NEW HORIZONS
The Dragonborn
Her eyes flutter open. She is content. Happy, even. Alduin is dead and the new, thrumming power, vibrating among the landscape tells her they have done it. The Dark Brotherhood has activated the portal and banished the daedra for good.
She lays there for another moment. Basking in the glory. She knew Tsun would no doubt send them back. Save her, if you would. She knew the wolf thought her heart was as fragile as most vampires, but she was sorely mistaken.
Finally, she lifts her head. She was right. They are on the top of the Throat of the World and Paarthurnax looks absolutely mortified. "Dovahkiin. What is the meaning of this? Alduin was slayed but what of your companions. And you…" The great beast trails off.
She raises her head ever so slightly to see the damage done. Her chest, including her heart has been flayed alive. Yet, it still beats. It is quite disturbing to see. What she needs is blood.
The next moments are hazy. Moving in an out of consciousness leaves a lot to the imagination. The Night Mother thought she saw Paarthurnax land next to her to give her blood. She thought she saw a swarm of dragons fly nearby in some sort of macabre celebration to Alduin's defeat. And she thought she felt their presence.
When she opens her eyes for the second time and holds on to reality, she finds she is slowly swaying in a small cot. On either side of her are men and women dressed in Stormcloak armor. At the foot of it she finds none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself. "Make sure the thing is secure!" He yells back to his companions behind them, "If the beast breaks free there's no telling how many it will kill." His light-colored eyes lock with hers, "I got your message loud and clear, rest assured you are safe."
She keeps his gaze. Gives a brief, relieved smile. Any way to get ahead in this world. With their extensive descent, she falls back into a deep slumber and finds she has never slept as good in her long life.
Mother,
I greatly advise you remain in the Palace of the Kings for the foreseeable future. Elisif has the Imperials surrounding the Castle as we speak. The Thalmor are…tense. I fear if you come back, they will advance on our Sanctuary.
Not to worry though, I have the Dark Brotherhood on watch and defending the Castle. Valiantly, I might add. The moondial is safe. We will keep it functional and fix any mistakes that may arise.
-Babette
She reads the note twice. The girl has some sense. She can barely step foot out of the bed. Hasn't even tried for the past few days. She just let Ulfric and his puppets bring her blood whenever she asked. She would bet she's had about three body's worth of blood since coming down from the Throat of the World.
It has helped. Her heart isn't beating out of her chest anymore. Her eyes are sharp as they once were. The only thing is the ache in her chest and the scar landing right over her heart. She knows her heart has some permanent damage due to the Daedric dagger shoved deep inside of it. Truth be told, that moment was the first time she has felt something so close to fear in so long.
She grasps the edge of the covers as it comes back to her. The piercing pain that grew even worse, like spiderwebs slowly weaving the fire in her chest, as the dagger was shoved into her. The Night Mother has had a fair amount of damage done to her body in all the time she has been walking Nirn. But so rarely does something stick with her like this. She can count those times on one hand.
But back to the task at hand. Without word from Nazir, who she has sent two letters to and hasn't been written back, she has appointed Babette as the temporary leader. The girl is adamant that the moondial is functional and durable. As long as no one tampers with it, the Princes will be little more than an irritating memory.
The only enemies are Elisif and the Thalmor puppeteers. They had grown brazen in the Night Mother's absence. Once at the Palace of the Kings she was told she had been in Sovngarde for over fourteen days. Time must move differently there.
A soft knock sounds through the room. "Come in." She says, while shifting the note so no one will see. As far as everyone else knew she just woke up, alone and terrified with great injuries on the top of the mountain. She doesn't dare tell Ulfric all that needs to happen in the coming weeks to regain her footing in Skyrim.
He is the first to enter. Behind him is Galmar, the insufferable person attached to his hip, and a serving maid. She holds a pitcher of blood and goblets filled to the brim precariously on a silver platter. Both Ulfric and Galmar go to sit on the far side of the room. The woman passes them drinks and food, wine and sweetrolls from the scent of it, before bringing all the blood to her.
She gives a polite smile when she finally gets that drink in her hand. The woman scurries out without another word.
"Night Mother." Ulfric begins. She holds a palm up to him and begins to drink greedily. The nectar is soothing and flavorful as she gulps it. With more blood, she feels more of her body is healing. More muscles around her chest, more on her face, more near her spine. Her eyes, her ears, her mind to a certain degree. Her heart is the only pesky part of it. It still beats irregularly.
She takes a long time and uses the edge of her sheets to wipe her face. "Forgive me. I am just so hungry. You were saying?" She smiles to the other side of the room.
Ulfric clears his throat. "Yes, well, I wanted to say we got your letter loud and clear. I had my men watching the Throat of the World and the moment you showed up I was able to scale what I could. I was already in Ivarstead at the time. Your associates said to give you shelter and safety. I have done so. Now what are we owed in return?"
This must be the first conversation they've had since she finally awoke with a clear head. "Return? Ulfric, I can give you Tamriel. We have the same goal. You know the Castle is surrounded. What needs to happen is you getting back into the Blue Palace to shout some sense into Elisif." She grins.
Galmar winces at her crudeness but Ulfric only raises a brow. "You would take me into the Blue Palace to take back what is mine in the most obtuse of ways? You think that would work."
She plays with the hem of her bedding, "You know I like to exaggerate."
"Of course. For the meantime we need to talk about your arrangements. I've been giving you blood for days. Do you feel any healthier?"
"A bit. It will take more time. I sustained quite the amount of damage."
"After defeating the dragon menace and sustaining such injuries surely you should have as much time as you need." Galmar says. He has been prickly when she's seen him, but he respects what she did. And she will not let it slip to him that it was not Alduin who gave her these injuries. The less said on that the better.
"Yes, you can have as much time as you need, Night Mother. I just wanted to check in with you. If you do wish to have this sort of alliance, we will need to discuss future matters." Ulfric trains his eyes on her. He's leaning forwards on his forearms. Giving her his undivided attention.
"You are the master planner at taking the province." She gives him a sly smirk, "I just need my Castle back and those insufferable people vacant from Solitude."
His returning smile is genuine, all sharp angles and white teeth. He does have a beautiful face for an aging warrior. "It will be done. I will discuss with Galmar how to proceed. In the meantime…" His posture is rigid, but his hands are fidgeting. Not a good sign.
"Yes?" She takes a conservative sip from her next goblet.
"The wolf. If you are well enough, I was wondering if you could accommodate me to the dungeons? We are not sure what to do with her."
It takes all her newfound strength to not break the fragile glass in her hand. Shatter it so badly it would be impossible to find in the numerous sheets. "Yes, give me a moment to make myself presentable and I will be right out."
The Palace of the Kings is known to be the first building in Windhelm and most likely Skyrim itself. She had little knowledge of Skyrim at that time, there were more pressing matters. But she wonders what this Palace would have been like back then. Certainly not decimated this terribly and nearly crumbling from the weight of the soft snow outside.
In the dungeon it is more precarious. Grimy, cold walls meet them, with a smell to rival any of the unkept Nords and Dunmers walking in this city. She gives a long glance at the ceiling. Nothing is sagging so far.
"Here is the great beast." Galmar rattles the bars of the small cell. There are many lined up along the wall but only one prisoner sits in the furthest one to the left. Inside she finds the woman is crouched in dirty peasant clothing, her short blonde hair is wild and untamed but not as much as her eyes. She glares when she sees the Night Mother.
She stands next to Ulfric, not saying anything as not to provoke the bitch in that cell. "What may be wrong with her? She looks like any other prisoner." She states.
"Wrong? You said, I mean, your associates said in that note we would be able to capture not only a healthy werewolf but one of the rarest wolves in the world! The White Wolf! Instead, the past few days she's been…like this." Galmar pushes his face against the bars. What a fool, one savage swipe of that woman's claws and he would have no face to grimace with.
"What Galmar is trying to say is her behavior is erratic. She hasn't eaten, her eyes and fangs show, look at her hands." Ulfric motions to the ground.
The Night Mother moves a little closer, her cloak brushes the sullied ground and is no doubt picking up whatever pathogens the vagrants down here have brought in. But she pays that little mind. When she sees those claws that flayed her face alive, she has to suppress a shudder. "She is in between the change." She concludes.
"Yes, that's what my court wizard has said." Ulfric crosses his arms, but he is still pensive. "He's just not sure if this is deliberate on her part, or, if it is merely a mistake."
She has not doubt it would be deliberate. She watches the woman with her wild eyes and decides she has no recollection of their time in Sovngarde. The wolf is lost to the world. The puzzle displays itself before her. But the answer is simple. The woman is dealing with the loss of the Daedric Princes in more ways than one. Based on the lore of the White Wolf, she was blessed by Hircine himself with power of the frozen north. No doubt, without his presence, she is suffering.
"Give her a few days." The Night Mother suggests.
Galmar sighs, "Very well, I wanted to get her out sooner."
"You'll get your time with the wolf soon enough." Ulfric murmurs. The Night Mother tilts her head to the side. She never did hear of their plans for her. "What is it you want with her?"
Galmar keeps staring at the woman longingly but not in the way she would assume, "With her at our helm, we will win this war. The Imperial bastards won't know what's coming for them. To set her loose, ahead of the pack. We could keep all our men breathing while recruiting more! That is, if she performs well and decimates all our enemies."
An interesting plan. The Night Mother had thought the same thing when she had both the wolves locked up in the Castle. "You would have to find a way to tame her." She reminds him.
Now the glint is his eye is positively devilish. "Oh, don't worry about that, you wish to see?"
Her slight nod is the only answer he gets. He shakes the bars again violently which only sends the woman into a frenzy. She runs around the small cell in a circle before falling to her knees to rock back and forth. "In due time wolf, then, you'll be our most powerful weapon."
She thought there was only one room to this cavernous dungeon. But she was mistaken. Along the way out she finds there was a hidden door all along. Galmar was surprisingly giddy about the whole ordeal. She just let him go about his business while sipping her blood. She made sure to bring her goblet with her.
"Feeling better?" Ulfric asks her while Galmar fiddles with the keys.
"A bit, yes, thank you." She replies. And they said she couldn't be diplomatic.
The door swings open. Inside, she finds an even more barren room save for the man chained to the wall. Instead of the other wolf that was locked up in her Castle dungeon, she finds one with bright blue eyes and shortened brown hair. He coughs with the new draft moving in.
"This is?" The Night Mother studies this wolf. He is no more significant than the run of mill werewolf out there. "Is it another animal?"
"No! Why it's another wolf but one she recognized! I thought it might be good bait to bring him in." Galmar is all fierce smiles.
"She does have many connections." The Night Mother takes one last look at the wolf before turning her attention to Ulfric. "You plan to torture him?"
His beautiful eyes widen, "No. Not if we can help it. He's here for support."
She has to keep from rolling her eyes. They have no idea how that might fail. "Just never let them out of their chains, they are finicky."
"Understood Night Mother, I thought it was best to keep them as separated as possible. Imagine the chaos they could bring if they were under the same roof!" Galmar closes the door and locks it up tightly, "By the way my men scoured High Hrothgar. They found no sign of the vampire girl."
Just as it would be. The Night Mother clenches her fist around her glass. Her plan was almost flawless, if she were to arrive back on High Hrothgar in bad shape, then the Stormcloaks were to take her to refuge. If they found anyone with her, they were to capture them as well. Only, they haven't found Eve. She has not seen her Child since the day she tried to kill her.
"We will keep looking. In the meantime, would you want to come to the banquet hall? There will be more blood there." Ulfric holds his arm out for her.
She pauses for a moment before taking it. "Yes, I would appreciate that. I was getting tired of that dusty room upstairs anyways."
Guards, servants, maids even, gave her thanks for all she did on the Throat of the World. It was annoying. Grating on her. Irritating. When the final woman stepped up to her, gave her a low bow, and began to profuse her many thanks the Night Mother just sneers.
"If you truly were thankful, you would join me." She says over her goblet.
This stops the lowly Nord woman in her tracks, "I, you mean, the Dark Brotherhood?"
"Yes. And if you are clever enough to not get your head ripped off in the first few months then I just might give you one of the nicer rooms in the Castle." She reiterates.
The woman keeps staring at her in shock. As if she grew a second head in the form of a fish. Ulfric, sitting so patiently next to her, just waves off the woman. "Off with you, go see if Galmar needs any accommodations."
The girl is quick to scurry away. Like a skeever. A rough hand lands on her forearm. "Something is bothering you." Ulfric, ever the perceptive one, broaches this subject.
She gives a languid sigh before resting her head in her free hand. "It is so tiring. Being the hero they wish I was."
"But you are! Don't you see? You had slain Alduin at the height of his glory. On the Throat of the World. How could you be anything but that hero?" One look into his forest-colored eyes shows a different story. He just has a carefully composed mask on. She waits for it to crumble.
"I am the leader of the Dark Brotherhood. I wish death and destruction across the land. All in the name of Sithis. You still think me a hero, Ulfric Stormcloak?" She moves her eyes lazily over his face. He has sharp planes to complement his rough beard. His eyes are like gems set in the center. He gazes back and she sees something beginning to soften.
"You fight for a cause. A cause I cannot see or know. But a cause, nonetheless. You should know there's no shame in such thoughts. A man or woman without doubts is a man without a conscience." He tapers off, as if he's said these very words before. He could at least show a little effort for it.
Her smile is shy, "You think I care? I care about the people?"
"Of course! Or else you would have not slayed that dragon." His eyes are piercing now. The nearby fireplace sets his hair and skin in a soft blazing glow. "You would not have gone through all the hardships, the pain." He is brazen. He rests the back of his hand right below her throat, right where her heart is.
"I did not know one such as you would have a weakness." He says softly. As if he didn't mean it.
Her blood is boiling. The rage is so heated and comes on so suddenly it is a beast to contain it. But contain it she does. She keeps that fake smile plastered on her face, "It is not a weakness. They thought they could kill me, and they were wrong. That is all that should be said about that."
He removes his hand slowly and gazes into her eyes. "They? It was not the dragon?"
Her eyes do brim with tears. With rage. But she is the writer of this story. She can change his perception. "Yes. It was the dragon then the fools with the Daedric Artifacts. They nearly killed me." Blood tears spill over her eyes. It is startling for one who is mortal to see such a thing. Maybe that is why Ulfric is so quick to wipe it away.
"And who were these people? Tell me and I'll have them killed on sight." Ulfric says. How noble. She just shakes her head and lays it on his shoulder. His strong hand comes to stroke her hair. His scent is tempting. A scent of one who spends their time in the frigid fields. The Night Mother keeps her eyes open as she weeps in his arms. That way, he would not ask her again who attacked her.
She could tell him. But to kill that harlot of a wolf downstairs would bring them absolutely nothing. The Artifacts, if tethered to her, would no doubt be strewn across the land for any mere mortal to stumble upon. That is what Artifacts are, a tether for the Princes to trick someone into doing their bidding. No. The wolf will live long enough for her to get those Artifacts from her. Even if she has to tear it from her skin.
As for their methods of using her. Well, they might be onto something about using the White Wolf to take out Elisif and the puppets. If the Stormcloaks could beat them back, then that was one less enemy to worry about. It was best to keep a pawn breathing.
As for Eve, first, they would have to locate her. And truth be told, before killing her, the Night Mother wishes to have a word with her. She needs to know what she has done.
She sobs again into this man's shoulder. He clutches her closer and she can feel the bonds forming. What was she, but a lost girl, weeping from the tragedy that befell her? How blind would this man be to who was truly in front of him? They openly discussed it. But he seems to have forgotten.
"Make sure Elisif is dead. I don't want something like this to happen again…but from some Imperial or some Thalmor." She cries.
"To my dying breath I swear you will be safe here." With me. Those words go unspoken.
As if to seal the deal, the Night Mother raises her head, her lashes are lowered until she looks up to him with the most innocent of eyes. "Would you please?"
"Of course." He wipes another stray tear. She glances at his full and rosy lips before going for the kill. By the fireside, in the barren and lonely room, she kisses him with a passion not felt since she was mortal herself.
His hand intwines in her hair. At first, she thinks it's to pull her away. But he just pulls her closer. His lips are tantalizing, so soft, so delicious. She can taste her own blood on them from her tears.
Before it goes on for too long, she pulls away. He is out of breath. But his eyes are ravenous. "That was something." He says in a dizzying haze.
And that, is why men were so easy to control. She wonders briefly, if she were in her own body, if this man would still want her? Could she be a different race? A different age? Gender, even? Would he still look at her with that carefully restrained wildness that he does now?
She determines that line of thinking is fruitless. The answer isn't here, and it never will be. All she has is this body, and this moment to take back what's hers. Tamriel and all of its citizens at her command.
"Bring me Elisif's head and I promise you there will be more to come. Now, I don't want to worry my pretty head anymore. Take me back to the rooms for a rest?"
He laughs, breathlessly. Runs his hands through his hair. "Let me tell Galmar and I will accompany you. I don't want you to wander this Palace alone as weak as you are."
They can't have that. The weakness will not last for long, and when she's back on her feet she fully intends to join Ulfric in his war room to aid the cause. The sooner all this mess was over the better. Her Castle, and her Brotherhood, are waiting for her.
Cicero's Journal Entry
30th of Last Seed, 4E 202
Cicero thinks it is the 30th but it could be any day. It's as if we've been sitting here for eons awaiting the journey to Solstheim! Cicero moaned and cried, begged them to send him on his way to find the man to help in the search for Mother! But they, the captors, said to wait…
And wait I did. What a lovely sight. Cicero should not have doubted them. First, they brought in that man that Listener was so keen on. The one with the fire-like hair. A thief. Then, they brought in none other than Listener herself! She looks in bad shape. She is very weak from what Mother did and what mysteries Sovngarde wrought. Cicero will have to ask all about her time there when she wakes up. We have a long journey ahead of us.