Chapter 4
Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era
After the death of Vigilant Tyr the room lightened and the miasma in the air faded, but it didn't go entirely away. The dark mist still lingered in the air making shadows darker and shapes indistinct. The food, cooking utensils, and furniture that had been moving were now strewn about the floor, but they lay still. The oppressive darkness had lifted, but the light was strange. She could see, but there was an odd lack of color. Everything was in shades of brown and grey. A glance at her hands showed that the odd coloring applied to her as well.
Daenerys closed the eyes of Vigilant Tyr. She offered a silent prayer to Talos for his soul. She wondered if the Nords were right. Did the gods of this world truly value how you faced death more than how you faced life? He had tried to kill her, but she couldn't blame him for panicking when faced with a Daedric Prince. It seemed rather capricious of the gods to judge a man on only his final moments. On the other hand, the most important decisions came in little moments, like when she had decided to burn a city, or stand and face a dragon.
She picked up the fallen priest's mace and stood. She had two choices now. She could try and Shout down the door, or she could go further down into this house and seek the reward that Molag Bal claimed she would receive. The simple version of religion in Skyrim was the Nine were good and Daedric Princes were evil. From what she had learned, Azura and Meridia weren't necessarily evil, Nocturnal was merely self-interested, and even Mephala was misunderstood according to Brelyna. However, Molag Bal was certainly evil. His whole purpose was to crush the week and he thought all men and mer were weak. He was probably the most completely evil of all the Daedric Princes. She didn't trust Molag Bal. She wanted nothing to do with him. Unfortunately, she had already Shouted Fus-Ro, Force with Balance, at the door and that had done absolutely nothing. The triple Shout Fus-Ro-Dah was much stronger than the sum of its parts, but she didn't really believe it would work. This entire house was under Molag Bal's control. Killing Tyr had not been an act of strength. It had been an act of desperation, as had burning down King's Landing. However, Molag Bal thought otherwise. In his eyes even trying to escape was a sign of weakness. Trying to escape again and failing would not merely be a sign of weakness, but proof. There was no choice. She would have to go down deeper into the house and see what Molag Bal wanted of her.
Her mind made up, Daenerys turned to the practicalities. It would be entirely in character for Molag Bal to make her fight her way down past other obstacles and creatures. She searched Vigilant Tyr's corpse for anything that would help her survive. The only armor he wore was his leather boots that were hopelessly too big for her. She wasn't touching the Amulet of Stendarr he wore around his neck. She had too much respect for the power of the gods in Tamriel to mess with it. However, his robes were also enchanted. She wasn't good at reading enchantments, but they had the feel of healing magic. They were also stained with the priest's blood. Daenerys stripped him and donned his bloody robes as well. She took his belt, secured it around her waist, and hung his mace on it. She could feel the wet stickiness of Tyr's blood on her, but she ignored it. Deliberately, she counted out the few coins in his purse and took them as well. Money was meaningless here, but Molag Bal would approve of her robbing the dead. To the victor go the spoils was his philosophy. Molag Bal would have loved the Dothraki and the Ironborn.
Resolutely she headed back down into the house. She kept alert scanning for anything alive and moving. She fully expected to have to fight her way down, but she found nothing in the sitting room. The storeroom below was also empty, but there was a door they hadn't tried. She opened it.
"YES. FURTHER. INTO THE BOWELS." The voice Molag Bal still echoed, but now he sounded both droll and eager rather than commanding.
Daenerys opened the door and found another storeroom. This one was mostly empty and covered in cobwebs, but two lit lanterns gave off enough light to see by. She wondered what Molag Bal wanted of her. Unlike Clavicus Vile he wasn't known for making deals. It would be entirely in character for Molag Bal to lure her to him and then rape and torture her. People were nothing in his eyes. The only thing he respected was strength. She didn't want to go down, but she kept moving. She would not show weakness, and hesitation was a form of weakness.
In a dark corner of the second storeroom, there was a breach in the wall. Instead of the straight lines and intricate carvings of Dwemer stonework, a ragged tunnel led deeper down. This was no doubt what Molag Bal meant by into the bowels.
She went down. The tunnel was dimly lit by a few scattered lanterns and showed signs of excavation. There were picks and shovels scattered about along with piles of rock and debris. The grinding sound that had never gone away grew louder as she descended.
"YES, LITTLE DOV, COME AND CLAIM YOUR REWARD."
She wanted to flee. She remembered all too well the pain and shame of her wedding night with Khal Drogo, and her moon and stars had tried to be gentle with her. Molag Bal would make that less than a bee sting. He would torture her to make the worst she had heard of Ramsey Bolton mild in comparison. However, running would make it worse. If that was her fate, she was at least going to face it standing on her feet with weapon in hand. Maybe the Nords were right. Maybe the gods did care more about how you faced death instead of how you lived life.
Nothing attacked her as she continued down the corridor. At the end she found a small irregular chamber. In the center of the chamber was an altar depicting some kind of demon head presumably Molag Bal. Standing upon the altar was a mace impossibly balanced upright upon a spiked pommel. Was that the reward he was dangling before her like bait for a fish? The altar, the dais, and the mace were all made of a black metal that gleamed in the dim light as if it were wet. She had never seen the metal before, but she had heard it described. The altar, the dais, and the mace were all made of ebony. The rare metal was the strongest known in Tamriel. It wasn't even certain the metal was of Tamriel. Many believed ebony to be of daedric origin and accursed. Not that being accursed stopped people from using it to make weapons and armor.
She was clearly expected to go up to the altar. It felt wrong. Molag Bal was about domination, crushing his enemies. She should have to fight her way past guards to reach this place. She eyed the ebony dais. Why make the dais of ebony as well? Perhaps it would open up and drop her into a pit? That sounded like Molag Bal. She could walk around behind the altar, but the mace would be too high up to grab from there. Not that she even wanted the mace. She didn't trust Molag Bal or his gifts. An ebony mace for merely killing a priest was too good to be true. The smart thing would be to turn back. Except, that Molag Bal was all about strength. Being too scared to even dare to grasp the mace would also fail his test. On the other hand, if she was foolish enough to step into a trap that would also be a sign of weakness? Then she realized there was a third choice.
She put her hands on her hips and stared at the altar. "I'm not stepping into that trap."
The room exploded in booming laughter. "OH, BUT YOU ALREADY STEPPED INTO MY TRAP. THE ENTIRE HOUSE WAS MY TRAP. GO ON. TAKE WHAT IS YOURS."
"I will, but on my own terms. I'll be back." Daenerys deliberately turned from the altar and headed back up. Turning her back on Molag Bal was dangerous, but she kept going. As she exited the tunnel into the lower storeroom the miasma began to increase again. Molag Bal wasn't happy. She continued to walk. She would not give in to fear and look weak. In the storeroom she saw a chest that might work for what she had in mind, but she knew there was something better. She continued back up. When she reached the sitting room, objects started to shake and move again. She continued her steady pace and schooled herself to show no reaction.
In the kitchen she finally reached her goal, the corpse of Vigilant Tyr. She steeled her resolve, crouched down, and picked up his corpse. She had to shift him around a bit to get him settled on her shoulders, but she could manage his weight. After consuming two dragons and becoming a werewolf, she was much stronger than she looked. That didn't mean it was easy. The clattering of objects died down, but the miasma and odd coloring remained. She felt a dark anticipation in the air.
Despite her extra strength, she was weary by the time she returned to the chamber with the altar. She knew Molag Bal was watching, and she wanted to make an impression. So, she Shouted Mul, Strength, and suddenly the burden on her shoulders weighed almost nothing. She shifted the priest's corpse, so she held him balanced aloft over her head. Then she tossed him up and onto the dais.
She had expected the dais to open up and drop the corpse into a pit below. Instead, a cage rose up around the corpse impossibly fast. The cage was made of ebony, just like the altar and the dais, and was obviously designed to hold a person. The gaps were too small for a person to squeeze through and the bars were lined with sharp spikes to punish any attempt to escape.
"YES!" Molag Bal laughed and it sounded like hope dying. "YOU PLEASE ME, DOVAHKIIN! I SMELLED CRUELTY. I HEARD THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF SOULS BEGGING YOU FOR MERCY! BUT YOU SUBMITTED SO MEEKLY TO THOSE DIBELLAN HARLOTS. I HAD TO TEST YOU. TO SEE FOR MY OWN EYES. NOT ONLY DID YOU KILL THE WEAKLING, BUT YOU GAVE HIS SOUL TO ME." The cage abruptly came down, and as it did the thorned bars ripped the corpse of Vigilant Tyr into shreds. Blood flew and splattered the altar and the stone of the chamber floor. Where blood met ebony the black metal seemed to soak it up.
Daenerys felt sick. She had not intended to send the priest's soul to Molag Bal. She had not even known such a thing was possible. He had already been dead. How could something she did after he died determine where his soul went? She wanted to scream at the Daedric Prince and demand that he release the priest's soul. However, she knew that Molag Bal had no mercy in him.
"TRULY," continued the pleased voice. "THERE COULD BE NONE BETTER TO WIELD MY ARTIFACT IN THIS AGE." The mace that had been standing impossibly at the altar floated over to her.
Daenerys pushed down fear and disgust. Any sign of weakness would get her killed. She snatched at the mace and grabbed it by the handle. It was a huge ugly thing of sharp edges and spikes, but it felt right in her hand.
"IT HASN'T BEEN FED IN TOO LONG. DIP IT IN HIS BLOOD."
Daenerys did as she was bidden. Vigilant Tyr was dead. His soul belonged to Molag Bal. He didn't need his blood any longer. She felt something stir as she blooded the weapon, and the mace shrunk a little.
"GOOD. GOOD! I HAVE CHANGED IT TO SERVE YOU BETTER. SMALLER TO FIT YOUR HAND. YOU HAVE STRENGTH, BUT NOT SKILL AT ARMS. WHEN YOU KILL WITH MY MACE, A PORTION OF YOUR VICTIM'S SKILL AT ARMS WILL PASS UNTO YOU."
Her first thought was one of greed. Stealing even a portion of someone's combat skill would be very useful to her. It took years to become good at arms. This mace could help her survive. Then her stomach flipped and churned and she almost heaved up at the thought of using this mace. "Only a portion of their skill goes to me? And you get their souls? Sounds like you get the better part of that deal."
Molag Bal laughed. "YES, I ALWAYS DO. THE STRONG ALWAYS GET THE BEST OF EVERY DEAL. CLEVER DOV TO SEE IT. I LIKE YOU, DAENERYS TARGARYEN. SPEND ONE NIGHT WITH ME IN MY REALM. YOUR WILL TO DOMINATE IS STRONG, BUT MINE IS STRONGER. SUBMIT TO ME AND I WILL MAKE YOU A DAUGHTER OF COLDHARBOUR, A TRUE VAMPIRE."
"I appreciate the offer, Molag Bal, but I respectfully decline to submit, even to you."
"AH, SUCH SWEET DEFIANCE. EVEN THOUGH YOU WILL NOT BEND, YOU WILL STILL SERVE. I WILL PREPARE A PLACE OF HONOR FOR YOU IN COLDHARBOUR, A MANSION, FILLED WITH ALL THE SOULS YOU SEND TO ME. YOU HAVE ALREADY MADE A GOOD START. WHEN YOU SHED YOUR MORTAL SKIN, COME AND VISIT ME BEFORE YOU MOVE ON TO YOUR NEXT INCARNATION. UNTIL THEN, MAKE THE MORTALS TREMBLE AT THE SOUND OF YOUR NAME AND MINE."
The palpable presence vanished. The dim light vanished with it plunging her into darkness.
She had to find her way out by following the wall. The tunnel floor was uneven, and she stumbled more than once. The third time she stumbled and fell. She lay there on the cold floor and cried her eyes out. She wept in anger, fear, shame, and self-disgust. She had held it all inside because showing weakness in front of Molag Bal would have resulted in a fate worse than death, but with him gone it all came pouring out. What kind of person was she that Molag Bal approved of her? What kind of person thought that sending someone's soul to Molag Bal for a small bit of martial skill was a reasonable deal? She had once wished that Molag Bal claimed the souls of the guards who wanted to rape her in Winterhold. She hadn't truly realized what that meant. She didn't forgive them, but no one should suffer that fate. A fate to which she had condemned Vigilant Tyranus. It had been an accident, and he had betrayed her, but that didn't make it right. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.
.oOo.
Daenerys awoke sore and uncomfortable on a hard stone floor surrounded by darkness. Memories of her encounter with Molag Bal were still fresh in her mind. She searched around in the dark for a wall. She found the mace first. Resolutely she left it there. She wanted nothing to do with it. While it could certainly help her, she wasn't sending anyone's soul to Molag Bal. Besides, it was made of ebony and would draw attention she couldn't afford. She wondered how much time had passed. Would Vigilant Tyr be missed if he did not return to the Silver-Blood Inn? Would the city guard be on the lookout for the Breton girl that left with him? Hopefully not. It was a big city. Surely, the city watch had more important things to do.
After crawling through the darkness for a distance without finding a wall, she gave up in frustration. She sat down and tried to conjure up light. Candlelight was one of the easiest Alteration spells, but she had never been good at the Seeming needed for Alteration. She was just too cynical to harbor the childish belief that anything was possible. The world wasn't like that. She hoped desperation would accomplish what the classroom could not. She had been desperate when she'd first channeled Frost and Healing, but she sat there in the dark, and nothing happened. After three failed attempts, she decided to try something different. She gathered her Will. She Focused on a light appearing in her hand. Instead of a foolish belief that anything was possible, she tried faith for a Seeming. "Please, Talos, might I have a little light?"
The light that appeared in her hand blinded her. She closed her eyes and looked away and opened them. She'd done it. Candlelight. Although she'd had help. "Thank you."
Looking around she realized she must have been going in circles because Molag Bal's mace was right by her knee. She left it there in the darkness and headed up. She went all the way up to the top and checked the door. It was no longer locked. She couldn't see the sun any longer. Some stars were visible to the east, but the western sky was still shaded pink. Sunset. Which meant she didn't want to be out after dark. That was fine with her.
Daenerys cooked one of the rabbits and then searched the house. She found a little bit of gold, but not much. Added to the gold the priest had on him and she couldn't even afford a full set of leather armor. She could afford a set of furs like she had worn when she left Riverwood so long ago, but those were meant more for warmth than protection. She didn't need warmth in the middle of summer. She needed protection. Fortunately, she had also found a real dress. It was a simple dress, a brown kirtle over a sandy-colored smock with a leather corset. Unfortunately, the dress was meant for a Nord woman. The skirts were too long for her, and it was too big in the bust. Luckily, she had also found needle and thread, so she sat down by the fire. She knew she lacked the skill to take in the bust, but she knew enough to manage a simple hem.
As she hemmed the dress, she planned for the next day. With this dress she could go outside without looking like a beggar or a whore. She would still look like a Breton, but she would be dressed the same as every Nord daughter and mother. She should probably still avoid the plaza. That one guard had promised to come looking for her to get 'thanked' properly. If he asked questions at the Silver-Blood Inn, he might have learned that she left with Vigilant Tyr, but the vigilant didn't come back. With a city as big as Markarth, it was doubtful they would investigate unless she ran into them. Thus, avoiding the plaza.
Still, that left her a lot of freedom and her search had turned up other items of potential value. Most of what she found hadn't been worth much: plenty of food and wine, some tin cups, assorted herbs and spices, furniture, and such. However, some of it was valuable: two sabercat pelts, some iron weapons, a shield, a helmet, and a hunting bow. She also had the priest's mace which she planned to keep. The vigilant's robes were enchanted for Restoration, so they would be very valuable. Unfortunately, they were bloodstained and finely embroidered with a recurring theme of horns. Judging by the horn on the priest's amulet, the symbol of Stendarr was a horn. So, as valuable as the robes were, she couldn't risk trying to sell it. There would be too many questions asked.
If she could sell everything else she'd found, she might have enough to afford leather armor and a backpack. However, if she tried to haul everything into a store, she'd likely be accused of being a thief. She did still look like a Breton, and even after hemming the skirts, her dress still wouldn't fit properly. No doubt there were places in Markarth that wouldn't ask too many questions, but she had no clue where to find them. Nor could she ask where to find someone who would buy shady goods. Really, she had little choice but to seek out the other contact that Senna had given her, Eltrys. Senna said he was a Breton. So, he probably wouldn't judge her and could likely point her to someone who would buy what she had looted from the house and not ask questions. Not the best plan, but at this point it was her only plan.
She made a bed of the sabercat pelts and tried to get some sleep, but she slept poorly. Her dreams were haunted by memories of her past and roads not taken. She dreamt of King's Landing on fire. She could smell the smoke and hear the screams of her victims. Then she was down among them, screaming herself, fleeing from Alduin as he burned down Helgen. She escaped through the tunnels of Helgen to be met by Jon Snow. He greeted her with an embrace and shoved a dagger into her heart. Then she was back in the ruined throne room of the Red Keep, but it wasn't the Iron Throne forged of a thousand swords. Instead, it was a white marble throne with red velvet cushions to sit upon and a huge ruby over her head. As she looked out from the throne to the ruin of King's Landing, Jon Snow knelt at her feet like an obedient dog. Then she was marching through the streets of Windhelm leading an army of the Unsullied with the Dragonguard mixed in. Ulfric Stormcloak challenged her to meet him in a duel. She Shouted three Words that pulled down flaming rocks from the heavens destroying her forces and Ulfric's alike and leaving nothing of Windhelm but a smoking ruin. And through all the dreams she could hear Molag Bal laughing and the relentless tolling of the bells, bells, bells.
She awoke screaming and drenched in sweat. It took her several long deep breaths to regain her composure. When she did, she found Molag Bal's mace lying within arm's reach of her makeshift bed.
Daenerys turned to the side of her pallet of furs and retched onto the floor. Fortunately, she hadn't eaten much the previous night, but the queasy feeling in her stomach did not go away when her heaving subsided. She was a fool and a fake. She strutted around pretending to be a hero, the chosen one, the Dragonborn. She let people believe in her. She acted as if the death of a city at her hand had just been a simple mistake, something she could put behind her and move on. Molag Bal had ripped that façade away. The single most evil being in Skyrim admired her.
Maybe she should just stop? Was she truly making anything better in Tamriel? She was disguised. Markarth was on the far western end of Skyrim. She could take the road west and leave Skyrim behind. She could find a new home in High Rock. Yet, she had done some good, hadn't she? How many would have died to the dragons? And Talos had believed in her. The words of Paar-Thur-Nax came back to her. "What is better? To be born good or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?" She also remembered her words to him. Redemption was a journey with no end.
Resolutely she stood up and left Molag Bal's mace where it lay. Yes, she had done great wrong for the sake of her own glory. Yes, she could never make that right. However, there were people counting on her to stop the dragons. There were people who cared for her as a person and not just the Dragonborn: Gerdur, Faralda, Sofija, Brelyna, and others. Grandfather, Fultheim, and more had already died for her. Somewhere in Karthwasten was a little girl that she had promised to save. And, beyond all that Al-Du-In had returned. Maybe she wasn't the prophesized one. Maybe she would die trying to stop Al-Du-In, but she would try. Molag Bal could keep his mace and shove it up his own ass.