Thellias,
Due to a storm that threatened to capsize our ship, we have instead made landfall in Cyrodiil. We will travel to Skyrim by foot, and will meet up with you there.
This runner's letter is intended to not only update you as to the situation, but also to provide you a means of communicating with us, and redirecting us elsewhere, if you've greater need of us in a place beyond the Embassy.
Hopefully, we will be crossing the Cyrodiil/Skyrim border by the time your reply is sent.
On a more personal level, I hope all is well with you. How are Runael and Vernanye? Were they at the Embassy when it was attacked? I hope to speak with all three of you before long.
Yours,
Vindicator Anasteria
Thellias knew he was right not to underestimate the priest and his four companions, but they still did a number on him despite him having his guard up. True, his ebony armor had protected him from any real injuries, but all they had to do was batter his armor so heavily with their swords and maces that they caused a ringing in the ears so intense, it overwhelmed him.
To his surprise, they hadn't taken his helm off and killed him as he suspected they would; the priest, Heimskr, had said that he had better things to do and places to be. They left him, defeated, at the Solitude docks.
They had underestimated him, however, by sparing him and leaving him with nothing more than a rapidly dulling headache.
"Sir!"
He winced a little as the word was shouted from the door. His hearing was still suffering a little from the ringing sounds of the armor, such that every sound was amplified to excrutiating degrees. He knew it would wear off with time, but for now it was a bother.
"Quiet down," he muttered. "What is it?"
"A runner is here for you, sir. He says he was sent by Vindicator Anasteria."
The name made his lips curl into a smile, and he rose slowly. "So we are receiving reinforcements after all."
"Yes sir, it would seem so. The courier insisted he deliver his letter to you directly, and that he was to bear a reply back to Vindicator Anasteria."
"Send them in." He walked toward the window and looked outside at the falling snow. He heard the door open, and heard two sets of footsteps enter the First Ambassador's - in short, his - office.
"Vindicator Thellias, I come from Cyrodiil bearing-"
"Cyrodiil?" he repeated, turning to face the runner with a questioning look.
"It's explained in the letter I bear, sir." The runner, obviously a mer, was wearing what looked like reinforced fur armor, took a few cautious steps toward the elder mer.
He met the runner halfway, took the letter, and began to read it. His lips twisted into a grin of triumph as he read it, and faltered toward the end - but for the most part, the grin held. "She is right to assume I've need of your force elsewhere. We have held the Embassy this long without any further harm; we will be fine without all of you here. In fact, I requested reinforcements so we can extend our reach throughout the province once more without spreading our numbers thin."
"Your request, sir?"
"How large is your force?"
"There were... including myself and Lady Anasteria, there were one hundred and twenty of us aboard the ship when we docked in Anvil."
"Hmm... not as many as I'd have liked, but I'll make it work." He thought for a moment; how best could he split up the reinforcements? Should he split them up to address several issues at once, or should he proceed with his initial plan? Would he still have time to follow through on...?
"You arrived by horse?" he asked the runner.
"Yes sir."
"Good." He strode to the desk, pulled out a blank roll of paper, a quill and an inkpot, and sat down. "Then here is the plan..."
"It's, ah... livelier than I remember," Adalla commented, eyes wide as she and Mia took in Whiterun.
"Aye. I ain't never seen it lookin' like this." The woman was holding Adima in her arms for a change, absentmindedly rubbing a finger behind its ear.
Although it didn't seem as though the number of citizens had changed much, there was far more activity on the whole than either woman clearly remembered. Adalla in particular didn't recall it looking quite so busy when she'd first arrived and then been sent away, both on orders.
"Oy, Adrianne!" Mia had called out to the blacksmith, much to Adalla's surprise; she had suspected Mia had been to the city, of course, but was she truly familiar with her?
"Mia? Divines, but it's been a while since I last saw you!" The blacksmith strode toward the woman and gave her a brief hug. "How are you?"
"Traveling," she replied with what Adalla presumed was a grin.
"With two new companions, I see." The blacksmith cast a look at Adalla, then at Mia's chest- no, not her chest, but most likely the saber kitten nestled in her arms.
"Mm. One, I trust me life with, the other's just a tagalong."
"You trust a kitten with your life," Adrianne joked.
Even though it had been an indirect jab at Adalla, the mer couldn't help but smile at the joke.
"So what's happening? I ain't sure I've ever seen Whiterun looking like this before."
"Heimskr returned, along with four other men. They've rallied the city into an anti-Thalmor movement; all four of them spend most of their time in Dragonsreach, discussing the plan to strike the Embassy with... just about everyone who wants to fight. I've been hard at work, forging weapons for everyone who doesn't already have one; Eorlund is busy as well, trying to help lighten the workload I face."
Mia looked over her shoulder at Adalla, a smile at her lips. "Hear that? Seems we was in the right t'come here first. This here's gotta be some sorta fate, aye?"
"It is, yes." Adalla couldn't believe her ears. They'd arrived, expecting to get maybe three or four interested people to join them...
But practically the entire population of Whiterun? With those numbers, assaulting the Embassy didn't seem so ridiculous. Would they even be needed, at that rate? They didn't have much of a plan themselves, but Whiterun was undeniably keeping busy in their plans... and more than that, it seemed as if they were most certainly going to act on them.
"So who's your friend, Mia?" Adrianne turned her attention to Adalla. "A high elf, I can see..." Her voice trailed as recognition slowly dawned on her. "You... but you're with the Thal-"
"No she ain't," Mia interrupted. "Not no more. Things happened, I saved her life, she decided she weren't gonna report t'her superiors, and... well, yes. As I said, I trust her with me life, Adrianne. Don't go off lumpin' her with the rest of them Thalmor bastards; she's different."
"I... if you say so." The blacksmith didn't sound convinced. "Still, I think you two should leave, just to be safe."
"What?! Why?!" Mia growled.
"I agree, Mia." Adalla had finally decided to speak up. "If Whiterun is moving in a very anti-Thalmor manner, they will act very hostile toward me - because last they knew, I was Thalmor; I'm pretty sure word hasn't spread yet that I no longer am, though. Besides... if Whiterun's planning an attack on the Embassy, and Heimskr and his comrades broke out of a prison in Alinor and made it back here, I actually think we're unnecessary here." She smiled wistfully. "We'll just be getting in the way, in the end."
"As the elf says," Adrianne replied. "It's not with disrespect I say this, Mia, it's with concern for the safety of both of you."
Mia was clearly against the idea of leaving the matter of the Embassy entirely in Whiterun's hands, but ultimately relented. "Pah, fine. We'll head off t'Windhelm, then, and from there, Solstheim."
"Solstheim?" Adrianne repeated. "Whatever for?"
"We've... got business there," Adalla replied tentatively, not daring to emphasize; if she wanted to explain it, Mia would.
"Aye." Mia's word was final, and indicated quite clearly she didn't wish to speak of it further.
"You do realize Windhelm won't be quite so accepting of-"
"Aye, I know. Ain't my fault she won't get rid of that elven armor, though, even though it done failed her once already." Mia cast a judgmental look in Adalla's direction.
"Hmm... maybe I can help with that. I'll be charging you for it, of course, but I may have something that would work. Are you looking for protection, or mobility?"
"I... a mix of both, ideally, but if I can't have both, then mobility." Adalla was curious; what did one of Whiterun's blacksmiths have in mind?
"You came." Ulfric's tone was one of amusement and surprise in equal measures.
"You were expecting me not to? Execution without a trial hardly seems fair, Jarl Ulfric." Runael, dressed in her Arch-Mage robes, bowed to him respectfully. "Don't assume for a moment I haven't forgotten the little stunt you tried to pull the last time I visited. I'm only here because she's here; I'd have completely disregarded your letter otherwise."
"She has been quite... free with her words since she arrived," he replied in amusement. "So rest assured, I will not be trying to get information from you this time, beyond confirmation that what she says is true."
Although they were in the great hall, Ulfric was making his way toward the door on Runael's right, which presumably led to the prison. She didn't need to be prompted to follow him; she did so of her own volition.
Her mind was, once again, on the matter of what the Augur had warned her of. Who was the ally, the friend, the loved one and the enemy? What was her sister up to, now that Runael was away on business? Was Vernanye up to anything, for that matter? No; she decided that her sister was up to something. The Augur never gave warnings without some basis behind them.
How would she go about learning the truth, though?
"You are quiet," Ulfric said, making her jump.
"I'm lost in thought. Matters back at the College, and to some extent, matters of a more personal nature. A couple of them are one and the same, at that."
"Hmph. And here I thought you were planning some snappy retorts for me."
"I don't need to plan those, Jarl Ulfric." She smirked behind his back. "Those come naturally to me. You're not worth such planning."
To her surprise, he chuckled at the words.
The danger is not within. The Augur's truly final warning to her still hung in her mind. Despite his warning, and against her own better judgment, she had come to Windhelm anyway. She was wondering now if the danger was truly outside of Windhelm's walls, and not within; such a chuckle seemed to suggest to her that he had something planned for her... or was she overthinking things?
"Here we are," he said, pushing open the door to the prison itself. He guided her to the cell on the far right, where a familiar figure lay upon a simple bed of hay.
Gods, but she looks horrible... Runael thought, eyes wide. Elenwen was wearing nothing but ragged prisoner clothing; it was stained with blood in places. Her eyes went to Ulfric.
"I know what you may be thinking, but no - we did not torture her. She was already quite like this when she dared set foot in my city, clothing and all." He crossed his arms at her dubious expression. "I'd have sooner killed her than tortured her, Arch-Mage."
The term 'Arch-Mage' seemed to stir Elenwen, and she sat up slowly to regard Runael.
"Rune..." she whispered.
For a moment, the Arch-Mage was silent. She was trying to determine what exactly had happened to Elenwen since they'd last seen each other at the Nightgate Inn.
"You do know her, yes?" Ulfric asked.
"Huh? Oh... sorry, I'm trying to figure out..." Runael shook her head. "Yes, I know her. I don't know how much she's told you, but I can verify up to the events of the Nightgate Inn."
Ulfric quirked a brow at these words. "I'm afraid I don't know of what you speak. She has said nothing of the sort-"
"It was irrelevant to your questions," Elenwen murmured, shifting so that she was leaning against the wall of the cramped cell.
"Fair enough." He looked at Runael, then back at the former First Ambassador. "So tell me what I don't know yet."
Irileth had to admit, it was getting... noisy. She had to get away from the commotion in the main hall of the palace. To that end, she chose to step toward the kitchen, where she would help herself to one of the apples. There were enough guards present to keep the Jarl safe from anyone dumb enough to try and attack him... though considering the city was unified in purpose now, she didn't foresee that happening. It was one of the few times she was willing to let her guard down for even a brief while.
Of course, as she picked up a red apple and took a bite of it, she watched from afar, her eyes upon Jarl Balgruuf from her current location. She could never be too safe. At least she could hear herself think again.
"...mer..."
She froze for a moment. That wasn't coming from the hall, but rather, from...
"...unmer..."
She turned her gaze toward the stairs tucked in the back corner of the kitchen. Surely one of the servants wasn't daring to pull a prank of some sort on her? She would punish the fool so harshly for being so bold as to call her 'Dunmer' and not 'Housecarl', 'Irileth' or 'ma'am'. She took another bite of the apple, and strode toward the stairs to investigate and chastise the foolhardy servant.
Except... no one was in the servants' quarters.
"...here..."
There it was again. It sounded like it was from...
No. It couldn't be. She knew what was beyond the door she now faced. She pressed her ear against the door, listening intently.
"...come..."
It was on the other side. She shook her head, and contemplated leaving right away... but would she be able to get rid of the voice that seemed to echo in her mind now, rather than through the small halls?
She opened the door, and turned her attention to the old door behind which the Ebony Blade was sealed by Jarl Balgruuf and Farengar Secret-Fire.
"I was beginning to think you were going to ignore me," a woman's voice mused.
"I think I've had enough of speaking with disembodied voices," the Dunmer sighed. "Speak your piece, and leave me be."
"Come closer, Housecarl of Whiterun, and I shall."
She hesitated for a moment. Was it truly in her best interests-
"It's most certainly not in your best interests to ignore me," came the reply, as if her mind had been read.
With great reluctance, Irileth stepped closer to the old door. She stopped once she was within arm's reach of it. "What do you want with me?"
"Open the door. Behold what lies within. I shall tell you more when you have done so."
"The door is locked," Irileth responded, crossing her arms. "I know what lies beyond."
"You think you know both of those with certainty, but do you truly? How well have you been kept informed of all developments so far?"
She had to think about that for a moment. After a few moments - and more so because she wanted to hear what this disembodied voice had to say - she tried the door. She blinked in surprise when it opened effortlessly. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped - both in horror - when she saw what was in the room - or rather, what should have been in the room.
"Where-"
"I see you have not been kept informed." The door closed behind her, and even seemed to lock. She whirled around to try and open it, but found the room pitched into a very unnatural darkness. After a brief delay, she could sense a faint glow from the table upon which the Ebony Blade was supposed to lay. She turned to face it, and saw only the glowing outline of what she assumed was a statue she had faint familiarity with.
"Mephala," she said flatly.
"It is my artifact," the Daedric Prince of Deception mused. "Of course I'm going to take an interest in its well-being."
"So why me?"
"Because you're simple to manipulate. The Jarl realizes this; he knows you are fond of him, and that you would act on his behalf without a question. The steward realizes this, and plays the fool so as to trick you into doing things for him." Mephala's disembodied voice chuckled softly. "Even the Arch-Mage used deceit to bend your will to her own."
Irileth squeezed her hands into fists. She didn't appreciate the thought of being so easily manipulated by two of them, especially not because she respected them at the least.
"Of course, everyone can be deceived if it is done properly... even I." Mephala's voice sighed wearily. "And while I admire deception in all forms, I despise being deceived myself... especially when it comes to my Blade."
"What's your point, daedra?"
"There exists one who would make a perfect Champion for me... were it not for the fact that he acted of his own volition. He stole from me that which is not his; he blackmailed a fool to get my artifact effortlessly. He intended to sell it; he instead uses it. It was amusing enough at first, but now I am tired of it. He is not using it to its full potential, nor has he since he butchered some of his own."
"I'm not getting your Ebony Blade back, daedra," Irileth growled.
"I'm not asking you to. Instead, I am asking you to kill this pretender Champion, who dares to wield my Blade. Carve his heart out, and impale it upon the Ebony Blade. I will take over from there, and you will be troubled by neither my Blade nor I for... we'll say centuries. I will eventually return my artifact to Nirn; it is always so amusing to watch people fight over it."
"And why would I help you, exactly?"
"Aside from the fact that you are otherwise sealed in this room, and will die here unless I let you go? He threatens one you respect, if not like. Even now, he makes his way to the northeast; if he succeeds in his task, he will slip out of Skyrim, and take my Blade with him." The glowing outline of Mephala's statue flared a little in what Irileth presumed was contempt. "You will ensure he does no such thing, Dunmer. You will purge your realm of him."
Irileth hesitated. The only person she respected, but didn't particularly like, was Runael. Wasn't she back at the College, though?
"She is in danger even there, but no - she is not at the College of Winterhold. She is, instead, currently staying in the oldest city in the province. She is destined to stay a bit too long, and end up trapped within... and thus, she becomes a prime target for the pretender who has stolen my Blade."
"What do you mean, she'll end up trapped within?"
"Even now, your people plan an attack. What you are unaware of is their reinforcements. They will surround her, and put pressure upon the Jarl; when forced to choose between her or his city, he will choose the latter. In the chaos, the pretender will slip in and murder her in cold blood, then slip out while the chaos rages."
Irileth's eyes widened at the revelation. The Thalmor were getting reinforcements, and they'd surround Windhelm? But why would they do such a thing? Why would they go after Runael?
"You already know the answer to that. Treachery, while entertaining, is punishable by you foolish mortals."
"...Who is this 'pretender'?"
"You have met him once, at the gate to twilight. If you would save her life, you will meet him again, and do as I am asking of you. What better way is there to indebt the College to you than to save the life of its leader? What have you to lose from this?"
Irileth pondered the words. 'Gate to twilight'... and the thought of establishing an actual favor that the College couldn't ignore...
"I would have your answer, Dunmer. Will you do as I ask, or will you rot to death, locked forever in this chamber?"
"I love the options you're giving me," she said sarcastically.
"And that should do it," Adrianne said, opening the door that led to the rest of the Warmaiden's - in particular, the rest of the blacksmith's home.
Adalla stepped out into the open so that Mia could see her.
The mer was wearing a green leather top with an unfastened collar, although there was no disputing the fact that it could be drawn around her neck. Upon her legs were brown leather leggings, ending in dark brown leather boots. The entire ensemble was quite snug, and admittedly, very comfortable for Adalla to wear. It was finished with a green cloak that did wonders to hold heat, at least indoors; she wondered if it would work so well outdoors, though. She tugged the edges of the cloak with her hands, which were clad in dark brown leather gloves.
Mia simply stared at Adalla, eyes wide and mouth open in amazement. Adalla could feel her cheeks starting to burn; was her friend actually...?
"It... wow. Ya got another like it?" Mia asked, very reluctantly tearing her eyes from the newly dressed Adalla.
"No. I don't remember who sold this to me, but I bought it months and months ago from someone. He said he no longer needed it; it was damaged when I bought it, but I repaired it and cleaned it up."
"So it's a 'hand-me-down', in effect," Adalla said. She glanced at Adrianne.
"You thought it was brand new when you saw it," the blacksmith said with a grin.
"I..." The mer smiled sheepishly. "I still like it all the same."
"Aye, as do I. It looks comfortable, and like ya can actually move in it, t'boot. It don't look like it offers the best protection, but that don't mean squat if ya ain't gettin' hit in the first place."
"As Mia says," Adrianne nodded. "And when we consider the fact that you use a shield to block, I think this suits you better than that worn-out elven armor."
Adalla took a moment to look herself over once more, as she'd done a few times before now.
"How much we owe ya?"
"Oh, just take it," Adrianne said after a moment's pause. "For all the favors you've done for me, Mia, this is the least I can do to repay your generosity. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, be they man or mer."
Adalla shook her head. "No, I insist on paying."
"No ya don't. Ya ain't got money, Adalla; I do." Mia pulled out two coin purses; one was full, one was empty. She began to shift coins from the full one into the empty one, and when she felt it was enough, she handed the formerly empty one to Adrianne. "Take it. She'll drive me crazy if we don't pay for it."
Adrianne took the coin purse Mia offered her, and nodded slowly. "Fair enough, then. If you'd like, I can also provide you with weapons-"
"Nah, I think she'll be fine there; if she changes her mind, you know well as I do I can make new weapons."
"True."
"You're hurting her business, shooting her down like that," Adalla mused, grinning at Mia.
"Oh, hush. She ain't that torn up 'bout it, or else she wouldn't've offer t'just give what yer wearin' away."
"Also true." Adrianne chuckled quietly. "Well then, I'll let you two be on your way. Take care in Solstheim, Mia. Come back to m- us safely."
"Aye, I ain't got plans t'bite the dust just yet."
Adalla picked up the sleeping Adima from the countertop, and followed Mia out of Warmaiden's. "Thank you again, Adrianne. I'll find some way to make it-"
"Don't. It's been paid for, so there's no need." The Imperial smith's tone was firm, yet friendly nonetheless. "Just make sure you both survive Solstheim, that's all I ask."
At Runael's request, Elenwen was released from her cell and permitted to accompany Runael through Windhelm.
"She is not to leave the city, however," Ulfric had said. "From what I understand, there is still much she hasn't told me yet, and I will be damned if I let her go without hearing everything." He'd made it clear that Runael, in contrast, was free to leave whenever she desired.
Still, she insisted on staying behind, if only to make sure Elenwen wasn't mistreated by the one Jarl she considered to be a xenophobe. The way he seemed to disregard all but Nords irritated her to no end.
Even so, he'd permitted her to stay in the Palace of the Kings, in the western wing. True, she and Elenwen were basically sharing living quarters with the servants, but it was still somehow nicer than she imagined Candlehearth Hall would be.
While she'd sent Elenwen ahead to the room, she'd gone out to purchase some clothing that wasn't prisoner rags for the former First Ambassador to wear. She still had questions of her own for Elenwen, and wanted her to be as comfortable as possible when she asked them.
As she'd been shopping, she'd spotted a ring that was hauntingly familiar. It resembled the ring she'd recovered from the Bannered Mare... months ago, now. Had it truly been so long since she...? She smiled faintly at all that had transpired since then. Exactly how long ago had it been since she'd told her sister she'd defected? How long ago had she thought E was a typical Khajiit when he left that pouch of moon sugar among her belongings?
How long ago had it been since she'd delivered her letter to the Embassy, making it very clear what she was planning to do?
Even so, the ring... she still had it, of course, and had even taken to carrying it with her in one of the small pouches at her waist. As she regarded that ring for sale in the Stone District, she'd pulled her own ring out, and examined the diamond within its setting.
She'd not given a single thought to the proposal offered by its original owner, not since she'd departed Whiterun. Now that she'd found herself at Elenwen's side once more, would she ever?
She'd been thinking as of late, and wondered if Elenwen was the 'loved one'. If so, did that mean that Elenwen would ultimately betray Runael, despite meaning well in whatever actions she took? Would she be able to forgive Elenwen if such was the case? Would whoever the 'enemy' was deny her that chance by killing Elenwen, and save Runael's life that way?
She had to admit, the Augur had a way of messing with her mind, even now.
And now, back in the comfort of the Palace of the Kings, she found her mind wandering once more. She was starting to assume Elenwen was indeed the 'loved one' referenced by the Augur. What would she ultimately do? What form would that betrayal take? What would the aftermath of its resolution be?
She lay down on the bed, and closed her eyes. She paid no mind to Elenwen's voice as she called softly to Runael, preferring to pretend she was asleep. She didn't want to think too much right now; she wanted to rest her mind for a bit, and hopefully clear it enough to obtain answers.
A.N. - Third of four updates today! Lots I want to cover here...
First of all, Adalla's new armor is based on a mod I'm fond of. From Nexus Mods, the mod is theRoadstrokers Rogue Sorceress Outfit, utilizing maakb's Green Retexture variant. Green and brown as it is, it does look like something an elven ranger would wear - and that aside, my save file for Adalla has her wearing the armor, and it looks so damn amazing on her. I thought it a reasonable replacement for her elven armor that's, in my opinion, fairly ugly on anyone. Of course, I think most of the Light Armor in the vanilla game looks terrible; I don't wear Elven or Glass for that reason, and so either I compensate for my preference of Leather with shields/other defensive options, or go with the Scaled stuff you can make once you take the Advanced Smithing perk.
For this upcoming confrontation, I needed to get Irileth to Windhelm. That, in turn, leads to complications when it comes to her duties/sense of obligation. For me, Mephala was the obvious answer. I felt a little uncomfortable writing Mephala, but endured because it will be the only time I'm writing Mephala in this entire story. In the end, En'zhar did take the Ebony Blade himself - it wasn't given to him. Its creator may be amused, but possibly tired of it - as reflected in the exchange she has with Irileth. Does this mean En'zhar's going to die? I'm not spoiling anything. Believe what you wish.
I got wondering, back when I wrote the bit where Thellias was sailing to Solitude... just how long would the trip from Anvil to Skyrim be, all told? Wouldn't it be shorter than sailing all the way around the southwestern coast of Hammerfell, then the entire western/northern span of High Rock? A direct trip to Solitude would still be faster by boat, I would think, but to Skyrim in general, to the tune of 'south of Falkreath' or 'south of Riften'... maybe not so long. Then I got thinking about how things were going to resolve, and realized that it made a little more sense for them to march than it did to wait out a storm at sea. (As an aside, I just realized I did that twice, the 'storm at sea' bit.)
There's a little more to say, and this Author's Note is getting a touch long. I'll continue my prattle in the next one!
-Spiritslayer