Uncovering
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
Archmage Alexander Meteuse stepped out onto the ice bridge. He was in a cave in the Midden, light dimly seeping in from cracks in the ceiling, as well as from down the tunnel on the other side of the bridge.
Across from him stood three assassins. Cicero, Babette, and Nazir. All of whom watched cautiously and silently as he approached.
He came to a stop halfway across the bridge, clicking his staff down into the ice as he rested one hand on the pommel of his sword. Then tilted his head.
"Well? Come on, let's go. Augur says the exit's that way, Dawnstar's a long way west. If we make a good pace along the coastline, we might be able to make it before night falls."
Cicero giggled, Babette grumbled something, and Nazir turned and started walking. Xander quickly fell in with them, and led the way out of the Midden.
8˂
L'laarzen found the right tree hanging over the river into Windhelm harbour, crouched down, and began to dig in the silt with her paws.
Her little detour would only cost her an hour or so, given that it was Shadowmere stood silently on the shore nearby. The horse was an unnatural thing; silent, never hungering, and she was never comfortable while astride it. But Masser and Secunda, it was fast.
The muck was loose, once she got rid of the frosty top layer. It didn't take her long to pull it aside and dig a few inches beneath the surface, until her fingers scraped against wood.
A few minutes more of digging, and she was able to withdraw what she was looking for.
A wooden chest, mid-sized.
She wasn't sure why exactly she'd come back for it. Perhaps just because the past she'd symbolically buried was now being symbolically dug back up, so she felt she should do the same more literally.
As she fiddled with the lock, she realised that a part of her had quietly always expected to come back here. She just hadn't expected it to be so soon.
The chest opened with a groan of rapidly rotting wood.
The majority of the space was taken up by a neatly folded patchwork of chitin and fabric, coloured dark browns and reds. Amusingly, thanks to the intervention of Nocturnal, L'laarzen hardly needed her old Morag Tong armour anymore.
Laying atop that was a selection of other items. A pair of expertly crafted daggers. A smoke bomb. A pouch of Morrowind currency. And an even smaller, more ornate box. Hesitantly, she picked it up, briefly cracked it open to check what was inside—
Then snapped it shut just as quickly, taking a shaky breath. She closed and resealed the chest, then hauled it up out of the muck.
"You wouldn't mind carrying some extra cargo, would you?" L'laarzen asked Shadowmere.
Shadowmere stared at her, silent.
"Not sure what Khajiit expected, in truth…"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
If Xander had a septim for every time he'd been forced to flee the College of Winterhold in the freezing cold, he'd have two septims. Which wasn't a lot, but it was weird that that had happened twice.
The sun was close to the horizon and obscured behind thick banks of cloud. For the first few hours, their travel along Skyrim's idyllic northern coastline had been almost pleasant. But then the wind had picked up, and the time had shifted through afternoon into evening, and now he was clutching his robes tight around himself and desperately wishing he'd had the warning to pack proper winter gear.
One hand was clamped around the ever-warm hilt of Dawnbreaker, its magical sunlight his only source of relief throughout the journey. With the other hand…
"How in Oblivion did they know we were there?" Hissed Babette, gripping his wrist from behind and using him to help pull her small frame through the deep snowdrifts.
It was far from the first time the question had been asked during their trek. And just like all the previous times, Xander could only answer, "I don't know."
"UGH. This is ridiculous!" The vampire snapped. "We were careful! What about that Master Wizard of yours? She knows, doesn't she?"
"If Mirabelle had ratted you out, she would have ratted me out as well." Xander replied, tiredly. "But she was still listening to my instructions after I went after you. It's not her. But I can't think of anyone else."
"Mrow!" Meowed the cat.
Oh, yeah, that was there. It had showed up on the way out and jumped into Nazir's robes, where it was now hiding. Why in Oblivion the crazy thing had decided to follow him, Xander had no idea. Maybe I forgot to feed it, and by the time it realised I was taking it further away from the food, it was too late to back out.
"It could be the cat?" Nazir offered.
"If Korir can talk to animals, I have bigger concerns than the Morag Tong." Xander answered, bluntly.
Babette scoffed. "With such a penchant for animals, you would have loved Veezara and Arnb—Ngh—Gack, Damn this air…"
"Nearly there now~!" Sang Cicero from the front, but Xander ignored him, turning back to shoot Babette a worried look.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
"Am I alright?" The girl glared at him with reddening eyes beneath her thick hood. "I'm a vampire, and you've just forced me to walk for six hours in the sunlight on an empty stomach. No." The last denial was followed by a bout of coughing, but she waved him off when he tried to move closer. "It's fine. Just these lungs. They're freezing."
"Do your lungs even work?" Xander asked, going back to walking. Then, "Wait, do you even need to breathe? Does your blood actually flow?"
"No, no, and no, are you sure you're a mage?" Babette huffed. "The body's basically in stasis. Undying, unchanging, un-decaying, fuelled by the blood I consume. But I need to breathe air if I want to taste, smell, or speak. And that doesn't work so well when I've got no internal heat to keep water from condensing in the—Gah, son of a—Lungs. 'Specially after I've been scorched and starved all day."
"When was the last time you fed?" Xander asked, seriously concerned.
"Over a week ago." Babette grit out. "Nazir gave me an emergency top-up when we first met you, remember? But I couldn't drain him, because I need him, so that didn't last me more than five days without…issues."
"You couldn't do it again?" Xander tried.
"It takes more than one mortal to sustain a vampire." Babette explained. "If I tried to live on just Nazir, he'd die within a month. A second feeding this soon would make him too weak to fight. And you forbade us harming people in Winterhold, not that I wasn't tempted."
Ah. Right. "And, Cicero?"
"Yeeees, Listener?" Called the jester from the front.
"Might have to." Babette's nose wrinkled. "But he smells like death. I don't know what is wrong with that maniac, but I'd rather stick my teeth into the Night Mother."
"Yikes." Xander commiserated.
…Don't do it.
Don't do it.
Don't Do It.
Don't—Oh, for Lorkhan's sake—
Xander paused, crouched, and yanked down the robes about his head, revealing a significant patch of bare skin at his neck. "Here."
Babette (and further away, Nazir) blinked at him in surprise. "What? Wait, really?"
"You don't have to kill me, right?" Xander prompted, grimacing at the breeze. "Just leave me conscious and be quick, please, it's bloody freezing."
"Huh." Babette smiled, and it quickly turned predatory. "Well aren't you a gentleman. Hold still."
He gulped, suddenly a lot less confident in an idea he hadn't been that confident in to begin with. "This isn't going to hurt, is it?"
"Not if I do this…" Babette leaned closer, met his eyes, and suddenly his head was in a cloud.
Whoa. Uh, what?
His vision blurred, and the cold was gone, his body just sort of thrumming with contentment like he had just spent an hour in one of Cyrodiil's steam rooms, while his brain went all dreamy and fuzzy and it was hard to actually manifest a coherent thought—
And then Babette was pulling away, licking a red smear from around her mouth, and the world slowly came back into existence.
"Hm. You taste strange." Babette mused, reaching over to pull his robes back into position. "Not bad, just strange. Like there's something missing, but in its place…never mind."
"…Um?" Xander enunciated, blinking rapidly. "What was…"
"Glamour." Babette explained. "Special vampire illusion magic for making people easier to snatch, or just for taking the edge off having some holes spiked in your neck. I know some call it 'Vampiric Seduction', but frankly I think that's highly inappropriate." She grinned. "I'm far too old for you. A three hundred year old with such a young man? Disgusting."
"Eugh. Yes. Quite." Xander got back to his feet, stumbling slightly. Century-old vampire child. That's a moral quandary I'd rather stay far away from —Whoa! Dizzy.
"Drink some water, get walking." Nazir advised, putting a stabilising hand on his shoulder. "It's never fun. Wait until tomorrow morning, your neck will be throbbing like a netch's underbelly."
"What a lovely image…" Xander groaned, and started walking again. "You two do this a lot?"
"Everyone in the Brotherhood was willing to give me a bite if I needed one." Babette, walking with renewed vigour, quickly outpaced Xander and started pulling him through the snow. "Even Astrid, once. Uh, she was the leader. Honestly, the main reason I joined up with them was for a place that was accepting of my…unique situation. I could feed on my kills, and on my family if there was a drought of contracts."
"Not in it for the religion, then?" Xander asked, chuckling light-headedly.
"Divines, no. You can tell, because I should have said 'Sithis' there." Babette sighed. "I'm obviously not much bothered by death (at least, the death of others). But really, I'm just a family-hopper. I enjoy finding people to be comfortable with. Then I wait for them to die, and move on to the next family."
That so…
That led back to Xander's biggest source of unease throughout their trip.
Why in the name of common sense have I not killed them already?
Korir had handed him the opportunity on a silver platter. Oh, sure, L'laarzen hadn't been there, and it would have been a hassle to convince them Cicero was good, and maybe some innocents would have gotten hurt, but even so. He'd had an army. When he'd gone into the Hall of Attainment, he had seen Cicero waiting patiently for him to give the order.
And instead he'd chosen to desperately organise a fake fight, and a retreat through the Midden to the Dawnstar sanctuary. And when Babette had outright admitted to being in an incredibly vulnerable state, he had chosen to help her! At expense to himself!
Is it because she looks like a child? She's older than Auntie Elenwen! She's probably killed more people than any mortal alive!
Yet when he thought of killing her and Nazir…he flinched.
"We're here!"
The shout jolted him out of his thoughts. Up ahead, Cicero was jumping up and down in place. "Cicero found it! He found it! he knew he could!"
"Thank Sithis…" Nazir took off at a jog, and Babette yanked Xander forwards to a similar speed.
Xander had never seen one of the Black Doors before, and had learned about them mostly from theatre. But those plays hadn't quite prepared him for what he found, nestled into a rocky outcropping at the top of a silty beach.
It…it had a skull on it.
It was the edgiest thing he'd ever seen. And he'd seen the Night Mother's coffin.
The others gathered around, as he walked up alone to stand before it.
What is life's greatest illusion? Came the door's insidious whisper.
Xander cleared his throat. He didn't have the password. Neither did Cicero. However…
"I am Alexander Meteuse, Listener of the Night Mother." He declared. "By right, this sanctuary is mine. I bid you open."
There was a pause. He shot a worried look at Cicero, and considered trying to call the Night Mother Hotline, when:
Welcome home, Listener. The spirits of this sanctuary greet their true leader.
The door swung inwards.
"I need to stop enjoying this so much…" Xander muttered. But that was a secondary concern. For now, he just wanted to get out of the cold.
8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
Shadowmere came gently to a halt on a northern Skyrim beach, and L'laarzen slipped off her back into the sand.
When she had arrived in Winterhold, it had been to find a college in chaos, guards charging about the place, and a frantic Mirabelle Ervine pulling her to one side and whispering what had happened in her ear.
Xander, I have great faith in you, but you are quite mad.
Fortunately for her, Shadowmere had been much more confident in the location of Xander's hideaway than Mirabelle had. The horse had listened to L'laarzen's instructions and then took off at its usual absurd pace along Skyrim's glaciers, depositing her in front of a great black door.
It…it had a skull on it.
It was the edgiest thing she'd ever seen. And she'd worked for the Morag Tong.
She walked up as confidently as she could, and (seeing no real alternatives) knocked twice with the back of her knuckles.
There was a pause. Then,
What is life's greatest— The door started speaking, which was worrying, and then it suddenly cut itself off, which was more worrying still.
L'laarzen glanced behind herself…only to find that Shadowmere had vanished. Lovely.
You are invited, outsider. The door declared, after another few seconds. Do not overstay your welcome.
With that, it opened.
The sanctuary had not seen regular use in centuries, and it showed. All the walls, floors, and surfaces were either dusty, damp, or both. But the torch sconces were lit, and heading down the steps, her ears picked up the sounds of conversation.
"I'm asking if she can be trusted." A low man's voice,
"You would dare impugn the Listener's judgement?" A much higher, musical voice that L'laarzen knew all too well,
"It's fine, Cicero. Yes, Nazir, I trust her. And she knows our opponents better than any of us do."
And there was a more familiar voice, causing L'laarzen to exhale in relief. She allowed herself to stop creeping between shadows and instead walk normally down into the main chamber.
A Redguard man (Nazir, presumably) was sat at a table across from Xander, with Cicero prancing around the table on loop, and a small child (ah, this will be the vampire he mentioned) crouched behind it doing something L'laarzen couldn't quite see.
"There you are!" Xander's face lit up and he waved when he saw her. "How's it going? Door give you trouble?"
"Oh, Khajiit is doing awfully, and no, it was quite receptive." L'laarzen replied, moving further in. She glanced at the great glass mosaic of Sithis, then back at Xander. "The attack came sooner, louder, and in a different place than we expected. Commander Maro (the elder) is dead. Your elder sister is injured, but alive, and everyone remaining is being brought to Solitude. What happened on your end?"
Xander's face had gone slack at the mention of Octavia being harmed, but he was able to school it back into something respectable before replying. "Oh, we're doing awfully. Someone told the Jarl of Winterhold about us."
"Our Listener had to shoot me with a great big laser beam to keep his own cover." Spoke up the vampire, Babette, still not looking back. "It was impressive acting, but it still hurt…oh, no, cutie, where are you going?"
L'laarzen tilted her head at that, but the words weren't directed at her.
Leaping out of Babette's hands was a sleek black cat. It turned, locked eyes with L'laarzen. Then hissed, and began running out the room.
L'laarzen was faster. She swore and darted after it, diving down and grabbing it by the scruff of its back before it could make it out of the room.
"Whoa!" Shouted Babette in protest, and—
"Me'Daro, you little N'wah!" L'laarzen spat, as the cat meowed loudly and angrily, swiping at her with its claws.
"Uh. L'laarzen..?" Xander asked, hesitantly.
L'laarzen stood, livid, and turned with the squirming feline in her hands, putting it roughly on the table but keeping a grip on it. "Lying, sneaky little bitch, L'laarzen should have known. Here's your 'rat', Alexander."
Xander looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. "Uh. That's a cat, L'laarzen."
L'laarzen gave him an unimpressed look, unsheathed her claws, and put them to the creature's neck. "Speak, Me'Daro, or I slit your throat here."
The little wretch let her look insane for a solid five more seconds, before letting out a sigh.
"Alright, fine." Growled Me'Daro. "L'laarzen, since when were you working with these maniacs?"
The reaction from everyone at the table was…mixed. Cicero began laughing uncontrollably, Nazir stared slack-jawed, Babette let out a quiet 'Oh' of understanding, and Xander fell out of his chair.
"Ladies and gentlemen: Me'Daro." L'laarzen introduced, letting go of the feline and crossing her arms. "She is an employee of the Morag Tong, much like L'laarzen was. We worked together in the past."
"You were Tong?" Babette asked.
"What?" Protested Xander. "Wait, so, is she a…"
"Khajiit? Yes." Me'Daro answered for herself, huffing and moving to a more comfortable seating position on the table. "Not that I'd blame you for not noticing, Me'Daro is a superb actress."
"But you…" Xander looked at her, then up at L'laarzen, then back down at her. "Aren't you a little short for a Khajiit?"
"Khajiit come in many forms, Alexander." L'laarzen explained, trying not to smirk at his dumbfounded look. "L'laarzen was born as Masser waxed and Secunda was full, making her a Cathay. Whereas Me'Daro is an Alfiq; born under full Secunda and waning Masser."
"Masser's form dictates whether we are large or small, quadruped or biped." Me'Daro, despite having just been caught, seemed quite happy to join in the lecture. "Whereas Secunda dictates how bestial or humanoid our appearance is."
"Really?" Xander exclaimed. "That is so weird! Why would the moons—Oh, damn, that's why you were all so freaked out when they vanished that one time."
"Khajiit is surprised you did not know." L'laarzen admitted. "It is not something we try to hide."
"I blame racist Cyrodiil education." Xander answered, quickly. "And I'm livid, that's a massive hole in my knowledge. Wait, L'laarzen, how come I only ever see Khajiit that look like you? I mean, not that I see many to begin with…"
"It is difficult enough to be accepted outside Elsweyr as a Cathay or Suthay-Raht." L'laarzen explained. "Imagine instead a Nord trying to negotiate with, to their eyes, a large talking tiger."
"Or alternatively, you may have met us and not noticed it, as with me." Me'Daro purred. "Or the Ohmes and Ohmes-Raht, who look much like Mer and Men but for a few additions."
"I'm now questioning every housecat I've ever seen…" Nazir muttered, to one side.
"Wait." Xander raised a hand. "So there are Khajiit that look like elves and humans…but with cat ears and tails?"
"…Yes?" L'laarzen answered.
"Where." Xander's expression suddenly went very serious. "Cat-girls. Where find. Now."
"Uh…"
"If we could maybe focus on the matter at hand?" Babette offered.
"Oh, right." Xander coughed. "So, Me'Daro is the one who…can a big Khajiit still breed with a little Khajiit? Like what does that look like—"
"Alexander." L'laarzen snapped.
"Sorry, sorry." He shook his head. "What were we talking about? Oh, right." He glared at Me'Daro. "You ratted us out! I trusted you!"
"MORE LIKE CATTED US OUT! AHAHA—" Shouted Cicero from across the room, before devolving into hysterics.
"In my defence, you treated me like a cat." Me'Daro pointed out.
"You pretended to be a cat!" Xander shot back. "To, what, spy on us?"
Me'Daro raised an eyebrow (an impressive feat, for a housecat) and didn't say anything.
"It's over, Me'Daro." L'laarzen warned. "Explain. Everything."
"Or what?" The smaller Khajiit taunted.
L'laarzen's claws flicked back out.
"Alright, persuasive…" Me'Daro shivered, a shake that started at her head and went down the full length of her body. "Glad to see you've not lost your edge. You left Vendil in quite the tizz, you know—"
"I'm aware. He told me himself." L'laarzen moved closer, leaning on the table. "Answers. Why are you here?"
"Oh what do you think? Spying on the old DB." Me'Daro huffed. "When we first got the writ, Khajiit was sent to check that the Brotherhood elements in Skyrim wouldn't intervene. She watched the whole thing burn down, and followed these three up to Winterhold."
Xander frowned. "You were given the Emperor contract before the Brotherhood fell?"
"Some days before, yes."
"Hmph. Looks like they'd already given up on poor Amaund…" Xander bit his lip. "Who gave you the contract?"
"Moons know." Me'Daro made a motion that might have been a shrug. "Vendil took the writ, hired Me'Daro afterwards. He and Mirri may rank high enough to know. He is a master within the Tong, after all."
"When did he achieve that?" L'laarzen asked.
"After you left a spot open."
"Ah…"
"So we need one or both of them alive." Xander summarised. "Alright. What are they doing now?"
"How should Me'Daro know?" The cat huffed. "Her last communique was with orders to keep tabs on you, and feed your location to the authorities if you became a real problem."
"Well, you did a fantastic job." Nazir turned from the cat to Xander. "What do we do with her?"
L'laarzen watched Xander go tense. Uh oh…
"Whoa, whoa!" Me'Daro giggled, nervously. "Let's not be too hasty. Khajiit can be useful to you, no?"
"Would you betray us the moment our back was turned?" Nazir asked.
"N—No…"
"Give her to me!" Babette asked, eyes glinting red. "Please? I've never drained a Khajiit of her type before. I wonder what she tastes like…"
"We are not killing the cat." Xander declared, making a pacifying gesture.
"That's racist…" Me'Daro grumbled.
"Would you rather I took the statement back?" The archmage raised an eyebrow.
Me'Daro went silent.
"So, what do we do with her?" Nazir asked. "We can keep her under guard, but what do you hope to gain?"
L'laarzen looked closely at Xander's face. There was a moment of very real worry in his eyes, before they lit up with something more like excitement.
He steepled his fingers. "Nazir, do me a quick favour. How many Dark Brotherhood assassins are in this room right now?"
There was a long pause.
"…Four." Nazir answered.
"How nice to be included." Xander sighed. "We need to do some very serious rethinking about a lot of things, people. The Dark Brotherhood has been embarrassed and obliterated. You think we kill the Emperor and then magically get back all our forces, all our influence, repopulate all our sanctuaries? You think there won't be a manhunt for us? Do you forget what happened to you in Falkreath, what's just happened to us here?"
He looked across at Babette, then back at Nazir, taking in their downcast expressions. "In the meantime. Can we be turning away possible allies?"
"She tried to kill us." Babette pointed out.
"She sat in my lap and let me stroke her." Xander deadpanned, looking at L'laarzen. "You know her. How's her loyalty?"
"Nonexistent." L'laarzen replied, meriting a meow of protest from Me'Daro. "She works for money, and cares little for anyone."
"Really?" Xander leaned forwards. "So, Me'Daro. Would you rather die, or get an eighth of twenty thousand septims?"
"…There are six of us."
"You tried to kill us."
"Ah. Right." Me'Daro shifted in place, looked around at everyone. "…Okay I'm in. What do you need?"
"What's Vendil's plan." Chorused Xander and L'laarzen.
"Oh. Kill the Emperor."
"DETAILS!"
̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ
Hjar laid in bed next to Margret.
It was late, and dark, and she could barely even see the folds of the tent above her. There was always some noise coming from the Forsworn camp outside, but for now it was low, and muted by the furs.
"…Do I do it?" She asked, quietly.
A few seconds passed.
"…Bit too big of a question for a binary answer, isn't it?" Margret asked.
"Fair enough." Hjar shifted so she was looking towards her girlfriend. "Then, piece by piece. Precisely how mad would you be if I married Thongvor Silver-Blood?"
There was a sigh. Margret was still looking the other way as she replied "I…Don't know. I just…I never wanted this."
Hjar inhaled sharply, and Margret was quick to clarify "No, I don't mean you! Hjar, you're wonderful. I just…I was ready for the adventure. Ready for the danger. Whenever I thought about who I might end up with, I thought they'd be as much of a—"
"Walking disaster?" Hjar filled in.
"Exactly—as me." Margret huffed. "But I didn't expect the politics. The nobility stuff. I'm too broke to have to deal with nobility stuff!"
"When we take over the Reach, you'll probably rich?" Hjar incentivised.
"Thanks, that helps a lot." Margret turned around to face Hjar. They could just about make each other's features out in the darkness.
"Logically, I should be fine with it." The redhead admitted. "I know you have no interest in him, I don't feel threatened. It would be like getting mad at you for having a business partner."
"A business partner I might have to sleep with at some point." Hjar whispered, eyes downcast. "Possibly more than once."
"Eugh. I know." Margret grimaced. "Are you okay with that?"
"Oblivion no." Hjar grunted. "But it wouldn't be the worst thing I've willingly subjected myself to. It…Gods, it was easier to flat-out reject when I thought he was just a slaving nationalist bastard trying to get into my pants. But he's not. And now my main concern is what you feel. That this would mean I was betraying you, because, well. That's what it is."
Margret nodded. "Betrayal. That's the word. That's what's making my gut clench up at the realisation." She shifted again, one hand moving to her own stomach. "Because I should be fine with it. But part of me just thinks…I shouldn't have to deal with this! It's not a request I should be expected to put up with!"
"And it isn't." Hjar reached forwards, clasping Margret's hands in hers. "I know how unreasonable this whole situation is, and don't ever feel afraid to tell me so. I…really don't want either of us to keep something bottled up for 'the greater good', and end up hating each other because of it." She sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry for asking. And if you say no, that's absolutely fine. But I do have to ask."
Margret gripped her hands back tightly, and muttered a curse. "Gods, it would be easier to be mad at you if you didn't clearly hate this as much as I do…Isn't there another way? We're good at finding those, aren't we? Other ways?"
"Last time I chose the hidden third option, I reduced the city to chaos." Hjar pointed out.
"And then did all this to put it back together again." Margret countered. "Most people would have picked one faction or the other, or just stayed away."
Her face scrunched up in consternation. "You've never backed down on your principles before. Why now?"
Hjar bit her lip. "I refused to kill Logrolf for Molag Bal. And it worked out, but it meant he lived to pursue his vengeance and nearly kill us both. Is still trying to kill us both."
How do I explain it… "A lot of the time, 'the moral high ground' is less about actively wanting to hurt people or not. It's about the things you're not willing to do to achieve your goals. If you're not willing to do something, and that pushes you to find a way to win despite it, then great. But if you can't…then you lose. And that's worse."
"You're afraid you'll lose the Reach." Margret realised.
Hjar nodded. "If I reject Thongvor out of hand, I have to look for something else to try and build unity. But I've already done everything I can think of. Tomorrow, I have to tell an army of Forsworn that I'm leading them into the city, and they can't kill their mortal enemies when they get there. I think I have enough political capital to do it without getting deposed on the spot. But what about afterwards? Can I stop the enmity spilling over into open war, have I done enough, have I done too much to whip them up into a frenzy, should I—"
She shut up, because Margret kissed her.
Her girlfriend pulled away after a few seconds, but reached over to wrap arms around her. "And here I am moaning about my problems. Look at what you've got to deal with."
Hjar looked her in the eye. "I don't want to lose the Reach. But I don't want to lose you, either. And I'm afraid that making you live a lie would do that."
"It wouldn't be a lie." Margret pointed out. "Not as long as we were honest with each other."
Hjar paused, then kissed her again.
"I love you." She whispered.
"I love you too." Margret replied, with a smile. She looked down, then back up. "Alright. Do whatever you have to do. But you're sleeping in my bed, Queen of the Hills. Deal?"
"Deal." Hjar agreed, snuggling closer. "Thank you."
8˂̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o
Shadowmere slid to a hurried stop, and Xander and L'laarzen jumped off, rushing through the snow to the building before them.
"You're sure he is here?" L'laarzen asked.
Xander squinted at the sign. "Nightgate inn…yes. As sure as I can be when dealing with certain individuals…"
His fingers brushed the gnarled grey staff at his back. Can I get a check on that?
Oh, I'm certain he's supposed to be here. Sheogorath replied. Balagog was so tremendously excited to be making this meal for the Emperor. Just would not stop going on about it. It's a shame he's so determined to focus on his cooking rather than his musical talents, but ah well. What am I supposed to do, snatch his soul and bring him to the Shivering Isles? Because I have technically already done that.
"We're in the right place." Xander confirmed.
"It is still disconcerting to watch you pull answers from thin air like that…" L'laarzen shook her head. "But at least it saves us the trouble of tracking this 'gourmet' down."
Xander led the way, shouldering the door open and looking around. Nobody immediately caught his attention (nor L'laarzen's, who was admittedly much better at this), so he made his way to the bartender.
"Morning, friend." He hailed. "I'm looking for a friend of mine, Orc fellow, Balagog. He boarding here?"
"Ah." The Nord drummed his fingers on the counter. "See, in this inn we value customer privacy very highly. I couldn't possibly—"
Xander tossed him a problem-solving pouch.
"He's downstairs, bed in the back corner." The man said, immediately.
"Thank you very much." Xander moved past him.
The stairs down were behind the bar, but the door was open, revealing a large space filled with large barrels for…alcohol, presumably.
"Balagog?" Xander called. "We need to speak with you! You're in very real danger!"
There was no response.
"Hiding." L'laarzen muttered, before slinking off into the shadows.
Alright. "Gourmet?" Xander tried again. "Yes, we know who you are. Listen, both you and the Emperor are on the kill-list of the Morag Tong. We can help you, but only if you trust us!"
"Alexander?" L'laarzen called, from another corner. "I've…found him."
Xander turned and smiled, walking over. "There we go! Now, listen, Balagog, my good friend, you and I need to have a serious discussion about…ah."
L'laarzen was stood by the slumped form of an Orc man. He was unceremoniously crammed behind one of the barrels, and his throat was slit.
Now, you see, when I said 'technically already snatched his soul', that was a little joke. Sheogorath said. Because I've absolutely already snatched his soul.
"…Bugger." Xander summarised.
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"This is a bad idea." Dulurza warned.
"You think I don't know that?" Elisif sighed.
"A really bad idea."
"Nevertheless—"
"Now is not the time for a fancy meal."
"I have been invited to dine with the Emperor." Elisif whispered back. The pair were walking together into Castle Dour, with Bolgier stood on Elisif's other side. "Denying that would be tantamount to treason. What would you have me do, break my toe and beg off as injured?"
"Yes! Shortstack can heal that in minutes!" Dulurza protested. "And why's the man hosting a feast now? The commander of his guard is dead, and Maro's successor is in critical condition. Does it get worse? Aye, it does. We know there's an assassination plot. It's like the man's trying to get himself killed."
"It's a dinner, not a feast." Elisif corrected. "This was planned weeks in advance, nobles' schedules are tight. And technically, all the evidence he has of an assassination is that Gaius says you say your mysterious friend says there is one."
"And the fact that his organisation's longhouse just—"
"I know, Dulurza." Elisif rested a hand on her arm. "You don't have to convince me. But as I understand it, our dear Emperor has been frustrating his men like this for the entire trip."
"Hmph." They had reached the door. Dulurza stepped to the side, crossing her arms. "And worst, I might not be at your side."
"The Lieutenant wants your help because of what happened to the commander." Elisif pointed out. "If there's holes, I'd rather you be plugging them than waiting at my shoulder."
Something on Dulurza's face must have given away how little that impressed her, because Elisif sighed. "It will be alright, my Thane. I have Bolgier, and if there are killers here, they're not even after me."
How reassuring. "Don't eat anything the Emperor eats." Dulurza said, instead of prolonging the debate. "Ideally, don't eat anything at all. Bolgier? Keep her safe."
"You know, that was my job before you came along." The housecarl rolled his eyes. "We should go, my Jarl."
"Quite. Good luck, Dulurza." Elisif smiled at her, then pushed the door open, walking inside.
Bolgier gave Dulurza a 'you're really not subtle' look before following.
Dulurza blew out a breath, looking to the heavens, before turning to look for a Penitus Oculatus agent and ask where in Oblivion she was meant to be—
"Excuse me? You there, soldier?"
Dulurza frowned, and looked. The person addressing her was a…Dunmer? Probably? An elvish-looking woman with black skin and (rather excessive) swirling blue face paint. She wore expensive clothes and an imperious expression.
"Yes?" Dulurza replied, gruffly.
"Hmph. 'Yes'. A little more respect is deserved, I should think." The woman brandished a fancy looking piece of paper. "I am the gourmet. Where is my kitchen?"
...Cicero's pun in this chapter is the best joke I have ever written, and that is a hill I will die on.
Who predicted the cat, huh? Ever since I found out that Khajiit could literally look like housecats I knew I had to use one. Been setting that reveal up for an act and a half, now!
The rest of this chapter is basically just a building drumroll (with Hjar's segment being the most relaxing drumroll you've ever heard). Very heavy on Xander and L'laarzen this chapter, because Timing Is Hard, but the real fun is only just beginning.
Next Time: Someone goes to jail, someone addresses an army, and someone does the pointing spiderman meme.