Olfrid Battle-Born,
I know there is little love between our clans any longer because of the war. I realize the words of this letter may never reach your eyes, instead being put to flame. In the event that you do read this, however, I wish to ask something of you.
It has been two months since Heimskr disappeared from Whiterun without a trace. I know you bear no fondness of the man, especially not the message he attempted to spread during the day; I firmly believe that his disappearance is no accident, though, and suspect that both of our clans, perhaps even the entirety of Whiterun, has cause to worry.
I have no facts as of yet, but I suspect the Thalmor spirited Heimskr away; it would explain why he suddenly 'departed' Whiterun without a word to anyone else, as well as why he opted to suddenly stop spreading his message. I base my assumption of this entirely off the fact that not even a week after Heimskr disappeared, a high elf strolled into Whiterun and made her way to Dragonsreach; not long after that, Jarl Balgruuf was placed under house arrest for reasons we, the citizenry, do not yet know.
I know you've sided with the Empire, while we've sided with the Stormcloaks. I also know that before the war, our clans were close as kin... and that we both held a deep-seated hatred of the Thalmor for their banning the worship of Talos with the White-Gold Concordat. I do not believe for a second that, just because you've sided with the Empire, you have ceased believing Talos to be a god; if you have, then you are far lesser the man than I have ever given you credit for, be it past or present.
The Thalmor must be made to pay for making such a bold move against Whiterun. Heimskr's disappearance and the Jarl's house arrest cannot be mere coincidence; even you must realize this. Even now, that high elf remains in Dragonsreach, as if she owns the palace now. I suspect that if we allow her to remain any longer, the Thalmor will soon take Whiterun for themselves. Is that what you wish for? Any part of Skyrim, being ruled by the elves?
If not, I strongly urge you to visit the Grey-Mane home, this letter in hand, when night has fallen. We, at least, have begun planning, but our plan cannot realistically succeed without your family backing us. The rest of my family is stubborn to admit it, but I realize the time has come for us to put our differences aside to address a common enemy. Once she's been taken care of, we can go back to our petty squabbles in the streets, stemming from the war.
Do not forget who you are, Olfrid Battle-Born. Do not forget who this land belongs to.
-E. Grey-Mane
Runael wrinkled her nose lightly as she walked into Whiterun. The acrid smoke of the blacksmith's forge blew past her face, filling her nostrils with the stench. She never did care for the smell of heated metal, burning coals, and whatever else came from the smithy.
She didn't particularly care for the glare she could sense coming her way from the guardsman near the city gates, either; she couldn't see his face because of the rather bizarre helmet all guards wore, but she'd come to recognize the telltale signs. Crossed arms loosening just a little, as if to have one's weapon arm ready at a moment's notice... the slight clenching of hands into small, nearly loose fists, as if harboring hatred... the sudden tension of their arms and legs, as if preparing to lunge...
She'd seen it often enough in Winterhold to recognize it anywhere else. Nords are all alike, she thought to herself. Even after five months, they remain just as stubborn and immovable in their opinions as ever before...
She was quite eager to move away from the forge and guard both, and strode through the city, intent on reaching the Bannered Mare.
It had been five months since she'd last visited the city; she'd been called away from Whiterun to Winterhold on Thalmor business, business that had otherwise kept her too busy to return. Business that wasn't entirely pleasant, she thought. She'd heard the rumors that Heimskr, the man who was the focus of her report to Elenwen five months ago, had vanished into thin air; she'd also heard the Jarl had been placed under house arrest. She had also heard the rumor that there was another representative of the Thalmor still within the walls of Whiterun and Dragonsreach, and it was she who more or less had the final say on the official dealings in Whiterun.
As she passed by a high elf clad in elven armor, she suspected there was more truth to it than she'd expected. The mer cast a glance at Runael, peered at her, then looked away as if she were no one. She wasn't surprised at his reaction; she had departed the Embassy but days ago, and news her of defection had most likely not spread just yet. It would eventually arrive, however. She was a little surprised, though, to find more mer just like him patrolling the city. Looks like the agent in Dragonsreach requested Thalmor troops in Whiterun. The presence here is far stronger than even I would like. If news arrives while I'm still here, there's no doubt I'll be captured, or worse...
She wasn't planning on staying long anyway; she just had to collect a few things she'd left at the Mare, and then have a friendly chat with the Thalmor agent in Dragonsreach. With some luck, Runael would be out of Whiterun before long, and news from the Embassy wouldn't reach the city until she was at least a few hours away from the city.
As she made her way to the Mare, she noted familiar faces. There's Ysolda, studying up on mercantile pursuits... there's Nazeem, just waiting to have his head removed from his shoulders... there's Olfrid, enjoying a chat with Fralia...
She blinked and stopped suddenly in her tracks. It was the third bit that perhaps threw her off-guard the most... five months ago, the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes were at each other's throats nonstop. Runael had even overheard an argument one afternoon between Olfrid, Idolaf and Fralia about a missing Grey-Mane son, presumed dead by the Battle-Borns. So why are they getting along so well? she thought. Did they mend fences in the past five months? The war's still raging...
She watched as Fralia handed Olfrid a pendant, then watched as Olfrid walked away - without any sort of reprimand for stealing or anything of the sort. He didn't pay for it... or did he already...? she wondered. She had, after all, just arrived in Whiterun again; perhaps Olfrid had commissioned Eorlund for the pendant?
She put it from her mind; if they were getting along again, she wasn't going to butt in. She supposed it would be better for Whiterun on the whole if the two clans were friendly again. I have things to do, anyway.
Only when he was in the safety of his clan's home did Olfrid lift the pendant Fralia Grey-Mane had given him at the marketplace and begin to pry it open. In truth, it was a locket the two families had taken to using to communicate with one another ever since the Thalmor stationed troops within the city's walls.
His eyes flicked to the letter he'd received from Eorlund not more than an hour after the first of the Thalmor soldiers had filed in through the city gates, four months ago.
Olfrid,
I see now that you are not the man I once considered you to be. Thalmor now crawl through the streets of the city as if they own Whiterun, and all because you were too stubborn to see past our differences. This is no longer about the war, Battle-Born; my hatred for you now stems from the fact that you bastards stood idly by while the elves strolled into Whiterun unopposed. Fralia showed more bravery than you; I don't know that I'll ever see her again for her defiance of the Thalmor presence.
When you die, I hope Sovngarde rejects you; you are not a Nord, and are not deserving of the place of honor we true Nords visit when we die.
-E. Grey-Mane.
It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to oppose the Thalmor, it had been that he simply thought Eorlund was trying to secretly pull the Battle-Borns to Ulfric's side. He had been just as appalled and outraged when the elves arrived, and he had felt intense pity for Fralia when she'd been kicked to the ground, then dragged away... all for simply yelling at the Thalmor.
It had taken much diplomacy on Olfrid's part to convince Eorlund that he was just as opposed to the presence of the Thalmor in Whiterun as the Grey-Manes were. It had taken even more diplomacy to gain the trust of the rest of the Grey-Manes, and more still to bring complete trust between all members of both families. It took time, too, he thought, finally prying the locket open. Two months to mend fences. All because I was too blind to realize what Eorlund realized.
It had taken much personal risk for Olfrid to pull a few strings and, in so doing, free Fralia from the custody of the Thalmor; it had been this very act, though, that had solidified the friendship between Olfrid and Eorlund, which had been very rocky until then. With the effective rescue, Eorlund had no reservations communicating with Olfrid.
Just as he'd done with small, tightly folded letter enclosed in the locket, which Olfrid was carefully removing. He unfolded the letter, then read Eorlund's writing for the latest update.
Olfrid,
Fralia informed me that the locket we've been using was nearly confiscated from Jon by the Thalmor the other night. I'd rather not arouse suspicion from the elves through such indirect contact; wouldn't want them to think we're plotting something.
Come by the house at sunset. We'll talk face to face again, for a change.
-Eorlund
The patron of the Battle-Born clan frowned a little and scratched his beard lightly. It would seem we'll need a new method of contact, then... just to be safe. He closed the locket and tossed the short letter into the fire. To date, he had burned every single letter Eorlund had sent him, barring the one that expressed Eorlund's frustration with Olfrid.
"The Grey-Manes provided more kindling, eh?" he heard Idolaf comment. "What did it say before you set it to the flame?"
"Nothing of any real importance," he said dismissively. "Eorlund just wants me to visit them later in the day."
Idolaf watched the paper curl as the flames burned it. "...Why are we doing this?" he finally asked, his voice a low murmur.
"Because the Thalmor are in Whiterun, boy," Olfrid replied just as quietly. "At this point, it doesn't matter that we support the Empire, and they support the Stormcloaks; there's a greater problem at hand. United we stand, divided we fall... or some such like that."
"The Empire might not appreciate us defying the Thalmor, though," Idolaf muttered. "We may just be inviting greater problems to Whiterun with all of this. Both clans could die if the Thalmor decide to retaliate."
"And that's why we're being so meticulous and careful," Olfrid reassured him. "That's why we haven't just stormed Dragonsreach already and killed that Thalmor bitch. If we're going to liberate Whiterun from the Thalmor, we have to do it carefully and without incriminating either of our families."
Idolaf shook his head, as if he still disapproved of the risks involved.
"Or are you meaning to tell me you prefer Whiterun as it is: effectively under Thalmor control, our day-to-day lives more or less governed by them?" Olfrid pressed.
Idolaf glared at Olfrid. "Only an elf would approve of what Whiterun's become," he snarled. "I just don't think what we're doing is the best way to-"
"Do you have a better plan?" Olfrid interrupted. When Idolaf didn't answer, Olfrid shook his head. "I didn't think so. Listen, boy: what we're doing is risky, and yes, we could all face death for plotting this. That also means that what we're doing is too damn important to leave be. No one wants the Thalmor here, excluding that bitch in Dragonsreach."
"I just..."
Olfrid gave Idolaf's shoulder a pat. "As it stands, Whiterun is neutral in the war, boy. If we react against the Thalmor, they cannot pin it on one side or the other. If Whiterun sides with the Empire, then the Empire will follow up with a reprimand for our uprising; if, for some ungodly reason, we side with the Stormcloaks, they'll simply assume we were leaning toward the Stormcloaks anyhow."
"We'll have Thalmor eyes on us no matter what," Idolaf grumbled.
"Would you rather those eyes have legs attached to them, walking the streets?"
Silence was Olfrid's answer, but it was all he needed.
Runael,
You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating person to get in contact with. As of writing this letter, I have just recently learned you were staying at the Bannered Mare three months ago, in this very room. I can understand why; the bed is comfortable, the room itself is remarkably warm, considering the climate outside, and the people are easy on the eyes besides.
Enough of my fancies, however - I'll recount my evening with the lovely Saadia another time. I've heard you're at the College of Winterhold now. When, where and from whom? That, my fair friend, is telling; even I have my secrets. I will say this: I have no intention of following you to the College. Far too cold for my preferences. Much of Skyrim is cold, but the brief time I spent in Winterhold months ago is a time I'm not eager to replicate.
You remember that business proposition you agreed to six months ago, at the Winking Skeever? Well, I have news about that. Depending on your mood, the news could be good, or it could be bad; it also depends on where your allegiance lies, I suppose, once you hear it. Yes, I've heard the murmurs: word is you and a certain Thalmor at the College aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye any longer? Again, my sources must remain secret, by they are nothing if not reliable.
And finally, before I launch into a long-winded praise of your beauty, elegance, and that cold shoulder I find utterly endearing and adorable, I will ask that you provide me a straight answer in regards to my proposal. I am a patient man, Runael, but even I have my limits. Even a 'no' is preferable to sustained silence, or evasion of the question; it's also not the response I'd like to hear, but we'll see.
One last thing. It may go without saying, considering this letter is amidst your things... but I took all the coin you left behind and put it to good use... well, I should say 'better use'; it was not doing much other than sitting in the pouch and collecting dust. You still owe me a bit of money anyway, so that helped cover part of it.
-E
Runael folded the letter and tucked it into the small pouch at her waist with a sigh. At least he left everything else, she thought to herself with a slight grin.
Laying upon the bed were the items she'd left behind: a robe that practically thrummed with power, an elven dagger, three pouches filled with fire, frost and void salts, a dozen lockpicks, a golden ring with a diamond set into it, and an empty knapsack. There was another pouch she hadn't left behind, but she suspected that 'E' had left it behind: a quick look and an even quicker sniff told her the pouch was filled with moon sugar. Typical Khajiit, she thought to herself.
The robe, she folded neatly and placed within the knapsack; the four pouches of fire, frost and void salts, as well as the pouch of moon sugar, followed. She tucked the lockpicks into the pouch at her waist, slipping one up her right sleeve for easy access. She took the dagger and put it at her waist, figuring it would make for a decent weapon in trying times.
That leaves the ring, she thought, eyeing the piece of jewelry. She was loath to leave it behind, considering the expense... but taking it with her would suggest she was taking someone's offer very seriously. She turned the ring over in her fingers, her gaze unfocused. At the time, I was still devoted to Elenwen... can I say the same any longer?
Runael realized that the answer didn't come so easily. She could neither claim 'yes' or 'no', for she didn't know. Her gaze focused upon the diamond, and after a moment, she tucked the ring into her side pouch. No sense leaving it behind. It was bought for me, it should stay with me, even if I don't have any intention of answering.
With her things collected, Runael picked up the knapsack, and proceeded downstairs.
"Finished?" The voice accompanied the Nord behind the counter, with brown hair pulled back into a small tail, and piercing eyes focused in something resembling a glare in Runael's direction.
"I am. You needn't worry, Hulda; I'll be bothering you no longer. Thank you for... 'holding' my things for me."
"Aye." Hulda's response was curt, and almost sounded as if she regretted holding on to the elf's belongings. "If you've no other business, then kindly remove yourself."
"Such a pleasant attitude," Runael remarked. "Is that the new standard for attracting customers?"
"Shut it," Hulda growled. "You are no customer of mine, not any longer. You have your things, now leave."
"Gladly. I hope the rest of your evening is just as pleasant as this little exchange has been," the elf replied. "It seems to do wonders for your establishment; do keep up the attitude, that's a key selling point."
Hulda smacked her hand on the counter. "Out. Now. Before I throw you out myself."
Runael needed no further prompting, and departed the inn before Hulda could step out from behind the counter.
She wasn't surprised anymore. She imagined the Thalmor presence in Whiterun had grated on everyone's nerves, and their intolerance of elves was not simply rekindled; it was fully ignited and a powerful blaze. Even as she'd entered, as a familiar face to the people there, she was still treated coldly. Such a shame they can't see past the stereotypes, she mused to herself as she walked up the steps leading to the Gildergreen.
She passed the shattered statue of Talos, presumably destroyed by the Thalmor soldiers after they arrived, and glanced at it. At the time of her report, she'd been convinced it was the right thing to do... but after spending time at the College, learning more about dedication and compassion for things one loves, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the Nords who still worship Talos.
This pity faded as she stepped into Dragonsreach, passing Olfrid on the way. Her mind was elsewhere, chiefly with the four Thalmor guards standing just inside the entrance to the palace. One drew his sword and stared Runael down. "What business have you with the Regent of Whiterun?" he asked in a commanding voice.
"I have a message to deliver to her, and to her only," Runael said simply. "Nothing incriminating or sinister, I assure you."
The four Thalmor glanced amidst themselves, casting a glance at Runael on occasion. One guard's gaze lingered a moment longer than the others. "Runael?" came the question from said guard, eyes widening lightly in recognition, a smile appearing at her lips.
Runael nodded. "I am, yes. I'm sorry, do I...?" Recognition dawned on her, too, and she smiled as well. "Adalla," she murmured. "It's been months. You've left the Embassy, too?"
The other three looked at the one named Adalla, who nodded. "Well, I was stationed here instead. Months ago, shortly after you left."
"Shortly after the heretic was removed," the first guard said, as if to emphasize something Runael didn't know about. "To think, such a large statue of their false god in the central plaza..."
Adalla shot the first guard a look. "You need to speak with the Regent, Runael?" she asked, slowly returning her gaze to the visitor and friendly face.
"Mm. I'm presuming I won't get to speak with her alone, though."
Adalla shook her head. "I'm afraid not. More than one Nord has tried to slip into Dragonsreach and free the former Jarl from his house arrest. We can't be too careful anymore." She gave Runael a smile. "I'll accompany you to her, then escort you back here once your business is through."
She nodded at the offer. "Then lead on." She gave the other three a respectful nod of her head, then followed Adalla up the steps to the throne, then to the stairs beyond that, leading to the Great Porch.
"I haven't seen you in ages," Adalla finally commented. "How goes things with the College? I was sad to hear you weren't coming right back to the Embassy after you finished up with..."
"I wanted to return as well, believe me, but I've never been good at denying Elenwen," Runael said with humor in her voice.
This made Adalla chuckle lightly. "No, I suppose not. She was aglow to receive your report and the letter you included, by the way. I think Elenwen's only truly happy whenever she hears from you." She looked over her shoulder at Runael. "I think you mean a lot to her."
Runael thought back to her previous visit to the Embassy, and silently nodded.
"I guess you'll be able to see her face light up again when you return to the Embassy," Adalla continued. "You're stopping in here on the way there, right?"
"Actually, I've already been. I had business elsewhere, though, and only stopped in here to gather a few things from the Mare..." She patted her knapsack. "...And to speak with this Regent."
"'This Regent' will thank you for showing a little more respect for the title," came a third voice. The woman to whom the voice belonged had rather pale skin, golden eyes that seemed to glow, and dark brown hair that hung loosely about her collar. "Tell me, guard, whom you have brought before- ah." She had been leaning upon the table with the map of Skyrim upon it - the war-map, Runael realized, noting the red and blue flags dotting it - but straightened up as Adalla and Runael had approached.
"This is Runael," Adalla said. "Runael, this is-"
"We know one another, you fool - or have you forgotten Runael and I once dwelled within the same Embassy?" the Regent interrupted. Her gaze shifted to Runael. "And why, pray tell, would you even need to visit Dragonsreach? If you come bearing a message from the Embassy, kindly tell me and then leave; if not, be even quicker with your words and faster still with your departure. I'm not of a mood to entertain guests."
I can tell, Runael thought to herself. "My message isn't from the Embassy, your Grace, but it is still important."
"I'll be the judge of that," the Regent said with a condescending sniff. "Quickly, then."
It had been mere days since she'd received the news of Runael's defection. It still stung Elenwen, though, and she still hoped she was somehow mistaken.
She had written the message for Alinor, read it several times to make sure it sounded as 'subtly disappointing' as she could make it... and yet, sealed as it was and ready for delivery, she couldn't bring herself to actually send it off.
I don't want to do this to Runael, she thought. I know duty demands I do, but she was able to shirk hers so easily... Runael, who carried out her orders to the letter in the past...
Her fingers thrummed on her desk for what felt like the millionth time since she'd first read Runael's letter. Her eyes flicked to the letter in question, the edge of which was contained within her letter for Alinor. For the thousandth time, she considered burning the letter and hiding the problem... acting surprised when she found out Runael wasn't following through with her orders.
Perhaps the reason she hadn't sent it yet was because Alinor was sending someone to, essentially, look after Elenwen and clean up her mess for her. Since he'll be coming, there's no point sending a letter to Alinor. He'll probably just read it himself, and decide on a course of action from there.
The thought of a Vindicator's judgment concerned Elenwen; what he may decide for Runael all but terrified the First Ambassador. She is... no, was one of my best. It was wrong of me to develop anything for her, but one simply cannot observe such efficiency and fail to admire them... can I possibly make such a convincing case for Thellias that he'll spare her too harsh a punishment...?
Her fingers stopped thrumming, and she again thought about what she considered to be the optimal situation for everyone involved, chiefly herself and Runael. I know how she can get... Runael is quite stubborn when she wants to be. Worse than a Nord, she thought with a bitter smile. Still, I hope this works in my favor...
She had written another letter after she wrote the one for Alinor. This one wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, not yet, but it was reserved for precisely the very task she was considering. Who to send...? she thought, fingers thrumming the desk again. I would prefer Adalla, whom I know to be Runael's friend, but she's in Whiterun... every moment counts right now. If I can get this done before Thellias arrives, it's one less headache for me, and for him. I don't know that anyone else in the Embassy has the charisma Adalla has, though...
She unfolded the letter in question, scanning the words briefly. Her gaze shifted to the top of the paper, and she slowly picked up a quill, dipped it into the nearby inkwell, and began to write the name she'd decided on.
I want a guarantee this will work. Speed means nothing if I can't get it done, she thought, writing in 'Adalla' at the top, and thus marking the task as the other elf's new mission. She began to write more at the bottom of the letter, now that she'd made up her mind on who to choose. I'll send this to Whiterun tomorrow, and leave Runael's fate in Adalla's hands. She set the quill down with a shaky hand, took a deep, steadying breath, then read the contents of the letter once more.
At best, Adalla will receive her new orders one month and three weeks before Thellias arrives... was all she could think of.
Adalla,
I have a task of utmost importance and secrecy for you.
Operative Runael has defected from the Aldmeri Dominion. She has become the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, but refuses to turn it over to the Dominion. She is intent on defying the orders I gave both her and Ancano to the very last.
I am hoping against hope that it is not too late. I want you to travel to the College of Winterhold and convince Operative Runael to rescind her decision before it becomes too late to salvage the situation. Further, I am placing all of my hope and faith in you. Do not make me regret my decision. Best of luck.
First Ambassador Elenwen
P.S. - If the Regent of Whiterun refuses to let you depart Whiterun, remind her that it is by my word that her husband is being spared execution.
A.N. - And thus, Chapter Two comes to a close.
Not a whole lot I want to say about the story at this point, at least nothing that won't give away parts of the story's future events.
Kindly leave a review and let me know what you think!
-Spiritslayer