(AN: Here the consequences of knowledge are discovered for Jonna. But, as a warning, they might be more long-lasting than just shattered dreams.)
The Bitter Truth
The silence that filled the great hall of Dragonsreach was broken by chuckling from Jarl Nelkir. Jonna remained where she stood, in front of Idolaf's crouching form, stunned at what she had just done. She felt as though she had taken her axe to her right hand and cut it off. With a sigh, she shook her head and told herself that this was for the best. She had her father, and that was all that should matter. Still, she could not shake the nagging feeling that she was betraying herself and everything she once held dear.
No, she thought to herself. This is what I've wanted, it's what I've always wanted. If Sigrun can't accept this, then that's her problem.
She turned about and looked down at the huddled form of Idolaf, her father. She ignored what she saw, telling herself over and over that this was her father and that she had nothing to be ashamed about over this man.
"It's alright, father," she said, forcing a smile. "No one's gonna hurt you."
"I'm not your father, b*tch," Idolaf mumbled, cowering away from her.
"And I'm sorry to tell you, pretty," Jarl Nelkir interjected. "But I can do whatever I want to him. He's my fool, a gift from Count Edvald the Wise of Bruma upon my ascension to the throne of Whiterun."
"Isn't slavery outlawed in the Empire?" Jonna asked.
"Don't be so naive," Nelkir grinned menacingly. "The laws of the Empire can be bent whenever convenient. Haven't you ever heard of the Bruma Massacre?"
"The Empire wills it," Idolaf muttered to himself. "I did what I had to do. I was only following orders. No Battle-Born would dare do otherwise!"
At that point, an old bald man dressed in rich clothes entered the great hall. He moved slowly, supported by a wooden staff, but deliberately; he walked as though each step was willed by his mind against the desire or ability of his body. He took one look at Jonna, then turned to the Jarl and asked for an explanation.
"This urchin," Nelkir said, gesturing to Jonna. "Barged into my throne room and claimed to be Idolaf's daughter."
"And you're just letting her stand there like that?" the old man said. He then turned to Jonna and slowly approached her. "So, you're my grand-daughter, eh?"
"And you are?" Jonna asked.
"Olfrid Battle-Born," the old man proudly proclaimed. "And if you are indeed Idolaf's daughter, that makes you my grand-daughter. I welcome you into our family and clan." He held out his arms as if he would embrace Jonna. She accepted the embrace, though she was wary as she did so. Why was it her father would not accept her but her grandfather would? As they parted, the old man noticed the gray-haired Idolaf huddled on the ground.
"Get up, boy!" sneered Olfrid. With that, he struck the huddled form with his staff. "You embarrass me. Follow me, both of you."
Jonna followed after old Olfrid, while Idolaf, half bent over, crawled on behind after them. The three of them walked over to a side-room in the great hall, one reserved for the Jarl's most esteemed guests. As they approached the room, somebody scurried out of view and into a dark corner. Olfrid struck his son Idolaf again with the staff.
"Don't you know how to treat your only daughter?" he demanded. "Pull up a chair for her, and be quick about it!"
Idolaf bowed and pulled up a chair at the table, into which Jonna sat down. Olfrid then took a seat for himself and cried for the servants to bring him food. Jonna looked back over her shoulder at the main hall, and saw the guards leading Roggi out of the hall.
"My son Idolaf never told me that he had any daughters," Olfrid stated. "No matter. You have the supreme honor of being part of the greatest family and clan in all of Skyrim: you should be very proud."
"I am!" Jonna said; she was beaming. "It's always been my dream to find my father and have a family and a name of my own. Praise Talos that this came to pass!" Jonna noticed that Olfrid was glaring at her angrily. "What?"
"We don't speak of Tiber Septim as a god in this house," Olfrid said. "The White-Gold Concordant decreed that Tiber Septim is no god, and we are very loyal in this house. I'll excuse you this once, since you're new and don't know these things, but we will not be having more traitorous words of the sort. Is that clear?"
"As you say, grandfather," Jonna returned. She was a bit surprised that her birth-family did not worship Talos, or that they were loyal to the Empire, despite the many executions being carried out in Whiterun. But it felt good to have a grandfather, to have a family, to belong; therefore she suppressed these doubts and focused instead on what she had now.
"What can you tell me about our family?" she asked. "You said that we were the greatest clan in all of Skyrim. I'm dying to know more about us and our exploits."
At this, Idolaf began to mourn softly where he lay curled up in a ball on the ground, while Olfrid became grim and crestfallen.
"A great and terrible curse has befallen our family," Olfrid replied. "But why this has happened is anyone's guess. The Eight have not revealed their will to us, no matter how much money we send to their temples and shrines. Perhaps the Eight are dead; how else could the temple on Sancre Tor been destroyed without their intervention?"
"What do you mean?" Jonna asked, worry in her voice and face.
"My dear Bergitte was killed in the middle of the night," Olfrid grumbled. "There had been a raid of our homestead and some of our things were taken. She protested, but the guards killed her." He sighed.
"Aren't you angry?" Jonna asked.
"It is sad, indeed," sighed Olfrid. "But the Empire is law. They said that they had good reason to search our place, and when the Empire gives a command, we must obey."
Jonna lowered her head. Into her mind came memories of the stories she had heard of Sigrun's father; how he had risen up an army of Stormcloaks and reorganized them into the Sons of Skyrim, the defenders of the Nord people. If someone had threatened Mjoll, swift retribution would be brought upon them. That was her old family, and she had turned her back on that for a family of...
No, she thought. I cannot say that. It's not true. They are my family and I will stand by them for better or worse.
"How many children did you and grandma Bergitte have?" she asked.
Again Olfrid seemed uncomfortable as he spoke. "Idolaf and Alfhild are my only children, eldest son and youngest daughter."
"But I heard about one named Jon Battle-b..."
"I have no son named Jon!" Olfrid shouted angrily, stamping his staff upon the floor. "My children are loyal and not enamored with traitors!"
Jonna balked at the fierce rebuke. Again, unbidden into her mind came the memory of Sigrun's father. She had seen him angry, even raising his voice so much that the house shook, but when he was angry, there was always a good reason. He never became angry over a simple question such as the one she had asked grandpa Olfrid.
"And where is Alfhild?" Jonna asked.
"She ran away to Solitude seventeen years ago," Olfrid sighed. "A pity. She would have been proud to see her daughter returned to her family, as I am now."
"My mother isn't Alfhild," Jonna stated.
"Oh?" Olfrid asked. "I thought because you were Idolaf's daughter, she would have been your mother. My son had his days of spreading his wild oats, but that ended after he married his sister. I made sure of that."
"His sister?" Jonna exclaimed.
"Yes. Incest among the Nord clans is quite acceptable," Olfrid replied, matter-of-factually. "I certainly wouldn't marry my Idolaf to some Gray-Mane scum, or some nameless b*tch from the gutter."
"Like you!" Idolaf said to Jonna, then spat in her face. Olfrid struck him again with his staff.
"Silence, you brat!" he shouted. "Don't you have any respect for family?"
"She ain't family!" Idolaf retorted. "She's just a gutter-cunt, taking advantage of our suffering to make herself rich."
Jonna was taken aback by the words her own father was speaking about her. Despite her firmness and strength of will, she couldn't help herself and her eyes became hot and watery. Unfortunately, Olfrid saw her too and slapped her across the face.
"What's that, tears?" he shouted. "No grand-daughter of mine is going to be a blubbering little b*tch. You're a Battle-Born!"
"She'll rob us blind in our sleep!" Idolaf stated.
"And what would you have me do, eh?" Olfrid shouted back. "Wait for the Divines to give you back your balls so you can give me a proper son and heir to our family, if Alfhild will even have you?"
"What happened to him?" Jonna asked.
"None of your business, b*tch!" Idolaf retorted.
"Don't talk to your daughter like that!" Olfrid roared, striking Idolaf with his staff. He turned back to Jonna. "You're one of us, now, girl, and therefore our enemy is your enemy. The one who robbed your father of his manhood was Thorvald Gray-Mane, the son of our ancient enemy. Like a coward, he now hides with those rebels and brigands the Sons of Skyrim!"
"Curse them all!" Idolaf swore. "Rebel filth! Curse them and their leader, that cock-sucker Eirik! He didn't have the balls to face me in honest combat, like a man! Hiding behind his thugs and that fat b*tch of his! He knew I would have shamed him, as I did time and time again!"
"Keep telling yourself that, son," Olfrid sneered. "Maybe one day it'll be true!" He kicked Idolaf in the stomach.
"Why do you treat him so roughly?" Jonna asked. "He's your son!"
"He's a b*tch!" Olfrid retorted. "Instead of taking vengeance upon that Gray-Mane cunt, he turned into a woman: less than a woman! He became a fool, the sport of Count Edvald, who then sold him to Jarl Nelkir." He aimed his finger at Jonna. "Never question my authority in front of my family again, girl, or I'll disown you! Is that clear?"
At this point, the servants appeared with platters of food. But Olfrid waved them away.
"I have lost my appetite," he grumbled.
"I'm hungry," Jonna spoke up.
"Then you will have a greater appetite for breakfast tomorrow," Olfrid returned. He then waved the servants away. "Go throw it away to the dogs, but don't let anyone else have it." He slowly raised himself onto his feet and turned to Jonna. "Come here and give your grandfather a kiss goodnight or I'll kick your teeth in!" Though he looked quite frail, Jonna worried that his threat was entirely genuine. Slowly and sheepishly she approached him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He did not return the gesture.
"Don't leave town," he told her. "We have much to discuss on the morrow." With that, he shuffled away out of the room. As soon as he had left, Idolaf dragged himself up into a kneeling, hunched position by holding onto one of the chairs, and glared at Jonna.
"You may have him fooled," he said. "But not me. You watch your back, b*tch. If I find a single thing missing, I'll cut your throat open and fist-fuck the hole! I may have no cock, but I can still fuck you over if you try to fuck with me!" He flashed a leering, menacing smile at her, then crawled away on all fours like an animal into the darkness. Jonna was amazed that someone so broken and emaciated could still force themselves to be venomous and threatening.
As soon as he left, Jonna heard sniffling in the back of the hall. Carefully she made her way towards the noise, picking up a candle from one of the tables. In its light, she saw a young man cowering in a corner, with his hands over his head.
"Hello there," she greeted. "Are you alright?"
The youth made no answer, but seemed to balk as she spoke at him.
"It's okay," she said. "Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
"He's been like that way since he was a child," the voice of Jarl Nelkir resounded. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "A little Redguard girl picked on him. But his poor da was too busy picking fights with the Stormcloaks to teach him to defend himself." Jonna looked this way and that, but all she saw were the shadows creeping all around her, seeming to overpower the light of the candle.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Right behind you," the voice spoke, clearer and more at hand. Jonna turned around and saw Nelkir standing behind her, the same wolfish glare in his eyes as she had seen in the eyes of Idolaf, her father.
"Olfrid's a hard man, isn't he?" Nelkir asked. "Then again, any man would be, with so great a family brought into ashes. His son's a eunuch, his daughter's ran away, and his middle son disowned." He leaned in towards her. "I think you were better off with Sigrun's family, to be honest. They may not have been blood, but at least they treated you right."
Jonna took a wary step back, her heart full of mistrust over this dark-haired Jarl and his bulging eyes. She began to say "How do you know all of this?", but he interjected.
"How do I know all of these things?" he asked. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I see everything. Every secret that passes between the walls of Whiterun is known to me. There is nothing hidden from me."
"Is that so?" Jonna asked.
"It is indeed," he nodded. "For instance, I know that you've lived all your life jealous of your step-sister Sigrun. She had a loving family, a house all of her own, a brother and sister, and she was taller than you! Everything you wanted to be she was, and it angered you that you had to work for what she was given by nature. Furthermore, you're jealous that she's stronger than you in adversity, and you know it." He chuckled. "Impressed yet? Or shall I tell you the secret of your conception?"
"What?" Jonna breathed.
"Oh, yes," Nelkir nodded. "Do you wonder why Idolaf didn't welcome you with open arms? It wasn't just because he's a dick-less weakling, less than a woman. The truth is that he never knew you existed, on account of he didn't plan for you to be born."
"What are you saying?" she asked, the tears in her eyes welling up.
"Your mother knew too much," Nelkir said, a fiendish smile on his face. "And she suffered because of it. But..." He took the candle out of her hand and held it over her head. "...a little drop of seed can do so much." A single drop of hot, pale wax dripped onto her forehead and solidified.
Before Jonna could do anything, the candle was snuffed out and Nelkir's mocking laughter was heard echoing throughout the hall. She was shaken to the core at what she heard, but even more so at this nagging feeling that she knew that Jarl Nelkir knew more than he was letting on. Blindly she groped in the darkness, trying to find where to go. At last, however, she stumbled into the main antechamber of the great hall. Waiting for her at the end, she noticed, was none other than Roggi.
"There you are!" he greeted. "I wondered where you went off to. They wouldn't let me go with you, so I waited out here."
Jonna did not answer immediately, but made her way out of the hall; the guards did not prevent her exit. As she approached the door, they opened it for her and she stepped out into the light. Light, yes, for the day was growing old but had not yet faded into the west: it was not as dark out here as in the hall. Her eyes blinked and pulled back over her eyes damp. Despite herself, she was shedding tears. So great and deep was her sorrow that she did not realize that Roggi Knot-Beard was standing at her right side, waiting for her.
"Is everythin' well?" he at last spoke. She did not answer, but merely shook her head.
Then, to her surprise, Roggi placed his arm about her shoulders: it was an unexpected gesture, but she did not brush off his arm or disuade him.
"Tell me what's wrong, lass," he said. "I didn't hear nothing out here, but your face says plain enough that whatever happened wasn't good."
Hesitantly, Jonna told Roggi what had happened. But she left out the matter of Jarl Nelkir's words to her. There was something unwholesome about what he said and the tone in which he told it. She dare not share it with anyone, not until she learned the full matter and what his cryptic words meant. Roggi did not answer at first, but instead was silent for a moment. He weighed in his mind what Jonna's words meant and how, in his small understanding, he might answer them.
"What will you do, then?" he asked.
"I don't know," Jonna replied, shaking her head. "I feel...unwelcome, un-trusted, used even. And yet, I want a family of my own. I won't forsake them, even if their words may hurt me."
"I wouldn't ask ye to forsake kin," Roggi nodded. "Nonetheless, perhaps these kin ain't what you need?"
"What are you saying?" Jonna asked, with a hint of shock and distrust.
"Only this," Roggi stated. "My own kin died many year ago: a'fore even the dragons appeared in Skyrim, no other family to speak of. I befriended the folk o' Kynesgrove, an' they became as close as kin to me. It may be that the kin o' your choosin' may be more rightly kin than the kin o' your blood."
"I understand what you say," Jonna nodded. "And I thank you for it." But inside, she was angry that he had said this. Who was he to say that her blood family, the Battle-Borns, were not truly her family? Did she not deserve to have a family, the same as Sigrun did? She rubbed her eyes with the coarse cloth of her sleeve.
"What will you do?" Roggi asked.
"Stay here," she replied. "And you?"
"The same," he said. "Until I'm sure that I've lost the trail o' the Sisters of Strife, it ain't safe to return to Eastmarch." Roggi gave Jonna's right shoulder a gentle squeeze, then assayed to leave. He had not taken but one step down the stairs leading from the Cloud District when he turned around and said: "If you ever need me, for anything, I'll be at the Bannered Mare."
Jonna nodded in confirmation. As Roggi turned around and left, the ghost of a smile crept across her face. It was not as dark as it had appeared in the great hall, neither was she as alone as she had once believed. In her heart, she wanted to go after him, but she willed against it. Her place was here, she told herself, with her new family.
If I abandon them at the first sign of trouble, she reasoned to herself. Then faithless must I be among all the daughters of Skyrim.
The rest of that day Jonna spent in solitude and silence in Dragonsreach Hall. There was no fire upon the hearth, and she did not seek out Jarl Nelkir. For the present time, he did not seek her out, and that was to her liking. She tried her damnedest not to think about his eyes, but they crept into her mind like a worm nonetheless. That unwholesomeness which she had seen in his eyes, like the hunger of a ravenous wolf, had been burned into her memory. It was like...no, she berated herself for making the comparison.
The night fell, but neither Idolaf nor Olfrid came to speak with her or offer her food for the evening meal or to bid her goodnight. Instead she wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to will herself to sleep. Whoever that stranger was hiding in the darkness seemed to have left when she was not looking, for she heard no sound of whimpering or weeping. But the silence was worse than the tumult of battle: gentle as a gossamer silk thread, soft as a whisper, but carrying with it an impossible weight and terror. The terror of silence, the knowledge that, having heard the depths of uttermost silence, a whisper would be as loud as a scream and as painful as a hundred piercing daggers, laced with poison.
But sleep at last overcame her.
When morning came, Jonna was roused awake by the painful prodding of a wooden staff. Clutching her stomach, she crawled up off the floor where she had laid, wrapped in her cloak. Standing before her was Olfrid, who still looked as cross and curmudgeonly as yesterday. Behind him on the floor cowered Idolaf and the young man she had seen in the shadows.
"There you are!" Olfrid said. "Come on now, on your feet. We have pressing matters to attend to."
"Like what, grandfather?" Jonna asked.
"Only the most important matter of all," Olfrid returned. "Your marriage."
"I'm telling you, father, you're mistaken!" Idolaf mumbled. "She's taking advantage of us."
"Silence!" Olfrid shouted. "It's your own damn fault for letting that Gray-Mane shit rob you of your stones."
"Thorvald didn't rob me of nothing!" Idolaf swore. "He's a b*tch, just like Eirik and his fat cock-sucker Mjoll!"
"What do you have against Eirik?" Jonna asked.
"He's a b*tch!" Idolaf repeated. "Striding about Skyrim, preening like a pretty cock, telling everyone he meets that he's the Dragonborn or some stupid shit. I could have beaten him to death with my cock!"
"If you had a cock, that is!" Olfrid retorted with a laugh. Idolaf winced as though he had been struck, then bowed his head and proceeded to bite and chew on his finger-nails. He turned back to Jonna with a sigh.
"My son, the man you claim to be your father," Olfrid said. "Says that he never had any children. Whether that's true or not ain't my problem. If you ain't Battle-Born blood, then we'll marry you into the family and make you Battle-Born."
"She's a street-wench!" Idolaf muttered. "This is just what she wants, to wed my boy and steal our money! Can't believe you're so blind, father!"
"I said shut up!" Olfrid roared, striking Idolaf on the face with his staff. "I don't care what you tell people, you lost your manhood! You're useless in providing our family with an heir!"
"Lars is of age," Idolaf said, gesturing to the young man.
"Lars is a b*tch, thanks to you!" Olfrid shouted. The young man burst into tears and Idolaf clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists. "You let that little Redguard b*tch bully him while you were plotting the downfall of the Gray-Manes!"
"You wanted them dead as much as I did!" Idolaf returned. "You were part of the plan!"
"Silence!" roared Olfrid. He struck Idolaf again with his staff, and he fell to the floor, his hands crumbling out of fists. "You failed him as a father! You ran into Count Edvald's arms and left the fate of our family in my hands! Now I'm going to save us from extinction, brought on by your cowardice! I'll make sure the Battle-Born clan lives, even if I have to fuck Jonna myself!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jonna asked.
"Shut up, b*tch!" Olfrid shouted, swinging his staff at her. Jonna ducked from the blow and stepped back. "Insolent cunt! You're going to marry Lars Battle-Born and save this family, or you're no Battle-Born!"
"I am a Battle-Born!" Jonna returned. "And I'm Idolaf's daughter, whether he remembers or not."
"So? You're still marrying Lars," Olfrid grumbled. "This family needs an heir!"
"But he's my brother!" Jonna stated.
"So?" Olfrid repeated. "Idolaf married his sister and Lars turned out fine. You're marrying Lars and that's that!"
"Alfhild didn't have no daughters," Idolaf muttered.
"She wasn't my mother," Jonna replied. "Jordis the Sword-maiden is my mother."
There was stunned silence for almost a minute. At last Idolaf began a loud, mocking laugh that almost sounded like a cough.
"That insolent house-carl of the Emperor's?" Idolaf laughed. "She was a b*tch, and I fucked her ass to teach her a lesson, as the Emperor commanded. Didn't know she was with child: I'd have had you cut out and bashed your skull against a rock."
Jonna didn't say anything, but bit her lip as she tried in vain to blink back tears. Still, she could not supress the feeling of betrayal. There wasn't any way of denying or dismissing what had been heard and said.
"It don't matter who your mother is, b*tch!" Olfrid said, frustrated. "You're marrying Lars, as I've said a hundred times already!"
"What if I won't?" Jonna asked.
"Then you can fuck off," Olfrid replied, his countenance falling into a loathesome grimace. "Because you're no kin."
"All this time," Jonna said. "All the kind words, it was all so that I could marry my own half-brother, just to keep your family alive?"
"Yes!" Olfrid stated matter-of-factly, emphasizing his point with a curt nod. "It's a matter of duty, something an ignorant b*tch like you wouldn't understand. If you did, you'd have accepted my offer without so much fuss."
"And you!" Jonna turned to Idolaf. "You don't even want to have me as your daughter?"
"You're not my daughter!" Idolaf retorted. "You're just after our money. Well, I won't surrender it to you, you hear me? Not a single gold septim!"
"Well..." Jonna said. "I won't stand for this!" She surprised herself at having said those words, and instantly regretted saying them.
"Ungrateful b*tch!" scowled Olfrid. His words did not make her regret her decision any less. In fact, having been her only ally, his words made her realize just how far her decision had put herself from him. She took a step closer towards him, but he raised his staff to strike again.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Jarl Nelkir's drawling voice sounded from the other side of the hall.
"My lord!" Olfrid said, bowing low as the Jarl entered.
"Both of you, in fact," Nelkir said. "You, Olfrid, will not throw her out of this hall, and you, girl, will not leave Whiterun."
"Why not?" both Olfrid and Jonna asked as one.
"Really?" Nelkir asked. "You of all people, old man Battle-Born, should know better!" He laughed. "Perhaps you need a demonstration of why."
"Please, my lord," Olfrid begged, all anger melting out of his body as he seemed to become sad and fearful.
"'Please, my lord,'" mocked the Jarl. He then turned to Idolaf and waved him forward with his hand. Like a whipped dog, Idolaf flinched then crawled forward on all fours.
"Don't do this, please!" Olfrid begged again. His old, wrinkled eyes were brimming with tears. Jonna half-believed that these were true tears, and not some pitiful contrivance.
"You forget that I'm your lord, Olfrid," Nelkir said, as his hands began to unfasten his belt. "You do as I tell you without question. You know that I know, and that I know such as would find that knowledge...useful." Then, to Jonna's surprise and disgust, Jarl Nelkir dropped his trousers and began slapping Idolaf on the face, laughing mockingly at his sport. Jonna saw Olfrid was weeping: were it not for his words before, she would have felt some measure of pity for him.
"You like that, don't you, b*tch?" Nelkir mocked Idolaf. "Of course you do, because you do what I tell you, don't you?" He looked up at Olfrid, a smile on his face. "You see, old man? You and your whole family are under my power." He then pointed towards Jonna. "If I say she stays, she stays." Jonna flinched under his intense, piercing gaze, unable to master herself. He chuckled menacingly.
"Oh, don't worry, pretty," he said. "I have plenty of women for myself, and no need for you in this matter."
If it had been his intention to assuage her fears, he had done a most terrible job. If anything, she feared him even more. What more could he ask of her, if not her body?
"Why, then, do I ask you to stay?" asked the Jarl. Jonna blanched with an unnerving realization that he knew, or at least guessed, her thoughts with deadly accuracy. He smirked. "You'll know soon enough."
For the rest of the day, Jonna stayed in the darkened hall. She was well-fed, and the food that the Jarl prepared for her was such as was to her liking. Nay, more than that, but all of the dishes brought before her were her favorites. All throughout breakfast, she noticed that the Jarl watched her with a devious glare. At his orders, the Battle-Borns did not darken her with their shadows. If, perchance, one happened to pass into the main hall by accident, Nelkir had Idolaf dragged into the main hall and humiliated him in some new, deviant, creative way.
Nelkir said little to Jonna, only to ask her if the food was to her liking. Jonna answered sparsely, but did not spend much time with speech. Time passed on and she kept to herself, and the Jarl was busy with affairs of state; therefore they saw each other very little. In this time, Jonna spent much more time in thought. Angrily she berated herself for how she had treated Sigrun. Though it seemed that there was no time or occasion to leave, she was determined to try her best and make an escape at first chance. If she could get out of the city, that would be enough for her.
By the time of the afternoon meal, food was again brought forth for Jonna. Jarl Nelkir did not eat with her, and the guards did not answer her questions. As she was thus eating in solitude, a guest arrived in the great hall of Dragonsreach. A golden-skinned Altmer dressed in leather armor, wearing a black tabard with a white shield and two crossed swords upon the field, entered the hall, demanding that he speak with the lord of the hall. The elf was escorted almost immediately into a room apart, and as the doors were being shut, Jonna thought she saw Jarl Nelkir within.
The elf did not reappear all that day, unless he departed by some other way other than the main doors.
All that day the Jarl did not appear. Not even a hint of him was to be seen anywhere. The Battle-Borns were not to be seen, and Jonna did not mind at all. What had happened between them was not at all to her liking. But now, in the solitude and dimness of the great hall of Dragonsreach, Jonna planned her departure. She was still racked with uncertainty and doubt, and it seemed that she would not get far. But she tried to steel herself for her task. The guards didn't seem to make any move to stop her if she made her way to the door. The Jarl was nowhere to be found, whether in sight or in presence. Over and over, she tried to convince herself that she could do this.
At dinner time, the servants brought out the food for her as per the Jarl's request. Jonna asked them if they had seen the Jarl and where he was, but they quickly became tight-lipped and departed, casting fearful, furtive glances to the shadows as they did. This made her more than a little concerned, but she tried her damnedest to dismiss her fears. Perhaps the Jarl and the elf in armor had taken their leave, and she had been left forgotten in the hall. This would be her golden opportunity, one which she could not afford to waste.
Once darkness fell came upon Whiterun, Jonna decided that she would leave. As far as she knew, she had left her gear at the gate of the city, which she could get once she left. The rest was simply a matter of running down to the Plains District as fast as she could; this was not very difficult, as she was short and could run faster than most, even Sigrud. Nervously she paced the floor of the great hall, going over in her mind what she had to do.
There's nothing else for it, she told herself. You either go now, damn it, or spend all of your days debating this.
With that, she sighed, turned towards the door and essayed to leave. Slowly she crossed the hall, starkly aware of the sound her footsteps made on the marble floor. Yet though the hall was shrouded in darkness, there was no sign of the guards anywhere. Torches burned in their iron fittings upon walls and wooden pillars, but their light showed no one at the posts. It seemed a little too easy, but Jonna did not want to wait for it to become harder. The Divines, it seemed, had left her an opening and she was about to take it.
"Going somewhere?" a voice spoke from the darkness.
Jonna froze. The voice came from the shadows, but shadows were all around her and the voice seemed to have no determinate point of origin. It was everywhere, just like the darkness.
"I thought I told you not to leave," Nelkir's voice rang.
"I have to go," Jonna replied. "I have to find my sister."
"She's not your sister," Nelkir's voice said. "She was never truly your family, remember? That's why you came here as soon as you learned who your father was. Not quite what you expected, eh?"
"You lie!" Jonna retorted. "She is my sister."
"Oh, you call her your sister all you want, but she is not your blood," the Jarl said. "You may have fooled your adopted parents, but you always resented the fact that she had a complete family and you did not."
"You son of a b*tch!" Jonna shouted.
"Is that any way to talk to your superior?" asked Jarl Nelkir. At this, he stepped into the light. He was fully dressed in his noble regalia, with a thick cloak of animal fur about his shoulders, and a piercing look in his eyes. At his belt was a black sword, fashioned in the style of the Akaviri long-swords, with the blade slightly curved.
"You're armed?" Jonna asked. "I thought the Empire ordered all weapons confiscated."
"Oh, they have," Nelkir replied. "But this..." He gently patted the grip of the sword, which had a circular guard and no pommel. "...this is a very special sword. The Empire knows nothing about this, and that's the way I like to keep it."
"So what are you going to do, huh?" Jonna returned. "Kill me now that I know your secret?"
"By all that is unholy!" Nelkir scoffed. "You women are so full of yourselves! If it's not your life you think we want, then it's your cunt! Well, I want neither, so you can just shut up and listen for a moment!" Jonna was taken aback by his harsh, blunt language. But he mastered himself and continued in his honey-sweet, mocking tone.
"As for secrets..." He chuckled. "I know more than you know. That's why I need you, hmm?"
"Me?" Jonna asked. "Why do you need me?"
"Your friend," he continued. "The one you call your sister. Her soul is in grave danger."
"What do you mean?" Jonna asked. "And no games!"
"Her father made a pact with some very naughty people," Nelkir said. "The Glistening One for a blade to slay the children of the night, the Huntsman for survival; and finally, the Old Man in the Woods to defeat the First one."
"I said no games!" Jonna retorted.
"Oh, but this is the truth, the very truth," Nelkir returned. "Just because you're dense doesn't make it any less true."
"But what does Eirik have to do with me or Sigrun?" Jonna asked.
"Don't you know, foolish girl?" Nelkir returned. "The lords of Oblivion always come to claim their due, most of the time when you do not expect it." Jonna recalled Eirik saying something about not meddling with the daedra. "But your friend's father meddled with them, and for seventeen years they have not yet come to collect their due. Your friend's soul will be their claim."
"How do I stop it?" Jonna asked, without a second thought.
"You can't," Nelkir said with a grin. "The daedra always come for their claim, one way or another."
"Then why do you need me?" Jonna returned.
"You're a fearless adventurer," Nelkir stated. "Surely you, of all people, would not shirk from this task. And, as I said before, your soul has no claim."
"What do you want?" Jonna asked again.
Nelkir spoke, but as he did, he walked about her, disappearing periodically into the shadows only to reappear behind her suddenly. He moved so quietly and swiftly that he seemed to be made of the shadows as well.
"A long time ago," he said. "Before you were born, there was a little boy, the black sheep of the family. He pried into holes and corners, dark places beneath the lights. At last he found something, a door where a lady whispered from the shadows. Promises were made, deals brokered, in exchange for knowledge...and power. The boy let his brother and sister in on this plan, like a foolish little child, and together they killed their father. They spun their webs, told stories about how it happened, making sure nobody could trace the truth back to them. But that little boy learned something, the moment the black blade tasted his father's blood."
Suddenly Nelkir was face to face with Jonna, a look of intensity in his eyes.
"What did he learn?" Jonna asked.
"Everything!" Nelkir said. It was with those words that Jonna realized the boy that the Jarl was talking about was none other than himself.
"Every secret of every man, woman, and child that passed the gates of the city and lives within Whiterun," he continued, with the same intensity. "Once they enter, I know everything: every lie the women have ever told, every time the men have pleasured themselves, every thing the children see when their parents don't think they're looking. I know everything in Whiterun...and I have no rest!" He stepped back, and Jonna saw that his hands, hanging at his sides, were trembling violently.
"That's why I need you, hmm?" he said. "Your soul is untainted, there is no claim on you. You will serve as a replacement. I will find a way, the Emperor is a daedra worshiper, and will soon visit Skyrim. He will help his loyal subject, though I am but a Nord. And then you will do it; you will release me from this maddening prison of knowledge!"
As he spoke, Jarl Nelkir's hands reached up to his head and clawed at his temples. Jonna's first reaction was to run, and run she did. Without thinking if the guards would be there or not, she pushed the doors open and ran down the steps of the Cloud District. A shout was heard, but she refused to heed it. All that mattered was getting to the gates of the city.
Strong hands suddenly seized her by the arms and before she could cry out, a rough, burlap sack was thrown over her head.
(AN: Not sure what will happen next. There are plenty of things planned, but they are starting to unravel soon. Also, this story is becoming tedious to write. I usually have the idea for the ending of the story, and maybe half an idea for a start, but the stuff getting there is what bugs me. It's the same with my music)
(On a lighter note, I got my debut album released. I can't promote it in the author's note, but it's a triumph of writing that, hopefully, will give me a bit more incentive to keep on writing, both music and prose.)