Elenwen looked out onto the frozen valley overlooked by the Thalmor Embassy. The sheer mountain face covered, as it was all year round, by a thick blanket of snow. Evergreen trees rising into the sky. It was twilight and the sun was sinking behind the mountain peaks and the sky was turning from blue to waves of inky red and purple.
She had made her complaints ever since the day she had first been sent here but, in truth, Elenwen thought Skyrim was a very beautiful place. It was just the people who lived here that ruined it.
Nords. She had to resist the urge to spit in disgust. What good had ever come from this barbaric people, perhaps the worst of all breeds of men. Stubborn, surly and warmongering. They had been a thorn in the side of the Thalmor ever since the First Great War. It had been too good to believe when they had captured Ulfric Stormcloak. Turning the Nords against each other had been a stroke of genius that had earned her great honours from the Thalmor hierarchy. She had even received word that she was to be recalled to Alinor to take a seat on the High Council. She had hardly been able to believe it. She would have been able to bid farewell forever to this frozen backwater of a province, leaving it in the hands of one of her underlings.
That was, of course, until He had appeared. That Uhther, the one these human savages named "Dragonborn", had thrown down Ulfric's rebellion with a brutality she would have hardly believed, even from a Nord. Years of planning in ruins. The war should have kept the Empire distracted for longer. The Thalmor had needed more time to formalise their plans for the next thrust against the humans. Against this torturous, seemingly unending existence.
As they always were when her thoughts turned this way, Elenwen's eyes were drawn into the distance, where the peak of the Throat of the World could still be made out, though it was now little more than an outline against the horizon.
The Throat of the World. An apt name. Cutting that throat would be an end to the troubles of every elf. It was so easy to think about. Doing it had turned out to be another matter. She had thought that, if all the humans in Skyrim were busy fighting each other, she and her agents might have been able to slip up the mountain unnoticed. But no. It turned out the only climbable way up the mountain had been deep in Stormcloak territory and, with the animosity of Ulfric's Nords, all attempts to infiltrate into the Rift had been disastrous.
That had been until the end of the war. Maven Blackbriar had always been a loyal friend of the Thalmor, as close as a human could get to being called a friend anyway. But even with her on the jarl's seat of the Rift, the hackles of these Nords still went up any time an Altmer got within a mile of their sacred mountain.
She clenched her fist, crumpling the two letters that she was still holding. It was no matter. She had no need to read them again. The words were burned into her mind. The first had arrived three days ago, news that this whelp of the Dragonborn's, this girl-child that these fools already named "The Young Dragon" had taken Maven off the jarl's throne and replaced her with a man loyal to the Empire. Elenwen ground her teeth at that. Ulfric's fools might have believed there little difference between those loyal to Titus Mede and those loyal to the Thalmor but she knew better. Still, it was no great matter, she supposed. She still had agents all across the province, placed after the civil war. This new jarl could be supplanted easily enough. These Nords were easy enough to rile up against each other. It was the second letter that gave her more cause for concern.
It was a letter she had sent to many agents since the occupancy of Skyrim began, but not one she had ever expected to receive. News that she, Elenwen, First Emissary, a High Inquisitor of the Aldmeri Dominion, was on probation and that, if she did not achieve her mission soon, she would be recalled to Alinor, not with honour now but for demotion, the stripping of rank and honours. She could not allow this.
There had to be some way of getting near the mountain. Perhaps she could use this takeover of the Rift. It was unlawful, that could not be denied. She could insist Tullius act. Send troops to Riften to restore Maven and, in that confusion, she could dispatch a few Justicars to the Throat of the World. Surely an entire platoon would have little difficulty with these Greybeards?
She had begun pacing around the edge of the Embassy courtyard, lost in thought. She met a patrol of Thalmor Guardsmen going in the opposite direction. A Justicar leading two Bosmer archers and a Khajiit equerry bringing up the rear.
Momentarily distracted, Elenwen's eyes narrowed as she watched them move away. She disliked giving Bosmer and Khajiit positions in the guard. They made capable servants and informants, and few could match their skills as knives in the dark, the duties that were below the dignity of an Altmer. But Elenwen preferred the days when she had been guarded solely by her own kind, by Altmer justicars and sorcerers. But orders had come north the previous year, from the High Council itself.
The Khajiit kingdoms of Anequina and Pelletine had proved their loyalty and had earned respect within the Dominion. The Bosmer had also been honoured, unjustly in Elenwen's opinion. To her knowledge, the wood elves had yet to provide the true location for the Green Sap Tower. Still, orders were orders. The Dominion depended on obedience, they could not succeed otherwise.
A strange sound caught Elenwen's ear, distracting her from her thoughts. A strange kind of whistling. Elenwen looked up, half expecting to see a canah swooping elegantly on the breeze. But that was madness. She heard a grunt and turned in time to see one of the bosmer fall, a thin shaft protruding from his neck.
Too late, Elenwen realised what she had heard. The fletching of an arrow as it soared through the twilight towards them. They were under attack! She now heard more of that same whistling sound. Much more.
'To arms!' Elenwen shouted as she raced for the cover of her solar, 'To arms! We are under attack.'
The arrows began falling like rain, striking the courtyard with deadly ferocity. Some of the soldiers who had been patrolling were able to get shields up in time, moonstone met steel arrow points and the courtyard echoed with clangs and clatters as the arrows glanced off the shields. Others were not so lucky. Elves and Khajiit fell, screaming and choking, arrows lodged in bellies, chests, skulls and throats.
'Who?' was all Elenwen could say, thinking aloud as she watched the carnage around her, 'who would dare?'
Outside, in the forest, Uhther watched as the arrows fell, a grim satisfaction filling him. He had been working for this for so long, to see it now come to fruition...he stopped himself. It was not done yet. The battle had yet to be won. Never assume it is done until it is done, Legate Rikke had once told him.
He drew Dragon's Breath and turned to Delphine.
'Advance to the gate,' he told her. She nodded. Uhther could see a eager kind of hunger there, which did not surprise him. The Blades had been all but destroyed by the Thalmor in the aftermath of the Great War. This was more than just a necessary strike for Delphine, this was personal. As it was for the man at her side. Knight Brother Fultheim, another veteran of the Blades who had come to join after hearing of their reformation.
Uhther remembered meeting the man once, in a lonely tavern in Eastmarch Hold. He had been much more the worse for drink last time. Now he stood tall, sober and as eager as Delphine to rush in and kill all in his path.
'Delphine may hold to this whole dragon slayer thing,' Fultheim had said to him as they had journeyed from the Karthspire, 'but killing Thalmor always seemed more important to me. If you're gonna lead us to that, I'll follow you anywhere.' He had then brought a fist to his chest in respectful salute, his gauntlet ringing against his Akaviri style armour.
The rest of the Blades were there as well. They were the vanguard of this assault, along with Uhther and Lydia. The rest of their group was made up of a hundred archers from Ralof's former Stormcloaks. They had been all Uhther had wanted. A small raiding party, he felt, was better for this than a large army. The rest of Ralof's remnant, he had sent north to the old Stormcloak camp on the border of Haafingar, under Ralof's command. they were to remain there until Uhther sent further orders.
Though any orders I send will depend on how this goes, Uhther thought as he advanced through the trees that had kept them hidden during their approach. They had only encountered one patrol, and that had been quickly overpowered by Uhther's men, one old Stormcloak by the name of Leifric had proven particularly deadly, his sword moving faster than even Uhther would have believed. That was good, Uhther had thought, they won't see us coming.
The remnant Stormcloaks had then moved to encircle the embassy, still keeping to the trees, while Uhther, Lydia and the Blades had taken position in sight of the gate. A nod from Uhther had been the signal. Almost as one, the Stormcloaks had raised their bows and loosed. Arrows flew up and then began to fall.
And now they were charging. Uhther, flanked by Lydia and Delphine and followed by the twenty Blades. Fultheim, Jenassa, Vorstag, Ugor and the rest, all with bare blades and looks of grim determination.
There was a guard by the gate. A group that looked to made up of five justicars and a sorcerer. The justicars conjured arcane blades when they saw them coming, and the sorcerer's arms suddenly became alight with lightning.
'Fus Ro Dah!'
The Thu'um sent the Thalmor flying backwards, colliding with the gate that remained shut tight. While they were trying to regain their feet, Uhther and the Blades fell on them like the gods' own fury. Uhther took the sorcerer, Dragon's Breath seeming to shine with light as he plunged the dragonbone blade through the elf's chest. The sorcerer's eyes widened and he clutched at Uhther's wrists for a moment before the arms went limp and he was still.
Around him the Blades were at their work. The thin, single edged swords of the ancient Akaviri plunged and sliced and the elves screamed and died. Delphine neatly decapitated one, sending a helmeted head spinning and rolling down the hill while Fultheim was stabbing another again and again, though it was clear that the elf was already dead.
The rest were watching Uhther, ready for the next step.
'What now, Thane?' Lydia asked.
'Now we hope,' Uhther said, and he turned to the gate, 'Kharjo! Are you there?'
There was a moment where no answer came. All that could be heard were the shouts and screams from further into the embassy. The archers were doing their work well but Uhther could hear the sound of approaching soldiers, coming to investigate the commotion by the gate. Still no answer, long enough for panic to lance through Uhther. Had he changed his mind? Was this a trap?
'I am here,' a voice thick with the accent of Elsweyr finally answered. There was a click and the gate swung open.
'My gratitude, my friend,' Uhther said. Kharjo was wearing the same armour as the rest of the Thalmor guard though now he cast down the helmet and shield and replaced them with his own iron banded shield and the helmet made from Nordic Steel that Uhther had gifted to him, wrought in the shape of a snarling sabercat, before drawing his mace.
'This one remains in your debt,' said Kharjo, 'and there are others here who are ready to join you.'
That did take Uhther aback. The idea that citizens of the Dominion might want to defect from Altmer rule had not occurred to him. But then he remembered Malborn. Such things did happen.
A grin stretched across Uhther's face.
'Well then,' said the Dragonborn, 'come and let's finish this.'
It was not a battle. It could not even be called close to one. The Thalmor forces were too disjointed, too unprepared. They had assembled in small groups, easily dealt with by Uhther's raiding party, especially when the Stormcloaks joined the fray. Then a group of khajiit from the kitchen emerged into the courtyard carrying knives and cleavers. The elves thought them reinforcements, at first, before the cat-men of Elsweyr leapt into action, screaming blood-curdling battle cries in their native tongue while three wood elves, dressed in the simple attire of hunters, climbed to the top of the wall from where they began loosing arrow after arrow into the groups of Thalmor elves. These must be the ones Kharjo had spoke of, Uhther thought, as he took a heavy sword blow on the Shield of Ysgramor before kicking forward, sending the elf sprawling.
Before the moons had truly risen, it was over. Uhther removed his helmet and surveyed what was left of the Thalmor Embassy. Bodies lay everywhere, and he was pleased to see that the enemy dead outnumbered their own.
The surviving Thalmor had surrendered and were now being rounded up. He would deal with them later. First things first. He turned to one of the Stormcloaks.
'Head to the camp now,' he said, 'tell Ralof he's to blockade the highway, nothing gets in or out until I get to Solitude.'
The man saluted and was away, as fast as his legs would carry him. As he passed through the gate, two more men followed on behind him. Uhther watched until they were out of sight then turned his gaze to where he fancied he could just about make out the spires of the Blue Palace.
That was the easy bit, he thought, sourly, what happens next will depend of what Queen Elisif will think of all this.
