I know you despise me. I know you will never have reason to trust me.
Even knowing that, I ask that you do precisely that. Trust in me.
-Elenwen
With arms crossed and a triumphant expression upon her face, Saarie watched as Thellias rode into the Embassy on a horse-drawn wagon, with one particularly familiar face in tow. "Welcome back, Elenwen," she said, making sure to make it sound as mocking as possible.
The former First Ambassador simply glowered at Saarie, and offered no words.
"No need to be gentle with her," Thellias said angrily, picking Elenwen up with one hand and throwing her off the back of the wagon. "This bitch is far more trouble than she's worth, and were it my call to make, I'd have her executed at midday."
Saarie quirked a brow. "What did or didn't she do this time?"
"A multitude of things," he growled. "For starters, she defected from the Dominion. To follow that, she hid from us the fact that another of her number defected - a fact she was completely and utterly aware of," he added. "She also aided in the escape of another detainee, whom I had in my custody yesterday afternoon."
"You found En'zhar, then?" Saarie said, sounding quite hopeful.
To her dismay, he shook his head. "No. Elenwen can provide details as to his general whereabouts, however. No, my other detainee was someone I never thought I'd be detaining... but she withheld information pertaining to the defection of the other I mentioned, so I had no choice."
Saarie pursed her lips. She wanted to ask, but could tell it was not the best time or place to ask. "Guards, drag - and I do mean drag - this sorry wretch to the dungeon. No need to carry her down the stairs, either... I want her to realize just how grave her offenses are."
A couple of the guards seemed hesitant to carry out that particular order. "Ma'am, if we drag her, there's no telling what condition-"
"You're not going to kill her if you drag her on the ground," she snapped, cutting off the daring guard. "Just see it done." She shot a fierce look at the guard who dared speak out.
The same pair of guards immediately set about the task; one grabbed Elenwen by both ankles and began to drag her along the ground, the other effectively led the way, so as to open doors. They both seemed bothered, however slightly, by the look of pain that seemed to be stretched across Elenwen's face.
Saarie found that look refreshing. "Deny her food and water for an entire day," she said simply. "Deny her any healing, too. She's my prisoner now, and will be treated as such."
Neither guard offered a response as they disappeared around the corner, heading directly for the solar.
"So no En'zhar." Saarie sounded disappointed.
"She was vague enough to make me think searching the entire area would be too time-consuming. I just assumed I'd take her back here, so she can't escape our custody." Thellias sat down with a small groan upon the edge of the wagon, legs dangling over the edge.
"And where-"
"Is he, according to her? The Reach. The Khajiit apparently has a sizeable camp located somewhere there. She was rather... unspecific. I'd have pressed the matter, but I thought that particular honor should be yours."
"I'm flattered." Saarie didn't sound convinced. "And the real reason you didn't press the issue?"
"I've had a lot on my mind as of late. I found out there was another certain defection. Three members of the Dominion were fully aware of it, but failed to take appropriate action." Thellias did indeed look troubled now.
"Someone important to you?" Saarie asked quietly, her expression softening. She stepped closer so that their voices wouldn't be quite as audible.
Unsurprisingly to her, he nodded. "You remember my former apprentice, Vernanye. She was aware of the defection, and did nothing - even when she'd been appointed 'Regent of Whiterun' - to take proper action. I'm... appalled, especially considering I'd had a talk with her when I visited Whiterun."
"Ah." Saarie's expression narrowed to one of disgust. "You'll forgive me, Thellias; you know I don't like her much."
He chuckled softly. "I know. You consider her 'inferior' because 'she's my former apprentice, and thus wasn't Vindicator material'." His small smile, brought about by the chuckle, soon faded. "But still, she was aware of the defection. So was Elenwen, who told me about it. Then there was one whom Elenwen sent to try and bring the traitor back: Adalla."
Saarie thought the name sounded familiar. "...You mean the girl you taught to fight? I thought you said she was loyal to the Dominion, through and through."
He nodded. "And thus, why there's been much on my mind." He stretched his arms out before him with a groan to accompany the motion, then let out a sigh as he relaxed his arms. "I'm headed inside for a bit. I'm not tired, but I am hungry."
"Of course." She watched as he eased himself off the wagon and onto his feet, her mind still reeling with the news he'd just delivered. And yet, that wasn't all of it yet... "Who defected?"
Thellias was silent for a moment, but that grim expression he now wore told her it wasn't hesitation in the truest sense of the term. "Vernanye's half-sister, Runael. The only member of the Dominion to become Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."
If she'd been disbelieving before, she would have thought he'd just told her a joke now. She knew, though, from that expression, that he didn't want to believe it either. "Wha..."
He didn't say anything more, instead choosing to enter the Embassy, leaving Saarie lost to her own thoughts.
The movements of the horse-drawn carriage were threatening to lull Vernanye to sleep. She didn't dare, however; not yet. She needed to get somewhere safe, had to find someone.
She had to find Runael and warn her that Thellias - gods above, her own father - was coming after her.
And yet, she didn't know where to begin. She would have suspected Winterhold, but Thellias had said he'd come from Winterhold not long before Elenwen managed to set the former Regent of Whiterun free. That left... nowhere. She could be atop the Throat of the World, for all Vernanye knew. She could be in some cave somewhere.
She sighed heavily and leaned back on the seat, gazing up at the cloudy sky that seemed to be threatening rain. She'd always suspected Thellias was more than just a former mentor to her... but her father? Her mother had always spoken quite fondly of Thellias, as if they were close... but she never would have guessed...
And Runael. Was Thellias Runael's father, as well, or were they half-sisters? Vernanye had wanted to ask, but she knew there was no relevance to the question, nor was there any point to asking it when he'd been as agitated as he'd been.
The wagon jerked from side to side suddenly, snapping her out of her doldrums and bringing her attention to what was happening. She looked around frantically, trying to identify the source. There was nothing out of the ordinary... no attack, no dragon flying overhead... Her confusion dissipated when she looked to her right, at the road behind them. Deep markings in the road. Unusual, but they were likely the source of the movements. "You couldn't have tried to avoid those?" she commented.
The driver sighed. "I tried, elf, believe me. Look at how far they stretch, though."
She took a closer look, sidling closer to the edge of the carriage in the process. He was not kidding; they stretched the entire span of the road, and even a bit further than that. "Those aren't natural."
"No. The road's never been like that before," he replied. "Those were recent, I have no doubt."
Her brow furrowed, and she tried to identify them, even though they were rapidly fading into the distance. They looked like... like claw marks, the more she thought about it... but what manner of beast leaves claw marks that big, deep and long in the road?
The thought of dragons crossed her mind once more... and she wondered if a dragon's claws could leave such a deep mark in the road. With horror, she came to believe it possible more and more. But why would a dragon do such a thing...? Further, were there dragons in the area...? "Driver... have there been reports of... dragons in this area, do you know?"
He didn't answer right away, but when he did, his tone was one of concern. "Not that I'm aware of... but there is an old dragon mound nearby. If the rumors are to be believed, though, that's... empty. Like something blew it up, and emptied it out." They were both silent for a time. "You don't think..."
"I hope not," she said quietly. "Just to be safe, though, do you think you could possibly go... faster?"
"I can't guarantee your safety if-"
"To Oblivion with that," she interrupted. "I'd rather prefer falling out of the carriage than being killed by a dragon. I'll pay extra - more if the carriage breaks down because of it."
He seemed to be content with Vernanye's words, for he began to spur the horse to move faster. "Hold on to something, then. I'm all too eager to get away from a possible dragon's territory as quickly as possible."
"As am I." She sighed, and moved further into the carriage, to avoid the risk of falling out. She gripped the seat with both hands, and her eyes went back to where the deep gashes in the road were. "As am I."
The assassin thought his luck had taken a turn for the better, and didn't dare believe it. He'd been spared whatever horrors his mark had planned for him.
In all, losing his right index finger was probably the worst of it. It was a loss he was willing to live with.
Now he just had to serve ordinary jail time, under the decree of the Companions. He had to admit, he'd thought the Regent would pick far worse, but even he knew there was wisdom putting the city of Whiterun in their hands. He only hoped it was permanent; he was not looking forward to seeing the Regent once again.
He shifted a bit upon his cot, fingers absentmindedly rubbing the stump where his right index finger formerly was. It had already healed over, thanks to the treatments offered by the Companions. He was honestly a little surprised that they'd been so... accommodating. They'd known he was an assassin when they first approached him; no doubt she told them.
All the thoughts of her made him uneasy. He'd struck her right in the heart with that spell... how was it she had survived? No matter what angle he took when thinking about it, he couldn't figure it out. Only Nords had the resistance to shrug off the cold like that...
Not just Nords, he realized after a moment. He was troubled for a different reason now. Vampires were just as resistant, if not slightly more so. They never seemed to be bothered by the cold at all; even the hardiest of Nords bundled up in the colder regions of Skyrim. He decided it was possible... albeit unlikely. Vampires never blended in with society so effortlessly. There were always telling signs. The eyes, the fangs... there was a reason most vampires stayed out of the eyes of the public.
He'd been told he was imprisoned for a few days - and that was a couple days ago. He surmised he had one more day, at most, before he was set free. He'd ask Babette about any telling signs when he returned... if they were still there. The memory that she'd mentioned she contacted Commander Maro came back to him, and he was a little worried.
They were all skilled assassins, but that doesn't typically entail face-to-face combat, especially not with well-armed and well-armored Imperial soldiers. They operated on the element of surprise... and the rest of his family wouldn't have that.
He heard the door open, and his attention was redirected to the entrance. Someone was walking toward his cell... it wasn't a guard, though. A Companion? He couldn't tell.
"A disgrace," came a seething voice. "That's what you are."
The voice was familiar, and left him conflicted. "Gabriella...? Are you here to-"
"You should have burned that note," his fellow assassin hissed, interrupting him. She was picking the lock on the cell door now, giving him hope. "Those Penitus Oculatus bastards attacked the Sanctuary. Astrid, Nazir, Babette and I are all that remain now. We were fortunate enough to take down the rest of their strike force before it got worse." The lock clicked, and she opened the door.
He rose from the cot. "Then we take-"
"No." Her voice was like ice. "There is no 'we' any longer." She closed the cell behind her, and reached behind her to lock the door from the outside. "Astrid was less than pleased to learn that the Regent of Whiterun tipped off Commander Maro. That would only happen if she survived and determined the truth."
His eyes widened a bit. "W-wait... Gabriella, s-surely we..."
Her eyes were narrowed dangerously. "Your failure cost my family dearly," she snapped softly. "Astrid is beside herself with grief and rage. We are no longer safe in the Sanctuary, not now that they know where we are." She advanced on him slowly.
"H-hold on... w-we can-"
"There is no 'we'!" she shouted, unable to contain herself much longer. In a heartbeat, he found himself pinned against the wall, a dagger's tip pressing against his throat; he was fairly certain a small trickle of blood was starting to adorn the blade she was holding. "Not anymore," she added quietly. "Astrid... she gave me this mission. She knows of our bond. She wanted me to 'cut you out'... not just from the family, but from my own life."
He reached a hand up tentatively, trying to rest it upon her own.
"Don't move," she commanded. "I have things I want to say before I kill you. Things to get off my chest. There is no escaping your fate... not after what your failure caused the rest of us."
He shivered, and sighed softly. He wanted to swallow, but didn't dare; he was afraid the dagger's tip would cause discomfort, at best... and at worst...
"...So many things I want to say, yet I cannot. I dare not." She closed her eyes. "I'm afraid if I do, I'll end up like you: a failure to the family."
"We can set out on our own," he offered. "We-"
She shook her head. "No. You've already failed once, and the price of that failure was too high. I don't dare take the chance of you failing again, and inviting a greater price still."
He shook his own head as carefully as he could, trying not to move his neck. He failed that just a little; he felt his skin tug against the dagger, but to his immense relief, the blade didn't cut. "We can give it up," he said. "I'll never kill again. I'll never endanger-"
She laughed bitterly. "It's always amusing, the things someone says before they die. One's soul is bared before their executioner in their last moments. I see now that, beneath your brave exterior, you're little more than a coward, trying to worm his way out of the inevitable."
Pain. That was all he felt now. It originated from his neck, and was slowly spreading through the rest of his body. She had leaned closer, and he wondered why.
"I loved you, once," she whispered. "Then you broke my family. Once, you were a brother... once, you were more. Now, though... you are dead to me, soon to be dead to the rest of the world." She pushed herself away from him, using a hand that was placed on the wall beside his head. Then, she shoved with her other hand.
With that shove, he felt something pierce the back of his neck, and he heard a noise like metal digging into stone. He wanted to look to the side, but couldn't move his head.
"You deserve no mercy, and yet I hope Sithis shows you even the tiniest fragment of it." With those words, Gabriella turned on her heel and walked to the grate in the floor, knelt down, and began to try and force it open.
He managed to reach up with one hand; he was surprised at how hard the motion was. His fingers brushed the hilt of something he was familiar with, something he'd held before.
Gabriella's dagger. His fingers ran along the flat of the blade for but a moment, stopping when they touched his own neck.
The sound of the grate opening was audible, and caused his rapidly fading consciousness to redirect to her. She didn't depart through the grate immediately, but rather turned her attention to him once more. "Goodbye. You will never cause grief to another."
His vision failed, and he slipped out of consciousness then. His last thought was, Why can't I get this dagger out...?
For the first time in a long while, Najati felt restless. Worried, more accurately. She couldn't pin the cause of it down, but knew it involved Elenwen in some way.
Perhaps it was the fact that Elenwen now knew where the Khajiit's camp in the Reach was. She had shared this sentiment with En'zhar, who shrugged it off. That worried her even more. To Najati, Elenwen was the type of elf to sell the entire camp out if it meant any semblance of leniency for her. She had also shared that with En'zhar, and again, he didn't seem as worried.
She was starting to wonder if he had some plan in mind, or if he was truly that careless. She hoped it was the former; she hated thinking about the man she loved in the latter way.
"Najati," En'zhar's voice called. It was soft, yet sudden enough that it made her jump. She broke her gaze out at the rest of the Reach and turned her eyes to look upon him.
His arms were crossed, an amused smile at his lips. "I startled you."
"I'm worried, and I worry quite enough for two people, at that," she responded.
He sighed. "Elenwen?"
She nodded, her eyes locking with his. "Why aren't you concerned, En'zhar? This is Elenwen. We-"
"You have every reason to mistrust her," he corrected. "I have done business with her in the past. She has earned my trust, at least enough that I doubt she'd sell us out."
"Then you are a fool," she said bitterly, and without thinking.
Silence settled between them. She could tell the words had stung him quite a bit.
"Left alone, do you truly think she can stay out of trouble? She has never even entertained the notion of defecting from the Thalmor, and yet, here she is, suddenly thrust into the role. She has never considered how to avoid capture, or worse." Najati decided it was time to speak her mind, and damn the consequences. "And if she were captured, she would be returning to an Embassy that hates her. Perhaps even returning to Alinor, where she would be mocked and hated even more for her failures alone."
"Elenwen is no fool," he replied calmly, his expression shifting to match the tone. "Even if she were to get caught, she wouldn't speak so freely of-"
"Can you swear by that?" Najati interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Can you honestly stand there and swear to me that Elenwen would not betray your trust?"
"I can, Najati. She has given me no reason in the past to doubt or question her. I do not ask that you trust her," he added, "just that you give her the benefit of the doubt, at least."
"Easier said than done, my dear," she muttered.
He chuckled quietly, and stepped toward the female Khajiit. "You hail from a group of thieves and a group of assassins. I know trust is not easy to come by with you." His expression fell, and his humor with it. "That is why I believe you are overreacting. You scarcely trust anyone beyond myself. You always look to the worst in others."
"I do no such thing!" she hissed.
"You are attempting to see nothing but the worst in Elenwen," he commented.
"I have a bad feeling about letting her be alone in Winterhold, that's all. For the reasons I mentioned," she said bitterly.
"You cannot base a harsh accusation on a 'bad feeling'."
"And you cannot base your opinion of her on nothing more than trust," she retorted.
"That is where you are wrong, Najati. It's because she has my trust that I can form such a positive opinion of her. I trust that she will not speak a word of our location to anyone else, not even the Thalmor if they catch her."
"Do you swear your life to those words?" she asked before she could stop herself.
"Will you kill me if those words are proven false?" he replied, eyes narrowed at her. "I see no other reason for you to ask me such."
"I... I did not mean it like that." She sighed heavily. "I'm merely frustrated, and cannot-"
Soft footfalls were audible to both, and they turned slowly to face the newcomer. A male Khajiit, wearing iron armor and a panicked expression, was rapidly approaching, his footfalls becoming louder as he closed the distance. "E-En'zhar!" he gasped out. "W-we have... have trouble..."
Najati's brows were raised suddenly. Those words did not bode well with her.
En'zhar seemed less concerned than she, for his tone was calm when he asked, "What manner of trouble?"
The other male Khajiit took a few moments to catch his breath, then turned west and pointed. In the direction of the camp's entrance, Najati realized. "We are... we are being spied upon," he murmured, as if his voice would carry as far as the spy.
Najati and En'zhar exchanged looks. "By whom?" Najati asked.
The male Khajiit shook his head lightly. "We are not sure. We do not dare draw closer, for fear of raising suspicion. As is, this one walked as calmly as he could away from the entrance, and broke into a run only when he was certain he would not be seen running." He thought a moment longer. "Although... it did look as though they wore a helmet of elven craft, as well as armor..."
Najati simply locked her gaze with En'zhar's eyes.
He gave her a blank stare, but she knew such was his way of masking his own doubts. "Has anyone else noticed him?" he finally asked, breaking the gaze with Najati and looking at the male Khajiit.
"Yes. Two or three of them thought to try and sneak up on the spy. This one told them not to, but they seemed deadset in their choice..."
"Return to them," En'zhar said. "Keep your eyes on them. Do not let anyone attack the spy; do not let the spy leave your sight."
He nodded, and walked briskly back toward the entrance.
"I ask again, En'zhar," Najati said quietly. "Can you swear to me that you have the utmost trust that Elenwen would not give up our location so easily?"
This time, he had no response. That was answer enough for her.
Vernanye was not looking forward to staying in Whiterun again, not after spending so much time there in the past few months as Regent... and especially not when holding the position left bitter resentment of her emanating from just about everyone in the city. Still, she figured it was safer than roaming Skyrim in search of her sister.
That did, of course, leave the question of where she'd be staying until she caught word of her sister's whereabouts.
Hulda had quite rudely refused to rent a room to the former Regent, and the citizens either ignored her outright or refused her request with a triumphant - and rude - smirk. She was out of options, and it seemed as if she was going to be sleeping in the streets.
She hoped against hope that there may be some manner of answer in Dragonsreach. She hadn't thought to visit the palace so soon after leaving, yet here she was once more. The guardsmen patrolling the exterior all followed Vernanye with their gazes as she walked, as if either disbelieving, hateful, or suspicious; it was impossible to tell with their helmets on. Stepping inside the palace was less welcoming; even the servants shot Vernanye nasty looks, as if her presence were defiling the palace in such a way that they could not 'purify' it.
Her biggest surprise, however, was to see two familiar figures at the throne, speaking with another familiar face. Only one of them would be even remotely friendly to her; the other two would not.
She smiled bitterly, and stepped up toward the fire pit preceding the throne. Her presence was noticed by the Nord on the throne, whose eyes narrowed dangerously at her, his lips curling into a hateful sneer. A brief gesture caused the other two to turn and face Vernanye. "You have some nerve, elf, showing your face in the palace again," Balgruuf the Greater said loudly.
The first figure, on the right, was Irileth. She was in her leather armor once more, and wore a hateful expression that almost mirrored Balgruuf's perfectly. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword, but she did not draw yet.
The second figure, to the left from Vernanye's perspective, was surprised - and wary - to see the former Regent once more. Her hands shifted so that she could prepare a spell at an instant's notice, but as with Irileth, she did not look the part of hostile. "What's... going on, sister?" Runael asked Vernanye. "Why have you returned alone?"
"To find you, and warn you of something." Vernanye spread her arms somewhat, to show that she was unarmed and meant no harm. "There have been some... developments, none of which are good. For either of us. I would speak with you alone on the matter."
"How do I know you're not just going to arrest me and bring me back to the Embassy?" Runael retorted.
"Because as of now, you and I are in the same position. I no longer possess the authority - nor have the desire - to bring you in for so-called 'justice', Runael. I'll explain everything and answer every question you have, but I must speak with you privately."
Runael appeared hesitant, but a brief nod from Irileth and Balgruuf seemed to spur her on. "Fine. I'll be with you in just a second, so if you could... wait outside?"
Vernanye nodded, and left Dragonsreach once more, all too eager to get out of the oppressive atmosphere within.
A.N. - This was another chapter I wasn't fully satisfied with. It had the overall elements I wanted in it, but... it felt like something was lacking. At the same exact time, however, I did not foresee a better chapter coming forth unless I deleted it and started with a completely blank page. Suffice to say, having the elements I wanted in this chapter, only to delete them... not preferable.
So it's always 'fun' (not really) whenever you lose your job. I lost mine recently, and have been looking. Well, I may be on to something already; had my first job interview at a place that was interested. I haven't gotten it - yet - but they want me to come in for a second interview. We'll see what comes of it, I suppose, and we'll hope that it's a change for the better. I certainly hope so.
I know, in the last Author's Note, I said the Thalmor would make more gains in this chapter. While bringing Elenwen safely back to the Embassy is a gain, it's not a big one; So where was the other gain? Is Najati's assumption correct? Well... I'm not going to spoil it. ;)
-Spiritslayer