Fiercest kitten with sharpest claws,
When the sky is dark and its tears are as ice, you will strike.
-E
It had been weeks since En'zhar had been alerted to the spy outside the Khajiit camp. He'd begun to observe the spy personally, and noted when the spy wasn't paying attention. He'd seen several others, suggesting more than one was present. They always seemed to come from a small outcropping of stones behind their vantage point; more than one late evening, when the sky had begun to darken, he'd seen smoke rising into the eventide sky; they had a camp, which meant they were settled in for the long run.
The Khajiit in the camp were pinned down, in other words.
Or so he let the spies believe.
He'd ordered work to begin a few days after the spies had been discovered. He ordered the Khajiit to pretend they hadn't noticed the spies, and to start gathering lumber, that they could build a wall to protect the camp from other, far more hostile threats. Over the past several weeks, several pieces of lumber came in daily, and a crude wall of logs sharpened to points were buried in the ground - much like some bandits were accustomed to doing. If the spies considered it suspicious, they did nothing but continue to observe. A tower was also constructed at the western entrance to the camp, and thus was the western side deemed the official entrance and exit for the camp.
Unofficially, there was a small passage to the east, through which En'zhar had sent Najati to do some spywork of her own - the target, the Thalmor Embassy. He wanted to be certain these spies were relaying information to the Embassy, and that it wasn't a case of mistaken identity. He also wanted to be alerted immediately, and by the fleetest Khajiit she brought with her, if any Thalmor departed the Embassy in rather large numbers.
He was not going to allow these spies to be the end of him, and the Khajiiti camp, so easily.
Najati had sent messages since her arrival at a hidden location with a remarkable vantage point of the Embassy. For the most part, there were one or two Thalmor foot soldiers coming and going at fairly regular intervals, and they never stayed for long; once, she dared to get close enough to try and listen in, and she'd overheard mention of the Reach.
He no longer considered it coincidence, and had sent a very simple letter to her, telling her when to exact their revenge. He was entrusting the task entirely to Najati.
He had his own problems to worry about back at the camp.
When word began to circulate through the camp that the spies were most assuredly Thalmor, they all began to suggest that En'zhar flee the camp, to evade capture. He refused to abandon the camp and its inhabitants so readily, saying that he would escape only when a large force was reported en route to the camp. He was not worried about a handful of spies.
As night fell, En'zhar was walking through the camp, checking up on everyone else, making sure they had the supplies they needed and were being taken care of. He paid no mind to what was going on outside of the camp's crude walls, leaving that to the guards in the tower.
He was, however, quite aware of the sound of an arrow whistling through the air, and turned his head to watch the projectile's metallic head glint in the light of braziers beneath it. Its trajectory was set to catch one of the guards between the eyes - but unfortunately for the archer, the guard was sharp-eyed, and spotted the projectile fast enough to duck beneath it. En'zhar watched it soar past him, and into one of the logs that fashioned the wall.
He hurried to the tower, and climbed up far enough that he could speak with the crouched guard without exposing either of them. "Point of origin?"
The guard gestured wordlessly to where the spies had been watching from. "It would seem they are no longer meant to simply watch us."
En'zhar gave a grim nod. "So it seems." He reached out and gave the guard a pat on the shoulder. "Keep an eye out, and dodge any other arrows. I'll awaken our answer to their aggression."
He gave a nod, and stood slowly, eyes on the spot where the spies had been watching from.
En'zhar wasted no time hurrying to the southern side of the camp, where the saber cat cages were kept. He noted that the caretaker of the loyal beasts was still awake, and taking care of one of the majestic animals. "Good, I don't need to wake you," he said quietly.
The caretaker jumped, and the saber cat he was tending to looked at En'zhar. "Is something wrong?" the caretaker asked timidly.
"Our little spy problem has decided to try out their archery," was all he said. "I think it's time we show them some... unexpected hospitality." He gestured to the saber cats. "Which ones are healthiest, swiftest, and deadliest? I'll want six... no, ten to send out the eastern passage and... 'greet' our rude guests."
The caretaker's eyes widened - and a malicious smile spread across his lips. "Follow me."
Runael had to admit, it was lonely in the College without Irileth.
The Dunmer had remained in Whiterun with Balgruuf, stating that the College's aid was no longer required, now that Whiterun had been returned to the Nords. Runael had reminded her that she'd never had the College's aid in the first place, especially considering the failed matter of dealing with the lich. With that, ties were effectively severed, and Runael departed Dragonsreach without the Dunmer in tow.
In Irileth's place, Runael's sister, Vernanye, accompanied the Arch-Mage back to Winterhold.
She was more pleasant company, all told. She didn't oppose everything Runael had to say, and they were far more amicable than Runael and Irileth had been. The entire trip back to the College, Runael had wondered if the College would bar Vernanye, and thus out her as a member of the Thalmor still; she was surprised, pleasantly so, when the gates opened for Vernanye.
Of course, now she felt like a prisoner anyway. Vindicator Thellias was looking for her, and most likely Vernanye, as well. They were both wanted by the Aldmeri Dominion for treason. The College was still the safest place for them to be, but it did feel stifling all the same. It meant that Runael finally had time to 'see to the matters that can only be addressed by the Arch-Mage', as Tolfdir had put it. It also meant she had a chance to meet some of the newest apprentices to the College, and teach a class or two of her own.
Vernanye, in contrast, had spent the past few weeks doing whatever she could to aid the people of Winterhold. Although they were skeptical of her intentions at first, they gradually began to warm to her offers for help, and began pointing her in directions she could go to help out the hold. She had no ties to the College, beyond being the sister of the Arch-Mage, and the people of Winterhold seemed grateful for that. She had sent a letter to Riften, notifying her husband of her current location, and where she would likely be living indefinitely. He had sent a letter back letting her know he received her letter, but that he was unlikely to visit Winterhold anytime soon, as it was not only 'too damn cold there', but there was also the matter of Guild business he was still tending to. He'd been sent to some island to the west of Riften, with some little bee farm or some such; he'd called it Goldenglow Estate. Vernanye hadn't heard of it, and didn't really care.
One evening, Runael had a question for Vernanye, one she seemed hesitant to ask.
"Why did Elenwen reveal the truth to Thellias?" Vernanye repeated, her fork and knife absolutely still - almost frozen - over the piece of cooked beef Runael had purchased at the Frozen Hearth Inn.
Runael gave a small nod, poking at her cooked venison with her fork. "I never... I never thought she'd give such things up so easily... I'd hoped, perhaps foolishly, that she'd take that to her grave, as a secret..."
Vernanye cut off a piece of the beef, and popped the small bite into her mouth. She didn't want to say anything. She'd always been under the impression that Elenwen was bad for Runael, and that her sister deserved far better. Thus, she'd vowed to herself that she'd never reveal the truth of the matter to Runael: that Elenwen had told Vernanye that Thellias had deduced the truth of the matter himself, based on a few poorly chosen words from Elenwen. Their relationship was doomed to fail anyway, Vernanye thought.
"Vernanye?" Runael was looking at her sister, eyes adorned with some concern.
"I'm sorry, you said something?"
"...I'm waiting for a response," Runael muttered. "I know you heard me; you repeated the question."
"The truth is... I don't know. Elenwen and I weren't exactly chatty when Thellias had us both captured."
"But you escaped."
Vernanye nodded, and made another mental vow: she was never going to tell Runael that she'd only escaped because Elenwen had set her free, so that she could warn Runael. Perhaps it was malicious of the elder sister, but Vernanye was determined to drive a deep wedge in the relationship between Runael and Elenwen... and possibly destroy that relationship in the process. "It wasn't easy, but yes. It wasn't difficult to escape my bindings; I just had to tell a guard that the Thalmor had kidnapped me for something I didn't do, and he set me free." She laughed quietly. "In a sense, I didn't lie to him..."
Runael rolled her eyes. "You're evil, sister."
"I know." She winked at Runael, and they both continued to eat in silence for a time.
"...The Augur of Dunlain told Irileth something," Runael said suddenly. "He... and realize, the only reason I'm bringing this up is because his information was vital in resolving the crisis with the Eye... but he told Irileth that you... serve a master. How did she put it...? 'As dark as night, as cold as the grave, and as evil as...' Wait, no... agh, I've forgotten her exact wording... but Vernanye, be honest..."
The elder sister stared at Runael, and she was only faintly aware of her eye twitching. "Who in Oblivion is this 'Augur', and who does he think he is to spout off such nonsense as that? I serve no evil master, Runael."
"No, I thought not," Runael agreed quickly. "I-I just... forget I brought it up."
Vernanye gave a curt nod, and stood swiftly. "I'm done. I'll see you in the morning." She turned on her heel, prepared to depart the Arch-Mage's quarters.
"I'm sorry, sister," Runael said with a sigh. "I didn't mean... I was just wondering if you had any idea why he may have hinted at..."
"I don't. Good night." Vernanye departed briskly, leaving her beef half finished.
"I ain't gettin' this," Mia whined. "Adalla, ya can make it easier t'understand, can't ya?"
Adalla gave a sheepish smile to the elder man in grey robes, who returned the look with a look that seemed to say 'she's kidding, right?'. "I doubt it, Mia..."
"Arngeir, ya be one confusing bas-"
"Mia!" Adalla said sternly, interrupting the insult her best friend was in the midst of administering. "Don't forget, you're being permitted to stay here because you're Dragonborn; that doesn't mean they can't throw you out for disrespect!"
"Mmrgh... thanks fer remindin' me..." Mia grumbled bitterly, kicking at the freshly fallen snow upon the ground.
Arngeir cleared his throat. "All I can teach you, Mia, is how to harness the power the gods have given you. I cannot explain what it means to be Dragonborn; that is a philosophical question more than one with a clear-cut answer."
"What?! Well, why didn't ya tell me afore now?!" Mia snapped, clearly outraged now.
"I did. You apparently never listened." Arngeir's expression was one of faint amusement, and it made Adalla smile a bit despite herself.
Mia turned away from Adalla and Arngeir, and with a curt 'Wuld!', all but flew away from them.
"She's upset," Arngeir commented.
Adalla gave a nod, looking at her best friend. "She is. We should give her time to calm down."
He nodded wordlessly, and gestured to the gate Mia had first demonstrated the Whirlwind Sprint through. Adalla followed him just as wordlessly; she hadn't been too interested before, but now that she and Mia were in High Hrothgar, Adalla was rather curious about everything the Greybeards had to say. She and Arngeir had already spoken of matters regarding High Hrothgar, the Greybeards, their founder, and their current leader, Paarthurnax.
They'd both come straight to High Hrothgar when the College turned up nothing that helped Mia grasp the question she had, the question that was starting to irritate her. Runael had been sad to see them go, but agreed with Adalla's assessment that leaving was their best course of action. They both had no interest in the College otherwise, and didn't want to be in the way.
Over the past few weeks, then, Mia and Adalla had traveled the roads south to Riften, and then west to Ivarstead. Their trip up the Seven Thousand Steps had been eventful, to say the least: they'd been attacked by frost trolls, and even a dragon up toward the end of the Steps. They'd killed everything that tried to kill them, of course, and Mia had absorbed the dragon's soul ("Not a word of this t'anyone, Adalla, or so help me...", Mia had warned when it was through).
Her attention was returned to reality when she was greeted with a wondrous view of central Skyrim, with Whiterun being the most prominent feature. She'd seen this view several times by now, usually with Mia, but it never ceased to amaze her.
"She acts as if she doesn't like being Dragonborn," Arngeir was saying.
Adalla gave a wordless nod; all she'd needed to hear was 'doesn't like being Dragonborn'.
"It's a gift," he said, shaking his head at the revelation. "She needs to realize that."
"She calls it a 'curse'," Adalla said softly. "Anyone beyond me who's ever learned the truth has... well, 'pestered' her about it, to put it lightly. For her, the fact that she's Dragonborn has only driven friends away from her. I'm the only friend who's stood by her and acquiesced to her wishes not to mention it or bother her about it."
He looked back at Mia, whose fingers were scratching at the ears of the small saber kitten. Adalla followed his eyes, and smiled softly.
They'd kept Elenwen's saber kitten, as it had grown quite fond of Adalla and, to a slightly lesser extent, Mia. They saw no reason to abandon it (and Adalla had said 'if you're going to abandon it, Mia, then I will take care of it, and it will be traveling with us anyway!').
"So it's safe to say you're the closest person to her," he said after a time, turning his gaze to her.
"I... yes, although if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, we're... not like... that." She shifted uncomfortably.
"Not like what? I was referring to- oh." His eyes widened a little as realization dawned on him. "No, that's not what I was referring to. You two, to me, seem almost like... sisters."
"You think so?"
He nodded softly. "Oh yes... yes, you two definitely act like sisters whenever I see you two interact with one another."
They were both silent for a while. Adalla had something on her mind, but didn't dare speak of it.
"If she has no appreciation of the gift, why has she come to High Hrothgar?" Arngeir finally asked. "We welcome her, of course, considering she is Dragonborn... but it seems as if she didn't wish to come here in the first place."
"No," Adalla agreed. "I mean no offense when I say this, but she once told me that, in effect, she considered the Greybeards to be 'old bastards with their heads up their asses'. Or something. I can't remember the exact wording; it was... quite some time ago."
He chuckled quietly. "She is not the first. Many think us eccentric for focusing on the Way of the Voice, and not obsessing over the trivial affairs of the rest of Tamriel. For us, however, we know the Voice is not a power to be misused for the sake of mankind."
"As learned by Jurgen Windcaller, yes; you mentioned this," Adalla said softly. "Mia wants to understand, don't misunderstand. Long has she hated her heritage, but she's never really understood what she was hating. For her, being Dragonborn has simply meant she can kill a dragon permanently, absorb its soul, and start Shouting if she knows a word of power."
"Those are the cold, hard facts, yes," Arngeir agreed. "Everything from there is considered to be speculation. I know not why she thought she could find answers here."
"She's not a very... what's the word I'm looking for...?" Adalla sighed heavily, brow furrowed as she thought. "...Facts are her thing. She's not really big on... philosophy, or speculation, things like that."
"And you?"
"I try to be. I'm not that keen on it, but I try anyway. That's part of why I've asked you so many questions in the past few days. Sorry for bothering you with them, by the way," she added with a smile and a bow.
He shrugged it off. "It's an honor to discuss such things with someone who has a vested interest in them, Dragonborn or not. It is, of course, a greater honor to teach the Dragonborn how to harness their gift with the Voice... provided they are willing to learn."
"She is, even if she doesn't show it. Of course, I've mentioned that already."
Arngeir nodded lightly, the motion of his head largely hidden by his hood. "Of course."
They were silent once more. Adalla gazed at the distant Dragonsreach, and wondered what was happening now. When Runael had returned, Irileth wasn't with her, but Vernanye was.
"You talk about Mia quite often. She's on your mind a lot," Arngeir commented.
She was fully aware of the tone he was taking on, and shook her head. "She is, but not because I lo-"
He chuckled quietly; she could feel vibrations in the air. "I didn't say you do. You did... or rather, you began to say it."
Silence once more, and this time, it was awkward.
"Lookin' like snow over Solitude." Mia's voice made both of them jump a bit; her approach had been silent. She rested her right hand on Adalla's left shoulder, and pointed toward the capital of Skyrim. "Glad we ain't there."
Najati could almost swear this infiltration of the Embassy was far easier than the last time she'd assaulted it. She was alone now, and she preferred it that way.
She was allowed to act as she saw fit now. The Thalmor dared to cross En'zhar and her. Elenwen dared to cross them. It was time for Najati to show both the error of their ways.
The lock on the door to the solar clicked open, and Najati slipped inside slowly, out of the snowfall. She quietly closed the door behind her, and locked the door so that it wouldn't arouse suspicion if anyone thought to enter the solar.
She had no idea where Elenwen was, but she suspected she'd be in the dungeons. From what she'd gathered from her surveillance, the dungeon was located somewhere in the solar. It was where Saarie, the elf she'd fought last time, spent the most of her time.
There was much that tempted the thief in Najati. Locked chests, documents that, if they went missing, would surely cripple the Thalmor's operations in Skyrim, potions and elixirs... she contemplated taking everything she could, to further add insult to the injury she was planning to inflict.
To that end, she clicked open every lock, looted every coin and anything of value from what looked like Saarie's office. She took a moment to read through some of the documents in the desk, but decided none were of interest to her. She spotted a few dossiers, and thumbed through them idly.
"You're a poor thief, cat," came a familiar voice. Najati looked up to spot Saarie, whose arms were crossed, an expression of familiarity upon her face.
"It's been months since I last gave in to the urge to steal," she said with a wink.
"You're trespassing."
"I know." Najati continued to thumb through a couple more dossiers.
"You're reading vital information."
"You call this 'vital'?" she commented, holding up a dossier dedicated to En'zhar.
"Get out, cat, or I will make a rug of you," Saarie sneered.
"You've tried that once. It didn't work, did it?"
The high elf drew her sword, and pointed it at Najati. "You had the element of surprise and the cover of darkness. I won't fail to kill you this time."
"Don't you want to know why I'm here?"
Saarie did seem tempted to know. "Entertain me."
"I'm here for Elenwen."
"You're not going to break her out," Saarie snapped.
"Of course not. I'm going to kill her."
That caught her attention. "You... what? You're not here to rescue...?"
"Of course not. She sold us out and gave away our location." She glanced up from En'zhar's dossier and looked at Saarie, then tossed the dossier gently on top of the desk. "I know you know. I've been watching your spies wander in and out for a couple weeks now."
Saarie pursed her lips. "En'zhar will not escape justice, cat. Elenwen will face justice at-"
"Such a hassle, though... to file paperwork for a traitor... when she could have a convenient... 'accident'. The only thing to deal with there is the matter of clean-up, and you can mention in passing that she died in an accident... as opposed to, what? Filing a full report, maybe two, and then waiting for a trial in which she might get to walk away?" Najati's voice was a purr.
"I..." Saarie bit her lower lip. "...She deserves death, I won't deny that... and it is a hassle to deal with her... but..."
Najati stood from behind the desk. "I have an offer for you, Saarie. You let me escape... and take the things I've taken so far... and in way of thanks... I'll cut Elenwen's throat open for you. No one will hear a word of this."
Saarie glanced over her shoulder at the open door, and eased it shut. "Get down there," she whispered, "before I change my mind."
Elenwen was on the verge of tears, but she held them back as long as she could. Her wrists were so very sore from being shackled to the wall for... gods, how long had it been now? It had felt like months, but there was no way... right?
Saarie had never shared how much time had passed when she'd come down to torture Elenwen for information. Elenwen had thought she knew the extent to which torture could be taken, as she'd read the reports behind the methods... but gods, Saarie knew techniques Elenwen had never even dreamed possible... so to live through them...
Even now, Elenwen's stomach was sore from one such ordeal... and all because Saarie wanted Elenwen to talk about things she didn't know, or to basically lie to Saarie.
After all, she'd told the truth to Thellias - surely he'd told his apprentice what she'd said?
Of course, being kept captive for so long had its benefits. Saarie had assumed that Elenwen was almost broken, and almost ready to 'sing about everything'. Ignoring the fact that Elenwen had no secrets to hide, she was far from being truly broken. She hadn't become a member of the Dominion on friendly recommendation, and she surely hadn't become First Ambassador of Skyrim at someone else's whim.
Thus, when Saarie had 'locked' the shackles last, she hadn't realized that they weren't actually locked, simply closed. Elenwen, who had gotten used to the sensation of the locked shackles rubbing her wrists raw, instantly knew what had happened, and thus knew her chance had arrived. She simply had to wait for the Vindicator-in-training to leave, then she had to ensure the guard assigned to watch her cell was otherwise preoccupied.
The latter proved harder, but not impossible; he sat down for a quick bite to eat, back facing Elenwen. Apparently, he assumed she was not going to be a problem whatsoever.
How wrong he was.
As quietly as she could, she managed to work one of the shackles open, then moved her free hand to make the process much faster. With that, her hands were free of those gods-damned restraints, and she was free to...
She bit her lip. The cell door. Was it locked, or did Saarie make a mistake with that, as well? Had it ever been locked, considering she'd been shackled to the wall?
She tried the door, and was surprised to find it opened effortlessly. It was better than she expected. Her eyes went to the guard who was assigned to watch her cell, then to the trapdoor she knew to lead out of the room... although she had no idea where it led to. She'd never concerned herself with those details before now. For all she knew, it was infested by Falmer, and the little bastards would be murdering her with their devious little traps the second she set foot in their little lairs.
Still, it was better to face possible death than to remain a prisoner of Saarie. She slipped as quietly toward the trapdoor as she could, and pulled it open very, very quietly. She heard another door opening, and panicked for a moment. Someone else was coming in.
"Ma'am!" Elenwen couldn't see anything, but she heard the guard's voice accompanied by the clattering of a chair. "I-I didn't think you-" He paused. "Wait, who are you?!"
"A guest," came a familiar voice, one tinged with malice. It made Elenwen's skin crawl, and her eyes widen in horror and hatred.
Najati, she thought bitterly. She was torn between sticking around to murder the cat, or to escape while she still had the chance; she suspected that if Najati was here, it wasn't to rescue her, not after the way they'd interacted at the Nightgate Inn.
"Does the First Ambassador know you're-"
"Here? Yes. She sent me to deal with one of your problems." There was a small pause. "Although it seems said problem is no longer a problem."
"What are you-"
Elenwen slipped through the trapdoor and was careful to ensure it didn't make a sound as she closed it. She searched frantically for a means of sealing it so that neither the guard nor Najati could open it, but couldn't find anything that would work.
She heard the mortified shouts of the guard, but couldn't make out the words escaping his mouth. She heard footsteps rapidly wandering the floor, but none of them were coming near the trapdoor. Perhaps he didn't suspect-
Elenwen heard him cry out in agony then, and could have sworn her blood froze in her veins. Had Najati just killed the guard? If so, what was she truly doing-
The trapdoor opened then, revealing the Khajiit in question staring down at Elenwen. The Altmer couldn't budge an inch, so paralyzed in horror was she.
"You're more clever than I thought," Najati purred. "It's almost enough to make me want to spare your life."
"You came to kill me, then." It was not a question from Elenwen.
"You sold us out," the Khajiit snapped. "Thalmor spies have set up outside our camp-"
"I said 'the Reach', not exactly where!" Elenwen protested.
"It was specific enough to cause us problems!" The Khajiit shifted a bit, but lost her grip on the trapdoor in the process; she couldn't catch it fast enough, and soon, the wood was all that Elenwen was staring at.
Wood...
A brief flash of inspiration shot through Elenwen, and she began to channel a powerful Incinerate spell through her right hand. Hoping it worked, she blasted the trapdoor's underside with the powerful fire spell.
It took a few moments, but it eventually worked; the trapdoor caught aflame, and she could only imagine it would be impossible to open it now without getting burned in the process. Satisfied with the brief delay tactic, she began to bolt out of the cave she'd ended up in, wearing nothing but a prisoner's rags and countless scars from Saarie's torture.
When she saw the cave had an inhabitant - a frost troll - she doubled her speed and sprinted as quickly as she could to avoid its claws. She felt the claws rake her side, causing a brief twinge of pain, but she pushed on through it and made for what she assumed to be the passage to her escape.
When she felt the freezing air of the northern coast biting her skin and threatening to freeze her to the bone, she knew her freedom may be short-lived. She had to find proper clothing, a warm fire, and... just... anything to ensure she stayed alive long enough to escape.
But where would she go from here? Thellias would be expecting her to travel to Winterhold again, she was sure, and so that didn't leave many options...
Where was the one place she wouldn't be expected to go...? Where was the one place even the Thalmor didn't dare tread, in all of Skyrim...?
As much as the thought had initially mortified Elenwen, she was determined to make her end destination Windhelm, where she might be recognized, but at least she would be safe from the Aldmeri Dominion.
That was, of course, assuming she didn't freeze to death before reaching Solitude...
A.N. - Well then. There's an update after all! No, I'm not dead!
In fact, this past weekend, I wrote up the next few chapters of Flames, and I even started in on my Dragonborn story with Mia. I'm not going to post it just yet, primarily because I'm unsure about the first chapter, but also because it's basically a sequel of sorts to Flames. I already know how Flames is going to end, and what will befall all of the characters involved in the events to come; now, it's just a matter of getting you, the reader, to the conclusion.
I'll prattle on in the next Author's Note.
-Spiritslayer