Then Comes Marriage
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Hjar's tent shook, as a knocking sound started spiking in her ears. She blearily opened her eyes and groaned.
Is someone…knocking on the tent posts? Really?
"What?" She demanded.
Clinging onto her, Margret mumbled something and buried herself deeper under the furs.
"Wakey wakey, Queen of the Hills." Came Kaie's less-than-impressed voice. "You've got mail."
"Mail?" Hjar grimaced, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "What do you mean, 'mail'? None of you savages even know how to read."
"Of course I know how to read, you entitled brat!" Kaie retorted. "And what do you think I mean by mail? I mean mail. Someone sent you a letter."
"Someone? Who's someone?" Hjar sat up, patting Margret's head as she surrendered the covers and stretched.
"How should I know. You think I read your letters?"
"I—ngh—absolutely think you read my letters, yes."
"Oh. Well, you're right. It's from Strongvor Silver-Blood, he wants to meet."
"Strongv—Pass it! Now!"
"Baby shut up I'm tryn to sleep…" Margret mumbled at her from below.
Hjar winced and whispered an apology. Kaie stuck her hand through the tent flap, parchment clutched in her fingers, and Hjar snatched it.
"Also, what's with that 'Queen of the Hills' nonsense?" Hjar asked, a little quieter. "I know you'd never give me an honorific unironically."
"I don't know what that last word means, but, it's what they're calling you now." Kaie answered. "Ever since you brought home Red Eagle's Redemption yesterday."
"Faolan's Redemption." Hjar corrected.
"What?"
"The sword. It's Faolan's Redemption, not—"
"That sounds way worse." Kaie protested. "It doesn't have the double R thing."
"It's thematic!" Hjar protested right back. "Because Red Eagle was his murder briarheart title, but Faolan was his birth—"
"Cool motive, terrible name for a sword. Also, you know Faolan means Red Eagle, right? Can you even speak old Reachtongue?"
"Can you?"
"…No, but we're getting off topic." Kaie huffed. "Point is, that's the title the camp seems to have decided on for you. Queen of the Hills, granddaughter of the King in Rags. It's spreading like wildfire; runners are going off unprompted to spread the word to the other camps. I think you've finally won the loyalty of the Forsworn."
"Gee, and it only took the recommendation of two gods, one ancient hero, my singlehandedly killing our greatest enemies, and the lack of any other competition…" Hjar grumbled, skimming through the letter she'd been sent.
"I helped…" Margret mumbled from somewhere in the furs, flailing a hand vaguely at her.
"Yes, sweetie, you did great." Hjar patted the hand, then frowned. "Huh. Throngvor Silver-Blood wants me to meet him."
"I just said that to you." Kaie protested.
"Yes, but you missed the important bit." Hjar double checked to see if she'd read correctly. "He wants to meet me outside the city."
8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
It was a beautiful day for a wedding. The gates to Solitude were left wide open, people flocked to the streets, there was bunting strung up between the houses.
A lovely atmosphere, not that L'laarzen was in much of a mood to appreciate it.
"The ceremony is being held in a courtyard of Castle Dour." She relayed to Xander beside her, having spent a minute listening for details in nearby conversation. "Apparently it is supposed to be open to the public, but most civilians are being gently guided away by guards."
"Recall how we saved the city from a dragon a couple weeks ago?" Xander reminded her. "They'll let us in. If they don't, I can just ask someone to relay a message to Octavia."
He glanced across at her, then reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Relax. It's not like we're on a time limit."
L'laarzen exhaled, in an attempt to release some tension. It didn't help. "Should L'laarzen be impressed that you can read when she is tense, now?" She asked, trying for a smile. "She should be better at concealing such things."
Cicero spoke up from next to them. "It's your hands, kitty~. You play with your sleeves or a cloth when you're nervous."
L'laarzen clenched her fists and shot the jester a glare, which just made him giggle.
"Use L'laarzen's name, please." Xander rebuked, before giving L'laarzen an apologetic look. "But he is right. Look, don't worry. It's not like we're going to accidentally kill the bride."
They both paused at that, then both turned to their other companion.
"Cicero?" Xander warned. "No killing anyone who doesn't try to kill you first."
"Of course, Listener." Cicero nodded earnestly.
"And no killing Vittoria, period."
"Absolutely, Listener."
The jester was a perfect picture of sincerity.
Xander stared at him. Then offered "You know what? Maybe Cicero just stays outside the party."
"Agreed." L'laarzen nodded. "Khajiit will keep an eye on him. You warn your sister."
By this point, they had reached the bottom of the path to Castle Dour.
"Good plan." Xander agreed. "Alright, stay safe, don't talk to strangers, this shouldn't take me too long. Cicero, uh…do what L'laarzen says. Unless it contradicts what I say."
"Hey!" L'laarzen exclaimed, affronted.
"Obviously." Cicero agreed.
Xander flashed her an apologetic glance, and then set off up the hill at a brisk walk.
L'laarzen watched him go, then walked over to lean on a wall and wait. She made sure to keep her hands still.
It wasn't thirty seconds before her companion spoke up with "You do not trust Cicero, do you?"
…And, no, the headache is not leaving. She looked back up at the jester, reiterating "You are insane."
"Yes, yes, we've established that." The jester skipped over and leaned against the wall next to her. "But Cicero is obedient. He knows you listened to the entire conversation back at camp, are you not convinced by his—"
"Stop that." L'laarzen hissed.
"Stop what?" He replied, blinking.
"The third person self-address." L'laarzen told him. "You are doing it to mock Khajiit."
"Oh, no no no no, that's just a thing I do." Cicero raised his hands in surrender. "But I can be good! See, I've stopped. Can we be friends now?"
"L'laarzen does not befriend murderers." She snapped, looking to the floor.
"Oh." Cicero nodded. "So we're lying to each other now."
"Don't."
"I mean, everyone I've seen you interact with has been—"
"Your Listener told you to obey me?" L'laarzen interrupted him. "Shut it."
He shut it.
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It was a beautiful day for a wedding.
The sun shone brightly down from above and there was nary a cloud in the sky. The courtyard of Castle Dour was looking the least dour it ever had, packed with every dignitary in the city and many from beyond, all decked out resplendently for the occasion. The reactions to Elisif had been largely relieved; everyone seemed glad that she was out and about again after her 'illness' the previous week.
Of course, all those conversations were unfalteringly polite, and underscored with constant prodding for gossip. Elisif much preferred the reactions from the ordinary people as she had walked across from her palace. The cheers and well-wishes she'd received had felt so much more…honest. Came with more of a personal touch.
Touch…
You're daydreaming about last night again. Potema warned.
AAGH, SHUT UP! Elisif bit her lip and shook her head, dispelling some very visceral images from her head for about the hundredth time that day.
Honestly, darling, just go and take an hour to fantasise about it properly. Her symbiote advised. I wouldn't judge you for it, it was a spicy moment.
I am absolutely not fantasising about kissing— Elisif's brain briefly crashed, and she almost tripped. Can you not? You're not help—
"Elisif!"
Elisif's head snapped upwards, rapidly composed herself, saw who had addressed her, lost her composure, and found it again, all in the span of about a second.
"Elenwen!" She said, with a smile that shouldn't be visibly false. "A pleasure to see you here. I understood that you were leaving yesterday on business?"
"Well, love and war makes fools of all mortals. And even the Thalmor, on occasion." Elenwen laughed at her own joke, because of course she did. "And both love and war are in the air, aren't they? Yes, it was a scheduling issue combined with the fact that I was desperate to attend. I never miss a good party if I can help it. It was such a shame you missed mine a few weeks ago…"
"Ah, I see." Elisif replied, utterly blanking the question about her disappearance. "And it was nothing to do with the fact that an Orsimer attack aimed at the city today was rather unceremoniously cancelled?"
"Ah, yes, I heard about that." Elenwen replied, utterly blanking the accusation about her cowardice. "Ghastly affair. I trust you got those beasts under control?"
"We came to an agreement, yes." Elisif paused for a moment, then mentioned "There was the slight issue of it turning out that the Thalmor were behind everything, however."
"Hm?" Elenwen 'hm'd, with far less worry than Elisif would have liked. Drat. She's prepared for this.
"I currently have one of your agents in my prison, you see." Elisif said, casually, but slightly louder than normal conversational volume. The eyes of a few nearby guests (including legate Rikke, who looked uncomfortable in her dress, and Octavia Meteuse, who looked uncomfortable in spite of her dress) turned towards her. "And he's claiming under interrogation that he was tasked, by you, to manipulate the tribe of Mor Khazgur into attacking my city."
There was a brief upsurge of mutters from immediately around them.
Elenwen raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is tremendously indiscreet of him."
And then she let that hang for a solid five seconds before continuing "Oh, and wrong. The Thalmor and the Empire are allies, as per the White-Gold Concordat, and we would never do anything that would jeopardise that peace. This agent has clearly gone rogue. Our records show Ancarion should be on Solstheim researching Stahlrim."
"I never said his name." Elisif said, flatly.
"No, you didn't." Elenwen replied, smiling.
Nine Divines, the testicles on this woman. Potema said, appreciatively. She's not even being subtle. She knows damn well we can't do anything.
"As I recall, there was a similar incident like this about a month ago." Octavia spoke up, drawing eyes to her. "Didn't two of your agents 'go rogue' and attack the College of Winterhold? I hope this isn't going to be an ongoing problem for your organisation."
"Octavia, darling, so good to see my favourite Meteuse! But no, I certainly hope not." Elenwen clasped her arms behind her back, and said "Don't worry, the Thalmor takes these betrayals very seriously. We're currently in the process of…cleaning house, so to speak."
A sinking feeling manifested in Elisif's gut. "If I go down to the dungeons, will I find that our prisoner is dead in his cell?" She asked.
"Oh, I wouldn't know, my dear." Elenwen replied. "I have plausible deniability for just about everything."
She clapped her hands together and smiled. "Lovely chat, but I must get going. I need to congratulate our dear bride and groom; I have a strange feeling that I might not get the chance if I leave it too late. Have a lovely day!"
"Elenwen?" Elisif called as the Thalmor turned to leave, causing her to pause and turn back.
It may not have been the most diplomatic move to make, but recent events had left Elisif rather sick of diplomacy, so:
"Don't ever attack my city again." She said, coldly.
Elenwen stared at her for a long time. Then glanced just past her shoulder. "How could I, when it has such a staunch and valiant protector?"
With that, she walked away.
Elisif sighed, and turned to what Elenwen had been looking at. Which was, of course, Dulurza, who had been there the entire time. Elisif had just been desperately trying not to think about her.
Dulurza looked after the retreating Thalmor, then back at her jarl.
"I know that one's not a vampire, but can I behead her anyway?" She asked.
"Sadly, no." Elisif answered. But she was beginning to think that it might just solve a lot of their problems.
8˂
A hand tugged on L'laarzen's arm. She ignored it. It kept tugging. She kept ignoring it.
There was a pause. Then a finger began repeatedly poking her ears.
"What?" She snapped at Cicero.
He looked at her, pointedly.
I would rather chat with Mercer Frey for hours than spend another minute with this creature—
"Speak." She demanded.
"Not to be a bother." Preened Cicero. "But a minute ago there were four guards patrolling the parapets of Castle Dour. Now there are zero."
"You what—" L'laarzen pushed him aside, and looked up at the fort. She hadn't been casing it for infiltration, but she was sure there had been people up on top when they'd been approaching. But Cicero was right. Nobody was there.
She turned to him, half in horror and half in rage. "What did you do?"
"I did nothing." Cicero refuted. "But, someone did something up there—"
"Follow!" L'laarzen snapped, before running up the hill.
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The spot Throngvor had picked to meet was fairly unobtrusive. At a place where two rivers joined to make one, south of the city, there was a small camp set up. Two figures sat by a low-burning fire: one robed, one armoured.
It was growing dark when Hjar and Margret approached, so they did so slowly and openly, making sure to let their presence be visible long before they arrived. Throngvor and Verulus both stood to greet them.
"How in Oblivion are you outside the city?" Hjar asked, once she was close enough to be heard.
"How did you get in and out?" Throngvor asked right back, arms crossed.
"Magic horse." Hjar replied.
"Really. Can I see it?"
"No, I don't have it anymore."
"Of course."
Verulus spoke up. "When we last met, you said you were willing to do us a favour. Is that offer still on the table?"
Yep, figured that would be what this was. "It is." Hjar nodded. "But I'd have to hear it first."
The two men looked at each other. It was Verulus who spoke up again, saying "We know that the Reachmen worship their own pantheon of 'Old Gods'. What is their stance on Namira?"
Hjar wrinkled her nose up.
Margret wrinkled her nose up further, and clarified "The darkness and decay Daedra? Okay, how on Mundus is she relevant?"
"She's viewed as a god, but not a good one." Hjar answered, recalling what she'd been taught in her youth. "Patron of poisoners, perverts, and particularly nasty hagravens. I've no love for her, but then, I'm not very religious."
"You're a…werewolf." Verulus pointed out, before glancing at her belt "With the mace of Molag Bal."
"Long stories, both." Hjar sighed. "But I don't worship either, and I don't owe them debts. Why do you ask about Namira?"
They looked at each other again. Throngvor answered her, and when he did, his tone was more halting and uncertain than she'd ever heard from him. "Not long before this mess, Verulus discovered that the corpses in the Hall of the Dead were being…eaten. I accompanied him to investigate, and we encountered a Breton woman calling herself Eola. She admitted that it was her eating the bodies. Her, and her…cult. To Namira."
"Ew." Punctuated Margret.
"Aye." Throngvor grimaced. "I was going to kill her on the spot, but there was something about her. She was…persuasive. Hypnotic. The things she said seemed to make sense. She almost had me convinced that I wanted to…to eat my own family—"
His fists clenched, looking visibly disturbed, and Verulus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Were it not for the fact that we were both there, I with my duty and Throngvor with his outrage, I suspect she would have had us." The priest summarised. "We were able to resist and Throngvor prepared to attack her, at which point she vanished."
Hircine's left testicle… Hjar glanced across at Margret. "Can illusion magic even do that? Can Octavia? She does illusion."
Margret looked almost ill. "I don't know. I don't think so. The captain says there are three main types of illusion magic: Creating 'real' illusions that can be seen by everyone, messing with peoples' perceptions to show images to only them, and actively influencing the mind. This sounds like the last one, but usually the best you can do is heighten or smother simple driving emotions, like rage or fear. If the captain gets a grip on your head, she can turn you into a puppet. That's scary, but at least it's obvious she's doing it." Margret gestured across at Verulus. "But this sounds subtle, precise, its…if illusion mages could learn to do it, they'd rule the world."
Hjar narrowed her eyes. "But the Daedra can grant magic that enchanters and spellcrafters can't. If this Eola's a Namira worshiper, that might be how she's doing it."
"Our thoughts exactly." Throngvor nodded. "After that, we saw nothing of her, and there was no new damage to the bodies. But then the city fell into chaos."
He glared at Hjar.
She tried not to wince. "I'm…sorry?"
"There were a lot of bodies in the street. At first." Verulus looked to the floor, eyes angry. "But that was sacrilegious, never mind dangerous. Throngvor had his men try and gather them together, I tried to do my best to give them their rites, and then…"
"Let me guess." Hjar raised an eyebrow. "Someone came for a snack?"
"Three bodies went missing in three nights." Throngvor answered. "I guarded them personally on the fourth, and caught a man trying to steal away with it. It was Hogni Red-Arm, a damn butcher. But he talked, when we made it clear what would happen to him if he didn't. They have a tunnel, a way to get from outside to the old dwarven ruins, then into the mine. It's how we were able to get out to see you. And they have a shrine out in the hills, where they…'dine'."
"And you want our help to take it out." Margret finished.
"Okay, well, we're in." Hjar said. "Because frankly that is disgusting and I want it stopped. Where do they live?"
"We can mark it on your map. But we caught Hogni days ago." Throngvor warned. "We don't know if they'll still be there after he failed to return. And we don't want to leave the mine unprotected while we're out looking."
"Don't you have a small army?" Hjar pointed out.
"Of minions." Margret reminded her. "We can go through dozens of those."
"Fair enough." Hjar turned back to Throngvor. "So what do you suggest?"
"We split up." Throngvor answered. "Two of us hunt down the bastards, the other two head into the mine and keep watch."
"You want us to solve the problem while you sit on your asses." Margret summarised.
"No." Throngvor denied, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. "I'm coming with you. I planned to have you deal with it yourselves as a test, but…I can't allow this to continue. I have a duty to my people. And I'm not putting Verulus in any more danger." He looked to Hjar. "Can your girlfriend fight?"
"She can do other things as well, like speak for herself." Margret said, rolling her eyes.
"Then she—" Throngvor cottoned on to the warning look from Hjar, and turned to face Margret fully, "Then you can accompany Verulus back to Cidnah Mine. If anything happens to him, or to my men, I'll have your head."
Verulus smiled.
"And you'll come with me?" Hjar checked. "Not worried I'll kill you?"
"If you wanted to, you already could have, aye?" Throngvor shrugged. "And if I do die, everyone's going to think it's your fault no matter what you say."
"Hmph. Well aren't you getting canny." Hjar turned, raising a questioning eyebrow at Margret, who nodded back. "Alright. Let's do this. Point the way."
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Elisif turned and walked away as Elenwen did, and Dulurza moved to follow her, asking "How exactly can she get away with this?"
"Because we can't afford to go to war right now. And they know it." Elisif huffed. "Even if everyone knows she's guilty, she's too valuable to the Thalmor for them to give her up to shut us up. If we accuse them of open betrayal, they can say 'then void the concordat, cowards'."
"And we can't void the concordat."
"Not unless we want to fight a civil war and a regular war at once." Elisif pinched her forehead; one of the little stress tics she'd picked up during the 'Potema Incident'.
"Then why don't they just…fight us now?" Dulurza asked, confused.
"I presume because they don't want to take the continent in a bloody, messy war that will last years, while we salt every field in their path. They'd rather keep infiltrating as they are." Elisif shrugged. "Or maybe they worry that an attack by them is the only thing that will make the Stormcloaks and Imperials ally again? I don't know. Perhaps our dear Emperor would be willing to risk calling their bluff and demanding compensation for the betrayal. But its not a decision for me to make. Well, he's here, maybe I should mention it to him…"
"Hmph." Dulurza grunted, summarising the situation in one frustrated noise. "I'd rather go back to fighting Mor Khazgur than deal with this…madness."
Elisif chuckled, briefly. "You and me both."
Of course, Dulurza thinking about her sister led to thoughts about yesterday evening which led to thoughts about what had happened yesterday evening.
Because, you know. She'd kissed her jarl. She'd Kissed her Jarl. She'd Kissed her Jarl—
"Elisif." She said, quietly. "About last night—"
"It was an excellently handled diplomatic solution to the problem posed by your sister and the Orcs, yes." Elisif replied, quickly and curtly.
Dulurza took the hint. Ignored it. "I meant more the bit where—"
"I don't think right now is the best time, Dulurza." Elisif emphasised, glancing at the people all around them.
So…she wants to talk about it later? Which isn't a 'no'. Technically. It's better than a 'never mention it again'. Do I clarify?
"But later—"
"Yes, fine, later."
Oh, Malacath, that didn't sound promising. Am I going to have to insist on an awkward conversation again? I barely survived the last one!
But Elisif had already started conversing with one of the other nobles. Dulurza crossed her arms and grimaced, looking up to the newly married lady giving a speech.
Well, it wouldn't be that bad. Just…several hours more of stewing on the fact that she had made clear an explicit romantic attraction to the woman she had once planned to murder, and that woman responded by giving the most confusing set of signals possible and then putting off discussing it for a whole day.
Several.
More.
Hours.
…Malacath, please send something to interrupt this before I snap.
The door behind Vittoria Vicci opened.
8˂
"Halt! You're not meant to be…in here…" The Imperial soldier standing in the chapel of the Eight Divines paused, squinting. "Hey, aren't you that Khajiit who killed the drag—"
Which was all he got to say before L'laarzen reached him, spun him by his shoulder, and grabbed him in a chokehold.
"Stairs." She snapped at Cicero, who quickly made his way to the staircase in the corner. L'laarzen liberally applied her specialised restoration spell to the man's forehead, sending him unconscious before the lack of oxygen could, and then dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. Raising the alarm by having him found can do no harm. Now then—
She chased Cicero up the stairs.
Their panic was justified on the next floor. Cicero was standing over the slumped body of a priest.
"Still alive." He reassured her. "Just sleeping. That one however…" He pointed further up the corridor. L'laarzen spotted the body of a Solitude guard, similarly collapsed. But there was blood seeping out from under the concealing helmet, pooling on the floor.
"They kill the guards but not the priests." Cicero wrinkled his nose up. "Well, that just sounds inconsistent if you ask me."
"The killing of an innocent is viewed as dishonourable and incompetent." L'laarzen whispered, stomach falling out from under her.
"Really? Who thinks that?"
"We do!"
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"Excuse me, sir." Said a man in the characteristic red-black of the Penitus Oculatus, stepping in front of Alexander as he approached the courtyard. "Are you sure you want to be coming through here? Most of the fun is down in the city, and Lady Vicci plans to—"
"Agent, what's your name?" Xander said, staring the young man dead in the eyes.
"Uh. Sergeant Gaius Maro." The agent replied. He had probably been expecting 'entitled noble', not 'unimpressed senior officer'.
"Gaius, I am Archmage Meteuse, I'm here to report to Captain Octavia with critical security information. Move." Xander walked forwards, and Gaius moved.
The courtyard opened up in front of Xander and whoa, that was a lot of important people.
Aside from basically every significant noble from Solitude, he spotted Lieutenant Rikke, a person with Ulfric's Stormcloak flag on their clothing, Elisif and Dulurza (he made to wave but they weren't looking), Cassia (he waved and she waved back, clearly surprised to see him), and…The Emperor. Apparently.
Emperor Titus Divines-Damned Mede the Divines-Damned Second was stood in the crowd, talking to Vittoria Vicci and her husband. He had another Penitus Oculatus agent practically glued to his side, and Octavia stood not five feet away, but…damn.
I could buy a fireball scroll for a hundred septims and make fifty thousand from the explosion.
Vittoria left Titus (the woman and her cousin both seeming to be smiling) and headed for a doorway nearby.
Xander walked past (determinedly not making eye contact with his emperor) and beelined for his sister.
She had looked at him when he entered, but now was pointedly not doing so.
He coughed. "Hey, Oct—"
"Not now." She said, flatly.
"Nice to see you too, do you mind if I—"
"Not now."
"—speak to you, it's really—"
"Not now."
"Really?" Xander asked. She ignored him.
He huffed, and started to move away. "Alright, fine. I'll just talk to someone else about the assassination plot I've disco—"
One hand grabbed his waist, the other the scruff of his neck, and Octavia moved him bodily through the groups of people, backing him against a wall.
"Hey little brother." She said, giving him a sharp look. "I am having a stressful enough day as it is, so if I find out you're messing with me I will not be happy."
"No messing! Seriously, get off me, ow." Xander pulled her arm off him (which he was surprised to find was possible. This wasn't a fifteen year old pulling around a twelve year old anymore; they were both adults and he was probably the fittest he'd ever been).
"Then talk." She pressured. "What assassination plot?"
Xander glanced over her shoulder. They were gathering more than a few glances. "Here? Or—"
She snapped her fingers, and the view of everything around them blurred for a brief moment. Vittoria, who had just started a speech from up on the parapet, was immediately muffled to a quiet murmur, along with the rest of the crowd.
"Talk, Xander." Octavia incentivised.
"Alright." Xander took a breath, and focused. "There's a lot to go through, and I need your help, but I'll skip to the most important part. I discovered someone who planned to kill Vittoria Vicci."
Octavia swore, loudly.
Xander was taken aback (she never normally does that—) before she leaned in closer and grabbed his lapels. "Now?"
"Yes—But its okay!" Xander raised his arms placatingly and laughed, nervously. "She shouldn't be in any immediate danger!"
And then, over Octavia's shoulder, he watched an armoured man walk out behind the newlyweds, grab Vittoria's head, and slit her throat.
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"AND WE'RE LEAVING—" Dulurza grabbed a stunned Elisif and began manhandling her away from the crowds—
8˂
Screaming met L'laarzen's ears, echoed, loud, and from many different mouths.
She hissed a Khajiiti curse, and started sprinting further down the corridor. One turn, and then another, and then a door in front of her slammed open, revealing—
A broad shouldered figure in darkly shaded chitinous armour.
No. No, no, not here!
But there wasn't time to hesitate. She charged the man.
He did hesitate, freezing upon seeing her, and it almost cost him his life as her claws were immediately out and slashing at his throat. Him jerking backwards at the last second saved him (which was good, on second thought, she probably wanted him alive), but they didn't stop her fingers snatching at his goggled mask and yanking at the fabric as her knee came up into his torso and shoved him away.
There was a rip and he staggered backwards. L'laarzen tossed the mask to the side and moved towards him again, taking in his features as a matter of precaution even as she—
And then she stopped dead.
He didn't move either, eyes locking onto hers, and the shock she saw in his face must have been mirrored in her own.
He was a Dunmer. Young, by their standards, which probably meant almost fifty years of age. But she knew that he was forty six. His beard was cut sharp, his features sharper, his eyes sharper still. And he wore the armour of a Morag Tong assassin.
"L'laarzen?" He asked, breathlessly.
"Vendil?" She asked, in return.
Then the door he had approached through slammed open again, soldiers pouring through, and Vendil jolted to life, hands flickering with light before his whole body went invisible, and Cicero came skidding round the corner and another door was thrown open by no-one at all and someone tackled her to the floor and Xander was shouting "No, wait! She's with me!" from somewhere nearby and somewhere else, barely audible above the din, she could hear a man weeping.
Barely any of it registered to L'laarzen. Her breath came out in erratic pants, her heart was racing, her mind was running in circles, she dimly recognised that she was probably experiencing a panic attack, and…
The Morag Tong had just executed a writ in Skyrim.
And now Vendil Ulen knew she was here.
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"Before you go, there is the other thing." Verulus spoke up, causing three pairs of eyes to turn to him.
Margret and Hjar gave him very suspicious looks, Throngvor just seemed resigned.
"Yeeees?" Hjar asked.
"Your plan. To unite the people of the Reach." Throngvor said. "I've thought on it. It's my responsibility to ensure the safety and prosperity of my people. If you are being honest, and if it works…Then I would accept it."
Oh, damn. I didn't expect that this soon. Hjar smiled, "That's great—"
"But." Throngvor held up a hand. "Convincing one man, even if that man is me, is different to convincing a crowd. Our people won't trust each other. Your savages will still be out for the blood of my people, who in turn will lash out at the Forsworn out of hate and fear. And they'd be right to; I still don't think my odds are better than a coin flip that I survive tonight."
"So we tell them not to." Hjar replied. "I'm the Queen in the Hills and you'll be the Jarl of Markarth. They'll listen, and we'll deal with the ones that don't."
"You're being optimistic there." Verulus pointed out. "I've learned from my time in Skyrim that these people are a simple lot. They're stubborn, traditional, slow to change, and not the type to be swayed by 'we decided to do an alliance'. I doubt the Forsworn are much better. If either of you announce that you're working with the enemy, you may just be branded a traitor. The people would want something more…symbolic."
Hjar groaned. "Like what? I could give him a sword?"
"You could give him a ring?" Verulus offered.
Hjar glanced to her hand. "If he puts this on he'll turn into a werewolf and go on a rampage."
"Not what I meant." Verulus turned and gave Throngvor a pointed look.
The Silver-Blood sighed. "You want me to say it? It's your idea."
"And you agreed to it."
"I didn't—" Throngvor cut himself off. Sighed again. Then met Hjar's eyes. "If we do decide to bring the Reach back together, the people would need to see that we were together."
"Exactly. That's what I said." Hjar agreed, not getting his point.
"Together, such as…" Throngvor grit his teeth. "With a marriage."
Hjar stood there, slack jawed. She looked over at Margret. Back at Throngvor. Across at Verulus, then back again.
She licked her lips, then ever so quietly whispered:
"…what?"
And so does the fourth act of this story come to an end.
Yes, really. This is where I'm stopping it.
I'm noticing a disturbing trend of 'Xander, Dulurza and L'laarzen getting wrapped up in a collaborative effort while Hjar sits in the Reach and does her own thing.' Like, that's happened more than once, and I expect it to happen at least a little more.
But in this case, I should think a threat to the Emperor's life is something everyone except Hjar would actually care about. Or rather, she'd care but go 'Eh, Octavia can sort it, I'm micromanaging the Reach'.
Regardless, the Morag Tong are in town, and they're here to do business. Well-read readers might recognise Vendil Ulen, and not just from his appearance in a previous interlude. How and why they're here, and how they'll change things, will come up later...but come on. You didn't think I was just gonna not do the Brotherhood questline, did you? 'They told Octavia and then the emperor was fine, even after setting up his arrival for two arcs'. Like no.
Meanwhile down in the Reach, Hjar is left with a very strange offer. That situation will be expanded on as we go, but as you can imagine her initial reaction is...not so positive.
I'd like to take a second to thank each and every one of you for reading so far.
I absolutely love doing this and its great to know one of my pet projects is making someone else's day. It always feels tacky to ask for reviews, but if I'm gonna do so, I may as well here. I reply to basically all of them, if you have questions.
(Eugh. Cringe.)
Anyway, break-time. Now, I finished this right at the end of exams and so Dobby is free, but I have other things I need to do in the interim. Even so, I don't think this hiatus will be as long as usual. Anywhere from a month to the usual ten weeks. If I time this right, I might be able to not do all of my writing during term-time. If such insanity is even possible...
Until then, may the father of understanding guide you.
...Wait crap wrong fandom-