Chapter 11
Kynesgrove was one of those little villages that epitomized "wide spot in the road." Aside from the mine and the inn, there wasn't much to the place. As Benor and Marcus approached the outskirts, however, a woman came charging down the hill toward them.
"No! Get back!" she cried. "A dragon! A dragon's attacking!"
Marcus looked around. He could see nothing.
"Attacking?" he asked. "Where?"
"Well, not attacking, exactly," the woman said nervously. "Flying around the old dragon mound, up there!" She turned and pointed further up the hill beyond the inn. "I don't know what it's doing," she declared, "but I'm not sticking around to find out!" She took off running down the road.
Marcus peered through the darkness and thought he saw someone running in the direction the woman had pointed; someone in leather armor with a pauldron on the left shoulder. It looked as though Delphine had arrived not much before them.
"Come on," he told Benor, and they took off at a run up the hill, past the Braidwood Inn and the Steamscorch Mine. As they drew closer to the top of the hill, where lay the dragon mound, they saw torches flung on the ground near the bodies of several men and women in Stormcloak armor. The torches cast puddles of light around the mound; the darkness hid most of the carnage.
Suddenly, the ground trembled under their feet, a whooshing noise of flapping, leathery wings rushed through the air, and a huge, dark shape, blacker than night blotted out part of the starlit sky.
The clouds which had obscured the lesser moon, Secunda, chose that moment to slide past, and the world below was bathed in a silvery light, gleaming off the ebony scales of the great dragon Alduin, hovering in the air over the mound.
"Divines protect us!" Benor gasped. Marcus sent up a prayer of his own, to the God he believed in, and to any others who might be listening. He wouldn't have blamed Benor for backing out right now, but to the Nord's credit, he stood his ground.
Marcus moved forward, Benor right behind him, to come up behind Delphine, crouching not far away.
"Don't do anything yet," Delphine warned. "Let's see what it does first."
"Sahloknir," the great black dragon rumbled. "Ziil gro dovah ulse!"
Marcus could literally see the percussion of the Shout Alduin aimed directly at the mound, which shook in response. Benor swore beneath his breath, but Marcus didn't catch what he said, because Alduin was speaking again.
"SLEN TIID VO!" Alduin boomed, and the ground erupted, throwing out chunks of dirt, rocks and debris in a wide scatter pattern around the mound as a skeletal form clawed its way out of the dusty grave. The hairs on the back of Marcus' neck were standing at full attention, and his skin crawled as muscles and tissues reformed over bones wreathed in flames, in a sort of reverse soul-taking.
"Alduin,thuri!" the newly-resurrected dragon said, "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"
And the great black dragon responded, "Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir."
This is SO not right! Marcus thought. I've GOT to stop this!
Standing, he summoned all the power he could muster and Shouted up at Alduin with everything that was in him.
"FUS RO DAH!" His Shout was so intense Marcus actually saw spots swimming in his line of vision, and he felt as out of breath as if he had just run a five-minute-mile.
The Thu'um was a direct hit, but flowed around the great black dragon harmlessly. Appalled, Marcus scrambled back, subconsciously noting that Benor and Delphine did the same.
The Dragon God of Destruction looked down at him, as if noticing an ant crawling on the ground for the first time. And when he spoke, there was a tone of cruel amusement in his words.
"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi." When Marcus didn't respond, the dragon gave a rumble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "You do not even know our tongue, do you?" he sneered down at the man below him. "Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!"
Marcus felt powerless, and rooted to the spot in fear. His Thu'um hadn't worked! It always worked before, why hadn't it here? And the overwhelming presence of the immortal creature hovering over him scared him more than he'd ever been scared since Helgen. There, he felt helpless and unable to defend himself. Here, he knew he'd learned skills, but what good would they do against a dragon that could brush off his Shouts as a man does a fly?
All the stories he'd read, all the movies he'd seen about dragons, had one common theme: a dragon's power to paralyze, to undermine one's confidence, to put fear into their prey. He was feeling all of that now. This was the creature that had ripped his wife away from him, in that place between his old world and this one. How could he possibly defeat a monster like that?
Alduin turned toward the other dragon, patiently waiting for his lord. "Sahloknir, krii daar joorre."
With that, the great black dragon flew off, confident his subordinate would be able to handle the puny mortals.
Marcus didn't know what "krii daar joorre" meant, but he was pretty sure it wasn't good.
The other dragon swiveled its head back to the humans arrayed in front of him and trumpeted.
"I am Sahloknir!" he cried. "Hear my Voice and despair!"
"Shout at it!" Benor yelled.
"I can't!" Marcus gasped, dodging to one side as Sahloknir snapped at him. "I'm all out of juice!"
"Then we have to do this the old-fashioned way," Benor called back. "Good! I was afraid I'd get bored!" The Orkish blade rang out and Benor charged in, moving to the dragon's right.
For several minutes the three mortals slashed at the dragon with vigor, and Marcus noted that as sharp as Uthgerd was, Benor's Orkish sword was having better effect. Delphine laid about her with her katana, causing grievous wounds that cut deep into the dragon's flanks. It seemed made for fighting dragons.
The dragon slammed his tail on the ground, causing minor quakes which made them stumble; he struck out with his wings to either side. Delphine found out quickly just how strong those wings were when she was knocked a good distance away, flat on her backside. To her credit, she did a kip-up and was on her feet again almost immediately.
Sahloknir, however, had no intention of staying grounded. "I see that mortals have become arrogant while I slept," he roared as he took to the air. "My Voice has been silent for too long!"
Marcus switched to his bow and saw Benor and Delphine do the same. Delphine's steel arrows only plinked off the dragon's tough scales, however. Benor ran over to him while the dragon wheeled in the sky.
"How many Dwarven arrows you got?" he asked breathlessly.
"Just a handful," Marcus said.
"Me too," Benor replied. "Here, take mine," he said, handing them over. "You're better with a bow than I am."
"What are you going to do?" Marcus asked.
"Wait for it to land!" his friend said, as if that was obvious. "Look out! He's coming back!"
They threw themselves apart, but Sahloknir's fire breath was strong and wide. It caught both of them, and Marcus felt his exposed skin sizzle.
"Gah!" he heard Benor cry out as the man rolled in the dirt to put the flames out.
"You okay?" he called.
"I'm fine," Benor shouted. "Just bring that son of a bitch down, alright?"
Ignoring the pain from his burns, Marcus brought the bow up and around to aim at the dragon, but Sahloknir's naturally dark hide made it difficult to see against the night sky; difficult, but not impossible, as the dragon passed in front of Secunda.
Letting the arrow fly ahead of his target, Marcus heard with satisfaction an angry roar as the dragon flew right into his shot.
"He's coming back for a strafing run!" Delphine warned, but Marcus was ready. He felt his Thu'um finally recharge, and figured this would be as good a time as any to test the Word he'd learned at Bonestrewn Crest.
With eyesight better than a human's, it was far easier for Sahloknir to see the pitiful joorre in the darkness than it was for them to see him. Still, the one his thuri Alduin had called Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, had successfully caused him pain with his arrow, and Sahloknir felt it was time to teach the foolish mortal a lesson. Hovering over the man, he drew in his breath to Shout, and was stunned when the pathetic fool hit him first!
"FO!"
A column of frost swept over him, chilling him to the bone. So, there was more to this Dragonborn than he anticipated. Good. It would be a worthy battle then.
"Your Voice is strong…for a mortal," he mocked the Dragonborn, "but it is no match for mine. YOL TOOR SHUL!"
Once more, fire spewed forth from the gaping maw, but this time Marcus was able to get out of the way. He shot three more arrows in quick succession before Sahloknir pulled himself back up into the air. Each one sank in up to the fletching, and Sahloknir roared in fury and agony. Marcus made a mental note to try and find more of these arrows soon.
"It's too strong in the air!" Delphine called. "We need to bring it down to the ground!"
"I'm working on it!" Marcus yelled back. "I'm open to suggestion!"
"When it comes back around, hit it with everything you've got!" the woman cried, as much for his benefit as for Benor's and her own.
For his part, Benor was trying very hard to continue targeting it with his steel arrows. He knew they weren't penetrating, but he hoped to annoy the creature enough to bring it within easy reach of his fancy new Orkish greatsword. He got more than he bargained for as the dragon dropped out of the sky practically on top of him. Scrambling back, he narrowly avoided the claws that tore up the ground around him, but he didn't avoid the teeth.
SNAP!
The mighty jaws closed around Benor, shaking him and flinging the Nord away like a ragdoll.
"BENOR!" Marcus cried. He saw Delphine rush over to where the man lay unmoving and pull out several potions from her pack. He wanted to see if his friend would be alright, but he had other, more pressing concerns…such as the massive head swinging around to face him.
"My lord Alduin requires your death, Dovahkiin," Sahloknir sneered. "I am honored to oblige him."
"FUS RO DAH!" Marcus roared, and was gratified to see Sahloknir stagger backward. Had he been a smaller opponent, Marcus felt, he might have gone flying across the mound. As it was, Sahloknir recovered too quickly for the Dragonborn's tastes and advanced again on his opponent who was once again "out of juice."
What happened next was pure instinct. To avoid those deadly jaws, Marcus leaped up onto Sahloknir's head and grabbed him with one hand by one of his protruding horns. It was the safest place away from those razor-sharp fangs. But now he had a problem: he couldn't wield Uthgerd one-handed. The sword was just too big. Flinging the bow aside and hanging on for dear life, he drew the katana at his side instead, stabbing down in fury again and again and again.
Akaviri steel, had he but known it, gave Marcus an edge over rock-hard dragon scales, slicing through them a hot knife through butter, and piercing vital arteries beneath.
Anguished, Sahloknir tried to shake the parasite off his head, but grimly Marcus held on, continuing to slash and stab, until finally, with a huge shudder, the great dragon settled to the dust once more. The soul flared out, and Marcus stood there, entranced until the last shreds of golden light faded and he leaped lightly down.
Benor sat up at that point, and asked groggily, "What did I miss?"
Laughing, and relieved his friend survived, Marcus came over and clapped him on the back.
"I—I can't believe it," Delphine murmured. "Gods above, you really are Dragonborn!"
"Yeah," Marcus said quietly, "I really am."
"I guess I owe you some answers, don't I?" she admitted. "Go ahead. Anything you want to know. Nothing held back."
"Let's start with just exactly who are you?" the Dragonborn demanded.
"I'm one of the last members of the Blades," Delphine said with pride. "A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them."
Marcus remembered the book he'd taken from her room, The Rise and Fall of the Blades. Sounds like her organization had fallen on hard times. "The Blades?" he asked. "Who are they?"
"Exactly," Delphine said bitterly. "Nobody even remembers our name these days. We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors."
"Septim, as in Tiber Septim?" Marcus asked, remembering what he'd read in Brief History of the Empire.
"The same," Delphine agreed. "Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years, we've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one. Until now."
Oh great, he thought. Another follower sworn to carry my burdens. He wondered what Lydia would think about this. Somehow he had the feeling, however, that Delphine would balk at him asking her to carry heavy dragon bones around. She'd probably tell him to go to – what was the equivalent of Hell, here? Oh yeah, Oblivion, that was it.
"So what do you know about the dragons coming back?" he asked now.
"Not a damn thing," she said helplessly. "I was just as surprised as you to see that big black dragon here."
"I've seen that dragon before," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "The one that got away."
"Really?" Delphine looked up eagerly. "Where?"
"It was the one that attacked Helgen, when I—Ulfric escaped from the Imperials."
Delphine apparently didn't notice his near slip, and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. He still didn't trust her, didn't believe she was telling him everything she knew. If she could keep secrets, so could he, starting with the fact that he already knew the dragon's name and that he was supposed to try and kill it. Well, he had tried, only it hadn't worked out so well. Clearly, he wasn't strong enough yet.
"Interesting," Delphine muttered. "Same dragon….damn it!" She heaved a sigh of frustration. "We're blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who's behind it all!"
"Does there have to be anyone behind it?" Marcus asked. "What if they're doing it on their own?"
Delphine blinked at him. "That's ridiculous," she dismissed. "Dragons aren't that smart."
Lady, you couldn't be more wrong, he thought. Fine, let her live in her dream world. That didn't mean he was going to be her lackey.
"So what's our next move?" Benor asked, eagerly. Marcus stared at his friend. He was swallowing this line of bull? He rolled his eyes.
"The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons," Delphine said, pacing back and forth. "The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."
Marcus snorted impatiently. "What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?" he demanded. The whole idea was ludicrous.
Delphine shrugged. "Nothing solid. Yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else."
"How do you figure that?" Marcus asked, barely able to keep disdain out of his voice.
"Look," she said, exasperatedly, "the Empire had captured Ulfric, so the War was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened; the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"
"Maybe they're just taking advantage of an unfortunate coincidence," Marcus argued.
"You can call it coincidence if you want," Delphine said in a hard voice. "I call it calculated planning."
Sighing, Marcus gave it up. The woman's streak of paranoia could pave a four-lane highway.
Benor looked as though he'd been turning it over in his mind. "So, we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons?" he asked.
"Yeah, got any ideas on how to manage that?" Marcus chimed in. He was proud of himself for not allowing a trace of sarcasm to leak through.
Delphine narrowed her eyes. "If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy…it's the center of their operations in Skyrim. The problem is that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia."
Not possible, Marcus' inner dragon snorted. For once he agreed.
"You're suggesting we create an international incident by breaking into the Thalmor Embassy?" Marcus queried.
"I'm not sure yet," Delphine muttered, still mulling things over in her mind. "I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together." She appeared not to have noticed that her Dragonborn had serious reservations about this proposed plan of action. "Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long."
She hefted her pack onto her shoulders and turned to go, throwing back over her shoulder, "Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse." And then she took off at a quick jog back down the trail.
"So now what?" Benor asked. "Do we head back to Riverwood?"
Marcus shook his head. "No," he replied. "I'm not letting Delphine ride roughshod over me. I've got other things I need to do. We'll head back to Whiterun first. Here, help me with these dragon bones and scales."
Benor rolled his eyes and groaned.
Marcus parted company with Benor when they returned to Whiterun, after taking all the dragon bones and scales off his heavily-burdened friend. He insisted on giving the Nord a pouch of coin to get him back to Morthal safely, but there was really much more than enough for a carriage ride. Part of the coins they earned by selling off excess weapons, armor and miscellaneous items was in it as well.
"I may need you again soon," he told Benor. "I don't want to find out you died in a skeever attack." He grinned to let his friend know he was only partly joking. The serious inference of the dangers of the road was not lost on Benor.
"I'll be careful," he said, clasping Marcus' hand. "You ever need my blade again, you just ask!"
The dragon bones and scales were lugged upstairs and stored carefully in his trunk. Marcus placed Uthgerd and the dai-katana In the rack by the front door. When he had carefully put away the items he intended to keep, Marcus was left with some enchanted jewelry and no idea how to identify what they did.
"Farengar could tell you," Lydia suggested.
So after giving Lucia a silver locket to keep just because he wanted to, Marcus took the rest up to Dragonsreach.
Farengar was only too happy to show him how to determine what enchantment lay on each piece of jewelry. Most of them were things he would never use anyway, like boosting magicka or schools of magic, but there were a few pieces he decided to hold onto. One, a gold and ruby amulet, gave him added resistance to fire.
Could have used that yesterday, he thought wryly.
Another item was a silver and amethyst ring which Farengar told him was meant for thieves.
"What?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean it was made for a thief?"
"Undoubtedly," the mage said. "This ring has a pickpocketing enchantment. It's worth rather a lot of money. Perhaps Belethor might have enough to compensate you for it, if you intend to sell it. I'm afraid I don't usually carry that much coinage on me."
"I'll have to think about it," Marcus said. "What about those fancy amulets there?" He pointed to two elaborately crafted necklaces he had found In two separate dragon hoards.
"Well, those are amulets dedicated to the Divines," Farengar told him. "That one with the double-headed axe is, of course, an Amulet to Talos. He's the hero-God of the Nords, and his worship is currently outlawed by the White-Gold Concordat which the Empire signed to end the Great War. It would be dangerous to wear it….openly." The sly smile on the wizard's face was not lost on Marcus.
"Any special powers about it?" Marcus asked, innocently slipping the necklace into his belt pouch.
"Funny you should ask that, Dragonborn," the mage dead-panned. "I've heard it said that it helps to enhance the Thu'um, though I don't know how true that is. Perhaps someone would be willing to undertake such research and report back with the results?"
"Someone might," Marcus grinned. "And the other one there?" He pointed to the gold and turquoise filigree pendant.
"Ah, that is an Amulet of Mara, goddess of love," Farengar said. "It's supposed to help boost the intensity of Restoration spells."
"Well, I probably won't be needing that one, then," Marcus said.
An odd look crossed the wizard's face that the Dragonborn completely missed. "You know, it never hurts to have the blessing of a Divine on your side," he said lightly. "And these Amulets are not easy to come by."
Marcus considered that. "You might be right," he said finally. "I'll just hang onto it for a while, then."
Several bits of jewelry exchanged hands, then, along with quite a few septims, and Marcus thanked Farengar for his time and knowledge and left the mage's quarters.
"Watch where you're going, fool!" a young voice piped up, and he stopped short before plowing into Nelkir.
It was on the tip of Marcus' tongue to say something before remembering this was the Jarl's son. Even so, the boy badly needed a lesson in manners. Giving the child an exaggerated bow of apology, to which Nelkir only sneered, Marcus spotted Jarl Balgruuf across the room, seated at the long table eating his midday meal.
Time for that little talk, Marcus thought, and squaring his shoulders, he walked over to the Jarl and bowed.
"My lord, am I interrupting?"
"Not at all, Dragonborn!" Jarl Balgruuf smiled. "I'm delighted to see you! Sit down, please, and join me! Have you eaten?"
"Not since early this morning, my Jarl," Marcus said, seating himself. "Thank you." He helped himself to bread, meat, potatoes and carrots – his favorite vegetable – and one of the maids brought over a glass of clear crystal filled with red wine.
"You've been busy in my Hold, I understand, Dragonborn," Jarl Balgruuf smiled. "I'm grateful. The people here have taken you into their hearts."
"I'm the one who's grateful, Jarl Balgruuf," Marcus said. "When I came here a few short months ago I had nothing. I didn't even really know who I was." Truer words were never spoken. "Your people have accepted me as one of them. I've found a home and a purpose, and now, even a family."
"Yes," the Jarl said. "Your daughter is a delightful child. Very quiet and…well-mannered." A slight frown creased the Jarl's brow, and Marcus knew this could be the opening he was looking for to broach a delicate subject.
"In fact," Balgruuf continued, "I'm amazed that someone as young as you has proven to be such a good father. Almost as if you were born to it."
"I have a confession to make, my Jarl," Marcus hesitated. "I had a family, before I came to Skyrim. I had a wife and three children."
"Truly?" Jarl Balgruuf's eyebrows shot straight up to the circlet he wore. "You seem very young to have so many children, Dragonborn. Did something…happen to them?"
"I'm older than I look, my Jarl," Marcus said. "And yes… they…they died. I'd rather not talk about it right now, if that's alright. It's still very painful for me." It was as close to the truth as he dared to get. To all intents and purposes, Lynne, Kelly and his other children and grandchildren were lost to him. He would never have that again. He had Lucia now, though, and it helped with the pain somewhat. He would always love the family he lost; he was grateful for the family he'd gained.
"I understand, Dragonborn," Balgruuf said, sympathetically. "No wonder you took in the little beggar girl and made her your daughter. The fatherly instinct in you is strong." He sighed. "Stronger than in me, apparently," he confessed.
"Is there some trouble I can help with, my Jarl?" Marcus asked, as innocently as he could.
Balgruuf sighed again. "It's my youngest son, Nelkir," he said quietly, for Marcus' ears only. "He's a dark child. I don't know what to do with him. He was always a quiet lad, but lately…something has changed."
"Changed?" asked the Dragonborn. "In what way?"
"He's become more brooding," Balgruuf admitted. "Violent. He won't say a word to me, but I swear, I don't know how I upset him. If you could speak to him; draw out the truth. I would be immensely grateful."
"I can try, my Jarl," Marcus promised.
After luncheon, Marcus sought out Nelkir and found him upstairs, lurking around the expansive porch area where Hrongar and Proventus always took their meals. The boy appeared to be eavesdropping on the two courtiers' conversation.
"Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, you know," he remarked, slipping up behind Nelkir and startling the child.
To cover his alarm, Nelkir resorted to insults.
"I could have my father flog you for that, you swine!"
Marcus refused to be buffaloed. "I doubt it," he said laconically. "From what I hear, you don't even talk to your father anymore."
"So the disgusting pig sent you to bother me, did he?" the boy snarled. "One day I'll tear his face apart so he can leave me alone!"
"That's not a nice way to talk about the man who's responsible for bringing you into this world," Marcus said evenly.
"My father doesn't know anything about me," Nelkir snorted. A sly look crept over his face. "But I know about him. And about the war. More than he might think."
Okay, so this is getting interesting, Marcus thought to himself. This isn't just childhood rebellion talking. Someone's gotten to this kid.
He knew all about rebellious children. His son had been a terror growing up until a psychiatrist had diagnosed a chemical imbalance that affected the behavioral centers of his son's brain. Proper medication had calmed him enough to cope with everyday life. Such was not the case here, Marcus could tell. David's problems had manifested early in his life. Nelkir's seemed to have come upon him suddenly.
"Tell me what you think you know," Marcus prompted. "I'm the Dragonborn, you know, maybe I can help." Might as well play that card. It couldn't hurt.
Nelkir gave a short, ugly laugh. "I know he still worships Talos," he proclaimed.
Okay, that could be a problem if the Thalmor found out about it. Nelkir might even be the one to divulge that tidbit.
"Go on," Marcus encouraged. "What else?"
"I know that he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do."
Not really a big surprise there, except that Balgruuf's supposed to be neutral in the war so far.
"Anything else?" he asked, feigning boredom.
"He's afraid he'll get chased out of Whiterun," Nelkir declared, as though trying to impress Marcus now.
Which could very well happen if a certain snot-nosed kid doesn't keep his mouth shut, Marcus' inner dragon rumbled. He liked Balgruuf, and didn't want to see him deposed.
"Those are all very interesting, but—"
"That's not all!" Nelkir said, desperately. "I know that he…that I'm…that I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister." This last was said hesitantly, as if the boy was embarrassed by his illegitimacy.
Balgruuf, you sly dog, you.
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "Just how did you find out all these so-called 'secrets' of yours?"
Nelkir's confidence was back. "This castle is old," he said. "Real old. There's lots of places nobody's been in for a long time. Places where you can overhear things; see things." He gave a knowing nod. "And the Whispering Lady," he finished in a hushed voice.
Ding.
"Whispering Lady?" Marcus asked, still maintaining his façade of boredom.
The boy shrugged. "She won't tell me her name. I've gotten good at listening to keyholes. At the door in the basement, I hear her talking to me. I thought I was caught, at first, but she started telling me even more secrets." His face fell. "But I can't open the door."
"Any particular door in the basement?" Marcus asked, but Nelkir seemed to realize he might already have said too much. He closed up.
"In the basement," he insisted. "Trust me, you'll see it. I bet she'll talk to you."
Marcus left the boy to his sneaking and returned to the main hall. Balgruuf was holding court, hearing the reports of the day and listening to any grievances the people of his Hold might have. Marcus didn't want to disturb the proceedings, so he circled around the hall and made his way down the stairs to the lower levels.
It took some time, but he knew the door to which Nelkir referred when he found it. The iron-bound wood was splattered with blood. Several bales of hay had been piled up in front of it, but a few had been pulled down. Probably by Nelkir, he mused, as the boy tried to get the door open. He tested the handle, but it was firmly locked.
"Who is this at my door?" a sibilant female Voice whispered.
Oh crap, not again.
"Who are you?" he asked. Answer a question with a question. Good one, Marcus.
"I am Mephala," the Voice said. "Daedric Prince of Secrets. I have been seeking a Champion to unlock the source of my power hidden behind this door. The child has been an amusing instrument, but his powers are limited. You, however—" Here the Voice practically crooned. "You would be a worthy bearer of my Ebony Blade."
"Ebony Blade?" Marcus perked up his ears. He'd heard of weapons and armor made of ebony, of course. Benor spoke at great length about the superiority of anything made with the material. But he was no fool. He'd already picked up one thing belonging to a Daedric Prince, and didn't feel right about leaving it lying around for anyone to mess with. He'd kept it with him, as cumbersome as it was.
"You haven't returned my Beacon yet," the other Voice in his mind reminded him.
"I'll get around to it," he muttered. "Keep your shirt on!"
Mephala chuckled in amusement. "You are already touched by one Daedra, I see. What's one more? Come, open my door and receive my Blade of Power."
"Maybe," Marcus prevaricated. "Depends on what it does."
There was a hint of irritation in the Voice that replied, "It will draw out the life-force of your enemy when you strike them down. Surely such a Blade would be of much greater use in your hands, rather than locked away here."
If it sounds too good to be true… There had to be a catch somewhere, and Marcus was certain Mephala would omit that rather significant detail unless and until he opened the door. Deciding to play along for now, he asked, "Door's locked, in case you hadn't noticed, and I'm not that great with picks."
"Talk to the boy," the Daedra purred, certain she'd gotten her way. "He knows where lies the key."
The presence vanished, and Marcus considered his options. That this Blade of Mephala's was a powerful artifact was evidenced by the fact it had been hidden away here under Dragonsreach, and locked away behind an unpickable lock. He was certain the Daedra's influence was what was causing Nelkir's attitude problem. If the sword was removed, the boy – and his brother and sister as well, perhaps – might just return to an innocent childhood.
The problem, he saw, was what to do with the sword afterward. No way did he want something like that anywhere near Lucia and Lydia. He could talk to Balgruuf about it, but just the fact that it had been sequestered here probably meant that no one was supposed to know about it.
Well, first things first. He should talk to the boy again and see if he knew about a key. If he could get the sword away from here now, he could figure out a safe place to stash it later. Not the best plan, but Nelkir and his siblings needed to come out from under the influence of Mephala just as soon as humanly possible.
Nelkir did indeed know about the key. There were, in fact, two of them.
"My father has one on him all the time," Nelkir said. "I've never been able to get it off him, and now I don't even want to go near that filthy pig."
"And the other?" Marcus said, clenching his fists to keep from backhanding the boy for his disrespect. Daedric influence, remember? He doesn't really know what he's saying.
"That poor excuse for a court mage has it," Nelkir sneered. "You can probably just kill him and pick it off his body. I doubt anyone would even miss that jerk."
"I'll take that under consideration," Marcus said blandly. "You've been very helpful. Thank you." He made a mock bow from the waist, whose sarcasm was lost on the boy and left Dragonsreach, returning to Breezehome to think things over. He'd picked up several books in his travels, so far, and there was one in particular he wanted to scan through before he decided which course of action to take.
He found Lucia sitting at the dining table when he returned, looking miserable.
"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" he frowned, coming over to hug her.
Lucia sniffled. It was obvious she'd been crying, since there were tear-tracks down her cheeks.
"Braith is a big meanie," she pouted. "She keeps telling Lars and me what to do. I don't want to play with her anymore!"
Oh boy, he thought. Nothing worse than playground politics. Especially at this age.
"Then don't," Marcus told his daughter gently. "You don't have to play with anyone who tries to push you around."
Lucia looked up at him, and he could see her large brown eyes were filling with tears again. "But she says she'll beat me up if I don't!"
Okay, that crossed the line.
"She's not going to beat you up," Marcus assured her, "because I'll make sure she doesn't."
"How?"
"I'll talk to Amren. He'll talk to Braith and set her straight."
"No, Papa, NO!" Lucia howled, throwing her arms around his neck.
Startled, Marcus put his arms around her and shifted so he was sitting on the bench with Lucia on his lap. He waited for her to calm down before asking gently, "Why don't you want me to talk to Braith's papa, little one?"
"Because Braith said if you did, she'd beat you up, Papa!" Lucia sobbed. "I don't want her to hurt you! I love you!"
Marcus wasn't sure whether to laugh or choke up. The very idea of the ten-year-old Redguard girl beating on him was laughable. But he knew it was a very real fear for Lucia. And for the first time, she had said those three little words out loud. He knew then that she had accepted him completely as her very own papa. He hugged her tight.
"Listen, sweetheart," he said finally, "you know that I can fight and kill a dragon, right?"
Sniffling again, Lucia nodded.
"And you know that a dragon is bigger than Braith, right?"
Again, his daughter nodded.
"And, let's see, Braith doesn't know how to use a sword, or wear armor, and I do, so—"
"But she's bigger 'n me, Papa! I'm afraid of her!"
Ah, now we come down to the nugget.
"Well, then, the best way to overcome your fear is to face it," he advised her.
"But I'm afraid she'll hurt me," Lucia said.
"She can't hurt you if she can't touch you," Marcus smiled.
"Huh?"
He stood then, and placed her gently on the floor. "Come on outside with me," he said, taking her by the hand.
For the rest of the afternoon, until Lydia called them in to supper, Marcus began teaching Lucia the basics of tae kwon do, guiding her through the exercises that would help her avoid a physical confrontation with the town bully.
Farengar was right, he thought proudly. Lucia is a fast learner!
"That was fun, Papa!" Lucia bubbled over the evening meal. "Can we do it again tomorrow?"
"Of course!" he smiled. "And on the days I can't be here, you keep practicing what I've taught you so it becomes second nature to you."
Lucia's brow furrowed a bit. "But what if Braith starts acting mean again tomorrow?"
Marcus shrugged. "Sometimes you just have to bide your time and play along, even when you don't want to, until the time is right to stand up for yourself."
"Like you're doing, Papa?" she asked. "I mean, Lars told me that you have to kill a big, bad dragon, but you haven't done it yet because you're getting yourself stronger."
Her insight stunned him. Out of the mouths of babes, he thought. "Yes, sweetheart," he said pensively. "It's exactly like that."
Wrong, he thought. This is so wrong! Why am I doing this?
He was crouched in a corner of Farengar's private bedroom, just off his study, listening to the man snore, trying to screw up his courage enough to steal a key from the wizard's pocket.
Because you've got an over-active Boy Scout gland, he answered himself.
He had brought a small sackful of jewelry and filled soul gems up to Dragonsreach just about the time Farengar was retiring to bed.
"Well, I suppose there's no harm in you using the enchanting table, Dragonborn," the mage had said, yawning. "But if you don't mind, I'm heading to bed."
So for the next hour or so, Marcus had worked on enchanting the rings and necklaces with the few enchantments he'd bothered to learn, waiting for the man in the next room to fall deeply asleep. The up-side of that was that he felt more confident about creating magically enhanced items. The down-side was that he had to sneak into Farengar's bedroom, where he was now, without either alerting the guards or waking up the man in the bed.
Carefully, he slipped on the ring which the wizard had told him had a pickpocket enchantment on it. Farengar always carried his keys in his right-hand pocket; it was something Marcus took note of earlier in the day when he asked to purchase a grand soul gem Farengar always kept locked away in a drawer in his desk.
It was just sheer good fortune that he was currently sleeping on his left side.
I suppose I should be grateful he sleeps in his clothes, Marcus thought with a shudder. A naked Farengar was not an image he wanted burned onto his brain.
Here we go.
One. Two. Three…and out. Marcus slipped his hand into the pocket and retrieved the solitary key not attached to the rest of the key ring. It was large, old and looked to be covered in blood or rust. He was sure it was the former.
As quietly as he could, he retreated from the room and closed the door. So far, so good. Now he had to get the sword out without anyone suspecting anything.
Irileth stood at the top of the hall at her post by Jarl Balgruuf's throne. Didn't that woman ever sleep? He nodded to her briefly, since it was impossible to get past her without her seeing him, and made his way to the kitchen area. From there it was a matter of sneaking past the servants to get to the door.
The book he'd read earlier in the evening confirmed what he'd feared. Mephala hadn't told him everything. Daedric Prince of Secrets she may have been, indeed, but The Book of Daedra also said she was known as the Webspinner and Spider. Her spheres of influence extended to lies, sex, murder and treachery, especially where it concerned those who trusted you.
Armed with that ammunition, Marcus knew it was more important than ever to get the Ebony Blade out of Dragonsreach, as far away from the Jarl's children as possible. He only hoped they would return to what was normal for them once the sword was gone. Lydia had mentioned they used to be well-behaved. It was clear to him that the sword's influence had disrupted that.
He had also finally taken the time to read through parts of The Book of the Dragonborn, which Tamsyn had given to him all those months ago in Helgen. One passage in particular caught his eye.
"Very few realize that being Dragonborn is not a simple matter of heredity – being the blessing of Akatosh Himself, it is beyond our understanding exactly how and why it is bestowed."
Akatosh, Lydia had told him, was Chief of the Nine Divines ("Um, I mean Eight, my Thane") that presided over the realm of Nirn, the world in which he now lived. He was often depicted as a dragon, oddly enough, and known as the Dragon God of Time. And in a supreme stroke of irony, Alduin, the World-Eater, was said to be his first-born.
So, he was the Dragonborn, blessed by Akatosh, so the tales went. It stood to reason, then, that Akatosh Himself was somehow responsible for pulling Marcus from his own world into this one. If Tamsyn was correct, and he and Lynne had died in a car crash, then his soul had been brought here and placed in this body to become the Last Dragonborn.
But he still didn't understand how any of this could even exist, when it had all been just a game in his world.
The blood-smeared door stood in front of him. He pulled several more bales of hay away from it so he could get it open and unlocked it.
"My Champion!" the Voice of Mephala purred. "Come and claim your reward! Wield it in my name, and we shall make glorious history together!"
A piece of parchment lay next to a tachi-length katana sitting in a lacquered wooden stand, a kake. Marcus picked up the piece of paper.
"Pay no attention to the mewlings of foolish mortals," Mephala insisted. "They fear what they do not understand."
Pay no attention to that man behind the screen, Marcus thought sardonically. Something here you don't want me to know? He was supremely glad Mephala couldn't read his thoughts.
"She will once you claim the sword," the other female Voice in his mind warned him. "As long as you have it with you."
Noted, he thought. And thanks for the warning.
He picked up the parchment and read it:
"Admonition Against Ebony
"To anyone reading this: BEWARE THIS BLADE.
"It is hoped that the only people having access to this room should be the Jarl of Whiterun and his trusted wizard. If anyone else is reading this, please understand the magnitude of your folly, turn around, and never even speak of this room or this blade to anyone.
"It has corrupted and perverted the desires of great men and women. Yet its power is without equal – to kill while your victim smiles at you. Only a daedra most foul could have concocted such a malevolent and twisted weapon. But it appears that all who wield it end up with the crazed eyes of those wild men who roam the hills chattering with rabbits.
"It is not to be trifled with. Not even the hottest fires of the Skyforge could melt it; indeed the coals themselves seemed to cool when it was placed within. We cannot destroy it, and we would not have it fall into the hands of our enemies. So we keep it, hidden, dark and deep within Dragonsreach, never to be used. Woe be to any who choose to take it."
Well, that was pretty plain enough, Marcus thought. Colorful, but plain. If he took the Blade, he could save the Jarl's children – and possibly the Jarl himself – but he would endanger his own family. The Skyforge couldn't melt it. He wasn't strong enough to defeat Alduin yet, let alone go up against a Daedric Prince.
Strength is measured in more than muscle, his inner dragon said.
True. There was strength of character, and while Marcus knew he had failings, love for his family and loyalty to his friends were two of his greatest strengths. Exactly the sort of things Mephala's blade would take from him, if he were a lesser man.
Are you a lesser man? his dragon mocked him.
Scowling, Marcus let the note drop back onto the table.
"No," he said firmly. "I'm not. I'm the Dragonborn."
He took the Ebony Blade.
[Author's Note: Whew! This was a long chapter, but there was a lot to put in here! I'm sure you've noticed by now that Marcus doesn't have a very high opinion of Delphine. He is a Dragonborn who will not be afraid to speak his mind, and will not just unquestioningly accept what she tells him as gospel.
And the Whispering Door quest, while one I've only done once in a play-through, was just begging to be inserted here. I took great liberties with the dialog here to make it a bit more realistic. I was disappointed with the game play, since you jump through hoops to get the sword and then…nothing. No repercussions, no side-effects; everyone goes on like nothing's happened, when this was supposed to be a sword from Hell. So I re-wrote it to fit my story. Sorry, Bethesda.]