Chapter 22
Except for Windhelm, Marcus had never been further north in Skyrim than Solitude. The difference between the two cities couldn't be more marked. Solitude was clean and well-kept. Windhelm looked ancient and crumbling. The people of Solitude seemed to be more cheerful, going on about their daily lives. By contrast, the people of Windhelm seemed dour and moody.
Solitude also seemed to have better weather, perhaps because of the relatively warmer waters which emptied into the Sea of Ghosts from the Karth River delta. Windhelm was bleak, frigid and blustery. It always seemed to be snowing here. It amazed him how Sofie could have endured it for as long as she had, though she had insisted it "wasn't that bad."
Perhaps not for you, little one, Marcus thought with some amusement, but your Papa is feeling it in his bones.
Even Argis didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the perpetual cold of Skyrim. "I'm half Nord," he said, "so I guess I inherited something good from my Da."
"And from your mother?" Marcus couldn't help asking.
"My devastating good looks," Argis grinned. "Nah, just kidding. The scar puts most people off. My Ma was really smart; liked to read a lot. She used to tell me all kinds of stories growing up. She knew a little magic, too. Tried to teach me, but I could never get the hang of it. Da used to tease her; tell her as long as I could swing a sword, I didn't need magic."
"Are they still around?" Marcus asked.
"Been married over forty years," Argis said, smiling. "Still in love, too. I hope I find that kind of love someday."
"Don't we all?" Marcus replied, with a twinge of sadness. He'd had it once. Lynne was the love of his life. They'd met in college and never looked back. With a start, he realized that he and Lynne would have been about the same age as Argis' parents. Argis was about the same age as his eldest daughter, Andrea. He'd become accustomed to his new life, in this new body. He no longer thought of himself as a fifty-plus technician in an internet technology company in Des Moines. Without realizing it, he had finally accepted that he was a twenty something Imperial by the name of Marcus, called 'Dragonborn'.
It's about time.
"Alright, so I'm a bit slow on the uptake," he muttered.
"Did you say something, Thane?" Argis asked.
Marcus smiled. "Only to myself. It's still early yet. Let's take a comfort break and have Alfarinn take us the rest of the way to Winterhold this afternoon."
"Sounds like a plan to me, Thane," Argis grinned.
The "comfort" break lasted an hour while they waited for Alfarinn made his preparations, then it was bundle up under the traveling furs as they crawled their way north. There was a little trouble around Fort Kastav, several miles north of Windhelm, when necromancers decided their section of the road should become a toll way. Alfarinn was all for going around and taking the extra time, but Marcus and Argis persuaded him to wait and made short work of the luckless mages and their skeletal companions. With only a little delay, they were soon on their way again, and Alfarinn promised to report the incident to Jarl Ulfric upon his return to Windhelm. Privately, Marcus didn't hold out much hope that Ulfric would send any of his troops there to reinforce and hold the fort.
The winds only seemed to blow harder off the glaciers and the Sea of Ghosts the further north they went. Alfarinn admitted he didn't get many travelers requesting to go to Winterhold, and that was fine by him.
"Nords don't think highly of magic," he told them, "and there's nothing in Winterhold but mages, anyway."
"There's a Jarl, isn't there?" Marcus asked.
"Aye, Korir's Jarl in Winterhold, poor man. Since the Collapse, there's not much left of his city."
"Collapse?" Marcus asked. "What happened?"
"Whole city fell into the ocean," Alfarinn told him. "'Cept the College, of course, damned mages. They managed to keep that from tumbling down, but they didn't make any effort to save the town itself."
"What happened to make it collapse, though?" Marcus pressed. "Was it an earthquake? Unstable ground?"
"I don't know," Alfarinn admitted. "It happened in my GranDa's time. But I bet the mages had something to do with it."
Marcus looked at Argis, who shrugged. "I knew there wasn't much to Winterhold, and I heard stories of the Collapse," he said, "but I never knew what caused it. I live in Markarth, remember?"
Marcus filed this away for later consideration. Far to the east, across the sloping fields of snow, he could almost make out a darker gray shape against the snow.
"What's that over there?" he asked Alfarinn, pointing. The driver squinted through the gathering gloom of approaching evening.
"That'd be Snow Veil Sanctum," he replied. "Just another one of the t'ousands of barrows that dot Skyrim's landscape. I'd stay away from there, if I was you. No good can come of poking around where the dead are s'posed to be sleeping. It means we're halfway to Winterhold, though. Gee up, there, Nestor!" he called, shaking the reins, and the horse dutifully picked up the pace for another mile before slowing down again.
Eventually they pulled into Winterhold, but all was not well. Something whizzed past Nestor's head, spooking the horse and making him rear.
"What in the name of Shor was that?" Alfarinn swore, desperately trying to keep the horse from bolting.
It was an iridescent pale blue, limned with black, and looked like a miniature comet, writhing and gyrating back and forth. It was so bright it almost hurt the eyes to look at it, and Marcus and his Housecarl leaped off the wagon, swords drawn.
"I'm getting out of here!" Alfarinn cried. "You two are on your own! Good luck!" As quickly as he could, the carriage driver turned around and whipped Nestor into putting Winterhold behind him as fast as possible. Nestor was only too willing to oblige.
"What's going on, Thane?" Argis called, ducking another of the energy balls.
"I don't know," Marcus admitted, "but let's get in there and find out!"
That was far easier said than done, as the energy balls seemed to have a sort of sentience of their own. They crackled and chittered, and began to swoop in to touch the two men.
"Gah!" Argis yelped when one of the things hit him, delivering a shock like an electrical jolt. "Why you little….I'll tear you to pieces!" He swiped at it with his sword, but it dodged out of the way. In the next moment, it seemed the first one must have called for reinforcements, because Argis was suddenly being ganged up on.
"Argis!" Marcus cried, swinging his own sword. Together they managed to destroy one, which finally collapsed to the ground, leaving a soul gem in a puddle of goo. The other two flew off, down the street, looking for easier pickings, presumably, because the two men heard cries of dismay and shouting, and the sounds of spells being cast.
"Come on," Marcus told Argis. "We can't let those things hurt the people here."
"I'm with you, Thane," Argis replied, scooping up the soul gem and handing it off to his Thane before they hurried down the street.
If fighting three of the creatures was bad, the scene that met their eyes was like something out of a nightmare. The two which had escaped them had joined what looked like a mob of the energy blobs, attacking several people near a general goods store. An Altmer mage stood back to back with a balding Breton in brown robes. Near a ramp that led out across a chasm, several guards were attempting to hold back more of the creatures, and by a ruined house, a Breton girl with long red hair was targeting the blobs with firebolt spells.
There was something so familiar about her, that Marcus felt his pulse quicken, just as she turned to track one of the creatures as it flew past.
Tamsyn! his inner dragon practically sang.
Her firebolt caught the blob squarely in the middle, and it dissolved into goo on the ground. She hurried over and picked out another soul gem, then looked up to see two more people running up to assist.
"Tamsyn!" Marcus exclaimed. He didn't know whether to be delighted or furious with her. "Where the hell have you been?" It was a stupid question, and he knew it as soon as it came out of his mouth. Obviously, she'd been here at Winterhold, and from the look of the green robes she wore and the magic shooting out of her hands, she'd been studying.
"Nice to see you, too, Dragonborn," she drawled, quirking her mouth in a grin. "Did you come to help, or is this a social call?"
He opened his mouth to protest, but she forestalled him. "I know why you're here," she said. "But can it wait? We've got other…problems at the moment. Hello, Argis!" she smiled brightly at the Housecarl, who stood there flummoxed. How had she known his name? They hadn't even been introduced!
"Is that all you've got to say?" Marcus demanded, irritated, ducking another energy blob and slashing at it as it passed. "I've been worried sick about you!"
"I know, and I'm sorry," she said, breathing hard, targeting another of the creatures. "But can we discuss this later? You know, after we're done here?"
"That had better be a promise," he growled, then he threw himself into trying to eliminate the shimmering blobs determined to take him out one bite at a time. Between the city guard, the mages and the two warriors, it was nearly a quarter of an hour before they finally destroyed the last of the creatures.
"What were those things?" Argis asked, wiping goo off his blade before sheathing it. It was new, a gift from his Thane, made of Nordic carved steel to match the armor he was wearing, and he liked how it felt in his hand.
"They're magical anomalies," Tamsyn explained. "A by-product of wild magic."
"How did they come to exist?" Marcus asked.
Tamsyn looked extremely unhappy. In fact, now that he had a chance to look at her closely, he could see she'd been crying, and recently.
"I'll explain as we go," she said somberly. "I need to make sure Faralda and Arniel have things covered here."
The Altmer and Breton mages assured Tamsyn they would be able to handle it if any more anomalies cropped up.
"Get back to the college," Faralda said. "Find Mirabelle. With Savos…gone…she'll be in charge. We need to stop this before it gets worse!"
"Thank you, Faralda," Tamsyn gulped. "Come on," she threw at Marcus and Argis, and led the way up the ramp to the causeway across the chasm, which led to the College of Winterhold, situated on its pinnacle of rock off the coast.
"So what's going on here, Tamsyn?" Marcus demanded.
"It's a long story," she said, "but the Reader's Digest Condensed version is that we found something very powerful in a ruin called Saarthal, and the Thalmor advisor, Ancano, has gone power mad. He's activated it, which caused an explosion, injuring our Master Wizard, Mirabelle Ervine and…and—"
She choked back a sob, and he could see tears rolling down her cheeks again.
"He killed our Arch-Mage, Savos Aren."
"You didn't see this coming?" Marcus inquired, severely. She whirled to face him, stopping on the bridge. Anger flashed in her eyes.
"Of course I saw it coming!" she hissed. "I knew the moment I walked into Tolfdir's class the first day I got here where this would all lead! I knew when he told us we were taking a field trip to Saarthal what we would find there. That's why I took the amulet off the wall! I couldn't let Onmund, or Brelyna, or – gods help us – J'Zargo take it!"
She slumped, shaking her head. "I thought I could change it, force a different outcome, but the Psijics were right. Once we breached the chamber where the Eye of Magnus was kept, we set a chain of events into motion, and this is that chain playing out. Even the Auger of Dunlain tried to warn me I couldn't stop what was happening."
Marcus didn't know half of what she referred to, but she seemed to collect herself and headed back over the bridge, cautioning them to "mind the loose stones" at one point where part of the causeway had fallen into the Sea of Ghosts below. Both men walked the path very gingerly at that point.
Once across, both warriors breathed a bit easier as they arrived at the outer Courtyard of the College. A small group was gathered around a body lying in the snow, and Marcus heard several people weeping. Tamsyn seemed to choke back another sob, but she took a deep breath and entered the large hall at the other end of the courtyard, beyond the central statue of a mage in the attitude of casting a spell.
"Master Mirabelle!" she called as they entered, but Marcus wasn't paying attention. His eyes were drawn to the huge ball of energy in the chamber beyond. As large as an elephant, it floated a few feet above the floor, pulsing and writhing with the same blue-black energy as the anomalies they'd fought down in the town. Some sort of barrier shimmered around both the orb and a Thalmor mage who was doing…something…to it, he couldn't make out what.
Tamsyn had found the Master Wizard, who assured her she was alright, for the moment.
"Is everything out there all right?" the Breton Master Wizard asked Tamsyn.
"I think so," the girl replied. "Some friends of mine happened to be in town and they helped us." She introduced Marcus and Argis, and finished, "Winterhold is safe for now."
"I wish I could say the same for us," Mirabelle Ervine sighed. "Tolfdir and I can try and keep this contained. You need to get your hands on the Staff of Magnus, now!"
Tamsyn seemed to shrink into herself. "Then….then I guess I'm off to Labyrinthian, then." She didn't look happy about this in the slightest.
"What?" Mirabelle exclaimed, startled. "Are you…are you sure? The staff is there?" She put a hand to her chin, considering. "That can't be a coincidence."
"What do you mean?" Tamsyn asked, but from the look on her face, Marcus had the feeling she knew full well what was coming next.
"The Arch-Mage…Savos…" Mirabelle seemed to be holding back tears of her own. "Before….before he died…he gave me something just a little while ago. He told me it was from Labyrinthian, and that I would know what to do with it when the time came. I think…" here a queer look passed over Mirabelle's face. "I think he meant this for you, then. I'm not sure why, but there was something very personal about it for him."
Tamsyn nodded, accepting a very large iron torc. It looked heavy; almost too heavy to be worn around the neck, Marcus thought.
"Also," Mirabelle continued, "I think you should take this amulet. It…it belonged to Savos, but I think it would do you the most good now." She smiled. "He saw something special in you, you know," the Master Wizard told the red-haired girl. "He told me; he said he'd never seen anyone who took to magic the way you did, or advance in their studies as rapidly as you. He admired your ambition, your loyalty to your friends, and your spirit, and he was very proud of you."
Tamsyn was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face.
"Now, take it," Mirabelle said gruffly. "Take it and get out of here. Bring back that staff before Ancano brings the whole College down around us. If we can't stop this, I don't know what will happen to the rest of Skyrim."
Tamsyn nodded, not trusting herself to speak, clutching the torc and slipping the amulet over her head. It glimmered there, cool silver against the green of Tamsyn's tunic, the sapphire in the center winking a deep blue.
"Come on," she told the two men with her. She turned and left the hall, and they followed her across the courtyard to one of two towers that flanked the main entrance.
"The Hall of Attainment," she told Marcus simply. "It's where the students and scholars sleep. The Hall of Countenance, over there, is where the faculty live. That was the Hall of the Elements back there, where our classes are held, and it also contains the Arcaneum…the Library…and the Arch-Mages' quarters."
She led the way inside, turned a sharp right and entered a small chamber; it was far too small for all of them to move around in, so Marcus and Argis waited in the common area that was dominated by another of those large pools that seemed to contain some kind of energy, rather than water.
"This is my room," she said. "It's where I've been living these last several months. I'll need to gather up some things before I leave, but we can talk here. Come on in, sit down."
"Where?" Marcus asked sardonically.
Tamsyn gave a snort of mirth. "There's a chair there. At least J'Zargo isn't here at the moment bugging me to help him with his research. Argis?" she beckoned for him to come in.
"No thanks," he said. "I'm good. I'll just stay out here. And by the way…how did you know my name?"
Tamsyn's eyes twinkled. "I'm something of a Seer," was all she said. The look she gave him was warm and inviting, and Marcus felt something twist in his gut.
To cover his irritation, he asked her, "Just what is going on around here? I take it that thing in the other building is responsible for the anomalies we fought earlier?"
Tamsyn nodded as she slipped her backpack off her back and dumped the contents onto the bed. She began sorting things out and making two piles. One pile was whittled down and put away, the other one was added to. Dirty clothes went into a basket on the floor and she pulled fresh clothing out of a wardrobe. As she worked, she filled Marcus in on what had happened.
"I told you we found that thing in the deepest part of Saarthal, right? Oh! Which reminds me!" She broke off and rummaged in her nightstand pulling out a piece of parchment. "I wrote it all down, since I don't know the dragon language, and I wasn't sure which word is the one you want. Here." She gave him the parchment, and Marcus looked down at it.
Suddenly the chanting filled his mind as he latched onto one of the words. It began to glow, and seemed to lift off the page as he read it. Liz. Ice. He would need another dragon soul to unlock its deeper meaning, but at least he knew the Word now.
"Thank you," he said. When she looked at him expectantly, he grinned. "I need to kill a dragon before I'll know what it does."
"Oh," she smiled. The grin he'd quirked at her was making her stomach do flip-flops. "Well, if I remember rightly, it has something to do with turning your enemies into a solid block of ice."
"Thanks again. You were saying? About that orb?"
"Oh, right!" she smiled, getting back to her sorting and packing. "Tolfdir and I found it, and Arch-Mage Aren sent me to the Arcaneum to learn more about it. But the books pertaining to it had been stolen, as I knew they would be. Urag – he's our Librarian here, Urag gro-Shub – told me where I might find those books, so I had to retrieve them from Fellglow Keep where they'd been taken by a former student here trying to get in good with a bunch of disbarred conjurers."
"You did all that by yourself?" Argis asked from the doorway, impressed.
"Well, not completely by myself. Onmund helped me."
"I did what?" a voice from the hall beyond the room asked.
"You helped me retrieve the books from Fellglow Keep," Tamsyn said. "Onmund, these are my friends, Marcus of Whiterun, and this is Argis, called the Bulwark."
"Glad to meet you," Onmund said, leaning in and clasping wrists with the Dragonborn, though it was clear he had no idea of exactly who Marcus was.
"Where are you off to now, Tamsyn?" Onmund asked, curiously. There was a slight possessive tone in his voice, as if he were staking his claim to his colleague in front of the other two men present. Argis was oblivious, but Marcus found it both amusing and irritating.
"Labyrinthian," she said in a subdued tone. Onmund started.
"What?" he cried. "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how dangerous that place it?"
Tamsyn looked up and met his eyes unhappily. "Yes, my friend," she said. "I know exactly how dangerous it is. But that's where I have to go."
Marcus sat up, suddenly alert. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "What's this about?"
"Let me finish my story first," Tamsyn said. Onmund squeezed in and sat on the opposite side of the bed. Tamsyn didn't object, and Marcus felt that irritated stab in his gut again.
"I told you we recovered the stolen books from Fellglow Keep," Tamsyn said, with a nod towards Onmund, who was shooting glances at Argis. "One of them, Night of Tears, told about how the Elves of the First Age came and destroyed the Nord city of Saarthal, because they believed the Nords had found something there of great power that they were keeping for themselves."
"That's right," Onmund said. "And in retaliation for that attack, Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions swept across Skyrim, determined to kill every Elf they could get their hands on. They almost succeeded."
Tamsyn nodded. "They certainly drove the Snow Elves underground; they were forced to make a deal with the Dwemer, the Deep Elves, who agreed to help them, but at a terrible cost."
Onmund looked at her curiously. "That wasn't in the book. How did you know about that?"
Tamsyn quirked a grin at him. "Clearly we don't read the same books, Onmund."
He glowered at her, but she merely grinned at him until he subsided. Marcus felt privately that perhaps Onmund's claim on Tamsyn was only a fantasy of his; Tamsyn certainly didn't seem to reciprocate, or encourage him with her banter.
"I'm going to assume that what the ancient Nords found in Saarthal was the orb in the other Hall," Marcus said. "So then what happened, after you got the book back?"
"Urag told me to go talk to Tolfdir about it, so I did," Tamsyn said. "We were in the Hall of the Elements, but instead of discussing Night of Tears, he kept talking about the Eye…that orb we found. He'd taken to calling it the Eye of Magnus."
"Sounds like Tolfdir," Onmund snorted in amusement.
"While we were talking, Ancano interrupted us and demanded I follow him to the Arch-Mage's quarters."
"Sounds like Ancano," Onmund snorted again, more derisively.
"What did this Ancano want?" Marcus asked. "And why is he here, anyway?" Thalmor, poking around the mages' college? He was getting warning signals up and down his spine.
"He's supposed to be a special emissary from the Aldmeri Dominion," Onmund answered for Tamsyn scathingly. "He says he's only here to observe, but I don't trust him."
"I don't think anyone does," Tamsyn nodded. "Except maybe Nirya, and even then, she only said she thought he was good-looking."
"What did the Arch-Mage want?" Marcus asked.
Tamsyn shrugged. "He didn't want anything. A Psijic monk had showed up at the College asking for me, which sent Ancano right around the bend. The monk refused to talk to him or explain himself, which bothered Ancano as much as tossing a septim into a round room and telling a thief there was gold in the corner."
Marcus laughed right out loud, but the other two men looked quizzically at Tamsyn, who refused to explain.
"Oh, I get it!" Onmund finally chuckled. "Round room, gold in the corner…"
"Anyway," Tamsyn continued, "Quaranir, the Psijic, wanted to give me a hint about what to do next, but he realized my rather…unique…gifts, and merely told me that I knew what I would need to do, and that the events were spiraling in towards an inescapable center. I told him I might be able to avert disaster, but he told me I couldn't. He was right, and so was the Auger."
"You've been to see the Auger of Dunlain?" Onmund whistled, impressed. "He won't talk to just anyone, you know!"
"Who's the Auger?" Marcus asked.
"A Seer," Tamsyn explained. "An Oracle. He used to be human once ages ago – a Breton, in fact – but his grasp of the knowledge of magic was so extensive he somehow managed to transcend his earthly form. He now exists as pure energy in the Midden, below the College."
"Why did you go see him, if you already knew what was going to happen?" Argis asked puzzled.
"Because I needed to confirm that acquiring the Staff of Magnus would be the only way to control the Eye," Tamsyn said. "I knew this, but Arch-Mage Aren would never have taken the word of little old me. It had to come from a higher authority."
"And the Arch-Mage told you where to find the Staff?" Marcus asked.
"No," Tamsyn said, shaking her head. "Though I think he already knew where I'd find it. He told me to talk to Master Mirabelle. She told me the Synod, a group of mages from Cyrodiil, had been poking around here, asking if we kept any powerful artifacts here, and they specifically mentioned the Staff of Magnus. She gave them the brush-off, and they must have let drop they would be at the Dwarven ruins of Mzulft, if she changed her mind about giving them any information."
"I didn't know about this!" Onmund exclaimed.
"It all happened rather quickly," Tamsyn apologized. "Sorry, my friend, but I knew what I'd be facing in Mzulft, and thought it would be a good idea to bring along some muscle…or at least, someone who was a damn good fighter."
"Brynjolf!" Marcus exclaimed. "You were in Riften! Brand-Shei said Brynjolf left his stall and didn't return after talking to a 'pretty little Breton'!"
Tamsyn chuckled, and the sound sent a thrill through him.
"I did go to Riften, but not to recruit Brynjolf," she admitted. "No, I merely tipped him off about a few things going on within his organization and let him handle things his way."
"He can't have believed you," Marcus grinned, wishing now he'd been present for that particular conversation.
"Not at first," Tamsyn shrugged. "But after he checked out my tips, he realized I was right. But that's neither here nor there. I didn't ask Brynjolf to go to Mzulft with me. I met…someone else. He's…a bit unbalanced," she said. "But he's a damn good fighter, and after I convinced him I was a Seer and a Healer, he agreed to come to the Dwarven ruin with me. In fact, I was planning to ask him to come to Labyrinthian with me, now."
"What kind of people are you associating with?" Marcus asked, appalled.
Tamsyn shot him a glare. "Whoever I've had to, to get the job done," she said firmly. "Don't judge me."
Marcus simmered, but held his tongue. Next thing he knew, she'd be telling him she'd joined the Dark Brotherhood! But that wasn't possible, because he'd wiped them out.
Hadn't he?
"What happened at Mzulft?" Onmund asked.
"Nearly all of the Synod party was dead by the time Cicero and I got there," she said. "Only one of the mages was left, holed up in the Occulory. Apparently, they were trying to use the Dwemer machines to find and pin-point all the sources of magical energy across Tamriel. Mirabelle told me they were magic hoarders. They seemed to think no one is allowed to have magic but them. Even Paratus, the last one left, got violent and threatened me when he realized that his 'map' only showed two sources of power. He thought I'd done something to screw it up. One source was here at Winterhold, and I knew that had to be the Eye; the other source was at Labyrinthian, and I figured that had to be the Staff."
"Paratus didn't hurt you, did he?" Marcus rumbled dangerously.
"Not after the first lightning bolt," Tamsyn admitted. "Cicero leaped on him, and it was all over pretty quick." She closed her eyes briefly. "It wasn't pretty, but he saved my life. Several times, in fact, going through the ruins. It was infested with Falmer. Cicero hates Falmer."
Whoever this Cicero fellow was, he just went up in Marcus' estimation a bit.
"You're not seriously considering going into Labyrinthian, Tamsyn," Onmund said now, frowning.
"I have to, Onmund," she said, tying off her backpack, now that her sorting and packing was done. "I have no choice. I have to retrieve the Staff of Magnus."
"I could go with you?" he offered, but it was clear the thought terrified him.
Tamsyn smiled. "No, my friend, thank you. You're good, but you wouldn't last a moment in Labyrinthian, and I don't want your death on my conscience."
"You can't go alone!" Onmund protested.
"I won't be alone," Tamsyn smiled. "I'll head to Dawnstar and pick up Cicero. He said he had some things to do at home when we parted company outside Mzulft. He should be finished by now, and I'm sure he'll come if I ask."
"Just the two of you?" Marcus asked, frowning. "And this place is supposed to be a meat-grinder?" He shook his head. "No way am I letting you go in there alone – or even with only one other person," he continued when she looked as though she might protest. "Argis and I will go with you."
Tamsyn smiled again and accepted the help of the Dragonborn gracefully.
"You won't be able to find out about the Elder Scroll you're looking for until this is resolved," she said, grinning at the look of surprise that crossed his face. "And don't give me that look. You should know by now that I know what might happen. If you help me with Labyrinthian, I'll help you get the Elder Scroll."
Marcus remembered Brynjolf's words about passing up golden opportunities. "Deal," he said.
They took the shore route to Dawnstar, walking along the beaches where possible, and up the cliff paths where it wasn't. Tamsyn appeared to attempt several overtures to Argis, who was clearly not interested. A look here, a touch there, leaning in closer when she pointed something out to him; none of it made an impression on the big sandy-haired Nord, and Marcus realized with a flash of insight that she was interested in his Housecarl in the romantic way. Clearly, at least to his eyes, Argis wasn't interested in her that way, and she finally gave it up with a sigh, walking ahead of them and blasting anything that threatened them, from mudcrabs to horkers with her firebolts and lightning spells.
She's lonely. Marcus thought with a flash of intuition. It was clear from the questions she asked Argis and the remarks she made to him as they walked along that she knew his Housecarl from the game, but the reality turned out to be disappointing for her. She was probably holding out for this one guy, and comes to find out he's not the one meant for her.
And she had probably held most people away at arm's length, especially knowing what she knew of the future of this world.
What was that about passing up golden opportunities? his inner dragon smirked.
Quiet, you, he warned it. His own life was far too uncertain right now to want to complicate it. He'd found that out with Ysolda. Tamsyn didn't strike him as the sort of person who'd be happy with a 'friends-with-benefits' relationship, either.
They stopped to rest and grab a bite to eat around midday, and while Argis went to gather firewood to build a fire, Tamsyn moped around until Marcus pinned her with a look and said, "You want to talk about what's bothering you about Argis?"
Tamsyn looked for a moment as if she would deny anything was wrong, but finally gave a rueful laugh. "I guess it's obvious, isn't it? To anyone but Argis, that is."
"My guess is, having traveled with the man, that he's not into women," Marcus said. "We haven't discussed it, because it's really none of my business, but from some of the things he's let drop, I think you're probably wasting your time."
Tamsyn sighed. "The best ones are always taken. Or gay," she said, accepting the inevitable. "It's just that—" She broke off.
"Go on," Marcus encouraged.
"There was an add-on to the main game that allowed you to build your own home, get married, adopt children. I fell in love with Argis' voice in the game, though the actor did several voices. But Argis was the one I really liked, and he was the one my characters always married."
"And then you come here and the reality is different," Marcus nodded.
Tamsyn nodded. "Yeah, I guess I didn't count on that. But it goes back to what I said about the people here having free will. Don't tell him, okay? I feel embarrassed enough as it is."
"Not a word," Marcus promised, grinning.
They continued on after their midday meal, pushing themselves to get to Dawnstar as soon as they could before the sun went down and the icy winds that blew across the Sea of Ghosts were felt that much more keenly.
They were within an hour of the small town when Tamsyn called a halt.
"I need to let you in on a few things," she said.
"It's about time," Marcus said, not entirely joking. She shot him a withering look and continued.
"The man you'll be meeting soon is…mentally unstable," she said. "He spent the better part of the last twenty-five years or so in near complete isolation, so he doesn't handle crowds well. It would be best if, when we get to Dawnstar, that you two wait for me at the Windpeak Inn while I go talk to Cicero alone."
"Just who is this Cicero, Tamsyn?" Marcus demanded.
"He's a dangerous character," she admitted. "When I first approached him about coming to Mzulft with me, he almost killed me until I fast-talked my way into getting him to trust me. He…Cicero likes killing," she said finally, not looking at him. "There's no other way to put it. He enjoys it, he gets off on it, and he's very, very good at it."
"Why in the name of all that's holy did you seek this guy out, then, in the first place?" Marcus asked, appalled once more.
Tamsyn hesitated, pleading in her eyes for them to understand. "He's all alone now," she told them. "All his…family are gone, and I…I feel sorry for him. I thought I might be able to heal the mental and emotional instability he has, but it's tied in so closely to who he is, to how he reacts to a threat. It's what gives him his edge. If I were to take that away from him, it might just destroy him. He might not be able to live with the guilt."
Marcus sat down on a nearby rock. "You're asking me to trust my life to a mad man?" he asked her incredulously.
"Cicero saved my life in Mzulft," she said firmly. "He'd tell you I saved his, too, but not nearly as often. I trust him because he likes me, and would never hurt me. I'm the first person in ages to treat him with compassion and respect, and he responds to that. Treat him with kindness, and he'll be your friend for life. Cross him, and you do so at your peril."
"I don't know about this, Tamsyn," Marcus frowned. "If he's that mentally unstable, it would be too risky to have him come along with us."
"In point of fact, Marcus," she said with some asperity, "it was my plan all along to go to Labyrinthian with just Cicero. I didn't know you were going to show up in Winterhold when you did."
"I thought you were a Seer," Argis said, confused.
"It's not perfect, Argis," Tamsyn told him. "I know in a general sense what can happen, but people have a tendency to do their own thing, so I can't predict one-hundred percent what will happen."
"How did you meet this Cicero fellow, anyway?" Marcus asked now.
"I…met him on the road to Winterhold," she said, with just a slight hesitation. "He was transporting the body of his Mother to her final resting place when the wheel fell off his wagon near the Loreius Farm, north of Whiterun. Farmer Loreius didn't want to help Cicero at first, but I convinced him it was the right thing to do. I knew where he was headed when we parted. When I knew I had to go to Mzulft, I contacted him."
There was something in there she wasn't telling him, but by now Marcus was used to this. "But Tamsyn," Marcus insisted, "you could have come to me. You knew where I was."
"You have enough on your plate," she replied. "And besides, this is my adventure. The fact that you showed up when you did, well…that's just coincidence."
Or maybe not, Marcus thought privately. Did you have a hand in this? he demanded of his inner dragon.
Perhaps, came the reply. She can't handle Labyrinthian on her own. She couldn't have handled Mzulft without help, and she knew that. It's why she went to Cicero in the first place. Stop criticizing her choices and get moving. Cicero will be fine.
Marcus simmered. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll meet with Cicero. If he behaves himself, he can travel with us. If he gets out of line, I won't be responsible for what might happen."
"You mean, if you behave yourself, you can travel with me," Tamsyn sniffed. "I was planning on taking Cicero anyway." But he saw the twinkle in her eye. She was laughing at him.
Damn you, woman! he swore to himself.
The lights of Dawnstar shimmered in the near darkness as they rounded the final bend of the shore and walked down the beach towards town. A few ships were docked in the harbor, and the acrid tang of a smelter drifted towards them from across the bay.
"There are two mines in Dawnstar," Tamsyn told them. "One is the Iron-Breaker Mine, run by Beitild, up there on the hill." She pointed behind the row of houses and shops that lined the shore. "The other is the Quicksilver Mine, owned and operated by her husband Leigelf. I really should say 'estranged' husband. They live in separate houses, and compete for the available workers that sometimes come through town. I was in the Windpeak once when they started in on each other. I'm surprised they didn't start throwing things."
"Who's the Jarl here?" Marcus asked.
"Skald the Elder," Tamsyn told him. "According to Frida, the alchemist, he thinks Ulfric Stormcloak is the second coming of Martin Septim."
"Oh," Marcus frowned. "Dawnstar is a Stormcloak-held Hold?"
"Yep," Tamsyn said. "And Skald is probably one of the most stereotypical Nords you'll ever have the displeasure to meet, if you decide you want to go to the trouble. He hates magic, hates the Empire and pretty much hates anyone that isn't a Nord."
"Narrow minded, eh?" Marcus mused.
"One micron wide," Tamsyn grinned. "I don't even think he would like me, except I was able to help Erandur stop the nightmares from happening. That was almost enough for Skald to want to make me a Thane here, but I wasn't interested."
Marcus wasn't sure he wanted to be Thane here, either, if it meant he'd have to deal with a Stormcloak-loving Jarl. There were just some things it wouldn't be worth compromising his principles for.
"So what's the story about the nightmares?" he asked. "Why was it a problem? Something in the water, or the food, maybe?"
"If only!" Tamsyn shuddered as she led the way up the hill past the Iron-Breaker Mine. "They were caused by Vaermina, the Daedric Prince of Dreams and Nightmares. She feeds on peoples' dreams and leaves nightmares in her wake. You can't see it now, in the gloom, but up on the hill behind us is a ruined tower that used to be her temple. Erandur, a priest of Mara, asked me to help him get rid of Vaermina's artifact, the Skull of Corruption, so I did."
She told the story simply, but Marcus knew her well enough by now to realize there was probably a lot she was leaving out.
They reached the Windpeak Inn and went inside. A girl with a lute was singing at one end, and Marcus cringed inwardly. She really wasn't that good, though she threw everything she had into her performance. Her pitch was off "just enough to hurt", as Lynne used to say, describing how Miss Piggy would sing on The Muppet Show. Her instrumental talents, however, weren't bad, and he hoped she'd stick with that.
"I need to go talk to Cicero," Tamsyn said, "but I'll be back in a while."
"Are you sure you wouldn't like one of us to go with you?" Marcus asked, frowning. He didn't like the idea of Tamsyn meeting up with an unpredictable mad man late at night.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Cicero won't hurt me, and there's not much between here and his place that can threaten me. I can take care of myself." She smiled again, and left the Inn.
Marcus blew out a breath and went over to the innkeeper to procure rooms for the night. He felt sure Tamsyn could take care of herself; watching her today as she used her magic to take out wolves, sabre cats, ice wraiths and anything else that came their way proved that much to him. What bothered him more was her description of this Cicero person who was to come with them. Could they really trust someone whose sanity hung by a thread?
His inner dragon had chided him to trust Tamsyn, so as much as he hated the idea of traveling with a stark, raving lunatic, he decided to let it go for now. But he kept one eye on the door, watching for her return.
"What…is the illusion…of life?" the door rasped.
"Innocence, my brother," Tamsyn replied.
"Welcome…home," came the reply, and the door opened under her hand.
She came down the short passage and into the loft area, glancing furtively at the large casket – closed at the moment – where the Night Mother rested.
"Cicero?" she called. "Are you home? It's me, Tamsyn!"
It was quiet. If Cicero was home, he was either deeper into the Sanctuary or asleep; and Tamsyn was almost certain that Cicero never slept.
Seeing the Sanctuary for real the first time was about as unnerving as it could possibly have been for her. Seeking out Cicero to accompany her to Mzulft posed the greatest risk to her safety ever, but she knew that taking anyone but an accomplished fighter with her would have been suicide. That had been a month ago, and while Marcus had been right that she could have made contact with him, and that he would have gone with her, she also knew he had too many things to do that only the Dragonborn could do. This was something she had to manage on her own.
"Cicero?" she called again, unwilling to go any deeper into the Sanctuary. Cicero was very protective of his home, and she was well aware of the traps that lay beyond this entryway. She threw another glance at the Night Mother's coffin, remembering the first time she'd seen it, in the back of Cicero's wagon. She knew who he was, of course. Hours of playing the game prepared her for that. She had even gone through the Dark Brotherhood quest a few times, just to see what it was like. That had been when she had found his journals and read them, and had gained an insight, pity and compassion for the character that surprised even her, an eighty-something grandma confined to a wheelchair in a nursing home.
Now, in this new body of a young Breton in her very early twenties, she knew she was riding a very fine line with the little madman. "Touched by Sheogorath," some of the people around here might have said of the red-haired Imperial, but that only scratched the surface with Cicero. He was a cold-blooded killer who loved killing for its own sake, and who put on a jester's motley and hat to deceive people, so they would never guess he was one of Lord Sithis' best.
At first, when Cicero had found her in the Sanctuary, he had been incensed, and had launched himself at her in an attempt to cut her down.
"Defiler!" he shrieked. "Intruder! Desecrator! Cicero will string his lute with your guts!"
But Tamsyn had been prepared for this, and had cast the strongest Calm spell on him that she knew, following it swiftly with a paralysis spell.
"I just came to talk, Cicero," she told him. "My name is Tamsyn, and I need your help. Don't you remember how I helped you with your wagon?"
Cicero had writhed and cursed and threatened, but there was no force behind it, not while the Calm spell remained in effect. And the paralysis spell held him in place while she told him everything; who she was, where she had come from, what she knew about him and the Dark Brotherhood, the Night Mother and about Cicero himself.
It had taken a long time to convince him she wasn't as mad as he believed himself to be. She offered to cure his madness; it was rejected.
"Madness is merry and merriment's might," he told her, "when the jester comes calling with his knife in the night!"
She took this to mean that the thing which most would see as a flaw was what actually gave Cicero his edge, and made him such an efficient killing machine.
Each time the spells neared their end, she re-cast them, and Cicero cursed her thoroughly, but calmly.
"Bother and befuddle! Why does hateful Tamsyn torture poor Cicero so?" he whined. "Poor, poor Cicero only wants to serve his dear sweet Mother. Tamsyn helped Cicero before, but now she only wishes to hurt him!"
"I'm not hurting you, Cicero," Tamsyn said quietly. "I'm only making sure you don't hurt me."
"For how long? Hmmm?" Cicero asked, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Nasty Tamsyn must sleep sometime, hmmm?"
Tamsyn smiled wanly. "Of course, Cicero. We all have to sleep sometime. I know that spell, too. I could just let you sleep for a few hours while I go home, but that wouldn't help me. I know who you are; I know what you are, and I still need your help."
"Cicero is not the Listener," he huffed. "Dear, sweet Mother does not speak to Cicero." His eyes narrowed again, in that sly look of his. "But perhaps she will speak to mage-y Tamsyn, yes? Perhaps Tamsyn is meant to be the new Listener?"
Tamsyn shook her head. "No, Cicero. I'm not the Listener. I already told you that. And even if the Night Mother spoke to me, which she won't, I would turn her down."
Cicero managed, even paralyzed, to look shocked. "Turn her down?" he squeaked. "But that is not possible! No one turns down the Night Mother!"
"My soul isn't from this world, Cicero, remember? Your Night Mother has no hold over me. And I've never killed an innocent person just because I felt like it. So no, she's not going to talk to me."
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Cicero began to plead.
"Dear Tamsyn," he cooed. "Sweet Tamsyn, please let Cicero go! Cicero is uncomfortable from not moving. Cicero….Cicero needs to answer a call of nature!"
Tamsyn chuckled. "Well, progress is being made. I'm no longer 'hateful' Tamsyn or 'mage-y' Tamsyn."
"No, no!" Cicero chirruped eagerly. "Cicero was wrong to say those things! Sweet Tamsyn will let him go?" He threw all the coyness and charm he could muster into his large, deep brown eyes. Tamsyn wasn't fooled for a moment.
"Will you promise not to kill me if I let you go?"
"Yes, yes! Cicero promises!"
"What will you swear by?" Tamsyn asked.
"Cicero gives you his word of honor."
"Hmm…" Tamsyn mused. "The word of honor of a paid assassin? I don't think so, Cicero. We'll just wait a little longer. I can teach you a new song while we wait." She had just renewed the spell, so she knew she had time to kill, so to speak.
"Hmph!" Cicero snorted. "Nasty Tamsyn thinks she can change Cicero's mind with a song?"
"Oh, so we're back to 'nasty' Tamsyn," she said archly, privately amused.
"No, no, no! Cicero did not mean that, sweet Tamsyn!" he backpedaled. "But Cicero knows many songs. He doesn't think Tamsyn, young as she is, knows one he hasn't heard yet."
"I'll bet you don't know this one," Tamsyn grinned. "It's a song from my old world, the one I lived in before I came here."
If Cicero could have shrugged, he would have. As it was, he settled for rolling his eyes. "Very well," he said in as bored a tone as he could muster. "Tamsyn may sing her song, and we shall see if Cicero has heard it all before."
Tamsyn grinned, cleared her throat, and in a clear, pure soprano began to sing.
"Everyone knows someone we'd be better off without.
But best not mention names, for we don't know who's about.
But why commit a murder, and risk the fires of hell
When black widows in the privy can do it just as well?"
She knew she had him by the third line.
"Now poison's good, and daggers, and arrows in the back,
And if you're really desperate you can try a front attack.
But are they really worthy of the risk of being caught,
When black widows in the privy need not be bribed nor bought?"
Cicero's eyes were dancing with glee by this point, and Tamsyn finished up the third and last verse.
"So if there's one of whom you wish most simply to be rid,
Just wait 'til dark, then point the way to where the widow's hid
And say to them, 'I think you'll find that this one is the best,'
And black widows in the privy will gladly do the rest."
"Oh ho ho ho!" Cicero giggled. "Cicero likes that song very much indeed!" he crowed. "Although Cicero would much prefer a dagger in the dark to black widows in the privy. Uh…Tamsyn, what are black widows?"
"It's a spider, where I come from," Tamsyn said. "Very small, black, with a red hourglass shape on its stomach, and deadly poisonous."
"Cicero would like to see a black widow spider," the little jester smirked. "Especially since it wears red and black, like Cicero!" He could feel the spell weakening again, but he now realized that perhaps he need not kill this intruder right away. She might know more songs like this one.
Tamsyn raised her hands to recast her spell, and Cicero quailed. "No, please, sweet Tamsyn! Cicero begs you! Don't hold him here again! Cicero really needs to visit the privy…and he is grateful there are no black widows in his world. Please don't cast again!"
"Will you promise you won't kill me?" she asked.
Silence, and then finally, "Cicero promises."
"Swear it by the Night Mother, Cicero. Swear it by Sithis himself, and I'll believe you."
The silence stretched even longer, and Tamsyn raised her hands to re-cast.
"Cicero swears—" he began in his high-pitched voice, and then he sighed and it dropped an octave lower. "I swear, sweet Tamsyn. I swear by the Dread Father, by Sithis himself, I will not kill you."
"Now or ever?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Now or ever," he promised. "I swear it."
Somewhere in the depths of his deranged mind, Cicero heard a sepulchral voice intone, "Done." He hung his head and shuddered, taking a deep breath, then looked at her again.
"What have you done to me?" he whispered.
"The world is changing, Cicero," she told him. "Great things are about to happen all over Skyrim. I'm giving you a chance to be a part of it."
"Cicero isn't sure he wants to be a part of it," he said softly, uncertainly, reverting back to speaking of himself in the third person.
"Oh, you'll want to be a part of it," Tamsyn assured him. "It involves killing things; something I know you're very good at."
[Author's Note: Cicero is one of those characters in Skyrim who I really, truly pitied and felt compassion for, especially after reading his journals. I admit I didn't like the character at first, because he was always wanting to go out and kill something, but the little mad man kind of grew on me. His side comments when you travel with him are hysterical.
"Black Widows in the Privy" is a "filk" song, a science-fiction folk song, written and composed by Heather Rose Jones and performed (at least on the old reel-to-reel cassette tape that I have) by Julia Ecklar. You can listen to it here: watch?v=hsFZ7xR_B1g It's always been a favorite of mine, and I think it's one that Cicero would love.]