before you talk to her. Always keep what you want out of the situation in mind, it helps to keep the conversation veering off on a tangent. Next question is, what does she want? Why is she upset at you?"
Dulurza scoffed. "How am I supposed to know that?"
"Have you tried thinking about it for five minutes?" Xander offered.
Dulurza looked away, and didn't reply.
"She's not a Daedra, her brain is a lot like everyone else's. Come up with some ideas, write them down, don't get too attached to them but keep them in mind. At the end of the day though, try asking her?"
"Hmph. Sure." Dulurza crossed her arms. "'Sorry I was going to kill you, but I didn't kill you, why are you mad?' How's that going to sound?"
"You were going to-" Xander's jaw fell open, then promptly snapped shut. "Okay. Moving forwards. Saying that might get you in some trouble. You want to be honest, but...tactful."
"I don't do tactful." Dulurza said, through grit teeth. "I have the tact of a battle-axe. This is what I need help with."
"Oh grow up, it's not Telvani Sorcery." Xander rolled his eyes, which was really obnoxious of him. "Neither me nor Elisif are expecting you to recite the Poetic Edda. Just say what you're thinking, but be nice about it. Keep your tone of voice from getting too loud. Frame your questions as 'I don't understand' rather than 'why don't you make sense'. Elisif is a person. In a cooperative environment, if you admit you have problems or uncertainties, she'll probably try to help. Not go for your throat."
"Not to oversimplify my own culture, but Orcs aren't big on showing weakness." Dulurza warned him.
"If you were only sticking to Orc culture, would Elisif be dead right now?" Xander asked, frankly.
Dulurza looked away again.
"Look, the worst thing you can do is let this fester." He said, standing and walking over her. "Just try not to be confrontational, and...try to be honest. Speaking as someone who has a lot of experience hiding the truth from people? It's very effective when used against enemies. But it's not the sort of thing you want to do to people you care about."
He reached backwards, picked up the first book on the pile, and held it out to her.
She looked down at it, then back up at him. "You know I can't read Tamrielic, right?"
"Yep. I wrote it in Orsimer."
"You-When did you learn to write in Orsimer?"
"Started right after I first worked with you, obviously."
"And you...wrote this yourself? Last night?"
"No, I inspected the dead Dragon for a few hours, then I wrote the Dragon dossier they asked for, then I wrote this."
"Did you sleep?"
Xander just laughed, with only a hint of an encroaching collapse.
Dulurza laughed too, and took the book. "You're insane, mage."
"All the best mages are." Xander clapped his hands, and turned to head for the door. "Right, sorry to be brief, but I have to go. Got a few more people to talk to then I'm headed back to Winterhold. I am actually supposed to be running that school, and on top of that, any messages the Dragonborn or the Blades send to me will go there, and I've already been away too long-"
"Xander?" Dulurza called.
"Hm?" He spun on his heels.
There was a lot Dulurza could have said. But in the end, she just smiled, and said "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He smiled back. "Anything else I've forgotten before I go?"
"Actually..." Dulurza's eyes drifted across the room. There, on the wall, hung her weapon. "Remember that axe enchantment you owe me?"
Xander followed her gaze, then whistled. "Did you repair the haft with Dragonbone?"
"Aye." She had managed that much, even if she had no idea how to work the beast's bone and scales into armour or blades. The head of the axe she had reforged from her Orcish armour that had been damaged by Borgakh. (This was what Dulurza had done last night, instead of thinking about her problems). Only a few small pieces of Ahtar's old executioner axe had made their way into this weapon, but in design, it was functionally the same.
"Okay, that is impressive." Xander walked over to it. "And you want this enchanted? Any ideas what specifically you need? I might be able to get it done before I leave."
Well, he said honesty was important. "I need it to be able to contest with a Daedric artefact." She told him, flatly.
Xander looked across at the axe, then back at her.
"...Give me a week." He said, lifting it off the wall.
He promptly underestimated its weight and stumbled, dropping it entirely, but the moment was very impressive while it lasted.
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"Heading out?" Hjar asked, leaning in the doorway.
L'laarzen's ears flicked up, and she turned, leaving her travel-pack half full. "Ah, Hjar! Yes, Khajiit plans to be on her way soon. Brynjolf is retrieving the rest of our belongings from the inn, and Karliah is checking if any of our horses survived."
"Yikes. Let me guess, you stabled them at Katla's farm-"
"Which promptly burned down, yes." One of L'laarzen's hands reached up to a small, rusted key about her throat. "But Khajiit has been on something of a lucky streak lately..."
"That was a very suspicious statement." Hjar said, reflexively.
"Oh, apologies. L'laarzen is in service to a dark god and it comes with certain perks." The Khajiit smiled, but the expression quickly dropped. "Azurah, that is a strange thing to say. It makes L'laarzen sound like quite the villain."
"I get it." Hjar chuckled. "I mean, you've seen what I can do. And so has half the city; I'm already getting worried looks from people who see me. If I couldn't tag 'dragon-slaying' in front of 'werewolf', I'd have been lynched before the sun came up."
"It is a shame." L'laarzen cocked her head. "Can it be cured?"
"Not sure. Still don't think I'd want to if I could." Hjar flexed the ring on her finger. "Course, this would all be easier if I could actually get a straight answer from the Daedra in question..."
"Khajiit understands." L'laarzen rolled her eyes. "Nocturnal was the same. Do these gods have to be so contrary-"
"Did someone say Daedra?" There was a skidding sound, then a crash, then Alexander stumbled over to lean against the other side of the door. "Ahem. What did I miss?"
"We're talking about our respective dark masters." Hjar told him, moving further into the room. "You're the only one who seems to get consistent responses from them, what's the secret?"
"Untrue." L'laarzen added. "Even with you there, Xander, what Khajiit saw of Nocturnal was still contradictory. As though she hadn't made up her mind on what she wanted."
"Same here." Hjar nodded. "Molag Bal spun on a dime and started praising me when I defied him. Hircine was even more extreme. After I refused to kill Sindig, it was like I was talking to a different person."
"Right, that." Xander raised a hand. "I actually think I can answer this one, Nocturnal explained some of it. So basically, the original spirits are all...bigger than us. It's not that they don't make sense, just that they think on a different level." He moved further into the room and stuck one hand out in front of the window, then pointed to the wall with the other, where the hand's shadow was prominent from the morning light.
"Imagine we're living in a flat world, but the Daedra and Aedra all have actual depth. When we look at them, we don't see 'them'. We see their shadow." He waved the hand. "The shadow can move, we get that, but if it turns-" he twisted his hand around, then mimicked the head of a dog. "Then to the flat world, it looks like its changed shape entirely."
"So when it looks to us like the Daedra has become something different, we are just seeing a different side of it." L'laarzen cottoned on. "And they may seem to contradict each other, but in reality, they're simply too complex for us to understand."
"So we're too stupid." Hjar concluded, with a sigh. "Alright, universe, I get the message. How can we use that, though?"
"Because it means they change in response to how we treat them." Xander said, with a smile. "It's even more pronounced with the Aedra, since they're so attached to Nirn: Their very being can change depending on how they're worshipped. Daedra are much more concrete (you can actually talk to them), but still. There's a reason I've tried to keep Meridia on the back foot this whole time."
"You've been doing this deliberately?!" Screeched a voice from the sword at Xander's waist. "You bastard!"
"It's been very funny to watch." Said another voice, from the cystal on other side.
"Oh, well if it isn't Azura. You've been awful quiet lately!"
"Because I've not been relevant, and unlike some of us I know the value of silence. Don't worry, I'll show up more in the future. Hi Hircine, hi Molag Bal. Ah, Nocturnal~ I hear you've been talking trash about me?"
L'laarzen and Hjar both looked down in a panic, as their own artefacts began glowing with a concerning array of colours.
"Because we actually utilise some subtlety when influencing our champions." Declared Hjar's mace.
"Subtlety? Ha! This coming from the least subtle Daedra in existence." Her ring shot back.
"Either of you claiming to know a thing about subtlety is hilarious." A sultry voice emerged from L'laarzen's key. "Also, hi Azura! Yes, let me clarify. That one time I said you weren't even a real Daedra? I meant it. The rest of us knew Lorkhan's plan was stupid from the start, instead of bailing when the going got tough."
"You want to go, harlot? You want to talk about how I've got an entire two races worshiping me and you're stuck with a piddly little cult?"
"Um?" Squeaked Hjar, looking up at Xander in panic as the five Daedra in a room together started getting louder and louder.
"OKAY, I think that's my cue to leave!" The Archmage gave a brittle smile and tried to pull his robes over the offending priceless artefacts. "Good luck with your adventures, send a courier if you need me, bye-"
He scarpered, and with some final mutterings the remaining artefacts quieted down.
Hjar and L'laarzen looked at each other.
"...So, where are you headed?" L'laarzen beamed, nervously.
"Dragon's Bridge. Got a, uh, package to pick up." Hjar smiled back. "You?"
"Southwest corner of the country, Falkreath hold. Khajiit has a package to deliver."
"Suppose even Dragon slayers have to be couriers sometimes." Hjar chuckled, making her way to the door. "Good luck!"
"Warm Sands!"
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Elisif was in the throne room. This she did every day, in spite of her worsening condition: Even if she wasn't able to meet with her subjects for fear of exposing herself, she still made time to listen to their concerns, filtered through to her by her advisors.
She was just finishing up for the day, and Dulurza was hovering extremely awkwardly near the front door, just out of sight.
Not for the first time, she considered leaving. This really wasn't going to be pleasant.
No. We're as ready as we'll ever be, and we're not backing down now. What was that we told Xander about weakness?
Of course, she didn't need to actively walk away. Just delay until after Elisif was finished and walked back to her room, and then it would be so much easier to decide to leave it until the next day-
NO. Dulurza shook herself, took a deep breath, and made her way up the stairs.
Elisif noticed her immediately, of course, and Malacath it hurt to see the woman's face wince when it locked onto hers.
It's not going to get any better unless you do something about it, come on girl-
"Dulurza." Elisif acknowledged, icily.
"My Jarl." Dulurza greeted back. "Can we talk?"
Elisif sighed, her hands gripping the sides of her chair. "Of course. Do we have to do it now?"
"Do we gain anything by doing it later?" Dulurza pointed it out.
"I suppose not." Elisif stood, flicking a finger. The guards nearby took the hint, and moved away.
"I'm sorry, in advance." The Jarl said, walking forwards and prompting Dulurza to follow. "I've had a lot of time to think. But that also means a lot of time with her. I do believe that what I think and feel is, well. What I think and feel. But I'm not sure of it. I'd much rather resolve my issues with you after dealing with Potema. For all I know, at the moment I'm completely insane."
"Considering what's happening, I'd say you're acting sane. Its everything else that's crazy." Dulurza tried to reassure her. Honesty... "I'd rather do it after too. But if the tribes get here before we get rid of Potema, we might not have the chance to do it later."
"And what you're avoiding saying is 'we might not ever deal with Potema'." Elisif said, bitterly, leaning over the balcony looking over the entrance. "I suppose if I'm going to end up a slave in my own mind, I might appreciate getting the closure in ahead of time."
"That's not going to-"
"Oh, come on." Elisif huffed. "The Meteuse siblings have put together a checklist of possibilities, but really, what else can we try? Arcane magic can't fix me. The power of the Aedra can't fix me. The power of the Daedra can't fix me. What force could possibly succeed where all of that failed?"
That was when the doors to the palace slammed open, and a hoarse voice screamed:
"CHEEEEEESE!"
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The Penitus Oculatus outpost was really rather easy to break into. Okay, sure, Margret had a key, but passing the guards was trivial, and at three in the morning everyone inside was asleep anyway.
"Empire's personal security force, everybody..." Hjar muttered, rummaging through the chests in the storeroom.
"Hey, don't start!" Margret hissed, from beside her. "Besides, there's no way it's this easy!"
"Obviously not, because the thing's not bloody here..." Hjar closed the chest and stood up. "You sure this is it?"
"Yes, this is where we keep all the important paperwork. The only other place I can see it being is-"
"Looking for this?"
Both jumped at the words, turning with their hands on their weapons.
Octavia Meteuse stood in the doorway. She had an envelope held in one hand, and a bemused expression on her face.
"Told you." Margret whispered.
"We have wards, you know." Octavia rolled her eyes, walking further into the room. "I was alerted the moment you walked in."
"I hoped to get in and out before you arrived from Solitude." Hjar grumbled.
"I figured you might. I had a hard ride here to catch up with you, you know. My rear end hurts, and not for any of the reasons I'd like." Octavia twirled the envelope over her finger. "So. What do the two of you want with the deed of ownership to Cidnah Mine?"
They looked at each other, guiltily.
"We were planning on settling down and starting a business?" Margret offered.
Octavia raised an eyebrow. "Mmhmm. You ever seen the inside of Solitude jail?"
"I thought about what you said." Hjar spoke up, walking towards her. "I'm not sure I'm ready to take responsibility for all of Tamriel, I don't know enough for that. But I am going to try and fix my mistakes."
She looked Octavia in the eyes. "I'm going back to the Reach. I want to put my homeland back together."
"That so?" Octavia smiled, slyly. "You sure? All reports indicate the entire hold is a complete circus right now."
"Which is my fault. But if anyone's going to fix it, it's me." Hjar nodded at the envelope. "That'll help."
"You want me to gamble the Empire's best bargaining chip on the hope that you can do it?" Octavia checked. "I get the feeling what you 'fix' might not end up very pro-Empire, even if you do succeed. Why shouldn't I just sort this out myself?"
"Because you aren't the Empire." Hjar replied, unflinchingly. "Because you have bigger things to think about. Or maybe, because this will be a valuable learning experience for me.
Because the woman who's intentionally delaying a war must be willing to risk Markarth. If it will produce someone else who can think like her."
Octavia's smile widened, and Hjar knew she'd hit the nail right on the head. The Captain leaned sideways, looking past Hjar and asking "You going too, Margret?"
"You think I'm letting her out of my sight? With all the trouble she gets into?" The agent replied, smiling at her girlfriend.
"Hm. Well, I suppose your leave can be extended a little longer. Just don't expect to get paid for the duration." Octavia leaned back, and held out the envelope.
Hjar took it, nodding. Then frowned, and shook it, once.
"This is heavier than it used to be." She said.
"It also contains everything new our agents have learned about the region." Octavia explained. "Along with a few precious gems and some personal bits of advice." She turned on her heel, giving one last wave.
"Good luck, you two. Stay safe. And don't tell Commander Maro I did this, he'd have my head."
With that, she flicked one hand, and vanished entirely.
Hjar looked across at Margret. "You were right. You do have a great boss."
"Don't ever doubt me again. Come on, knowing her there'll be unclaimed horses and supplies waiting in the stables."
?
"There! There's one!"
"Yes, I see him, calm down-"
"We should not be calm, we should be jubilant! This wonderful stranger is here to help us out of this rut we are in! Help us greatly...eheheheheh-"
"For once can you stow the laughter? You'll give us away!"
"Oh, lighten up, look at the poor fool. Just shoot his horse and have the zombie girl run him down. This is for her benefit after all..."
"Will both of you just shut up?"
In her long, long existence, Babette had had a lot of bad days. But this particular bad day was rapidly climbing up the list of bad days, and had already made its way into at least the top five worst days she'd ever experienced. Possibly even topping out the day she had returned to Falkreath only to find her home naught but ash and rubble.
"It is freezing." She hissed, glaring at the jester Cicero and the ex-Alik'r Nazir. Beneath her hood, her eyes glowed a bloodshot red. "And that may do me little damage, but I can still feel it. It is freezing, and it is daytime, and I have not fed in days. I have spent five hours sat in this accursed cart with you two insolent, noisy, fools, and one actual corpse in a casket so heavy it's halved the speed of our travel, in the arse end of Tamriel!" She slammed one of her small fists into the great iron coffin (annoyingly, not even making a dent).
Cicero squawked in protest, but she blurred up to him and put a hand over his mouth. "No. No complaints. You two will keep your acts together for the five minutes it will take me to drain this poor fool dry, or by Sithis I will slaughter both of you. Am I clear?"
Cicero, to his credit, was able to keep himself silent. Though his lips kept quirking into a smile, as though he could barely contain his laughter. Insane. He's insane. I would do us both a favour by ending him now...
"Easy, Babette." Nazir's arm came to rest on her shoulder. "We're all family here, remember?"
Grrrr...
It had been almost a week since she'd fed. Hadn't wanted to risk weakening the others by snacking on them. But after so many days sat tantalisingly close to them with little else to think about, she was starting to lose control.
Nazir was right, however. At times like this, she would be foolish to throw away an ally. Especially if that ally was the only one who knew the password to the sanctuary they were aiming for, and especially when she wasn't actually sure if she could beat the jester in a fight.
Still, it was harder than she'd like to tear her eyes away from the pumping arteries in Cicero's neck, and instead focus on the stranger travelling the road towards them.
She took in a breath, and then threw her voice two octaves above where it was comfortable. "Help! Mister stranger, please help us!"
The stranger (who was clearly paying no attention to his surroundings, they probably could have just shot him) looked up at her call. He was a mage-type, from the robes and staff. Skinnier than she'd like, but also probably incompetent, which was beneficial.
When he saw them, a lone carriage in a rut beside the road, he spurred his horse forwards, shouting "Hail! Is everything alright?"
"Oh, thank the Divines!" Nazir called out, in his much deeper timbre, jumping down from the carriage. "I was starting to worry we'd die out here! The horses are exhausted, and with all this damn snow-"
"Easy, easy. Are any of you hurt?" The stranger dropped down from his horse with a small struggle, jogging the rest of the way.
"We're not wounded, no. Just cold and low on food. I'm Nazir, this is my daughter, Babette." Nazir gestured at himself, then at her, then across at Cicero. "We're accompanying our brother here. Poor fool is bringing his mother (rest her soul) to a proper burial, but the damn cart got stuck. Can you help?"
Come on, come closer...Babette could probably have charged for him now, but he did have a sword at his hip. Wait till he's right here. No carelessness, not if that's what got the others found...
But that might have been a mistake.
He was close enough to see her, and his eyes narrowed, and he glanced between her and Nazir.
Did he see my eyes? Oh, no, damnit! My skin!
"She is your daughter?" The mage checked, pointing between the Redguard man and the pale Breton child.
"Adopted." Babette said, hastily.
The stranger's eyes flicked over to Cicero. "And he is your brother-"
"Naz-Papa's the adopted one." Babette hastily interceded. Damnit Nazir, you're getting an earful for that one-
Amazingly, Cicero came to the rescue.
"Oh, it is a heartless, cruel world!" He swooned, putting one hand to his head and making his bells jingle. "My poor dear sister Astrid was tragically killed in this accursed war! Her husband Nazir stepped in, and he has been truly a blessing to the family, but-" he swooned even harder, "Oh, it is hard to speak of. But my mother came down with rockjoint, and-Oh, and-"
"You don't have to continue." The stranger said, sniffing, his eyes puffy. "I'll do all I can. I have some spare food on my horse, and I think I have a few ways to try and get your cart free."
"Oh, thank you sir!" Babette squealed, clapping her hands. "Please, come over here. It's just this back wheel that's stuck..." come on, I can smell you-
"Right. I'll just-Oh, shut up!" He suddenly snapped.
They all paused.
"Uh..." Nazir looked at him.
"Sorry. Talking to the sword." He waved a hand at them dismissively, glaring down at his waist. The sword there was beautifully made, and...glowing?
"Seriously, I know you're feeling neglected, but shut it. I'm busy." The mage hissed at the weapon. "You're embarrassing me in front of the-" He stopped, scoffed, and looked at Babette. "What do you mean she's a vampire?"
Everyone froze.
The stranger's blinked, and then his eyes widened. "Oh, f-"
Babette lunged, snapping the wood of the cart in her impatience, and the man stumbled backwards, changing whatever he was going to say into "FEIM!"
He flashed blue, and her fingers and teeth went right through his neck. What?
She landed on all fours in the snow, and the mage started running, and Nazir shouted "Kill the horse!"
Babette saw Cicero throw one of his knives, watched it (rather impressively) bury itself in the neck of the stranger's horse, making it rear up and whinny before collapsing.
The stranger stopped, swore, and pulled his sword from his waist, and his staff from his back.
"He's intangible! Surround him!" Babette snapped in a raspy voice, her bloodlust fraying at the last of her self control.
The mage backed onto the surer footing provided by the road, as Nazir went right, Cicero went left, and Babette scampered around behind him.
"Sorry, friend." Nazir declared, drawing and swinging his sword. "There's no contract on you, and this isn't personal. Just bad luck."
"Hey, whoa, listen." The mage said, still blue, even as he swivelled to try and keep them all in view. "Whatever it is you want from me, I promise you I can get it for you in higher quantities, and with much less-" His eyes drifted away from them, and landed on their cart. "what..?" He muttered, suddenly distracted.
Cicero jumped between him and the carriage, snarling "Don't even think about it, foul villain! If you in your spite even touch Mother, I will inflict upon you so much pain-"
The man's body flashed again. And suddenly, he wasn't glowing blue anymore.
All three of them shut up and charged.
"Waitwaitwait!" He shouted, desperately. "Don't! You, I-
Darkness Rises when Silence Dies!"
Cicero stopped dead.
That, in itself, was enough to make Nazir stop dead.
Babette, at that point, was much too far gone to pause, lunging up at the mage's exposed back-
Only to be sent sprawling as Cicero shoulder-checked her away.
WHAT? TRAITOR! BLOOD! I'LL KILL YOU!
She hit the floor and hissed.
"Down, beast!" Cicero hissed right back, before swinging on the stranger, pointing both daggers at him. "YOU! Who are you? Where did you learn those words?"
"I-I don't know! I'm Alexander!" The mage pointed his staff, "Your bloody carriage told me to say them! What, do you have a telepathic carriage? Who in Oblivion are you maniacs?"
The situation was now confusing enough to get through to Babette. She growled, shoved a handful of snow in her own face, and tried to ignore her hunger and concentrate, saying "Cicero..." as dangerously as she could.
But Cicero wasn't paying any attention to her.
He dropped his daggers into the snow, an expression of sheer unadulterated joy on his face.
"Listener?" He squealed.
Xander just stood there, slack jawed. He looked across at the cart. Back at Cicero. Across, then back again.
He licked his lips, and then ever so quietly whispered:
"...what?"
I have got to stop doing this.
And I don't just mean the sudden cliffhanger revelations. I have a few character moments to finish and what do I do? I end up giving lectures on politics, gods, negotiation and decision making.
WARNING: Do not take any advice given by these characters as gospel. I am an introverted uni student in gradually mounting debt who writes fanfiction in his free time. I am not a good source for life advice. But I have read books on influencing people, and my urge to stick the rationalist tag on this fic grows stronger by the week. And hey, 'think about your actions' and 'put your ego away and be honest when you need to talk to someone' are probably morals people won't get mad at me for.
So, here we are. Hjar's going home, L'laarzen's finishing up her quest, Xander has just got a very big problem dumped on his plate and Dulurza...Dulurza's blood sugar is about to go up, let's put it that way. With that, this arc comes to an end.
The immediate question, I can imagine, is 'when's the next one?' because once more I'll be taking a break. See I wanna say I'll start again in ten weeks or so when this term ends, but like. Right after that is exam time. Am I really stupid enough to
yes I'm absolutely that stupid, but I do have other commitments as well as other projects I'm working on. I'll get to it when I get to it, how about that?
C'mon, I've been reliable before. You can trust me! Probably...
So yeah, I'll see you when I see you. Long live the Emperor!