Chapter 26
[Author's Note: I would like to thank the following people for Following, Favoriting, and Reviewing this work. Your input and loyalty mean so much to me, and give me the inspiration and drive to keep going.
Thanks go out to Baslias, Kaore Ryu, Killer999, Lord Oja, Reign of Judgement, SapphireFox84, SeekerM, Yolpeytnah, Yvert, dhampirkinfolk, dragonlored6, jbcerberus91,
pensuka, phalanx2131, and tenshi0 for Favoriting and Following "Into the Maelstrom."
In addition, I would also like to thank Cerulean F. Revelle, Greywolf41, Krenaya, NotzaLyla, Phobopobia, Red SpiderKing, Thousand Mastery, chippermovie, kreeft123xx and phrosst for Following.
Last, but certainly not least, I'd like to give special thanks to Baslias, SeekerM, Yolpeytnah and Lanelle for their kind reviews. Your input has definitely given me the input I need to make sure the story stays on track, and that you - as readers - like where I'm going with it. Thank you so much! And now back to our story. -Aurora Nova]
It was arranged that only Marcus and Tamsyn would take the next step, crossing the ice fields of the Sea of Ghosts to locate a man named Septimus Signus. Argis would stay behind at the Frozen Hearth with Cicero. The Housecarl wasn't happy about it, but Cicero had already had quite enough of the cold for a while.
"Swimming in the frozen ocean is not Cicero's idea of a fun time," he complained.
"We're not going to be gone all that long," Marcus assured Argis. "Maybe half a day, if that. Tamsyn assures me she can find this guy's outpost. I think between the two of us, we can handle a few horkers and slaughterfish."
They stocked up on Resist Cold potions, and Tamsyn made another ring to help protect her from hypothermia.
"I'm afraid I can't do anything about getting wet," she told him. "But as long as we've got the rings and the potions, maybe it won't be so bad."
"We can't just take a boat?" Marcus asked, frowning.
"I'm afraid not," Tamsyn said. "There are too many ice floes between here and there." She also gave him a couple of small white bottles.
"What are these?" he asked.
"Water-breathing," she said shortly. "You know, just in case."
He tucked those away as well, and then they were ready to go.
The first part wasn't so bad, but that only involved retracing their steps back down the bluffs to the black sand beach. It was actually a bright, clear, morning – unusual for Winterhold. But though it was late in First Seed, which Marcus equated to the month of March in his old life, it was still bitingly cold, and he had no desire to have to swim the frigid waters of the Sea of Ghosts.
"Do we really have to do this?" he complained.
Tamsyn blew out an exasperated breath. "Yes, we really have to do this. We can island-hop most of the way, and walk on the ice pack, but there will be places where the only way to cross will be to swim."
"Okay," he said in a high falsetto. "But don't be surprised if I start talking like this."
Tamsyn giggled and led him down the beach to the closest point where they could cross to an island off the coast. The sea was open here, though it was clear it wasn't terribly deep.
"It only gets really bad right out there in the middle," she said, pulling out one of the Resist Cold potions. Marcus did the same and they drank.
"It doesn't last all that long, so let's move," Tamsyn said, wading out into the water. "Ohhhh! That's cold!"
"You're not helping," Marcus grimaced.
They made it safely across, and began working their way around to the far side of the island. Tamsyn cast a spell that sent a spiraling vortex of purple and black roiling forward.
"It's my Clairvoyance spell," she explained. "I know who we need to see, and generally where we need to go. The spell just keeps me on the right course."
"Convenient," Marcus said wryly, trying unsuccessfully to shake the water out of the Blades armor he wore.
Tamsyn grinned at him. "I wouldn't bother. We aren't done with the ocean yet."
He glared at her sourly, and she chuckled.
"Is that another island, way over there?" he asked, pointed to a shadow on the western horizon.
"Yes, that's where Ysgramor's Tomb is," she told him.
"So he really did exist, then," Marcus mused.
Tamsyn nodded. "Yes, and he's a hero to practically every Nord in Skyrim. There's a Word Wall with part of the Animal Allegiance Shout up near the peak that you can get to by climbing the rocks. You don't have to go through the Tomb itself. And we couldn't, even if we wanted to, because we don't have Wuuthrad."
"What's Wuuthrad?"
"Ysgramor's axe," she explained. "Did you ever join the Companions? I know you talked about it."
"I've been busy," he replied dourly. "I haven't gotten around to it yet."
Maybe when this is all over, he thought, though a part of him wondered if it would ever truly be "all over."
They were able to get to the next island by jumping on the ice floes, though that was tricky work. Tamsyn seemed to be able to leap lightly enough, but Marcus, weighed down with his heavier armor and weapons, found himself scrambling for purchase on several occasions. Still, he didn't fall in, and treading the tipsy ice was better than getting more wet than he already was. His armor already felt clammy and uncomfortable.
The ruins at the top of the island were Skytemple Ruins, Tamsyn told him, and they took the little amount of time needed to clear it of skeletons and draugr, gathering up the treasure they found before continuing on their way.
From there they were forced to either swim or scramble across the ice pack before Tamsyn's Clairvoyance finally led them to a small iron-clad wooden door buried in an iceberg.
"He l-lives in an ice c-cave?" Marcus chattered. The potions and ring helped, but it was still freaking cold!
"Yes-s," Tamsyn stuttered, and he could see her lips were tinged with blue as well.
I could warm those up for her, he thought unbidden, then pulled himself back. Concentrate, Dragonborn, he told himself sternly. We're here for information, not mutual gratification. Assuming it was mutual. Tamsyn had never given him any indication that she felt attracted to him in any way. A knife wrenched in his gut as he wondered if she'd ever been with Cicero that way. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Some women were attracted to that kind of dangerous "bad boy." He found himself hoping Tamsyn wasn't one of them.
"Do we knock?" he asked now, tearing his mind away from those darker thoughts.
"I d-doubt he'd hear us if we did," Tamsyn said, shivering, completely unaware of her companion's inner turmoil. She pushed open the door and led the way inside, down a rickety wooden ladder and into the ice tunnel at the bottom.
They moved cautiously down the slippery ice ramp into the chamber beyond and saw a solitary old man in faded, dingy yellow robes, tinkering around a huge metal construct that was clearly Dwarven-made.
"Dig, Dwemer, in the beyond," the old man muttered. "I'll know your lost unknown and rise to your depths!"
"He's as nutty as a fruitcake!" Marcus whispered.
"You should try reading his book, Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls, sometime," Tamsyn murmured. She led the way down to the bottom of the ice cave. There was a shelf against the far wall, opposite the Dwemer contraption, and a chair and table, but nothing else in the chamber.
"Where does he sleep?" Marcus muttered now.
Tamsyn shrugged. "I don't think he does," she replied. "Excuse me, Septimus?" she called.
The old man appeared not to have heard her.
"When the top level was built, no more could be placed," he grinned to himself. "It was and is the maximal apex."
Tamsyn tried again. "Septimus Signus? We need to talk with you."
"How long will it be sung?" Septimus mused, wandering over to the bookshelf and staring, but not touching anything. "My feet were set upon the rock, but it turned to mud and drew me down."
Frustrated, Marcus growled, "Let me try. Hey! Old man! I wanna talk to you. Listen up!" He gently took Septimus by the arm and turned him to face the two companions. "Do you have an Elder Scroll?"
"I've seen enough to know their fabric," Septimus replied, his eyes staring into and through Marcus'. "The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is not in my possession."
"But you know where I can find one, right?" Marcus insisted, desperately trying to hold onto his patience. And he thought Cicero was a nutjob!
"Elder Scrolls, indeed," Septimus said, a crafty gleam coming into his vacant eyes. "The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think! The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw!" He threw a sly look at both Marcus and Tamsyn, who stood there patiently, expectantly.
"I know of one!" Septimus whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "Forgotten…sequestered." He straightened and sighed. "But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus. For I…I have arisen beyond its grasp."
Marcus glanced over to Tamsyn, who shrugged and nodded for him to proceed.
"So…where is it?" Marcus prompted. Honestly, he was about to shake the old guy to pieces if he didn't give a straight answer.
"Here," Septimus said maddeningly. "Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking." He giggled hysterically. "On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby!"
Marcus gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He must have made a move towards Septimus, because the old man stepped back a pace or two and Tamsyn placed a warning hand on Marcus' arm.
"Tell us how we can get the Scroll," she smiled at the deranged mage, and he giggled and grinned back like a fool.
"One block lifts the other," he said, still giggling. "Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Marcus groaned, but Tamsyn forestalled any further outburst with a warning look.
"I'll do it for you, Septimus," she promised. "Tell me what I need to do."
Septimus gave a satisfied smirk before pointing the Dwemer construct.
"You see this masterwork of the Dwemer?" he asked rhetorically. Marcus privately felt it was hardly possible to ignore the mammoth in the room. "Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer."
He's got the 'idiot' part right, Marcus thought sourly.
Pay attention, Dragonborn! his inner dragon snapped.
Fuming, Marcus focused on what Septimus was saying.
"Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach, one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach?" the old man inquired. At their nods he continued. "'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.'" He began to cackle madly.
"Tell us how we can find Blackreach," Tamsyn said quickly before Marcus snapped.
"Under deep," Septimus said mystically. "Below the dark. The hidden keep: Tower Mzark." He gave a knowing nod. "Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there," he cautioned. "Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock, to jump beneath the deathly rock."
"How do we get in, then?" Marcus asked, proud of himself for keeping his voice even.
"Two things I have for you," said Septimus. "Two shapes: one edged, one round. The round one, for tuning."
"Tuning?" Marcus interrupted. The old man nodded.
"Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But…empty."
Septimus leaned in closer to Marcus and his eyes bored into the Dragonborn's. "Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know!"
He handed them two items. One looked like a ball with engravings all over it. The other looked like a data storage cube, and Marcus smiled in satisfaction. This was something he was familiar with.
"What do we do with the round thing?" Marcus asked.
"The deepest doors of the Dwemer listen for singing," Septimus explained, as if to a child. "It plays the attitude of notes proper for opening. Can you not hear it? Too low for hearings?"
Maybe a dog could hear it, Marcus thought doubtfully, but for himself he heard nothing. He looked at Tamsyn, who shrugged.
"And the cube?" he asked.
"To glimpse the world inside an Elder Scroll can damage the eyes," the old man said. "Or the mind, as it has Septimus."
That just explained an enormous amount, Marcus thought. And a sudden fear gripped him. He had to read the Scroll at the Time-Wound. Would he end up a blithering idiot like Septimus?
"The Dwemer found a loophole, as they always do," Septimus went on. "To focus the knowledge away and inside without harm. Place the lexicon into their contraption and focus the knowings into it. When it brims with glow, bring it back and Septimus can read once more."
"So, what do you get out of this?" Marcus couldn't help asking. "Besides the information that goes on the cube, I mean."
Septimus gave a delighted chuckle. "Ooooh, an observant one! How clever of you to ask Septimus!" He patted the Dwemer construct with one hand. "This Dwemer lockbox. Look upon it and wonder. Inside is the heart…the heart of a god! The heart of you…and me. But it was hidden away. Not by the Dwarves, you see. They were already gone. Someone else. Unseen. Unknown. Found the heart and with a flair for the ironical, used Dwarven trickery to lock it away. The Scroll will give the deep vision needed to open it. For not even the strongest machinations of the Dwemer can hold off the all-sight given by an Elder Scroll."
One question had been bothering Marcus since Paarthurnax had set him on this quest, and he decided he had nothing to lose now by asking the madman before him.
"What exactly is an Elder Scroll?"
Septimus gave another of his mystical smiles. "Ahhh. You look to your left, you see one way. You look to your right, you see another. But neither is any harder than the opposite. But the Elder Scrolls…they look left and right in the stream of time. The future and past are as one. Sometimes they look up. Ha ha! What do they see then? What if they dive in?" His voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Then the madness begins!"
"That guy is a candidate for a rubber room with a jacket that fastens in back!" Marcus announced as they left Septimus' outpost.
"The Elder Scroll did that to him," Tamsyn said as they carefully made their way across the ice pack.
"Yeah, and that's kind of got me worried," he admitted. "I have to read the damn thing once I find it. I don't want to end up in a Skyrim nursing home somewhere, with someone feeding me baby food and wiping my drool." He broke off as he saw Tamsyn's face. "I'm sorry," he said contritely. "That was incredibly callous of me."
"It's okay," she said, shrugging off the hurt. "I did say it was a really nice nursing home. And I wouldn't worry too much about the Elder Scroll's effect on you. Your dragon blood gives you a measure of resistance."
They were quiet for some time as they made their way back, braving the sub-zero waters and negotiating around the islands. Marcus asked a few questions about the Great Collapse, the condition and future of Winterhold, and the mood of its Jarl, Korir.
"Korir would tell you the mages were responsible for the Great Collapse," she replied, "but in point of fact, they had nothing to do with it. It's possible it was a side effect of the Red Mountain exploding, but no one is really sure. There's a treatise in the Arcaneum from then-Arch-Mage Deneth to then-Jarl Valdimar of Winterhold, expressing his sincere condolences for his losses, and urgently assuring him the College had nothing to do with the catastrophe. He mentioned in his letter that storms pounded the coastline for almost a year straight, so it doesn't sound like a tsunami, but it's possible the ash blown into the upper atmospheres changed the weather patterns around the upper latitudes of Skyrim. Whether Jarl Valdimar believed Arch-Mage Deneth or not, the letter doesn't say, but ever since, the city of Winterhold, which used to be a center of trade and commerce for Skyrim, has been dying in bits and pieces. What you saw there is really all there is left of it. That, and the College."
"Haven't any of the Jarls since then made any effort to rebuild?"
Tamsyn shook her head. "Not really. I think even most hardy Nords would have a problem with the weather here. It's still not that pleasant. If they could get the mine re-opened, or get a smithy or some other business up here, or even re-establish a harbor, it might draw people here. But Korir would rather sit in his Longhouse and blame the mages for his misfortune."
Marcus considered this. He was always taught that the Lord helps those who help themselves. Perhaps the Divines here worked in a similar manner. If the people would step up and help themselves out of the run of bad luck they had, they might actually be able to restore their town. But unless and until they did, Winterhold as a city was on its way out.
It wasn't until they actually neared the town that Marcus remembered a question he wanted to ask. He stopped at the entrance of the bridge across the chasm and motioned Tamsyn to sit down.
"Something on your mind?" she asked.
"Actually, yes," Marcus said. "I wanted to talk to you about Cicero."
She stiffened, and he noticed it. This was clearly a touchy subject for her. "You two aren't…involved, are you?"
She relaxed. "No," she smiled. "Nothing like that. We're just friends. As I said, he spent a lot of time completely alone, and I felt sorry for him."
"Yeah, about that," he said slowly. Then, deciding there was no easy way around it, he plunged forward. "I want to know just exactly who he is," he said. "I've just about got it figured out. You've already told me he's a really good fighter, and I've seen that for myself. He prefers to sneak and hide a lot. He talks about acquiring things, but never how he got them, though he certainly seems to enjoy killing. Cicero keeps mentioning Sithis, and his mother, who's supposed to be dead, and he got really angry the other night when I asked if he had any brothers or sisters. He said he had some, but they were killed by a dragon."
Tamsyn blanched, but Marcus went on relentlessly.
"The way he said 'dragon', and glared at me before storming off made me begin to put things together." Marcus took a deep breath. "Is he connected to the Dark Brotherhood in any way?" he asked.
Tamsyn didn't answer at first, and Marcus felt his stomach plummet.
She knows. This is what she's been hiding from me, he thought angrily.
"It's true, isn't it?" he demanded now. "Somehow or other he escaped the purge of the Sanctuary in Falkreath. Maybe he wasn't there at the time, but it doesn't matter. He's a fucking Dark Brotherhood assassin!"
"Marcus, I—"
"You lied to me!" he shouted at her now.
"No, I didn't! I—"
"You didn't tell me the truth," he raged. "That's as much as the same thing! Tamsyn how could you? I trusted you!"
"Marcus, if you'd just let me explain—"
"Explain?" he roared, incensed. "You haven't explained a goddamned thing since we got here! You walked out on me when I needed you most, and since we've met up again you've expected me to be comfortable harboring a known assassin in our midst, one who has every reason in the world to want to stab me in the back when it's turned! Does Cicero know who I am?"
Tamsyn didn't look at him, and Marcus wanted to hit something badly.
"He does, doesn't he?" He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. She had betrayed him! "You put Argis and me at risk because you felt sorry for a homicidal maniac! What were you thinking?"
"Marcus, please, it isn't like that. Cicero can't—"
"Oh yes he can," Marcus growled. "And he will. Someday, somewhere, when you're not around to stop him, when he thinks he can get away with it, that fool is going to stick a knife in my gut, and then where will your precious Skyrim be?"
"He wouldn't do that!" Tamsyn pleaded, but Marcus stood and cut her off once more.
"I can't believe I trusted you! Just get away from me, Tamsyn!" he said harshly. "Don't ever come near me again!" He stalked down the street to the Frozen Hearth, leaving her sitting there in the snow, stricken. He never looked back as she fled back up the bridge.
Marcus slammed the door open to the inn and found Argis sitting in the corner with Cicero, laughing over some joke.
"Come on, Argis," he called, "we're going."
The jester rose with the Housecarl, but Marcus pinned him with a look. "Not you, Cicero," he spat. "You're not coming."
"What?" the little Imperial said, perplexed. "But Cicero thought—"
"I don't give a damn what you thought, Cicero," he snarled, coming closer. "You stay away from me. If you come near me again, I swear I'll kill you!"
Cicero's eyes narrowed in hate, but he only said, "Why the change of plans?"
"Something wrong, my Thane?" Argis asked, puzzled.
"He's a fucking Dark Brotherhood assassin, Argis," Marcus hissed. "One that we missed when we cleaned house."
Argis turned to Cicero, and there was hurt in his gaze. "Is it true?" he murmured. Cicero only gave a nodding jerk of his head. "When were you going to tell me?" he asked, tightly.
"Cicero was rather hoping the subject wouldn't come up," the little man said, faintly. "Does sweet Tamsyn know this?" he glared at the Dragonborn.
Marcus gave an ugly bark of laughter. "'Sweet Tamsyn' is as bad as you are," he said shortly. "You might be a paid assassin, but she knew about it and didn't tell me. I had to figure it out on my own. You can both rot in Oblivion for all I care! Come one, Argis, let's get out of here." He turned and strode out the door without looking back. Argis gave Cicero a long look of betrayal and disgust.
"I was really starting to like you," he said sadly, before joining his Thane outside.
On the path heading west out of town, Marcus barreled ahead of Argis so fast his Housecarl had to jog to keep up. He looked neither left nor right, and was oblivious of his surroundings. As he left Winterhold, the only thing he was aware of was the sound of his heart breaking, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Percy Sledge was belting out, "When A Man Loves A Woman."
Cicero sat for a long while in the dark corner of the Frozen Hearth, nursing his tankard of ale. He was sorry dear Argis felt that way, but he really couldn't blame the man. Most people weren't as forgiving or as forward-thinking as sweet Tamsyn. Thinking of the girl, Cicero got to his feet. She must have been terribly upset at the Dragonborn finding out she'd been keeping secrets.
He left the Frozen Hearth and made his way through town, up the bridge and into the College. He crossed the courtyard to the Hall of the Elements, looking for Tamsyn. The older mage, Tolfdir, told him she was in the Arch-Mage's quarters and had requested she not be disturbed.
"But sweet Tamsyn—I mean, the dear Arch-Mage is upset," Cicero insisted. "She will need someone's shoulder to cry on. Cicero is very good at being a shoulder to cry on."
"I'm sorry," Tolfdir said kindly, "but her orders were specific."
Cicero frowned then, and a feral gleam came into his eyes. "Cicero will see the Arch-Mage," he said succinctly. "Or Master Tolfdir will experience the true sensation of flight when Cicero throws him off the tower roof. Of course, Master Tolfdir may well be dead before that happens!"
Tolfdir shuddered at the not-so-implied threat. Though he felt he was a match for most in a pitched fight, there was something about the motleyed fool before him that strongly suggested he should take the better part of valor.
"Well, since you are a close friend of the Arch-Mage," he said stiffly, "I suppose she wouldn't mind." He crossed over to the door at the side of the vestibule and unlocked it with his key. "Go right on up."
Cicero found Tamsyn sobbing her heart out on the bed. He quietly sat next to her and rubbed her back until she finally subsided enough to be coherent.
"Will sweet Tamsyn be alright?" he asked concerned.
"No!" she wailed. "Yes. I don't know." She smiled tremulously. "Oh, Cicero, I'm so sorry!"
"Pretty Tamsyn apologizes to Cicero?" he asked surprised. "But it is Cicero who should apologize to Tamsyn! If he had simply killed the Dragonborn when he had the chance, none of this would have happened!"
"NO!" Tamsyn wailed again. "I don't want you to kill him! Sithis doesn't even want you to kill him, remember?"
Cicero pulled a sour face. "Yes, Cicero remembers," he grumbled. "And he will keep his promise to be a good boy – though it is very difficult to remember that when one is being insulted. But Tamsyn is so upset now that the Dragonborn—" he couldn't keep the hard edge off his voice, "—has decided to leave without us, and Cicero is worried about his dear Arch-Mage."
"I don't blame him," she hiccupped. "I never told him, Cicero, I promise you that."
"Cicero knows," the little man said. "The Dragonborn told him that he figured it out on his own. Cicero never could keep his mouth shut."
"He hates me, Cicero," Tamsyn whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't stand the thought that he's out there in the world and only thinks of me with disgust."
"Sweet Tamsyn…likes…the Dragonborn?" Cicero asked gently. At her resumed sobbing, the little jester nodded to himself. "Oh, I see," he said, his voice dropped to a more normal pitch. "You don't just like him. You love him."
Tamsyn nodded her head. "Since the first day we came to Skyrim," she sniffled, "sitting in that cart on the way to Helgen to be executed." She blew her nose on a soft rag. "He looked about as scared and confused as I felt, but I still thought he was one of the handsomest men I've ever seen. And when he started asking questions about things only I would know…things about the world I left behind…I knew-" She stopped as she realized she'd said too much.
"That the Dragonborn is from your world," Cicero finished quietly. "Don't worry, sweet Tamsyn," he smiled. "Cicero won't tell. Who would believe a fool?" His voice rose to its usual squeak.
"Fools very often tell the truth others are afraid to speak," Tamsyn smiled back. He giggled at that.
"And did dear Tamsyn know he was the Dragonborn?"
"No," she shook her head. "Not until we got to Bleak Falls Barrow and he heard the chanting on the Word Wall that I couldn't hear."
"And now he's off to Blackreach without us," Cicero pouted. "Cicero was hoping to stabbity-stab more Falmer."
"I know," Tamsyn sighed, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry again, Cicero. I've made a mess of everything."
"No, no!" he exclaimed. "Dear Tamsyn did nothing wrong! Except, perhaps, not tell the Dragonborn the truth about poor, foolish Cicero, but that secret was not yours to tell."
"He doesn't see it that way," Tamsyn said unhappily.
"What will you do now?" Cicero asked.
Tamsyn sighed again. "I'm going to cry a little," she said sadly. "And then I'm going to dry my eyes and concentrate on being the best damned Arch-Mage Skyrim has ever known!"
Night fell before Marcus and Argis reached Alftand, but the Dragonborn didn't stop. Any wildlife that made the mistake of getting in his way was viciously and brutally cut down. He didn't even stop to skin them.
Argis said nothing, nursing his own hurt feelings. He had really liked Cicero. The jester made him laugh and they had lots of songs and jokes to trade back and forth. He thought Cicero was a brilliant fighter, dual wielding with nothing more than two daggers and a leather motley to protect himself from death, and Argis thought – not for the first time – that it was a shame he was an Imperial and wouldn't get to Sovngarde when he died. It would be fun to spend the rest of eternity drinking, carousing and singing songs of glory with the little man.
He knew Cicero was hoping for a more intimate relationship with him, but he really wasn't looking for that in his life right now, and let the jester know that from the beginning. There were no hard feelings, and it was actually kind of cute to see him snuggle up every now and then looking for the comfort of a hug.
But to find out he was Dark Brotherhood! Argis was torn. He could well believe that Cicero had been recruited. His knife skills were incomparable. Even so, there was an undeniable charisma about the red-haired Imperial that made Argis regret they'd never shagged, even while he was glad they hadn't, knowing what he knew now. Pairing with a man was nothing new in the Reach. Men paired with men and women paired with women. The Reachfolk were very open about that. Sometimes three or four or five would get together and it would end up being a group fest; Argis had even participated in a few of those when he was younger. Now, he was just hoping to find the right person to settle down with. And he knew now it couldn't be Cicero. Some things you just couldn't forgive.
Jogging again to catch up to his Thane, Argis blew out a breath of frustration. When did his life become so complicated? He knew the answer: when he became Housecarl to the Dragonborn.
They finally arrived at Alftand, an ancient Dwemer ruin buried in the glaciers of central Winterhold. The remnants of an exploration camp were scattered around, but it looked as though it had been abandoned for quite some time. Several tents were blown down from a storm, and the two wooden shacks they saw were in a sad state of disrepair. There were frozen bodies partially covered with snow. It was a grim tableau.
Still, the Dragonborn finally seemed to have walked off most of his fury, and he tersely directed Argis to help him put up some kind of wind-break around the more intact of the two shacks. It would be a cold night, regardless that it was now nearly Rain's Hand, which equated to mid-Spring in his old world. There was no wood with which to build a fire, unless they took the time to tear down the other shack and scavenge it for fuel.
It was too dark to see much, and there was at least a good, solid four hours or so until daylight. Marcus had no intention, now that his temper had cooled, of walking into a crevice somewhere and falling to his death. How he'd managed, in his blind fury thus far, to keep from doing just that, he would never know. The two men bundled up in their bedrolls, piling the ones from the campsite on top for added warmth, and settled down to try and get a couple hours of sleep.
Argis seemed to drop off right away, but Marcus found his thoughts too chaotic and conflicted. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, he finally gave it up and stepped outside to wait for the sun. He stayed bundled up in the bedrolls, and realized it wasn't too uncomfortable sitting on the leeward side of the shack.
As soon as it was light enough to see clearly, he woke Argis and they made a quick, cold meal of dried meats and fruits washed down with ale.
"You didn't sleep, Thane," Argis stated.
"Couldn't," Marcus said shortly. There was still anger there, Argis could tell, so he wisely held his tongue and said nothing. As soon as they finished eating, they scouted the area to find a way into Alftand. Near a chest in one shack was a journal written by an Imperial named Sulla Trebatius, describing an expeditionary force delving into Alftand to discover sources of magic not found by the mages at the College of Winterhold. Sulla's opinion of the College was rather scathing.
A tower nearby was locked with a set of iron bars it was impossible to lower. Marcus could just make out a lever on the other side, but it was just out of reach – probably by design. Argis found a wooden ramp that led down to a scaffold set into the side of the glacier. They followed it down and saw that it led directly into a fissure that pierced deeply into the ice. Taking a deep breath, Marcus went inside, with Argis on his heels.
One of the things Marcus noticed about Alftand was how different it seemed from the Dwemer ruins under the city of Markarth. In the Reach, the ruins had been dry, dusty and mostly intact. Here it was cold, wet and broken in so many places. The inexorable freezing and thawing of the tundra had shifted even Dwemer-set stones, allowing the glacier an access into the interior chambers.
Marcus found another journal, also penned by Sulla; in this one he spoke of a storm that had driven the party into the glacial fissure and swept away some of the workers outside. He seemed to be a glory-seeker, no longer content to hand over his discoveries to either the Mages Guild or the Legion.
Dwarven metal lay everywhere, in bits and pieces whose purpose it was impossible to determine. Argis commented quietly that some smiths were able to take the larger pieces and smelt them down into ingots, to turn into Dwemer armor and weapons. Most of it was far too heavy to lug around, but Marcus picked up a large, solid piece to take back to Blaise. Perhaps the boy would someday like to make a weapon or something from it.
It was clear this ruin would take them some time to traverse, to get to the bottom of it and find the entrance into Blackreach.
It was also clear that the party that had preceded them had met with catastrophic misfortune. Their first indication was the Dwemer automaton that looked for all the world like a six-legged spider made of Dwarven metal. After they destroyed it, Marcus examined the lab table and found a volume of research notes, in which Sulla described finding and fighting the metal constructs. He seemed more interested in obtaining one to studying, than to be worried about the safety of his party members, and Marcus compressed his lips. He packed the volume away before they resumed their search.
Further on they heard raised voices with Khajiit accents, one accusing the other of hiding skooma from him, but by the time they reached the place where the cat-folk were, one was already dead, and the other, skooma-crazed, went after Argis with a common woodcutter's axe. The big Nord cut the cat down and the two men moved on after Marcus confiscated the journal.
And so it went. They pushed on and drove deeper into the ruin, finding another journal, this one by a more level-headed member of the ill-fated party. Umana spoke of two missing party members, and her concerns over Sulla's leadership abilities. There were more spiders to be fought, and a few much larger robots that rode around on large bronze spheres. They were much more difficult to destroy, and Marcus was beginning to question the wisdom of coming in here with just a Housecarl to watch his back, as good as Argis was.
Still, he reasoned, he and Argis were trained warriors. Sulla's party seemed to have been made up largely of scholars and laborers. No wonder they'd had trouble here.
There were traps to avoid; spikes that shot out from the walls or the floor when they tried to open a door, plates on the floor that would trigger gouts of flames when stepped on, pistons that shoved them off into lower recesses where more spiders and spheres would attack. If it weren't for the fact that they found potions now and then to heal themselves – and thus minimize the toll on their dwindling stash – or treasure to pack away to take with them, Marcus felt it would have been a much more frustrating trip. If he hadn't had to find the Elder Scroll down here, he would never come to a place that wanted to kill him so badly.
The glacial ruins led into an area where it seemed the Dwemer had created the constructs that still guarded the halls. They found the body of one of Sulla's party members, Endrast, tucked away in a forgotten corner, where it seemed he had hidden himself to die. At least, that's what his journal, written in charcoal, had indicated.
This area held a couple more metal spiders, and a sphere guardian, which Marcus and Argis were by now getting very good at taking out quickly. There were also the strangest things Marcus had ever seen – well, aside from all the other strange things he'd seen in Skyrim. Several large, lumpy sacs were piled in the corners. When Marcus slit one open it revealed an egg of some kind, patterned in sky blue and black. He put a couple away in his pack.
Maybe Tamsyn knows—
He stopped that thought as a wave of anger and pain flashed through him. He would never know what she knew about the egg, because he would not be seeing her again. Furious with himself, he shouldered his pack again and continued on, Argis following silently in his wake.
Finally, they reached a point where they could go no further. There appeared to have been a way down at some point in time, but now the ramp – which Endrast had mentioned in his journal – was broken. They might be able to jump down, but there was no way of knowing if there was a way out once they did so.
"What do we do now, Thane?" Argis asked. It was the first time he'd spoken in over an hour. There was something about this place that inhibited them from speaking out loud. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the Dwemer machines still patrolled these ruins.
"The Elder Scroll is down there, somewhere," Marcus said. "So we jump."
It was easier for Marcus. He cheated and used his Become Ethereal Shout. But doing so had alerted their presence to other denizens of the deep. The pale, eyeless, half-naked creatures attacked with bows from a distance, and with swords and axes made of some kind of insect chitin, which was the same material that made up their armor. With the same long, pointed ears as other Elves, Marcus could only assume these were some horrible mutation of one of the above-ground races, and an oblique part of his mind wondered if any of these were related to Elenwen. He grinned sardonically to himself.
But their fighting prowess was no joke, as he soon found out. He and Argis both took a brutalizing working their way down the curving ramp, avoiding the huge claw trap and the flame jet along the way, and they were forced to stop and rest for a bit near a pair of large doors made of Dwemer metal to heal up.
"What the hell were those things?" he asked Argis.
The big Nord shuddered. "Falmer," he said. "I've heard tales of them. They tend to collect in the Dwemer ruins. Another reason why it's not a good idea to go poking around in them."
"They didn't have eyes," Marcus mused. "But they heard us. They probably sensed us, too, through vibrations or maybe smelled us coming. I noticed their nasal passages were larger, and more open. I've heard that when one sense is taken away, the remaining ones become much more acute."
"The Falmer have always been like that," Argis shrugged. "At least, as far as I know. We're probably gonna keep running into them down here."
"They may have been part of what killed off some of Sulla's party," Marcus said. "Or at least, the ones the Dwarven construct couldn't account for." He stood up. "We should keep moving. I have no idea how close we are."
"Tamsyn would know." It slipped out before Argis could stop himself, and he bowed his head at the look his Thane glared at him. "Sorry, Thane."
"Let's get going," Marcus muttered, opening the large bronze doors at his back.
There were more Falmer in the next room, a multi-level area with several enormous bronze shelving units that contained more parts of the automatons that patrolled the ruins. The Falmer here had an alchemy lab, and one was working there when Marcus and Argis crept forward. Seeing the lab made Marcus think of Tamsyn again, and he angrily pushed those thoughts aside and channeled the rage he felt at her betrayal into his aggression against the Falmer. It was short, ugly work, and in a pen around the corner, they found human remains; whose they were, it was impossible to tell.
The chamber beyond must have been a forge at some point far in the ancient past, but was now inhabited by more Falmer. What made this area more dangerous were the gouts of flames that would sporadically turn on and off. Marcus got burned several times while fighting the Falmer, and was forced to stop and heal up. He was alarmed at how their supply of healing potions was dwindling. He didn't say anything to Argis, but the big Nord also looked concerned. They hadn't even gotten to Blackreach yet. There was an alchemy lab back in the last area, but Marcus had never bothered to learn.
Unbidden, the image of Tamsyn bent over the alchemy lab in Riverwood during their first days in Skyrim came to mind.
"When applied to an arrow or the blade of a weapon, a poison against your enemy might be the difference between life and death…yours, that is."
How many times had she told him of the alchemical properties of the things she picked up? He couldn't remember now; all he remembered was the torchlight turning her hair to burnished copper and getting lost in her emerald green eyes. He could hear her musical voice chuckling in his mind's ear, the way it flattened when she was being sarcastic, lilted when she was amused, softened when she was comforting someone.
"Thane?" Argis asked, concerned. "Are you alright?" His Housecarl's voice brought him back to the present.
Irritated with himself for getting distracted, he snapped, "I'm fine, Argis. This way." He led the way into another multi-leveled area with an iron grating dividing the far end of the room from here. Just beyond the grating he saw movement, and recognized the soft flapping of bare Falmer feet on stone.
These Falmer had a spell caster with them, and it was a female. It was the first female Falmer he'd seen. She carried a staff with her that shot out blasts of frost that chilled and slowed him down.
"Take her out first!" he yelled to Argis, then was forced to defend himself against two warriors with their chitin weapons.
It was another tough fight, and one Argis almost didn't survive. The female's spells drained the big man's strength to the point where he was incapable of defending himself. Sensing weakness, one of the Falmer fighting Marcus pulled back and began attacking the Housecarl. Enraged, Marcus redoubled his efforts and sundered the creature's blade, then decapitated him on the spot.
Racing over to Argis, he struck down the mage before turning to face the last warrior, who still looked as though no one had laid a blade on him.
"Drink your potions," Marcus commanded Argis over his shoulder, blocking an arm-numbing blow to his left side.
"Only…two…left, Thane," the big Nord gasped.
"Drink them! That's an order!"
Reluctantly, Argis did as he was bid, and as soon as the potions took effect, he was on his feet, helping his Thane. Soon, all was quiet in Alftand once more. Marcus found the body of an Altmer on a table. She had been tortured to death, and he surmised this must be the second of the missing party members from Sulla's ill-fated expedition. Valie, she was named in the journal. Grimly he released her from the shackles that bound her to the table and found a ragged blanket with which to cover her. There was nothing more he could do, and the Falmer that remained here would probably return to desecrate her further. The futility of it all wasn't lost on him, but he did it anyway. She deserved that much consideration.
Nearby was an alcove with a lever in the floor, and Marcus realized it was similar to the tower they'd seen outside.
"This probably goes up," he told Argis. "How are we set for supplies?"
"Not good, Thane," Argis admitted. "We're almost out of potions, and while we've been particular about what we've picked up in here, I still don't think I could carry much more." His pack was already bulging with weapons and bits of armor that Marcus could tell were enchanted. He probably wouldn't use any of the items, but he knew he could sell them, and he needed to replenish his coffers. Being Dragonborn didn't exactly come with a weekly paycheck.
Marcus' pack was nearly as full, though his contained mostly the gold and gems he'd found, in addition to the last of the miscellaneous potions and poisons that weren't restorative in nature.
"Alright, let's see where this goes. Hopefully it will take us to the surface. We may have to make for Windhelm and re-stock. I hate to leave here without finishing the job, but we can't go much further without healing potions."
The lift only took them back to the glacial ruins, but it was adjacent to the area where they'd found the first lab table and the research notes. From there it was a simple matter of retracing their steps out, made easier by the fact that all the obstacles and enemies had already been dealt with. As they emerged from the ruins, they could see evening was wearing on. They slept in their rude shelter that night, taking turns on watch, and in the morning set out for Windhelm.
The city seemed surreal after their experiences in Alftand, and Marcus quickly conducted his business, selling off items he knew he wouldn't use and buying up as many healing potions as he could find in the city. Nurelion, the Altmer alchemist at the White Phial, looked worse than before, but grudgingly showed Marcus how to mix blisterwort and wheat to make a healing potion. It wasn't that strong, but at least he knew how to do it now. When asked what other ingredients could be used to make the same kind of potion, Nurelion gave him a short list of specific herbs, fungi and body parts that would do the trick. In return, Marcus agreed to try and locate the shop's namesake White Phial.
Just another item on my long list of Things To Do, he sighed inwardly as he and Argis left the alchemy shop.
"You still haven't returned my Beacon," chided that female voice in his mind, Meridia.
"I said I'd get to it!" he murmured.
"I've been patient, but it's been nearly six months, mortal," she returned testily.
"Take it up with Akatosh, then, and I'll fit you into my schedule," he muttered crossly.
"Did you say something, Thane?" Argis asked, worried. He'd noticed his Thane had a habit of talking to himself, but it wasn't his place to point that out. He just hoped no one else would notice and think the Dragonborn was touched by Sheogorath.
"Only to myself, Argis," Marcus sighed. "Let's get moving. I don't think there's another healing potion left in the city, and we've sold the other things. Time to return to Alftand."
"It'll be the middle of the night by the time we get there," Argis pointed out dutifully.
"I can't waste any more time, Argis," Marcus said. "What we've got with us is going to have to last. At least I know how to make healing potions now. Just keep your eyes open on the way for things like blue mountain flower and monarch butterflies."
"And blisterwort and imp stools," Argis grinned, having read the list himself.
"And if we pass by a farm on the way, I'll see if they'll let me buy their wheat," Marcus chuckled. Argis was delighted. It was the first time since they'd left Winterhold that he'd heard his Thane laugh. Maybe he'd be alright after all. Argis hoped so. He knew his Thane had been attracted to Tamsyn, but was angry at her for not telling him about Cicero. That was hardly fair, Argis thought. If he was friends with someone he knew had a shady past, he wouldn't blab about it to everyone he met. Maybe Tamsyn didn't say anything because Cicero had threatened her.
No, that couldn't be right, because she didn't act like she was afraid of Cicero. She seemed to be more…motherly…to him. As though she knew he was broken and wanted to fix him. That could be why she didn't say anything. It wasn't her secret to tell, and she was hoping maybe she could heal him and he'd be alright. It just didn't work out that way.
Argis sighed. He didn't blame Tamsyn, and he thought his Thane was wrong to, but they'd all made assumptions all around. It was a mess, that was for sure, and he didn't know how it could be fixed. He only knew that his Thane was miserable, and there was nothing he could do to help. For a Housecarl, it was a horrible position to be in.
They reached Alftand very early in the morning on the last day of First Seed and re-entered the glacier. They took the lift down to the torture chamber they'd left the previous day and continued to work their way through the ruins.
The chamber beyond the torture room led to a corridor where another Falmer lurked. By now, Marcus and Argis were aware of the square tiles in the floor that triggered a trap of some kind, so they hugged the wall to avoid the ones in this area and took out the Falmer as quickly as they could. The doors at the far end opened into a vast cavern. At the top of the ramp-stairs was a set of barred bronze gates, and beyond that they could see a raised area of some kind. Behind them rose another structure with stairs to their left leading up to it. There were Falmer here, as well, and a frostbite spider that took them completely by surprise. By now, Marcus was used to the spiders, though he hated their poisonous spit, and he dispatched it quickly with a couple of arrows. But it still left the other denizens of the deep to worry about.
One of the Falmer was a female, and that meant she was a spell caster. She shot fireballs at them with her staff and cast Ice Spikes with her hand. The warrior was wearing heavy chitin armor and carried a wicked-looking war axe and shield, also made of chitin. Marcus would never have believed that something that belonged to an insect – albeit a giant one, from the size of the casings – could be as tough as it was, but even his strongest blows seemed to glance off the Falmer's armor.
He stepped back for a moment while Argis engaged the warrior, and braced himself against the firebolts while he chugged a healing potion. He followed it up with one he had picked up in Windhelm, which Nurelion told him would lend him additional strength, temporarily, to be able to hit harder and do more damage.
When he felt the glow that told him the potions had taken effect, he rushed back to the fray and power-attacked the warrior. His Blades sword bit deeply into the armor as Dragonbane stabbed through the chitin and breeched its protection. The Falmer staggered, and Argis took advantage of the opening and finished him off.
The mage continued to cast her Destruction magic, backing away as she did so, and Marcus felt it was time to fight fire with fire, in a manner of speaking. He pulled out the staff he'd taken from the other Falmer mage and pointed it at the one he faced now. He wasn't exactly sure how Tamsyn had made her staff work, but he remembered seeing her frown in concentration.
Okay, staff, he told it silently. Do your thing.
A column of frost erupted from its end, and he directed it toward the female Falmer. She screeched and put up a ward to protect herself, though she continued to use her own staff of firebolts.
This wasn't working. He wasn't doing enough damage.
"Screw that," he muttered, putting the staff away. He drew his bow and nocked an arrow, letting it fly. It hit her squarely in the eye; she went down and did not move again.
Now that the enemies were dealt with, he and Argis explored the area looking for some kind of chain or lever to lower the iron bars and let them proceed. While they found a couple of chests on the way – one made entirely of chitin – it wasn't until they mounted the stairs to the upper structure that they finally found what they were looking for. There were a couple more Dwarven chests up here, and Marcus was relieved to find more healing potions inside. The gold and gems were nice, too.
With the lever thrown, and the bars lowered, they made their way in to find two sets of curved stairs leading to an upper level. Argis found a couple of treasure chests here, as well, and the potions and gold were gratefully added to their packs.
The scene at the top of the stairs, however, chilled him. Lying on the ground in front of him, lifeless and immobile, was a Dwarven Centurion. More chilling, however, was the active one advancing across the platform towards them.
"Flank it!" Marcus cried. "Stay out of the way of that steam!"
The Centurion was huge, taller than a man, but built to resemble what the Dwemer must have looked like ages ago. It moved with a sentience that belied its mechanical form, shooting painful bolts of Dwarven metal from its hands and blowing steam at them from its mouth. Each time it belched forth the scalding mist, it had to recharge a few moments before it could do it again.
"My sword's not strong enough, Thane!" Argis called, beating away at one leg, and desperately trying to stay out of the way of those deadly bolts.
"Are you saying you need a raise?" Marcus grinned. "You need better equipment?"
"It would help," Argis grunted as he ducked a blow from one massive metal fist. "Don't get me wrong, Thane, this Nordic carved steel is nice, but these enemies we've been fighting are tougher than the ones we've fought in the past."
Marcus had noticed that, too. "Alright," he said to himself. "Time to find out if the Tin Man has a heart." He had been studying how the thing was constructed, how all the parts had been fitted together, and he realized he'd seen a number of those same parts sitting on the shelves and scattered on the floor throughout Alftand. The large piece he intended to take back for Blaise, he realized, was part of the Centurion's upper arm.
As a technician in his previous life, it was Marcus' responsibility to trouble-shoot, and find out why things didn't work the way they should. He also loved to tinker with old cars, and thought with a flash of regret of the 1966 Ford Mustang he would never get a chance to drive. He and David had made it their pet project to restore it to mint condition. Well, hopefully David and his son Drew would finish it.
Now, as he struggled to do damage to the Centurion even as he tried to stay out of its way, he examined it carefully. It was heavily armored, there was no doubt about that, and if it had a weak point, it would have to be the joints of the knees and elbows. There was also a curious round, crisscrossed dome on the front of the construct, just large enough to house one of the gyros he'd seen on the shelves.
"Let's take him out at the knees!" Marcus called, and concentrated his efforts at those points. Argis followed suit and very soon, they brought the automaton crashing to the ground, where it was only slightly easier to finish it off. Curious to know what powered the thing, Marcus pried the cover off the dome and found a strange, glowing red crystal caged in Dwemer metal, and a large key. Though the Centurion was definitely rendered inactive, the sphere continued to glow. The other Centurion, lying prone where they'd come up the stairs, also had one.
"I think I'll keep these," Marcus grinned. "They're kind of cool."
"They don't look cold to me," Argis shrugged.
His Thane chuckled. "I meant I find them curiously interesting," he clarified.
"Oh."
They rested for a few moments, but Marcus wanted to push on. He was getting exhausted, having travelled all night to get back here from Windhelm, and he hadn't slept at all the night before. Grimly, they climbed yet another set of steps to an area that was caged in with bronze bars. The center of the area, between large stone columns, was a raised platform with a pedestal of Dwemer metal on the side furthest from them. At the back of the chamber, Marcus could see another gate, with a lift inside.
Suddenly, they heard voices raised loudly in anger. A man and a woman were arguing.
Marcus quickly opened the gate and he and Argis slipped inside.
"Sulla, let's just get out of here," the woman pleaded. "Hasn't there been enough death already?"
"Oh, I see," the man sneered. "You want me to leave. Take all the treasure for yourself." As this was Sulla, the woman he was arguing with was probably Umana.
"That's not what this is about!" Umana exclaimed.
"I'm not letting you spoil years of research, just to take all the glory for yourself," Sulla snarled. There was a clash of metal on metal, and Umana cried out.
"What are you doing? Alright, if that's the way you want it!"
Marcus motioned to Argis to creep around the left side of the chamber, while he moved quietly around to the right. Staying out of sight as best as he could, he worked his way around to see the tableau before him. Sulla Trebatius was locked in mortal combat with his own Housecarl, Umana. She wore plated steel armor and carried a spiked shield, which she used to bash her former master. She struck out with her Elven war axe, and even to Marcus' inexperienced eyes it appeared she had the upper hand on Sulla, who only wore heavy Imperial armor and carried an Imperial steel sword. The sword seemed to be doing some kind of frost damage, however, and Sulla was casting fire from his free hand, and it was clear that both were having an effect on Umana.
In the end, however, Umana's skills outplayed Sulla's, and she struck him down with one last bash from her spiked shield. She stood there, breathing hard, staring down at the man she had sworn to protect. "You didn't give me a choice," she whispered.
Marcus rose from his crouched position, and immediately, Umana was on her guard. "Who's there?" she called.
"We don't mean you any harm," Marcus said, soothingly.
"We?" Umana snorted. "Have you got a mouse in your pocket?"
He almost chuckled at that. "No, my Housecarl Argis is here with me. Come on out slowly, Argis," he called. The big Nord came around the center dais the long way, avoiding passing by Umana on his way to his Thane.
"What do you want?" Umana demanded, still poised to defend herself.
"To get to Blackreach," Marcus said. "We have no quarrel with you."
"You can't get to Blackreach," Umana said. "We tried. He tried," she clarified, with a glance at Sulla, lying in a pool of his own blood. "This place just…got to him," she added defensively. "He just went crazy."
"I know," Marcus said. "I saw what happened. You're not to blame. You were only defending yourself."
Umana slumped. "I served that man for fourteen years," she said quietly. "We never should have come here."
"What will you do now?" Marcus asked.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I can't go back home. I've killed my Thane."
"No one needs to know that," Marcus said. "Argis and I will vouch that it was in self-defense."
"I'll know," Umana said. "If you do find a way into Blackreach, may the gods go with you. As for me, I only want out of here, but I have no wish to die at the hands of the Falmer back there."
"We cleared them out," Argis rumbled.
"More will come," Umana said. "More always come. The filthy things breed like rabbits. If you take one out, three more crop up in its place."
"I found a key on one of the Centurions back there," Marcus said, jerking his head back in that direction. "Let's see if it opens the gate to that lift." He crossed over and fitted it into the lock, which turned easily. The gate popped open and Umana stepped up to the lever in the floor.
"You could come with us," Marcus suggested. "I don't know what I'll find down there. It would be good to have another fighter at my side."
Umana shook her head. "I just want to get out of here," she said. "I don't know what you expect to find in Blackreach, but whatever it is, I hope you find it. Good luck." She threw the lever and they watched the platform rise into the shaft and disappear.
Marcus watched it go, then turned to the podium on the dais. "Alright, Argis, let's see if this works." He pulled out the attunement sphere and fitted it into the cupped receptacle. Lights flashed on and off, and they heard the whirring and humming of machinery. And then, to their amazement, sections of the floor dropped down, from left to right around the dais to form steps leading down.
Marcus took a deep breath and clapped his Housecarl on the shoulder. "This is it, my friend," he said. "Let's go."
[Author's Note: "Discerning the Transmundane" is a necessary step towards achieving the goal of the main quest of the game: defeating Alduin, but it's not my favorite part of the quest. For the purposes of my story, I concentrated more on character development than combat scenes. Marcus has just learned information that shakes the foundation of everything he was beginning to feel for Tamsyn. Is it a deal-breaker, or can he recover from it?
As for Umana, I didn't like that the game made her hostile if she won the battle against Sulla, so this is my own spin on it. She may have to live with the guilt for a long time, but I think eventually she will accept that Marcus is right: she had no choice and she acted in self-defense. No jury in the world would convict her.
Next up, Marcus and Argis head into Blackreach and find wonders they never dreamed existed…as well as quite a few dangers, too.]