The Mid Fight

Julius walked through the halls of one of the many properties he owned in Skyrim.

Octavia stalked next to him.

He carefully didn't sigh. Just said "Tell me what's on your mind, Oct."

"I don't trust your mercenaries." Octavia said, immediately.

So, about what he'd expected. He tilted his head. "Really? Odd, they seem perfectly trustworthy to me."

She turned to give him an incredulous look. "Was that sarcasm?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then unpack that one for me before I call you insane. One's a war-hungry maniac, one's a mercenary with zero scruples, the other's an assassin and also completely mentally unstable. I know that, because I was the one who made her that way."

"Yeah, about that." Julius winced. "What exactly did you do to the poor murderer? When she saw you she looked about ready to faint."

"I interrogated her." Octavia's voice was utterly flat.

"Right. Did you stop interrogating when you got your answers?"

"Not entirely sure, I was working out a lot of stress, now answer the question." She glared at him. "Those three would turn on us in a heartbeat, and after what you're going to do to them, they just might be an actual threat."

"I do trust them, but I don't need to trust them completely." Julius answered. Divines knew, there was nobody who got that treatment. Only one person had come close, and Julius had still required a pit trap as insurance. "I know what motivates them. So long as doing what we want gives them what they want, they'll do it. It's that simple."

"Hmph. You've always been so confident moving people." Octavia said. It wasn't a reassuring statement.

Julius reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Only the idiots. You know it's not the same with you and Cass, right? We're siblings, Octavia. Family. That means we can trust each other to do the right thing. To never betray each other, no matter the circumstances."

"Funny." Octavia said, not looking at him. "I was a lot more certain of that statement at the start of the week."

Uh oh. This needs addressing. "Well, are you hiding any secrets as big as killing the Emperor?" He asked.

Octavia stopped, and he stopped with her.

"…You're still sure about that?" She asked, eyes downcast.

"He said it. Alex can't lie to me." Julius ran a hand through his hair, as his gut clenched in a way that had become all too common recently. "Octavia, I didn't want things to go like this either. But I know you—"

"You knew Xander."

"Damnit, Oct—"

"I've never seen you the way you looked after they vanished." She accused, turning fully to face him. "I've seen things go wrong for you before, but in Morthal you looked so…crushed. Not to mention anxious out of your mind." Her expression softened. "I know what it's like to be under so much pressure you're not thinking straight. And I'm worried you're letting this push you into making mistakes."

Julius leaned back against the wall, smiling tiredly. Oh, thank the Divines, its rooted in concern. Well, concern and self-doubt. And she tries to act like the stoic one…Okay, how do I convince her I'm both right and sane…

"It did put me out of it for a bit." Julius admitted. "But I'm alright now, I promise. Or, if not 'alright', then at least 'functional'. And in any case, this plan was in place before Alex disappeared. You signed off on it."

"The plan is one thing. The mercenaries are another." Octavia crossed her arms. "Do you mean to tell me it was a coincidence that the fighters you picked all had personal grudges against Xander's teammates?"

"It wasn't. Sampling bias, Octavia: I had over a dozen options to bulk up the Thalmor forces, I picked the ones that had the best chance against what we were fighting. The roundup would have looked different if Alex hadn't turned on us." And saying that still left a foul taste in his mouth. As did lying, since he'd started preparations to get these mercs together during the Dragontruce.

"If you say so." Octavia seemed convinced, but still shot him a dirty look. "I take it your promise not to hurt his friends was a lie, then?"

"No, I meant it." He protested. "I was ready to knock them out if they were an obstacle, I wasn't going to hurt them."

"And now?"

"Oh, it's no longer true. If they show up they're dead." Julius pushed himself off the wall again and gestured with his head, going back to walking.

Octavia fell in behind him, asking "What are the odds they show up?"

"Very high." He admitted. "I told Alex the basics of the plan, they're smart enough to put the rest together. Divines know where they went, but for all we know, they're waiting for us at the Tower."

"Tower?"

"Mountain, sorry. I was thinking High Hrothgar." And Aetherius forbid I set you on researching Tower theory, because you're also smart enough to put that together.

"Right, we have to deal with the Greybeards." Octavia groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. "There could be, what, seven individual parties at that mountain? I hope you're ready for any plan you have to fall apart. This is going to be an absolute fustercluck."

"That's why I'm preparing contingencies." Julius' eyes narrowed. "If they do all show, Octavia, you'll be taking point on Paarthurnax. I'll deal with Xander myself."

"Really?" Octavia gave him a sceptical look. "Please tell me this isn't just because you want a dramatic mage duel—"

"Of course not." He wrinkled his nose up. "It's because he's going to have ideas. And if those ideas are focused on beating me, they can't be causing chaos for the rest of you. After the stunt he pulled in the swamps, he's the most unpredictable force on the field, I need to make sure he's contained."

"You sure those ideas of his won't be your undoing?"

"Of course not, my dear sister. I'm invincible."

Julius stopped in front of the door to his room, turning to look at her. "One more thing. Elenwen's coming up with us."

"She is?" Octavia made an unpleasant face. "Have you warned her she might get her boots wet?"

"Oh, she was quite adamant." Julius crossed his arms. "But she's not a fighter or even frontline leader. If you give your orders confidently, she should listen, at least while the chaos remains. When it ends…"

"She'll get cocky and make a play for the Eyes?" Octavia guessed.

"Exactly. Hey, do me a favour, would you?" Julius flicked a finger and his door unlocked, revealing the inside of his office. Sat atop his desk were two very large, very locked, very valuable chests.

"Once Paarthurnax is dealt with, whatever Elenwen does?" He said. "Kill her."

"My pleasure." Octavia replied, unphased. "I've been aching for the chance for years."

She looked past him, eyes falling on the two boxes.

"We fill both of those, we have the power of two Dragons on our side. We frame this as an unprovoked attack by the Thalmor (which it is), we show the new Emperor what we have, we go to war and we win." She recited.

"We save the world." Julius returned.

A good plan. But it calls for thousands of deaths. I'm technically only asking for two…and then no more. Ever.

She'd agree with him, if she understood. He just couldn't trust that she'd understand.

"Yeah." Octavia nodded, resolute. "We save the world."

̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶{o ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶͜͡| ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ Ϫ

Dulurza peeked her head through the door of the Archmage's quarters. After some scuffling, Hjar's head leaned out above her, and then Aranea and Margret's heads beneath theirs.

The room was…it looked like a Dragon had gone through it. Half the central garden was on fire, the other half had already finished being on fire. Weird plants and broken crystals were scattered all over the floor. There was a hole in one wall, through which rain fell horizontally to splatter against the other wall (even though it was snowing outside).

Alexander was lying flat on his back on a table, staring blearily up at the ceiling.

"Oh, good, you came." Said Mirabelle, standing in a different corner. She was fiddling with a soul gem. "I can't carry everything on my own. Least of all him. He's heavier than he looks."

Everyone in the doorway looked at each other.

"Is he…okay?" Hjar asked.

"The numbers…" Xander mumbled. "What do the numbers mean…"

"He's fine." Mirabelle tossed the soul gem into the air, and it disintegrated, taking the form of a small luminous blue dragon. It snatched up a scroll from the table and flew up through the hole in the ceiling. "I'm…not actually sure how he's still conscious."

"There are four walls…and we broke one of them…"

Dulurza huffed, and shouldered her way through the door (causing everyone else with her to collapse on top of each other). "So did it work?"

"Oh, it worked." Mirabelle jerked her finger behind her. "Take a look."

Because the architecture in the room was really weird, Dulurza (and soon after her, everyone else) had to walk in and around the pointless inner-wall to see what Mirabelle was pointing at.

Laid out along the back wall (the bed had been overturned and thrown to the side) was a series of mannequins. Dulurza's gaze was immediately torn to the one wearing her stuff: Full Orcish armour, with a ring on each hand and an amulet about its neck. Not to mention her axe on a stand in front of it.

"It looks the same." She said, tilting her head at it.

"It isn't. Trust me, it isn't." Mirabelle chuckled nervously. "Aranea, you're wearing those robes there, Margret, that studded leather is yours I think?"

"It is." Margret reached forwards and felt the material. "It's…glowing."

"That means it's working."

Hjar looked skeptically at the Forsworn-style clothing she'd submitted, and looked across at Mirabelle. "He does know that when I transform I tear my clothes to shreds, right?"

"Fixed it!" Xander called, waving an arm in the air.

"You what?" Hjar turned to him. "What do you mean 'fixed it'? How did you—"

Xander was asleep.

Hjar rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Korir's set us up with horses. Are we good to go?"

"For the most part. I have one last letter Xander wanted me to send." Mirabelle held up a sealed scroll—Only for it to vanish immediately from her hand.

She stared at where it had been for a second, before shaking her head. "And I'm just going to assume that was meant to happen, and say that means we're done."

"Then suit up, everyone." Hjar looked between them. "Let's go save the world."

And so twenty minutes later, seven horses, seven riders, one unconscious archmage, one small Khajiit, and one child galloped out of Winterhold.

Octavia thumped her fist twice on the door as she passed it, calling "Ten minute warning, Cass! We need to be in Ivarstead in six hours!"

She moved to walk right on past, but paused when there was no answering call from within the room.

"Cass?" She repeated, to no avail.

Oh, great…

Octavia sighed, and pushed open the door.

Cassia was sitting on the bed she'd been assigned in the outpost, staring at her hands. Her travel bag was lying in the corner of the room, ready to go, but Octavia suspected that was because it hadn't been opened in the first place.

She walked closer, which was when she saw that Cassia was holding a small magical flame between her cupped palms.

It was flickering, unstable.

"I'm…not going to ask something stupid like 'what's wrong'." Octavia said, sitting on the bed next to her. "So, what can I do to get you moving?"

"You could get Xander in here." Cassia responded without hesitating, not looking up.

Octavia tried not to sigh again, since she'd done far too much of that already. "Believe me, I would love to. But he's blasted off Divines-know where, so that's not an option."

"Then we should be finding him!" Cassia retorted, clenching her fists and snuffing out the flame. "Not…not doing whatever in Oblivion it is we're doing now!"

"You know what we're doing." Octavia said, reaching for her shoulder. "We need to get control of the Dragon souls so that—"

"But why now?"

"Because, if we aren't finished by the time the Dragonborn gets back—"

"It's too FAST!" Cassia shouted, batting Octavia's hand away and glaring at her. "What am I, crazy? Why am I the only one who sees how utterly insane this all is?"

"Cass—"

"Everything was FINE! We'd got the Dragon soul, the future was secure, we'd won! And then suddenly, you are trying to poison everyone!"

Octavia flinched. "Xander went rogue, we had to—"

"No, no, because you were handing out the poisoned alcohol before Xander had even left!" Cassia pointed an accusing finger at her face. "I'm not an idiot, Octavia, why were you already planning to take them all out the moment the spell worked?"

Okay, that did merit a sigh. "Because all of them had agendas that ran contrary to Imperial interests." Octavia said, through gritted teeth. "Hjar runs the Reach as an independent kingdom, remember, she might not be too happy to let us—"

"And what about Dulurza?" Cassia pushed. "Elisif works with the Empire! She works with me!"

"Elisif wants to be High Queen of Skyrim, which is fine, except for how big for her boots she's gotten lately." Octavia recited Julius' reasoning verbatim. "What if she decided she had a right to one of the Eyes? We're in her country, and—"

"And L'laarzen? She's a hairdresser."

"She's an assassin!" Octavia shot back, and it was Cassia's turn to flinch. "Remember? Because she was with Xander when he killed the Emperor."

"…Are we sure about that?" Cassia muttered.

"Julius said he admitted it." Octavia said, voice cold.

"I know." Cassia looked down. There was a pause. "…But are we sure about that?"

Octavia caught her meaning immediately, responded with an outraged "Cass!"

"I DON'T KNOW! OKAY?" Cassia surged to her feet, pacing across the room. "I don't know anymore! Julius says Xander killed the Emperor, he doesn't say why, because he doesn't know why! You're knocking out our friends instead of just talking to them, Xander can fly now? I—I—I…I don't know!" She sagged back against a wall, gasping for breath. There were tear-marks on her cheeks.

"…I'm supposed to be able to trust my family." She eventually said. "How do I do that when my family's fighting against each other?"

Octavia had felt awful going into this, and now it was worse. She stood and walked over, wrapping her arms around her sister's shoulders. After a moment, Cassia leaned into it.

"I don't know what Xander's doing either." Octavia whispered into her hair. "I don't know why he killed the Emperor. I don't know why he fought Julius."

"There might be a good reason." Cassia mumbled.

"If there were, don't you think he'd've written to us by now?" Octavia asked.

"…Maybe he can't." Cassia said, not sounding convinced.

"This is a complicated time." Octavia said. "And it's going to be very confusing, and things are going to start moving very fast. You need to be ready for that, understand?"

"I'm nineteen." Cassia grunted. "I'm not a kid."

"No. You're a student." Octavia reminded her. "You're trained to do what you did in Morthal, and you did really well, and I'm very proud of you. But secret missions, being dragged across the country in a night on short notice…you're not trained for this. Me and Julius are, though, and you need to trust that we know what we're doing. Alright?"

"…And Xander?" Cassia asked.

"If Xander will be anywhere, he'll meet us at the Throat of the World." Octavia said. "Julius is going to bring him in. He can explain himself then."

She pulled away, holding Cassia at arm's length. "So you'd better be there, right?"

"…Right." Cassia nodded, her eyes narrowing. "I'll be there."

"Good, because you have less than five minutes to be out the door." Octavia told her, trying for a smile. "And make sure to read the dossiers you've been given on the way. I don't trust the Thalmor or the mercs to beat the Greybeards, so that part's going to be up to you."

Cassia snorted. "Oh, I'll take care of them. What are they going to do, talk at me?"

In the skies above Skyrim soared a Dragon. This was not a large Dragon, nor a vicious Dragon, nor even a particularly scary Dragon. This Dragon had a wingspan of about six feet, was translucent and blue, and had a pair of scrolls clutched between its claws. This dragon was technically a lesser daedra, which had been summoned and given a specific form by Alexander Meteuse to deliver a message for him.

The Dragon was just about on the border between Eastmarch and the Rift when a fluttering of wings and a screech caused it tilt its head upwards.

That was when a hawk crashed into it from above.

The Daedra-Dragon hissed and squirmed as the claws of the hawk (itself also a translucent blue) raked into its back, wings batting it about the head.

It was an unfortunate fact that, while Xander had programmed his messenger-dragon spell to be able to breathe fire, it had been largely for entertainment purposes. He had not given it the tools required to actually engage in aerial dogfighting, because it hadn't even occurred to him that that would be necessary.

The hawk, showcasing intellect an ordinary bird never would, reached down and slit the Dragon's throat with one talon, causing it to roar piteously before disintegrating, showering the Rift with magical particulates. The hawk snatched up the scrolls it had dropped, and went back to flying.

About half an hour later, the hawk flew down and alighted on the extended arm of a man at the head of a procession of horses. The man took the scrolls and nodded to the hawk, causing it too to disintegrate.

He looked down and turned the scrolls about in his hands, reading the words scrawled on the outside.

'To Cassia', one read, and 'To Octavia' was the other.

He sighed, deeply.

"Bad news?" Octavia asked, her horse a few feet behind.

"Only that we need to hurry." Julius replied, stowing the scrolls in his robes.

o ̶ ̶̶| ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶̶ ̶ ̶̶

What did one even say about the Hall of Valor in Sovngarde?

Songs of battle and victory echoed off great vaulted ceilings. Tables of mouth-watering food and mead extended seemingly forever. Everyone present somehow felt like a legend, even if they didn't look like one; All Men, but there was a wider array of ages, genders, appearances and apparel than I had ever seen.

"Recognise anybody?" I asked, standing very awkwardly just inside the main doors.

"You don't?" Falk Firebeard asked, breaking off his awed stare to glance at me incredulously. "Dragonborn, I can count a dozen of Mankind's greatest heroes off the top of my head!"

"I don't remember my own name. You think I'm going to pick Ysgramor out of a crowd of fifteen other burly men in armour?" I growled back.

Falk blinked. "That's…the closest thing to a joke I've heard from you so far."

"Hmph." Falk was right, which was worrying. The fight with Tsun must have shaken me up worse than I thought.

But no, that wasn't it. This place, it…felt like home. I couldn't help but relax here. Which was even more worrying, because this place was the afterlife, and I was not sticking around any longer than I had to.

All the same, though I hadn't exactly seen the alternatives, I was fairly certain I now knew where I wanted to go when I died.

"New warriors have entered our halls!" Shouted one of the aforementioned burly men in armour. "Alduin's soul-snare has been avoided!"

That was met with an eruption of cheering, every hero close enough to hear bursting into applause, shouts, or Shouts.

I weathered it without responding, sweeping my eyes over the crowds again.

I'd better not have to give a speech…in fact, if Tsun says they're not permitted to come out and help, why am I even here?

"Falk!"

Falk and I both snapped to attention at the one personal address from among the throng.

A handsome man with dark brown hair jogged to meet us, dressed in court finery and armed with a sword. He smiled, and spread his arms.

"Torygg!" Falk shouted back, his eyes going wide, and rushed in to embrace the man. "Oh, my king! It has been too long!"

"Yet not long enough!" Torygg thumped Falk on the back a few times, then stepped away, grasping him by the arms. "A sensible man like you should have had decades to live yet! What happened to you?"

"The same thing that happened to you," Falk said, "my duty bid me fight. Well, duty, and that the other bastard didn't give me much chance to offer a surrender."

"And what situation was so dire that bid you draw your sword?" Torygg asked, face becoming stern. "Is it war? Was it an assassination? Falk, I beg you, tell me my wife is alive!"

"I…" Falk glanced away.

"She's alive." I interceded. "As recently as yesterday, or I would have heard."

He's 'king', so he was the high king, meaning his wife is the angry woman from the Dragontruce. I can remember that much, at least.

"And who are you?" Torygg asked. "You…you are not the same as us, are you?"

"I'm the Dragonborn." I said, because that was really the only answer that mattered. "I'm here to slay Alduin."

"Ah." Torygg's eyes widened. "Then I suspect I'm only wasting your time. But, I have to ask: What do you know of Elisif? It's a relief to know she's alive, but is she safe? Is she alright? I cannot imagine how she must have responded to my death…"

And the situation was rapidly leaving my comfort zone. "She's safe." I recited, trying to put together what information I'd actually taken in from the Dragontruce. "Ulfric Stormcloak started a civil war. They came to a truce while I stop Alduin, however, so the war will not endanger her for now. She still mourns you."

There was something else important. Xander mentioned it to me, what was it…

"Ah. Bittersweet news." Torygg put a hand to his chest. "It warms my heart that she still cares, still lives to care…but I hope that she can one day move on."

That was it.

"Also she's sleeping with an Orc." I told him. "And a woman."

There was a very long pause.

"Sh—She…" Torygg's face was very amusing. "At once?"

"No, no, they're the same person!" Falk cut in, realisation dawning. "It's Dulurza, my king, a an Orsimer mercenary who came in to serve her!"

"Her Thane, now." I nodded.

"Thane? I knew it! But, yes, she's a good lass Torygg. They're good for each other, from what little I saw."

Torygg stepped back a step, shaking his head. "Well, that's…news. Good news, I suppose, if a little shocking. I never knew Elisif was…huh."

"Aye." Falk nodded, staring into the middle distance with a blush on his cheeks.

"But—But she's happy, yes?" Torryg focused back on me. "This Dulurza makes her happy?"

I have literally no idea. I've said less than twenty words to either of them. "Yes. She's happy."

Torygg breathed out, and seemed to visibly lighten. "Then I can finally, truly, enjoy my paradise. With the soul snare surrounding us, there has been no way to learn of events on Mundus. You have my deepest gratitude, Dovahkiin. I hope you are successful."

I nodded and said "You're welcome." because that's what I was supposed to do when people said that. But something about the situation was nagging me.

"You were a king." I said. "You had a duty to protect all the people of Skyrim."

"I was. I did." Torygg nodded, looking downcast. "It saddens me that my responsibility bid me walk to my own death. I worried often whether the choices I made were the right ones."

"Yet you did not once ask me for the security of Skyrim, the state of its people, the effects of your death on your country." I pointed out, tilting my head. "Only about your wife."

Torygg chuckled, good naturedly. "Ah. Perhaps I am a bad king, then? The truth is, Dragonborn, it's rare that a man's heart is truly motivated by such abstract ideals as country and duty. It is motivated by the people he loves. Case in point; I knew that Ulfric was an honourable man who would harm me alone, whereas if I were disgraced, riots or asssasins might have no such scruples. Might attack not only me, but my household. My wife."

He smiled, knowingly. "That day, I did not go to Sovngarde because it was my duty, or to protect my country. I did it to protect the people I love. What of you, Dragonborn? Why are you here?"

I stared at the High King, and found I could not answer.

"Done sightseeing, big man?"

A woman's voice, calling from behind me, made me turn around.

Walking towards them were three people I did recognise, people I knew very well…even if I had never met them once in my life.

Elder Scrolls were funny like that.

"Gormlaith Golden-Hilt. Felldir the Old. Hakon One-Eye." I greeted, taking in the three heroes. "I witnessed your battle with Alduin. Thank you, for your knowledge of Dragonrend."

"We have been watching too, Dragonborn." Said Felldir. "As much as we could, through the mists. It is sad to see that the war we fought so hard to win has only delayed the World-Eater's carnage."

"Your fight with the wyrm has been glorious to watch so far, Dovahkiin." Hakon crossed his arms and grinned. "Want us to help you finish it?"

8˂

"Theeere's a good horsie." L'laarzen stroked Shadowmere's mane, cooing at it. The magical steed could not be bribed with food, as it did not eat, but it certainly seemed to enjoy compliments.

"Now, you stay here, yes? L'laarzen has a tricky job to do, and she may need you to provide a swift exit."

Shadowmere…rolled its eyes at her?

Alright, Khajiit will take that as a yes.

A casual voice declared "Took you long enough." From behind L'laarzen, and she turned to see Karliah stepping out of the shadows. She was dressed in full Nightingale garb, and her bow was drawn. "Was your little side-trip successful?"

"As it could be." L'laarzen walked over and fell in with her. "Report."

The pair were in a copse of trees near to the slopes of Snow Throat, and Karliah began leading the way towards the mountain.

"The bulk showed up about four hours ago." She said. "Marched right into Ivarstead and took over. Citizens have been ordered to stay inside, meanwhile the forces have occupied the inn and camped out the entire surrounding area."

"Numbers?" L'laarzen asked.

"I count about fifty, but there's more coming in all the time."

L'laarzen hissed out a Dunmer curse, making Karliah snort. "And the key figures?"

"The three that match your description are all present. Spitting images of your little wizard friend, like you said. Plus, I recognised the Thalmor First Ambassador."

"Elenwen is here?" L'laarzen's brows furrowed. "Things get worse and worse…"

"Is she dangerous?" Karliah glanced over.

"Only in what she represents. Xander says she always maintains plausible deniability, yet now she has forsaken it. The Thalmor are going all-in on this, and it will be all the more difficult for us to clean up afterwards."

"You sound confident you'll succeed."

"The world ends if we fail. Doubts are meaningless."

They came to the end of the trees, and both instinctively crouched, looking across the field to the village of Ivarstead. The sun had set, and the bonfires built by the soldiers were glowing red in the night.

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?" Karliah asked.

"I need you on overwatch. And if things go wrong, I need you to add to the chaos. Besides," L'laarzen smiled wryly, "you won't be able to keep up with me."

"Somehow, I believe you." Karliah pursed her lips. "Are you sure about this? Are you sure about...that?" Her eyes drifted down towards L'laarzen's body. "You put a lot of effort into locking that thing away. Did Nocturnal even let you take it out?"

L'laarzen reached into one of the folds of her uniform, checking that a certain small object was still in its place. An unobtrusive-looking brass key. "L'laarzen is sure. Nocturnal just warned her that the same rules still apply. A hundred years of service, if she dies with the Skeleton Key outside of the Twilight Sepulcher. And…then told her to ask Alexander to make her a small shrine so she can call him, but not to make it seem like she wants him to talk to her or anything."

"Oh, okay." Karliah just looked confused. "Did we ever figure out the deal with him?"

"His body has been molded into a perfect vessel for Daedric power."

"Oh."

"But in this case, L'laarzen suspects Nocturnal just finds him cute."

Karliah groaned. "Why is the world like this…If I see I high value target, do I go for them?"

L'laarzen tilted her head. "Octavia and Cassia are potential allies, so no. Elenwen, by all means. Julius, don't even bother. Your arrow will not land, and it would not kill him if it did."

"Oh, no, you're both doomed."

That was not L'laarzen, and both her and Karliah spun in an instant, weapons drawn.

The man behind them was an Elf with embroidered yellow robes, who was giving them a particularly unimpressed look. He had not snuck up on L'laarzen, she was sure of it. He was simply, suddenly, there.

"The two eldest Meteuse siblings are particularly adept at resisting sneak attacks, I know from experience," He continued, casually, "and they're both personally guarding the house where the Eyes are being kept. Even with what you're carrying under that armour, Nightingale, you won't pass them both."

"Who are you?" Karliah demanded, bowstring pulled taut to her cheek.

"I am Quaranir, Psijic monk of the isle of Artaeum." He declared, robes fluttering dramatically.

L'laarzen and Karliah glanced at each other.

"…Who?" L'laarzen asked.

"R—Really?" The Mer deflated. "Oh, for the love of—I'm a friend of Xander's." He pulled a letter from his pocket, threw it over to L'laarzen. "He asked me for help."

"Ohhhh!" L'laarzen glanced through the letter, confirming the handwriting, and smiled. "Well met, Quaranir! Always glad to have help. What can you do, if you don't mind Khajiit asking? You look to be a mage, not a sneak, so I am unsure how—"

"I can freeze time." He said.

"…Oh."

"Yeah."

"Julius!" Cassia slid round a corner, interrupting a conversation between Julius and Octavia. "Visitor!"

Julius stiffened, immediately turning on her. "Is it Alex?"

"No!" Cassia panted. "It's just…just some dude in stupid yellow robes, he…says he's a Psijic monk, he…he wants to talk to you. Apparently you broke into his house?"

Octavia raised an eyebrow at him. "Is there anyone you haven't pissed off?"

"Guard the Eyes." He told her, before turning to Cassia and saying "Find Elenwen, get her inside, she's in danger."

"Don't we want her dead?" An illusion of Octavia's voice whispered in his ear, as she aloud said "Right." and turned towards the town's inn.

"We don't want this attack to fall apart before it starts." Julius said aloud, ostensibly to Cassia. "I'll go meet our guest. And…talk to him."

The two sisters took off at a run. Julius started walking.

8˂

L'laarzen slid down an embankment, rolled, and flattened herself against the wall of a house. Two Thalmor soldiers walked past, not ten feet from her, but didn't so much as glance in her direction. She could hardly blame them; with the way her Nightingale armour clung to the shadows, she was the next best thing to invisible.

The village was chaos, and chaos was easy to move through. L'laarzen had spotted at least four different factions on her way in, and attempts had clearly been made to keep them separate from each other. In some places that had worked, some places it hadn't, but either way it made for a particularly lax set of guards.

They were barely even trying to maintain a proper watch. All their attention was focused inwards, and now that Quaranir had started his distraction, even more men were abandoning their postings to see what all the fuss was about.

Well, L'laarzen is sure that things will remain this easy for the entire heist and she will be able to claim her prizes with no issues and—

She turned her head round a corner, and promptly yanked it backwards.

NOPE, NEVERMIND.

Octavia Meteuse was stood outside the door to the inn, bound bow in her hands, looking from left to right. In her off hand, a spell L'laarzen didn't recognise was glowing orange.

Possibly a detection spell of some kind. Without this armour, Khajiit may already have been caught. L'laarzen looked around herself, considering her options. Windows? Octavia will not have neglected to trap them. The door as well, quite possibly. Quaranir assures us he senses the Eyes in that building (whatever 'senses' means), but L'laarzen does not have the time to wait for Octavia to drop her guard. Direct attack? Possible, but difficult, and she will doubtless send up an alarm and bring the whole army down on Khajiit in minutes. How does one pass through a door without approaching it…

The answer, for her, was actually fairly simple.

L'laarzen crept away from the inn, moving through the houses as rapidly as she could while fishing around in her armour with one hand.

She quickly spotted her target, an outhouse she'd seen on the way in, and pulled out the Skeleton Key.

This is a tool that opens the way. It unlocks. It grants one passage. It opens the way to where one wishes to go…not necessarily to where they are going. Nocturnal, please, I'll get you your date, and this has worked once before…

The outhouse didn't have a lock on its door, which was a terrible design flaw. L'laarzen just touched the key to the wood, breathed in, visualised where she intended to go…and pushed open the door, slipping through.

The place she stepped into was a lot brighter than the inside of a crapper.

L'laarzen glanced behind herself, and through the door's opening saw Octavia spin rapidly at the sound, her eyes widening—

And L'laarzen slammed the door in her face, shoving the Skeleton Key into the keyhole and (righty-tighty lefty-loosey) locking it with a twist and a thunk.

Octavia's weight slammed into the door a moment later, followed within seconds by what sounded like a very dangerous spell. Simple wood should have caved under half the damage that woman could bring to bear.

But the door was Locked, and so would not open.

"L'LAARZEN!" Octavia's voice howled. "WHEN I GET IN THERE I SWEAR TO—"

And she stopped speaking, as the world turned blue.

"You have a maximum of five minutes. Go." A voice echoed through the air.

"That is a really cool spell." Julius said, idly poking a nearby Thalmor soldier in the cheek. The frozen Elf tilted completely off-balance, not reacting, and started to fall over. He stopped in mid-air once Julius removed his hand.

The flames of the bonfire, the wingbeats of a bat some distance away, everything had just Stopped. Everything except for Julius, and the Psijic monk sat on a tree stump across from him.

"It's quite useful, yes." The monk's gaze was implacable. "Julius Meteuse. You may call me Quaranir. I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

"I find that wishing for better circumstances is a rather poor way to bring them about." Julius said.

"And yet in attempts to make positive change, it is all too easy to make things worse." Quaranir replied.

Julius couldn't help but smile. Oh, this guy knows how to play the game. I like him. "Which would explain why your order has taken a stance of doing nothing for the past few centuries. Did Alex send you?"

Quaranir tilted his head. "Alex..? Oh, the Archmage. I'm afraid not. I'm here on account of your recent trespass into the isle of Artaeum."

"Oh, that?" Julius raised an eyebrow. "Recent? That was years ago."

The briefest moment of hesitation on Quaranir's face, such that Julius barely caught it. He spread an arm. "Well, you understand that we don't quite see time the same way. I've been sent to take you to task, so to speak."

"Whaaat? I didn't do anything." Julius pouted.

"I know. We watched. Did you really think you could invade our home without us noticing?" Quaranir stood. "You're right about our policy of non-intervention. We were content to leave you be, even considered inviting you to join us. That changed when we observed what you are planning. You cannot be allowed to jeopardise the fabric of the world."

"You say 'allowed' like I require your consent." Julius crossed his arms. "If the Psijics don't wish to involve themselves in the world, I don't see why you should be consulted on what happens to it."

"Because I'm one of the idiots who lives in it." A surge of actual emotion appeared in Quaranir's voice. "This is your last warning. Cease your attempts to destroy the Towers, or Artaeum will stop you."

"Oh, damn." Julius exhaled heavily, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Guess this is the part where I calmly and wisely accept your warning, learn my lesson, and give up on all this."

Quaranir raised an eyebrow.

Julius blinked at him innocently.

Quaranir sighed.

"What?" Julius asked. "I've changed my ways. You can go now."

"You see, somehow, I don't believe you."

"See that's the issue with all these 'final warning' scenarios, what are you actually going to do if the person says yes? It would be a total let-down." Julius chuckled. "Ah, this was fun. But for real, get out of here before I beat your ass. I'm not kidding."

"And now you're the one offering a threat you don't really expect me to cave to." Quaranir replied, sounding dejected. "Okay. I've been asked not to kill you, so would you rather I imprison you on Artaeum or just zap the part of your brain that lets you concentrate on spells?"

"Your choice." Julius replied, taking his arms out of his pockets.

"Your loss." Quaranir replied. He snapped his fingers.

…Nothing happened. Julius raised an eyebrow.

Quaranir frowned. Snapped his fingers again. Mumbled "What in Oblivion, how are—"

"Your act is very good, mister Quaranir, but there's a few holes in it." Julius stretched his arms. "I know Alex sent you. Because you believed me when I said I went to Artaeum years ago, which was a lie, and you believed me when I told you I didn't do anything there, which was also a lie. What, you think I was going to go to all the effort of finding a secret disappearing island and then just take in the sights and leave?"

"What did you do." Quaranir demanded, taking a cautious step backwards.

"I raided your library." Julius said—then raised a finger. "Oh, or did you mean right now? You know, the time-stop thing is a fascinating spell, and one that only works so well because you've kept it secret. It's actually pitifully easy to render oneself immune to the effects. Explains how you haven't all slaughtered each other with it."

Quaranir scowled.

Julius smiled. "And now we fight a duel that no two others can fight: Against the ticking of the clock. I should thank Alex for giving me something this fun to do before I end the world."

Quaranir tilted his head. "…What's a clock?"

And then Julius hurled a barrage of paralysis spells and Quaranir raised a ward and the ground beneath them came to life and—

8˂

L'laarzen yanked up the bedding, checking underneath it, then dropped it and vaulted over to check the next room.

Five minutes and an empty room should have meant no problem, right? The inn was clearly where the three Meteuse siblings slept and clearly where they kept the Eyes, except that they'd also clearly hidden the blasted things. L'laarzen had looked under counters, in cupboards, under beds and even in the fireplace, but the gems were nowhere to be found. Her five minutes were rapidly ticking down.

"They are two foot-long gemstones! Where does one even fit those?" She hissed aloud, stomping over to check behind the bar again. "Maybe the mead barrels..? Agh, come on Nocturnal, L'laarzen is supposed to be lucky—"

Her front foot hit the floor, and made a hollow knocking sound.

She froze, and looked down.

With a concerted look, it didn't take long to find which of the floorboards was loose. She got her claws underneath it and yanked it up—

Saw the FIRE RUNE on the underside, hurled it away—

Then sighed in relief as it froze in mid-air, the time-stop preventing the trap from activating. Underneath was a cubbyhole of perfectly smooth earth, and two chests that were each just about big enough to hold one of the Eyes.

Yes!

She reached in and pulled out one, then the other, dropping them on the floor beside her. That was when the world around her…flickered. The plank she'd thrown jolted briefly through the air before stopping again, the fire crackled, and she heard the distant sound of an explosion.

"Okay, things have gone wrong!" Quaranir's voice echoed through the room. "Get out of there, now!"

Which would be bad warning to ignore, so L'laarzen ignored it. She grabbed the closest box to her and jammed the Skeleton Key into the lock, twisting. Dozens of magical and physical traps fell apart in an instant under the effect of a Daedric Prince's power, and L'laarzen pulled up the lid—

Just as the time-stop fell completely.

"—WHATEVER GOD YOU BELIEVE IN THAT YOU'RE DEAD!" Octavia finished her shout, as the trapped plank hit a far wall and exploded, forcing L'laarzen to wince as it blew a hole straight through the wall of the building.

L'laarzen looked inside the box, saw that it was an Eye of the Falmer (the left, it doesn't have the crack Xander put in the right one), and was empty of a Dragon's soul. Then she registered that even if she'd sealed the room's door with magic, that didn't mean she'd done the same to the walls—

Octavia must have realised the same thing. A hailstorm of glowing Daedric arrows tore through the oak beams to the right of the door, tearing it half to shreds, and L'laarzen was officially out of time. She slammed the box closed, grabbed it, sprinted back towards the door, locked eyes with Octavia through a hole in the wall, jammed the Skeleton Key into the door, unlocked it, barged it open with her shoulder—

And burst through the door to the outhouse she'd entered through, half a village away, collapsing into the dirt.

The door to the inn crashed open and Octavia wasted no time feathering it with several dozen magical projectiles. The door (and most of the wall behind it) was obliterated in the attack, sending splinters of wood flying everywhere.

But the attack's real target was nowhere to be found.

L'laarzen groaned and stumbled to her feet, as the sounds of alarm from nearby grew louder. Checked once more that her prize was still contained within its box.

Started running for the village outskirts.

Julius, magicka reserves throbbing for the first time in a long time, stood over a paralysed Psijic monk. The entire surrounding campsite was a mess; it's terrain moulded into unnatural shapes, blue flames still burning on many surfaces, chunks of rubble occasionally falling from the sky.

Three nearby Thalmor were dead just from collateral damage.

"Well, you lot are very good." He said, turning Quaranir onto his front with one foot. "I mean, wow, I need to decipher some of those spells at some point, that was impressive. But you're not actually battle trained, are you? No real combat experience?"

It was an amusing fact of paralysis spells that the victim usually maintained control over their eye movement even while affected. It meant Quaranir was still capable of glaring at him.

"So, I can't afford to send you back, because you might bring reinforcements, and I don't really want to risk killing you in case they have some way to notice…which I suppose means you'll have to stick around for a while. Don't get too worried. The world ends in a couple of weeks anyway."

There was a whistling sound, then a bang, and Julius turned away. Floating above the village was a myriad of sparkling red lights.

Oh, no.

Julius turned back to Quaranir. Somehow, the monk was managing to look smug.

Julius hit him with an unconsciousness spell, and started running towards the inn.

GIVE IT UP FOR TAMRIEL'S FAVOURITE SNEAKING BEST-CAT—

L'laarzen is able to snatch one of the Eyes, but at a cost. I have no idea if anyone was expecting Quaranir to come back, since he's been gone since Act II, but he's been lingering in the back of my mind ever since. Fun fact: An earlier idea for this story had Julius breaking into Artaeum to steal back the Eye of Magnus, before the big final magic-boost was decided as a Dragon soul.

Also more of what the sisters have been told, and more of Julius being a sassy, scheming bastard, which I've been really excited to get to write.

Oh, and Torryg! Everyone say 'hi Torryg'. We love Torryg. Puppet of the Empire and probably eventually of Sybille Stentor and the Thalmor, but a good dude, that Torryg.

Next Time: Look. Let's be real. You know what's happening next time.