Interlude: Diplomatic Nightmare
Warning: Things get darker here. The perceived superiority of the Thalmor unfortunately has consequences. Nothing explicit, but just a heads up that there are mentions of torture and rape.
First Emissary Elenwen sat down at her desk. While Ondolemar visited from Markarth, she had taken the opportunity to leave him to coordinate preparations for the party, with Third Emissary Rulindil to assist him. Once the guests arrived it would be her duty to act as the gracious hostess once more.
As Rulindil kept requesting her expertise in his interrogations, her task for the evening was to annotate the dossier from her finest work for his benefit. It was such a pity that she lacked the time to educate him in person, but duty sadly took priority.
Still, it would be a pleasure to revisit this particular dossier once more, although as the author she was intimately familiar with it. Her proudest achievement and most shameful failure in one.
Breaking a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and failing to re-educate her in time to prevent her escape, when the unthinkable happened. When all subjects were released or killed during a raid on the Thalmor Embassy in Cyrodiil. Despite their best efforts, they still did not know who was responsible for that outrage.
Fortunately for Elenwen's career prospects, her superiors had admitted there was nothing she could have done to prevent it, for she had not been on duty at the time of the raid.
Elenwen ran her fingers over the soft leather cover of the dossier and flicked it open. She readied her inkpot and quill. She would treat this as a little pre-party entertainment for herself, relaxation in preparation for a night in the company of Maven Black-Briar and other obnoxious fools.
She cleared her throat and started to read to herself, basking in the melodic tones of her own voice. "Thalmor Dossier on the Dark Brotherhood assassin, Sithia Dupre. To be killed on sight. Female Imperial in her early thirties."
Elenwen tapped the next section with her inkless quill. "Your background, my dear Sithia. Part Breton, perhaps a quarter, as indicated by your family name and your partial resistance to magic. Not that it helped you, it merely required the usage of more magicka to deal with you. I had plenty at my disposal, as I am sure you remember.
"You came into my keeping when captured by the bodyguards of the Second Emissary to Cyrodiil after his assassination on 17th Last Seed, 4E 189. You were a prize – the first Dark Brotherhood assassin to be captured alive. Invaluable for any information that could be extracted through questioning."
Elenwen dipped her quill in the ink, unable to resist smiling as she revisited her fondest memories. She continued reading, this time what she wrote, her quill scratching across the paper.
"Rulindil, she was the most challenging subject it has been my pleasure to break. Your preferred method of Manual Uncoiling did not succeed with her. Marking her as a Dark Brotherhood assassin was more effective, and could work wonders for you. Simply press one's hand to the subject's back and sear the handprint into the skin with the most basic fire and shock spells combined."
Sithia's agonised scream had been music to her ears, just as the whisper of ink applied to paper was now in describing her success to her adoring fan.
"Putting her in her place continued the process, I cannot recommend the technique highly enough. It is most satisfying when the subject's pride is broken by their own body betraying them."
Indeed, that Sithia was forced to enjoy it only made it worse for the sweet young thing in Elenwen's custody.
"Still, despite her humiliation at my hands, she did not break. The Penultimate Cut finally loosened her tongue. A difficult technique to master, and a last resort for stubborn subjects. They all break in the end."
The moment that Sithia's resistance crumbled was the most satisfying yet for Elenwen. Nothing surpassed her conquest of such a formidable adversary.
"Interrogation revealed that Sithia is the daughter of the late Alisanne Dupre, eliminated by Thalmor wizards' mage fire under the cover of the 4E 188 Bravil skooma riots. Our suspicions were proven correct, that Alisanne was the last Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and Rasha the last Speaker. Sithia was not only the daughter of the Listener but the last Silencer, Rasha's elite assassin to serve his every whim.
"Unfortunately her role as Rasha's servant meant the information she possessed about the remaining Brotherhood was limited, as Rasha kept her separate from his Sanctuary. She could not name any other assassins, and could only guess that their last Cyrodiilic Sanctuary was located near Rasha's home in Cheydinhal.
"It was decided that an elite assassin was of use to the Aldmeri Dominion, and re-education commenced, starting with the misinformation that her confession about Rasha allowed us to find and eliminate him.
"Let that be a lesson, Rulindil, that it's possible to break a subject even after they have broken enough to confess. It seems that Rasha was more than her master, as the guilt of her perceived betrayal destroyed her."
Elenwen had to smile again in fond remembrance of the deadened look in Sithia's grey eyes as she slumped, shackled to the wall. Her smile faded into a frown as she reached the shameful part of the dossier.
"Re-education was incomplete when she escaped during the raid on the Thalmor Embassy in Imperial City in Last Seed 4E 190, a year to the day after her capture."
Escape was not quite the correct word, as Sithia had been incapable of even moving under her own power. No, she had been rescued. But by whom? Not the Dark Brotherhood, for no one remained alive that knew of her existence. The mystery consumed Elenwen ever since.
She set her quill down. She had no more to add for Rulindil's benefit. Still, she would finish the tragic tale, as perhaps it would reveal something she had overlooked. Something that would allow her to find dearest Sithia.
"After recovering from her time spent under this interrogator's care, Sithia killed every Thalmor she could. It is not certain how many she murdered, but it is thought that she is responsible for the deaths of most Justiciars killed within Cyrodiil in that decade. She is known to have murdered Bruma's Justiciar at the end of Sun's Height, 4E 201, for she was caught by the city guard."
Elenwen shook her head at the incompetence of those guards. "Sithia escaped the city prison before a Thalmor execution squad could arrive, and made her way through the Pale Pass into Skyrim. She was recaptured when she had the misfortune to run into the Imperials escorting Ulfric Stormcloak to Helgen after his surrender at the Darkwater Crossing ambush. She escaped execution when the dragon attacked, and is currently at large in Skyrim. Recognising her may prove challenging. An accurate likeness has been included on her wanted notices. When captured she kept her face concealed, therefore it is almost certain that she does so now."
The original sketch used for the notices was tucked into the dossier. Elenwen stroked her fingers over those familiar angular features. The Mer blood in her Breton ancestry was clearly at work there, tragically watered down so that her ears did not have the slightest point to them. Her skin was almost as pale as a Snow Elf's, back before her proud cousins were corrupted into the abominations lurking in the deepest, darkest holes of this savage and uncivilised backwater of a province.
Elenwen set the dossier aside and retrieved her map of Skyrim. She laid a fingertip on the red ink encircling Helgen. Already preparing to travel to Skyrim to take up her post as First Emissary, she had been the one to lead the execution squad. Following Sithia through the pass, Elenwen found her quarry in the same cart as Ulfric. Two of her favourite subjects right next to each other. Ulfric gagged and Sithia unconscious, blood matting her hair from where she had been rendered insensate.
Elenwen had ridden on ahead to Helgen to meet with General Tullius. A most frustrating meeting, for she had been unable to persuade Tullius to release Sithia and Ulfric into her care. She had at least managed to get him to agree to execute Sithia first; she was too dangerous to be left alive. She'd cut the lives of too many Altmer short. Most regrettable, for she could have been re-educated into such a prized tool…
A few more days under Elenwen's tutelage, and the outcome would have been so very different. Dearest Sithia would have killed her own would-be rescuers.
"So close… Oblivion take that dragon." When Elenwen found out who was responsible for the return of the dragons, they would suffer greatly.
Helgen had been the last confirmed sighting. The executioner's axe had apparently been raised above Sithia's head when the dragon attacked. Elenwen had not stayed to observe it, unable to bring herself to watch Sithia's pretty little head part company from her shoulders.
"Where are you hiding?" Elenwen tapped her finger on the dashed red line encircling Whiterun. An unconfirmed sighting of an Imperial woman matching Sithia's description. The Dragonborn Thane, but their agent had not seen her face, only hearing of what she looked like from the Jarl's guards.
That this Cynthia usually kept her face hidden was suspicious, but it was not unheard of. Still, this Dragonborn would have to be investigated. Sithia must be using an alias, and hiding her face, too, or Thalmor agents would have found her. Heimskr had so far proved unsuccessful in getting close enough to unmask the Dragonborn, despite the fact that she reportedly made use of the shrine of the false Divine whenever she was in Whiterun.
"We will meet again," Elenwen promised herself. "A pity you will have to be eliminated. Perhaps we could enjoy one last session… I'll look forward to it. For you can run but you cannot hide. No matter how many Thalmor you kill, we will overwhelm even your skills. Then you will pay for the lives of the Mer you dared cut short."
A throat was cleared nearby. Elenwen looked up to see Rulindil lingering in the doorway. "First Emissary, the guests are arriving. Some of them appear to be running rather late. Razelan again, of course, but also Maven Black-Briar."
It would doubtless be too much to hope for that dreadful woman to fail to arrive at all.
"Her delay appears to be due to the fact that she is bringing a guest this time. A Lady Serana." Most likely one of Maven's many sycophants.
Elenwen sighed. "Thank you, Rulindil. See to it that the invitations are examined before you return to your work here. I would be most displeased if more re-education was necessary after the incident with the false Divine's cultist intruding last time."
"It would be my pleasure." Rulindil bowed and hurried away.
Elenwen shook her head. She appreciated such enthusiasm, of course, but must he be so servile? If only Ondolemar would show some personal interest in her. She might well have to settle for Rulindil. That would be humiliating, for no matter how pleasing he was to her eye or how superiorly bred, he was still two ranks below her.
Still, at least Rulindil understood and facilitated her need for occasional playthings. It was such a pleasure to put men and women in their place, be they Breton, Imperial, Redguard or Nord, or even her lesser Mer cousins, the Bosmer and Dunmer. She had no interest in Orsimer. Her playthings had to possess beauty, or important information – or both – and Orcs knew nothing and were an offence to behold. It was just a pity that none of her conquests had so far matched dearest Sithia.
Perhaps she should entertain her next guest in the interrogation chamber, but then re-education would be necessary if that guest was to be released. Illusion spells could only do so much to erase traumatic memories.
Now, to perform her onerous duties as a host. If only she could put that obnoxious Black-Briar woman in her place… Unfortunately such an influential ally was too valuable.
Maven Black-Briar nodded stiffly at her. "Such a pleasure as always, Elenwen, we shall speak later, I'm sure."
Elenwen's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Indeed. I cannot wait."
Maven walked past, her nose in the air as usual. It would eventually be Elenwen's pleasure to teach her that she was no Mer's equal, let alone their superior. Unfortunately that would have to wait until the Second War was fought and won, and all lesser races put in their rightful place as servants of the Aldmeri Dominion.
She turned to Maven's guest, a young Nord woman wearing flattering garments blending armour and fine clothing. Her dark hair was braided to encircle her head, but largely left down to frame her face. In fact, her braids were reminiscent of a crown. Fitting for such a regal beauty.
"I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are?"
The young woman smiled, her eyes a striking green in the soft candlelight illuminating the embassy. "Serana Volkihar."
Volkihar… where had she heard that name before. Wait. That book about the vampire hunter—
This Serana reached out and took her hand. Her skin was so cold… A vamp—
"I'm so pleased to meet you at last. I've heard so much about you."
What had she been thinking of? Elenwen couldn't quite recall. Serana had a lovely voice. Quite mesmerising.
"All good, I hope. Please, tell me about yourself. You have me at quite a disadvantage. I feel that I should know more about such a charming young woman." And so much more civilised than the average Nordic savage. A fellow mage too, Elenwen could feel the raw power emanating from her. Serana must have Breton blood, for no mere Nord could possess such a deep well of magicka.
There was the telltale slight glow of illusion magic at work, which might explain why Serana's features were unquestionably Nordic with no trace of Breton. But then didn't anyone with a passing knowledge of the school use it to look their absolute best for a party? Or indeed for everyday usage, like Elenwen herself.
Every passing moment spent in Serana's company made her feel she was in the presence of a kindred spirit. An individual with a beauty surpassed only by her own. In fact…
"I know it's shockingly forward of me, but I would love to get to know you far better. Just the two of us. Allow me to perform my tiresome duties as a host to my other guests, and I'll join you. Here, take this, show it to one of my guards and have him escort you to my Solar." She took off her ring of office and slipped it into Serana's hand.
"I look forward to it," Serana purred. For a brief moment, Elenwen found that predatory smile unsettling. But it passed as Serana stroked her thumb over the back of Elenwen's hand. A matching smile spread across Elenwen's own superior features.
"Then we understand each other. I'll be with you soon." She turned her hand to grip Serana's, caressing that cold, soft skin. She would see to it that this beautiful creature warmed up. It would be Elenwen's pleasure to have her tied to her bed, awaiting her arrival. Rulindil would prepare her latest plaything for her, as always. Within the hour Serana would be subject to her tender mercies. It would make dealing with Maven so much more tolerable knowing what awaited.
She would have Ondolemar take over as host after performing the minimum of her duties. It was high time she took the opportunity to enjoy herself.
Elenwen managed to slip into her Solar after half an hour, leaving a reluctant Ondolemar in charge of the party. The moment she set foot inside it was clear that something was wrong.
It was dark, the candles extinguished. Elenwen snapped her fingers, sending a Magelight to float above her head. Her breath misted the air, and she shivered in the inexplicable chill in her sanctuary.
"Serana?" Her voice echoed, fading to oppressive silence.
"Rulindil?" Unless he was in the interrogation chamber below, something was very wrong indeed, for his devotion to her surpassed even his dedication to his work.
Where were her guards? There should be at least one patrolling in here, and another in the chamber below.
Then she saw it. A trickle of blood leading up the darkened stairs, glistening in the Magelight.
Finally she remembered where she had heard of the name 'Volkihar'. In 'Immortal Blood'. She also recalled the cold touch of Serana's hand, and what she had realised before her mind was enspelled to forget it.
'Vampire…'
Elenwen did not hesitate beyond a single fearful humiliating whimper. She turned back to the door to the courtyard. Her breath caught. It was frozen shut. By the time she could melt that anything could have happened to her. She was an interrogator and then a diplomat, not a battlemage! She might stand a chance against a common vampire, but a Volkihar?
She hurried to the nearest door to the interrogation chamber. She gasped in relief at finding it still locked. Elenwen frantically pulled the key from her pocket, fumbled with the lock and darted inside. She slammed the door shut and locked it. She slumped against it, trembling.
Elenwen stiffened, suddenly painfully aware of the other door into the Solar, on the opposite side of the chamber. What if it wasn't locked?
"Rulindil? Guard?"
No answer… Elenwen waited until she did not tremble quite so much before moving. She cursed herself for not studying enough alteration magic. Without Detect Life at her disposal she would have to venture further in. Without Detect Dead, she had no way of knowing if the vampire lurked in the shadows.
This time she found the guard. Dead. Neck snapped, helmeted head at an unnatural angle. The subject Rulindil had been working on was similarly slumped in his shackles, put out of his misery.
Elenwen swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to slow. She hurried over to the chest next to the dead subject's cell. The lid was ajar.
'No…'
Esbern's dossier – so valuable to the dragon investigation – was gone.
Elenwen hurried to the trapdoor. Used to dispose of the remains of those subjects who were of no further use, it led to a cave, a secret exit. Locked. She tried every key in her possession to no avail, then searched the dead guard. Nothing.
She steeled herself and returned upstairs, flames flickering in her hands as she attempted to ready her magic.
Elenwen stopped in her tracks. Her desk… Empty. Sithia's dossier, gone. Similarly, Delphine and Ulfric's dossiers were also missing from the chest beside her desk.
She broke into a sprint, hurrying upstairs, almost slipping on the blood staining them. If she could reach her bedroom, she could use her escape passage. No one else knew of it, and it was too well hidden for even a vampire to find.
Elenwen cried out at the sight that awaited her.
Poor Rulindil, his throat torn open, pinned to her bed with a shard of ice through his heart. Such a handsome Mer, treated like a mere butterfly in her own collection.
And on the headboard of her bed, secured by an Elven dagger buried up to the hilt, was the sketch from Sithia's dossier.
Written in an unfamiliar graceful hand was an ominous threat. Elenwen traced the words with a shaking finger. 'You will pay for touching her.'
"The ultimate price," Serana snarled from behind her, voice almost unrecognisable, distorted with rage and… lisping?
A jolt of primal fear coursed through Elenwen. She spun, frantically focusing her magic until the flames roared to life.
Hands coated in ice reached through the fire to close around hers.
Elenwen screamed, blindsided with agony.
When she recovered enough to see, cheeks wet with tears, she flinched away from the sight of her mangled fingers and crushed palms. She'd never be able to use magic again. Restoration had limits; she was beyond them.
A hand closed around her collar, effortlessly lifting her off her feet in a display of terrifying strength.
Elenwen stared down, trembling from head to toe. Serana was illuminated in the Magelight still floating overhead. That beautiful face contorted into the stuff of nightmares, fangs bared, both upper and lower. Her exposed skin was covered in blood, including her face – around her mouth and her cheeks. Mer blood… Rulindil's blood. Her eyes glowed with the fires of Oblivion, the illusion of her mortal eyes abandoned.
"You're fortunate that I won't sink to your level. You'd break far sooner than Sithia did. Unfortunately for you, I'm always thirsty, and Altmer is always tasty. Like spiced wine but sweeter. Or more bitter in your case. Fear, you know, it taints the blood. Can't be helped." She grinned, fully exposing her razor sharp teeth. "The things I do for my Dragonborn…"
'Dragonborn? Sithia—'
Terror interrupted her train of thought as the vampire dropped her and caught her in her arms. Those fangs tore into her throat as the abomination bit down savagely.
A humiliating whimper escaped Elenwen as the vampire drained her life away. Her heart stuttered, her sight fading. She was cold, so cold. Just like this pitiful excuse of a province.
The last experience of her long life – cut tragically short before her time – was the distant impact with the floor as the vampire discarded her body.
'Not… like… this… so… undignified.'
When Elenwen next opened her eyes, she found herself in the ruins of her bedchamber. She reached for her throat and felt smooth skin. Felt. She stared down at her hands. Intact, unharmed… and ghostly. Elenwen looked again at her surroundings. This was not Aetherius, her rightful afterlife.
A dark shadow approached, looming over her. A man. Wait, was that a tail?
"So my Daughter sends me another soul. She might kill no more victims if she knew they belong to me. So ironic that she loathes rapists when she unknowingly gave you to me, but then my Serana might have made an exception for you." The bestial man chuckled. "Such inspired work of yours with the last Dragonborn. It pleased me."
So this Cynthia Dragonborn was indeed Sithia, as Serana had implied…
"Who dares address me with no introduction?" Elenwen's voice trembled despite herself. She knew the answer, of course. How could she not?
Malevolent laughter assaulted her ears. Sharp claws snatched her up.
"I am your Lord and Master, Molag Bal. Welcome to Coldharbour!"
Elenwen screamed.
AN: While I do think Elenwen deserves to suffer for her treatment of her prisoners, eternity in Coldharbour isn't something I'd wish on anyone. Nor is a personal welcome from the resident Daedric Prince.
Serana would probably never kill again if she did know where the souls of her victims end up.
Coming up next: Serana catches up with her Dragonborn. They need to talk.