Chapter 27
Time seemed to have lost meaning in Blackreach. Shrouded in gloom, illuminated only by bioluminescent fungi and stones that gave off a soft blue glow, there was no way to determine the passing of day into night, and night into day. As soon as Marcus and Argis entered the Stygian subterranean caverns, they were beset by Falmer, a Dwarven sphere guardian, and a hideously nasty flying insect that looked like a wasp on steroids. By the time they had dealt with their enemies, Marcus was exhausted. He hadn't slept in two days, and he pointed to a building across from their point of entry that seemed mostly intact, and fairly secure.
Entering cautiously they discovered thankfully that it was empty, except for a skeleton that did not rise up and attack them, and the remnants of an alchemy lab complete with ingredients. There was a small amount of treasure here as well, but the most annoying thing was a large nirnroot that hummed constantly.
"That's kind of odd, though," Marcus commented.
"What is?" Argis asked, securing the door. "Nirnroots always make that noise."
"It's red, not green," Marcus pointed out. "All the nirnroots I've seen are a pale green."
"Should we pick it?" Argis asked.
"If we want to get any sleep, we'd better," Marcus grumbled. He crossed the room and plucked the annoying plant from its pot, shoving it into his backpack. The siren sound ceased, and Marcus smiled grimly. "Now we can get some shut-eye!" he said with satisfaction.
There was only one bed, but it was wide enough for the two men, who fell into it and were soon asleep. Marcus awoke hours later, disoriented, with no clear idea of how much time had passed. Argis was still asleep, and he decided to let his Housecarl get some further rest while he got a fire going in the fireplace and set out some food at the small table nearby.
The skeleton proved to be the remains of someone named Sinderion, an Altmer botanist of some renown from Cyrodiil, according to his journal, who had come to Blackreach to research the origins of the crimson nirnroot. He had hoped to acquire thirty of the samples from around the vast complex of caverns and return with them to his Dunmer colleague, Avrusa Sarethi, for further study.
Marcus found a spare blanket in a chest and carefully wrapped Sinderion's remains in it, setting the bundle to one side, out of the way. The field laboratory would make a decent base of operations for Argis and him while they explored Blackreach, looking for this Tower of Mzark.
When he had finished tidying up, he sat down at the table and ate a light meal. It could have been breakfast, lunch or dinner; he wouldn't have known. He re-read the journal and pulled the crimson nirnroot out of his backpack again to look at it more closely. In the natural firelight it was a deep red color, darker than Tamsyn's hair.
Angrily, he shoved the root back into his pack. Tamsyn again. She was constantly on his mind. Why? She had betrayed him! But he couldn't keep his thoughts away from her; the way her eyes danced when she was amused, the graceful way she moved when casting her spells, the fear in her eyes when she realized that Morokei was drawing his strength from her. It was that more than anything that made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would be alright. He wanted to hold her close when he saw her shivering in the cold outside Septimus Signus' outpost, to keep her warm and protect her from the cold.
But she knew! he told himself. She knew Cicero was Dark Brotherhood and said nothing!
It was not her secret to share, his inner dragon said severely.
"Oh, so you're back?" he muttered.
I've never been far away, the presence said. And you're being childish.
"Childish?!" he exclaimed loudly, then lowered his voice as Argis stirred. "How am I being childish?" he hissed.
You blame her for something that is out of her control, his dragon pointed out. You were never in danger, yet you took out your anger and frustration on someone who was not the target of that fear and anxiety.
"I—" Marcus opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again. He had been about to say that he wasn't afraid of Cicero, but deep down inside he knew it was a lie. He knew Cicero was a dangerous man; he had seen for himself how efficient a fighter he was, how much he enjoyed killing for its own sake, and how easily he slipped away into the shadows, unseen, unheard. His comment to Tamsyn that Cicero was only waiting for the right moment to strike was based on that fear. He was very afraid of Cicero – more than he'd been afraid of Astrid, or going into the Brotherhood Sanctuary to eliminate the rest of the assassins.
"Why did she choose to associate with him, then?" he demanded now. "She knew what he was."
You know enough about her by now to know why. It's one of the qualities she has that you admire, and yet you scorned her for it by rejecting her.
Marcus thought about that. There was a lot about Tamsyn he admired, he was man enough to admit that. She was beautiful to look at, with her body that curved in all the right places, her long red hair trailing down her back, with just the front part by her face twisted into two braids that fell on either side of her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were like forest shadows, cool and green, and her mouth—
He gave himself a mental shake. It was more than her physical looks that attracted him. He admired her intelligence, courage, her strength of character – though that had been tested lately – and her compassion. She empathized with the people she met, made them feel comfortable in her presence.
She showed a broken soul compassion, his inner dragon said. She gained his trust by kindness and companionship. She knew what he was, but chose to trust him. Are these not qualities you look for, in the people with whom you choose to associate?
"He's a lunatic," Marcus protested. "He could snap at any moment."
He was and is a lost soul who needed a purpose. Tamsyn gave him that purpose.
This was true as well. In the time they had traveled together, Cicero had talked infrequently of his love of killing things, generally in a passing comment that raised eyebrows and made one nervous to be around him. But Tamsyn would smile and divert his attention by asking a question, or teaching him another song he didn't know, or reminding him that where they were going, he would get a chance to use his skills.
He once sang about feeding a dead cat to his pet rat, but Tamsyn gave him a hurt look and said, "Cicero, I like cats!" and Cicero had changed the song to a different ending. Marcus doubted he would have done that had he not admired and respected Tamsyn. He was like a child who wanted to please his mother.
Realization dawned on Marcus; that was how Tamsyn had always treated Cicero. There was no lover's connection there. She had always responded to Cicero as a parent does to a child they must teach and guide. His twinges of jealousy were unfounded. Tamsyn was having a positive effect on Cicero, though Marcus privately felt he would always be a loose cannon.
"You think I'm wrong to feel this way?" he asked now.
No, his inner dragon said, surprising him. You are justified to feel as you do. But you are wrong to blame Tamsyn for not revealing that which was not hers to reveal. As I told you, you were never in danger from Cicero.
"How can you be sure of that?" he demanded, sourly.
The voice in his mind seemed to sigh. Cicero has been expressly forbidden to hurt you.
"Really?" Marcus blinked in surprise. "By Tamsyn?"
No.
"By who, then?" he asked.
You mean, 'by whom', and you don't need to know that. All you need to know is that Cicero is one of the last Dark Brotherhood assassins in Skyrim, and he may yet prove to be of some use to you.
"I don't need an assassin," Marcus growled.
The presence seemed to sigh again and take on a harder edge. You won't be able to do everything you hope to accomplish here without someone who can take on the tasks you cannot do, it said. Even in the world from which you came, your governments often employed the use of special operative forces to undertake covert missions of a sensitive diplomatic nature.
Again, Marcus was forced to admit the truth of that statement. While the seated Presidents might have denied it, it was fairly common knowledge that Special Ops Forces did far more than just surveillance and rescue missions. So while he might not like to acknowledge it, he could see there could be a place for Cicero, if he could be kept on a tight leash.
And acknowledging that truth also meant admitting he had treated Tamsyn abominably. He doubted he would ever get the chance to apologize to her, however. He had well and truly burned that bridge behind him.
I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you, his inner dragon remarked laconically.
When Argis awoke they ate and cleaned up after themselves before leaving the field lab. Argis was all for leaving some of the heavier loot behind, but Marcus pointed out they had no idea how large this place was.
"We might have to travel for miles here," he told his Housecarl. "Once we find that Elder Scroll, I'll be looking for the shortest way back to the surface, and that might mean we won't be coming back this way again."
"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Argis said.
"And the other reason is that we can't secure this building from the outside. We don't have a key," Marcus pointed out. "We could lock it from inside while we slept, but I had to pick that lock to get us in. If we leave things there, the Falmer could come in and take our stuff. I'd rather not have to go after it."
Argis nodded his head. That was one thing he liked about his Thane. The man explained his reasons. Very seldom did he just give an order and expect it to be followed blindly.
"Where do you want to start looking for this Tower of Mzark, then?" he asked his Thane.
"Over there, I think," Marcus pointed. There was a smaller building that looked like a gatehouse. At least, it had iron bars in front of it. But as they approached, they saw it was actually a lift.
"How do we get the bars down?" Argis asked, tugging at one.
Marcus examined the machinery in front of the gate. There was a cupped receptacle similar to the one that had opened the stairs to Blackreach for them nested in the center of the podium.
"Let's try that sphere again," he said. Argis stepped back as Marcus fitted the sphere into the receptacle. The lights flashed, the machinery hummed, and the iron bars retracted into the floor, revealing the lift.
"Do we go up?" Argis asked.
"Not right now," Marcus said. "But let's keep this in mind. I have a feeling it comes out to that lift we saw outside, that we couldn't get into. If we don't find any other way out of here, we'll come back to this."
With that, the two men turned and headed down the hill. Along the way, he noticed another of the crimson nirnroots whining near the steps.
Tamsyn would find that fascinating, he thought. It hurt, he admitted. He'd been wrong to treat Tamsyn as he'd done. He had always endeavored to treat people fairly and honestly, all his life. But since coming to Skyrim and being thrown completely out of his comfort zone, there was a petty side to his nature that was rearing its ugly head, and he didn't like what he saw. Since that first day at Helgen, he had done nothing but abuse Tamsyn verbally, and blamed her for everything. It was easier than dealing with his own fears.
He had doubted her, questioned everything she did, became irritated and angry when she wouldn't tell him everything she knew and only let him discover things bit by bit.
"Would the successes you've had so far mean as much to you if I'd been there holding your hand and telling you what to do next?"
Her words came back to him, from that night in the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar on their way to Labyrinthian. He had become a stronger person, more confident, better able to defend himself. He looked back on those first days after Helgen and cringed with humiliated and embarrassment. Tamsyn and Faendal had watched his back, protected him, and fought for him when he couldn't even swing a sword properly. Faendal had taken the time to coach him along. Tamsyn had given him her healing potions and protected him with her magic. And all he had done was to whine and complain.
Like children always do when their mothers watch out for them, he thought. But he didn't think of Tamsyn as a mother-figure. Not like Cicero. And he didn't want Tamsyn to think of him as an errant child. He wanted her to want him, the way he was beginning to think about her.
"What's that over there, Thane?"
Argis' low rumble cut through his musings, and he realized with a start that he'd better pay attention and stay focused.
Something was moving on a balcony across the way. In the eerie glow of the eternal Dwemer braziers, Marcus could see two Falmer creeping around, as if keeping watch. One was a female.
"We're far enough away for them to not sense us," Marcus muttered. "Let's see if we can pick them off with our bows."
Argis nodded in the gloom and drew his Dwarven bow. They'd found it in the ruins of Alftand up above, and Marcus told him to keep it, along with a supply of Elven arrows they'd found in Labyrinthian, where Marcus had found the Elven bow he now carried. It was a beautiful thing, carved with the impression of feathers and vines, and it was far stronger than the Imperial bow he had been using.
Carefully the two men took aim; Argis targeted the male while Marcus set his sights on the female. Two Elven arrows flew straight and true, but while they both hit, the Falmer remained standing, scurrying around searching for the source of their pain, and hiding behind the pillars that supported the roof of the balcony, or ducking into the doorway.
"Let's wait a bit," Marcus murmured, "give them a chance to relax their guard. It doesn't look like they want to leave that building to look for us."
So they waited, and after a few minutes, the Falmer crept out again nervously, sniffing the air and cocking their heads, listening….smelling. The two adventurers waited a few more minutes until the Falmer came to the edge of the balcony again and let fly with two more arrows. This time the Falmer slumped to the floor and lay still.
There was a cobbled road that led down the hill here, and Marcus proceeded down the lane with Argis close behind him. Halfway down, however, both men halted. Another of the large, wasp-like creatures was flying straight toward them, spitting its vile poison.
The Dragonborn and his Housecarl leaped apart as the spittle splashed the stones behind them. Marcus drew his sword and slashed, while Argis continued to shoot with his bow. The creature struck out with both clawed forelegs, snapped with its razor-sharp mandibles, and thrust forward with the stinger at the end of its abdomen. It was a lethal enemy, and the men had to avoid getting hit with the poison it spewed their way. Its exoskeleton was tough, and Marcus found his sword often skittering off its body, rather than sink in, if he didn't hit it squarely on.
Finally, after several minutes, the creature died, but Marcus realized they had another problem. The noise and scurrying of their combat had brought them too close to another Dwarven Centurion, which stepped out of its docking bay and blew a column of steam right at them.
Scalded and blinded with pain, Marcus rolled to his right into a quiet-moving river. The cool water soothed the burns, and as he came up for air he looked around for Argis.
"I'm gonna kill you!" he heard his Housecarl roar somewhere far to the left, but he couldn't see the man. Staggering to shore, hissing against the pain of the welts on his exposed skin, Marcus dug frantically into his pack for a healing potion, sighing in relief as the cool liquid slid down his throat, taking the sting out of the burns.
Once more he looked for Argis, following the sounds of combat. His heart leaped to his throat when he saw the man down on one knee, desperately holding off the pounding the Centurion was dishing out. He swiftly drew his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming for the Centurion's knees, but realized if the thing fell, it would land right on his Housecarl. Growling in frustration, he sheathed the bow and put the arrow away, drawing Dragonbane and the Blades sword instead.
Charging forward, Marcus ducked under the raised arm of the Centurion as it was descended to finish off Argis. Crossing the blades in front of him, he gritted his teeth and planted his feet to accept the force of that blow. His feet slid backwards by several inches, and every muscle in his arms and shoulders protested, but they held.
The Centurion raised its arm once more, but Marcus plunged Dragonbane into its chest. Akaviri steel sliced through Dwemer metal like a knife through cheese and struck the dynamo core within. There was a sizzling vrraapp! as the shock enhancement on the blade short-circuited the Centurion. It seized up and toppled over backward.
So that's the fastest way to kill these monsters, he thought with satisfaction.
Quickly, Marcus checked on his Housecarl. Argis was groggy, but conscious, and Marcus pressed a couple of potions into the man's hands, ordering him to drink. Marcus was tempted to take the core, which still glowed, but he already had two in his pack, and they were bulky and heavy. He did take the glass arrows the construct had inside it, however, and the filled soul gem that partially powered the machine.
And so it went. They explored; they fought and killed Falmer; they fought and killed more of the Uber Wasps, and these insanely large, scuttling centipede-like creatures that seemed to be where the wasps came from; they searched every building they found, taking out gold and gems, potions and magical items. They had to make decisions about what to leave behind when they could carry no more. They found a large, central complex with its own false sun – an enormous lamp suspended at an impossible height above the buildings which gave off a natural daylight to the area. There were humans here, but they were hostile, subservient to the Falmer that enslaved them. Marcus tried to free them, but they didn't accept the opportunity, attempting to slay the two men instead. With a sense of frustration and regret, they were forced to kill them in self defense.
He found more of the crimson nirnroot, but left them alone. The one in his pack was the only one he needed to show Tamsyn. Or perhaps some other alchemist, he thought sadly, if Tamsyn wanted nothing further to do with him.
It was while exploring the central tower, which Marcus felt sure must be this Tower of Mzark, that they were attacked coming out onto a balcony by several humans and a buffed-up Falmer warrior. Marcus was in the lead and used his Unrelenting Force to Shout them off the balcony.
The percussion of his Thu'um went out into the cavern beyond, passing around or through the 'sun', which at this point was on a level with them. As the Shout hit, a sound like a bell ringing resounded through the air.
"What was that?" Argis asked.
"I don't know," Marcus said. "Maybe we just summoned every Falmer within a fifty-mile radius, so get ready."
Argis nodded, and tightened his grip on his sword.
"RROOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!"
Marcus blinked at Argis. "You heard that, right?" he asked in disbelief. When his Housecarl nodded, Marcus muttered, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
There was a rumble in the balcony under their feet, and the flap of leathery wings as a red dragon swept past them and settled on the ground just outside the walls of the complex below.
"He's waiting for us," Argis observed.
Marcus gave a feral smile. "Well, let's not disappoint him, shall we?" Argis gave him an answering grin and the two men raced back down the tower to confront this completely unexpected development.
It was not an easy fight, despite the fact that the dragon, who roared out that his name was Vulthuryol, did not fly away. Supremely confident in his abilities, the dragon used his tail and wings to great effect, smashing Marcus to the ground, knocking Argis several yards away, and igniting the two men with his flame breath.
Marcus used the ring that Tamsyn had given him for some protection, and hurriedly shoved his last two potions of fire resistance into Argis' hands when they had pulled back to heal before going at it again. Marcus avoided getting bashed by the tail this time, but walked right into a wing-bash and ended up in the courtyard of the central complex, stunned and bleeding. One healing potion later he raced down the steps again, Shouted his Frost Breath at Vulthuryol, and landed several well-placed blows with Dragonbane on the wyrm's snout. Enraged, Vulthuryol snapped at him, and Marcus suddenly felt searing pain as sharp teeth pierced his armor. He felt himself being lifted and shaken like a ragdoll and thrown to one side.
He heard Argis bellow as if from a long distance away and fought to keep his eyes open. The last thing he heard was Vulthuryol roaring in triumph.
It was white all around him. There was no floor, no ceiling, no walls. Just the white. Looking down at himself, he realized he had no body. There was only a sort of shimmering, glowing nebula where he would normally be.
"Am I dead?" he tried to say. It didn't come out in audible speech, however, since he had no lungs to power a voice, no larynx to create the vibrations that made sound, no lips or tongue with which to formulate words. It existed only as thought.
"Do you want to be?" came another, very familiar thought.
He looked around; or rather, he sent his perceptions towards the place where he perceived the thought had originated.
A shape manifested itself, taking the form of a dragon. A very small dragon, yet it seemed immensely large and powerful.
"Who are you?" he thought.
"Oh come now, Marcus," the dragon said with some amusement. "I've been living inside your head for several months now. You know who I am."
"No, no," Marcus thought. "I get that you're my 'inner dragon', but who are you, really?"
"You asked me that question once before," the dragon smirked.
"You didn't answer me then, either," he pointed out drily. "Why don't I have a body here?"
"Because your body is down there," the dragon said, pointing with his claw.
Marcus looked down. Through the white that surrounded them, he realized he could see clearly into Blackreach. Vulthuryol lay dead. Argis must have killed it. Indeed, his Housecarl was in the act of binding his wounds, but the action below seemed to have been frozen in time.
"So I am dead, then," Marcus thought dully. "Alduin wins by default."
"You're not dead yet," the dragon told him sternly. "Though you did make a valiant effort to accomplish just that. I didn't bring you to Nirn just to have you get eaten by one of my lesser children."
"You're Akatosh!" Marcus realized.
"I knew you'd figure it out eventually," the dragon smirked again. "Now pay attention. We don't have much time—"
"What do you mean, 'not much time'?" Marcus demanded.
"I mean, stop interrupting and listen, or we'll have even less time!" Akatosh snapped. "Maybe I should have chosen Tamsyn. At least she knows what's at stake here."
"I'm sorry," the Dragonborn mumbled. "Please go on."
"That's better," Akatosh replied, slightly mollified. "There are a few things you need to know. The Tower of Mzark is located south of the Hall of Rumination, where you and your Housecarl currently are."
"Which direction is south?" Marcus wondered. "I'm all turned around down there."
"The great staircase is on the south side of the Hall," Akatosh told him. "If you stand at the top and look straight out, and slightly to the right, you'll see it. Get the Elder Scroll and get back to the Throat of the World as fast as you can."
"Alright," Marcus promised. "Are you going to send me back, then?"
"Not yet," the Dragon God of Time said indulgently. "You'll need to know the sequence to unlock the Dwemer machinery to get at the Scroll, or you'll be there for days, trying to figure it out."
The Chief of the Eight – or perhaps it was Nine – Divines then explained which buttons to hit, and how many times. "It will become clear when you get there," he assured Marcus.
"It sounds like a mathematical reduction," Marcus mused. "Four, then two, then one."
"Exactly," Akatosh smiled. "Just remember to start with the second button from the right, or you'll have to remove the lexicon, replace it and start over."
"Anything else?"
"Just this," the Dragon God said, his voice turning serious and his look somber. "My First Born will be waiting for you after you read the Scroll. Prepare yourself for the fight of your life. He means to kill you on Nirn, than devour your soul when you get to Sovngarde."
"Why?" Marcus asked. "What did I do to piss him off?"
"This isn't personal, Dragonborn," Akatosh told him. "This has been prophesized from the beginning of time. I should know. I was there. The Dragonborn is destined to destroy the God of Destruction himself. You are the only one who can do this."
"But why was I chosen?" Marcus pleaded. "Why did you take me from my world, from the afterlife I thought I would have?"
Akatosh sighed. "Your soul always belonged to Nirn," he told Marcus. "When Alduin was cast upon the winds of time, it did not mean he was helpless. He found the soul that was meant to destroy him and pushed it into another realm, another reality. He thought to cheat his destiny by eliminating you before you could be born here. When I realized what he had done, it was too late to recall you from Gaea, from 'Earth', as you call it. You had already been born there, and the threads of your life had already been woven."
Marcus considered this carefully before asking his next question.
"Did you cause the accident that killed my wife and I?"
Akatosh did not seem offended, surprisingly. "No," he said gently. "You were always slated to die at that time, in that manner. Your mate's soul awoke before yours. I came to her and explained what had occurred. I told her Alduin would make an attempt to destroy you before you would return to Nirn."
"So I was never going to Heaven anyway?"
Akatosh shook his head. "Your soul belongs here, in this realm."
"And Lynne?" He felt the familiar pain of loss, though it was less intense than before. Perhaps because he didn't have a body here.
"Alduin is of this realm as well," Akatosh said calmly. "Though he may have dissipated your mate's soul for a time, she would have gone on to her assigned afterlife. She knew this might happen, yet willingly interposed herself between the two of you. In doing so, she gave me the opportunity to spirit you away and return you to Nirn, in the first available body I could find."
Marcus remembered waking up in the cart. "What happened to the poor schmoe I replaced?" he asked, idly curious.
"He died of his injuries," Akatosh stated. "Are you quite satisfied, now? Have all your questions been answered?" There was indulgent amusement in the question.
"Yeah, I'm good," Marcus thought. "Thank you for explaining it all to me."
Lynne had survived! Her soul hadn't been destroyed! Though a part of him was elated, he was also sad to realize they would never spend eternity together in Heaven now. She was from the world he'd left behind, and apparently, his soul belonged here.
Akatosh inclined his head slightly. "You are welcome, Dragonborn. And now I must send you back. I have halted time while we spoke, but tiid bo amativ; time flows ever onward. Even I cannot halt it forever. There is just one more thing I wish to tell you," he said, and here his voice took on a stern edge.
Marcus braced himself for a lecture. He knew he probably deserved it. "Tamsyn has done everything to help you. Do not take that for granted. Her decisions on what to tell you, and her reasons for doing the things she does are based on her foreknowledge of the game she played in your world. Though her memories have been enhanced, she still cannot account for what she calls 'free will', the tendency for people to do what they want to do. So do not blame her when things do not go as planned. She has always tried to help you to get strong enough to defeat Alduin."
Marcus would have nodded if he could have. Instead, he thought, "I understand."
"I hope you do," Akatosh said firmly. "You have other things ahead of you, and you will need her assistance if you hope to come through them. Bear that in mind, Dragonborn. Farewell."
The white faded, and there was only darkness once more.
Argis heaved a huge sigh of relief when his Thane gasped and opened his eyes. In the light of the artificial sun, Marcus' face was pale and drawn, and Argis was afraid he would have to haul his Thane back to Whiterun on his back.
"Thank the gods, you're awake!" he exclaimed.
"No," whispered the Dragonborn. "Thank Akatosh. It was his doing."
Argis said nothing. He had no idea to what his Thane referred, but it was clear the man needed rest. He gave him a healing potion, then insisted they grab a few hours of sleep in one of the buildings in the central complex. Cleared of Falmer and their servants, Argis felt it would be safe enough.
But his Thane refused. "Just give me another healing potion, and a stamina potion, too, Argis," he said. "We need to keep moving."
"But my Thane," Argis protested, "you nearly died! I killed the dragon, but it didn't light up—"
The big Nord broke off as Vulthuryol suddenly lit up like an Imperial candle on St. Alessia's Day, and the soul poured forth and settled into Marcus.
His Thane grinned at him. "You were saying?"
His Housecarl scowled. "You're still weak, my Thane. We should really rest."
"I'll be fine after these potions," Marcus said. "And we're actually very close to our goal." He pointed across the river to a large tower rising from the mists. The phosphorescent rocks and fungi surrounding it lit up the base, and the Dwemer braziers illuminated the upper floors. A bridge connected the tower to the mainland. "There's Tower Mzark," he told his Housecarl. "We were this close all along."
"How do you know?" Argis asked doubtfully.
"I've had some inside information," Marcus replied. "And we need to keep moving. Time is running short."
Argis held his tongue and didn't question his Thane as they gathered up their supplies, picked over Vulthuryol's carcass and headed towards Tower Mzark. Nothing further molested them and they made it safely to the main entrance and opened the door.
Once inside, it was a simple matter to find the Dwarven contraption inside and place the lexicon therein. Lights flashed once more and hidden machinery whirred. Buttons lit up, but with Akatosh's words in his ears, Marcus waited until the second from the right lit up before pushing it four times, waiting each time between them until the glass panels in the floor below aligned themselves. The second button from the left lit up, and Marcus pressed it twice, waiting as the armatures adjusted into position each time. Then the button on the far right illuminated, and Marcus pressed it once. The central portion of the armature dropped down vertically, leveled itself to a horizontal position and opened up.
Almost in awe, Marcus and Argis descended to the main floor and approached the Elder Scroll, resting in its receptacle.
"Should we take it?" Argis asked.
Marcus laughed out loud. "Isn't that what we're here for? I'd hate to think we came all this way, and I almost died just to look and say, 'Okay, that's it, we've seen it, let's go!'"
Argis gave him a sour look. "I mean, what if there's a trap on it?" he demanded.
Marcus shook his head. "I don't think there is," he said. But he took a deep breath to steady his nerves before reaching out and removing the Scroll. It was somehow lighter than it looked, though even his uninitiated senses could feel the power that radiated from it. With a sinking feeling, he knew this was something he would have to keep with him constantly. There would be no way he could just leave this at home. One of the children might try to read it, and he shuddered to think of what might happen if they did. It had driven Septimus Signus stark raving mad.
They found one more room, just behind the Scroll Chamber, and under the machinery that had given them access to the kel, as Paarthurnax had called it. This chamber contained a lift, and the two men breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn't have to trek all the way back through Blackreach to the other one they'd found.
"Aren't you glad I suggested we keep everything with us?" Marcus asked smugly as they ascended.
The lift took them all the way to the surface, and deposited them on a rocky, snow-swept hillside. The easiest way down led them southeast, around a shoulder of the mountain ridge behind them, and Marcus was delighted to see, looking southward, the rising edifice of Dragonsreach in the distance. Behind that, rose the towering peak of the Throat of the World.
"Wow!" Argis exclaimed. "We must have walked halfway across Skyrim! How long were we down there?"
"We'll find someone on the road and ask them what day it is," Marcus grinned. "Right now, we need to get to High Hrothgar as soon as possible."
"Aren't we stopping in Whiterun for the night?" Argis asked. It was midday, from the looks of the fleeting shadows that showed when the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, but Marcus was feeling a sense of urgency. He wondered how much of that was Akatosh, lurking there in the back of his mind.
"No," he said, though he desperately wanted to get home and see his children. "Let's just get this done, and we'll come back and take a break when it's finished." He was confident now that he could take on Alduin. As soon as he read the Scroll and learned Dragonrend, he would be able to keep the great black dragon grounded long enough to kill him. If he hurried, they could make it to Riverwood before nightfall, and if they pushed on through the night, they could sleep a few hours in Ivarstead before making the climb up the Seven Thousand Steps. With any luck, in two days' time, maybe three, they could return to Whiterun and relax, the threat of the World-Eater eliminated once and for all.
"You have it!" Paarthurnax exulted. "The Kel - the Elder Scroll. Tiid kreh... qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."
The old gray dragon was more excited than Marcus could ever remember seeing him. His eyes sparkled like diamonds, and his great claws flexed on the stones under his feet, shredding and crushing them. The spines on his back lifted and flared outward. For Paarthurnax, that was considerable emotion to be showing.
Ahead, the vortex of the Time-Wound shimmered and twisted, like heat waves coming off hot asphalt in the summertime. But they were at the top of the Throat of the World, and if summer ever shone on this peak, the cold and snow scoffed at it.
Purposefully, and with confidence, Marcus opened the Scroll, expecting to find words to be read. What he saw instead were drawings, schematics, charts. Alien in concept, neither of this world nor the one from which he came. His vision swam and he felt dizzy. He hoped he wasn't going mad.
And then, just when he thought he might pass out, something in the center of his vision cleared. All around him, his peripheral was still roiling, but as long as he focused straight ahead of him, he could keep from losing his lunch. Everything was tinted the color of blood.
He tried to move and found he could not. He could look to left and right, but moving closer to something proved impossible. A figure, however, moved into his field of vision: a warrior, in armor similar to those he'd seen on draugr in the tombs he'd been in.
"Gormlaith!" the man cried. "We're running out of time! The battle..."
He broke off as a dragon landed heavily right in front of him. The beast sneered at the man.
"Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii," He said in the language of the dragons. But he switched to the common tongue to further taunt his adversary. "Today Alduin's lordship will be restored. But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain."
"For Skyrim!" the Nord yelled, and bravely attacked the dragon, who snapped at him and breathed fire in a deadly blast. The man somehow withstood the onslaught, and was about to renew his efforts when another figure, this one a woman in plate steel, raced in from his peripheral left and leaped up onto the dragon's head.
So I'm not the only one who figured that trick out, Marcus grinned to himself.
"Die now, beast!" the woman cried. "Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!"
With a shudder, the dragon collapsed, gasping out its last breath. Marcus half-expected to see it ignite and give up its soul, but it didn't. There was no Dragonborn here.
I'm not even really here, he remembered.
"Hakon! A glorious day, is it not!" Gormlaith grinned, sheathing her sword.
Hakon glared at her sourly. "Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?"
Gormlaith laughed. "What else is there?" But she sobered at seeing her companion's worried look.
"The battle below goes ill," Hakon said, concerned." If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."
Gormlaith patted his back. "You worry too much, brother. Victory will be ours."
So, they're brother and sister, Marcus realized. That explains the family resemblance.
Both were Nords, and while Hakon's hair was red and Gormlaith's was blonde, there was still, under the war paint, the same shape of face, the set of the chin and eyes, that told more than anything that they were related.
"Why does Alduin hang back?" Hakon demanded now, staring directly at Marcus. "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."
Marcus opened his mouth to ask what Hakon meant by that, but a voice came from behind him, and another figure walked through him to approach the other two. Marcus saw with interest that he carried an Elder Scroll…the Elder Scroll, on his back.
"He will come," the older man, a Greybeard, said. "He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"
"We've bloodied him well," Gormlaith said smugly. "Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day."
"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself," the Greybeard pointed out. "Galthor, Sorri, Birkir..."
"They did not have Dragonrend," Gormlaith boasted with pride. "Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head!"
The elder shook his head. "You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll."
At this point Hakon, who had been peering over the edge of the mountain, whirled around and strode back to his sister and the older man. "Felldir!" he exclaimed. "We agreed not to use it!"
The Greybeard, Felldir, said stiffly, "I never agreed. And if you are right, I will not need it."
"No," insisted Hakon. "We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now."
Gormlaith called out, "We shall see soon enough. Alduin approaches!"
"So be it," Hakon muttered.
The great black dragon, the god of destruction himself, flew over their position, making the ground tremble with the force of his beating wings. He whirled in the air and settled himself on the Word Wall, the same Word Wall upon which Paarthurnax liked to roost.
"Meyye!" he mocked them. "Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!"
He launched himself into the air again to come around and strafe them.
Gormlaith was unafraid. "Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!" she cried.
As one, the three figures Shouted up at Alduin, and Marcus felt their Words penetrate him, fill him, suffuse him with their meaning.
"Joor Zah Frul!" Mortal. Finite. Temporary.
For the brief time in which the Thu'um seized Alduin, he felt the decay of death around him, felt the weakness in his muscles and limbs, the heaviness of the ground sucking him down. He crashed to the ground, unable to fly. This was Dragonrend.
"Nivahriin joorre!" Alduin cried in alarm. "What have you done? What twisted Words have you created?! Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first... dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate... To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"
"If I die today," Gormlaith gritted, "it will not be in terror. You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes. Skyrim will be free!"
She leaped at him and swung her sword with all her might. On Alduin's other side, Hakon and Felldir laid into him as well. Alduin struggled for several minutes to keep all three seasoned warriors at bay. He snapped with his cruel maw, attempted to knock them off their feet with a sweep or smack of his heavy tail, or send them flying with a buffet from his sail-like wings. But eventually, the Shout wore off, and Alduin was able to move more freely again.
Gormlaith moved in to attempt to leap onto Alduin's head, but he anticipated this move, and instead his jaws closed around her form, piercing her body and crunching her bones so swiftly there was no time for her to cry out. Shaking her as a dog would a chew toy, Alduin flung her away from him. Her body slammed against the Word Wall and lay there, still and lifeless, but Marcus thought with dismay that she was already dead and never felt the impact.
"NOOOO!" Hakon wailed. He lashed out furiously at Alduin, but the huge black dragon saw no need to take to the sky. It was clear that at this point, with the Thu'um no longer in effect, that Hakon was doing little to no damage to the dragon god of destruction.
"No, damn you!" he cried. "Felldir! It's no use! Use the Scroll, NOW!"
Felldir withdrew to a safe distance and pulled the Elder Scroll off his back and opened it.
"Hold, Alduin on the Wing!" he intoned. "Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"
Stunned, the great black dragon writhed as forces beyond his strength took hold of him.
"Faal Kel...?!" he roared in disbelief. "Nikriinne..."
His thunderous cries faded as a purple and black portal opened and sucked him in, closing rapidly behind him. Just that quickly, he was gone.
Felldir sagged. "You are banished!" he breathed.
"It worked... you did it..." Hakon's voice was full of wonder.
Felldir nodded, and Marcus could tell that the knowledge of what he'd done weighed heavily on the old Greybeard. "Yes, the World-Eater is gone... may the spirits have mercy on our souls." He looked straight into Marcus' eyes as he spoke, and the Dragonborn had the curious sensation the old man could actually see him, just before the time vortex picked him up and threw back to his end of the continuum.
And not a moment too soon, it appeared. The shadow of Alduin blotted out the sun as he hovered directly over Marcus.
"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor," he sneered. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"
"Lost funt!" Paarthurnax cried. "You are too late, Alduin! Dovahkiin!" he called down to Marcus as he launched himself into the air. "Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"
Argis began shooting his arrows for all he was worth, but it soon became apparent to the big Nord that they had no effect on Alduin.
"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" Marcus roared, scoring a direct hit on Alduin. A blue glow he didn't see in his vision suffused the dragon god of destruction, and Alduin shuddered as once more, the Thu'um created to bring him down gave him another taste of mortality.
Landing heavily, he Shouted, "Strun bah yol!" The skies darkened and suddenly meteors began raining down out of the sky.
Oh no, you don't! Marcus thought. The tingle at the back of his throat told him it was too soon to Shout again, but he and Argis struck out again and again with their swords while the dragon was grounded until Marcus felt he could Shout again.
"Lok vah koor!" he called out, and the skies began to clear. Alduin growled and snapped at him, still bound by the Dragonrend for a few moments longer.
"I killed your mate, Dovahkiin," he gloated. "I tore her soul to pieces and devoured it. Even if you go to Sovngarde, you will not find her there. And I will be waiting to devour your soul as well."
A week ago, that comment might have brought Marcus to his knees, or made him mad enough to make a foolish mistake. Not now.
"You're a fucking liar, Alduin," he sneered at the dragon. "I had a nice long talk with your Dad the other day and he set me straight on that matter. By the way, he says he's very disappointed in you."
Okay, so that last bit wasn't entirely truthful, but if Alduin was going to lie, Marcus felt no qualms about telling a few little white ones himself.
The tingle from the Clear Skies Shout was gone, and Marcus was ready when Alduin roared and threw himself into the air again.
Once more the Dragonrend Shout brought the World-Eater down, and both Dragonborn and Housecarl hacked and slashed, already weary, but knowing they couldn't stop. This had to end here and now.
"You will pay for your defiance!" Alduin growled. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" he Shouted, a gout of flames enveloping the Dragonborn.
Marcus felt his skin blister and his facial hair singe, but the ring Tamsyn had given him, which he still wore since his fight with Vulthuryol and had forgotten about, afforded him some protection. He pulled back and gulped down a healing potion while Paarthurnax swept down and traced a line of frost between the two men, straight down Alduin's back.
"Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to your neck!" Alduin raged, leaping into the air, the Dragonrend spent. It was the same threat he had voiced in the vision Marcus had had.
The two dragons flew too far away for Marcus to use Dragonrend again; too high and too far off the side of the mountain, though Marcus could see that Paarthurnax was attempting to force Alduin back to the mountaintop where the two men waited. Argis downed a healing potion and brought his bow up, but Marcus put a hand on his arm.
"It won't do any good," he told his Housecarl. "We can only hurt him when he's grounded. Save your arrows."
They waited several minutes, regaining their strength until Paarthurnax swept down in a dive that drove his brother closer to the side of the Throat of the World.
"Now, Dovahkiin!" he called. "Use Dragonrend!"
And Marcus did, though it caught Paarthurnax in the percussion. He hoped the old dragon would forgive him. The two immortal drakes crashed to the ground, and Alduin was on his feet immediately; Paarthurnax was slower, and he limped on one hind leg.
Marcus and Argis raced over to where Alduin waited, and the battle was on again, until finally Alduin drew himself up.
"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin. You have become strong," he admitted. "But I am Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!"
So saying, he pulled himself into the air and wheeled off, avoiding the last Dragonrend Marcus sent after him. He disappeared into the distance, heading east.
Paarthurnax hauled himself heavily into the air and landed gingerly on the Word Wall.
"Are you alright?" Marcus asked, concerned. "I'm sorry about the Shout."
"Do not be concerned, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said. "Though I did not wish to experience that particular Shout first-hand, it was my intention to keep my brother within your hiiv…your reach. He is…tahrodiis…treacherous."
So that's what that word means, Marcus thought. When this is over, and the kids are grown and gone, I'm coming back here to learn the dragon language and have long conversations with this wonderful dragon.
"So what happens now?" Argis asked. "Did we beat him?"
Paarthurnax chuckled. "Alduin is not so easily…defeated, Hofkinspaan," he said.
"What did you call me?" Argis growled.
"It means, loosely, 'Housecarl' in your language," Paarthurnax chuckled again. "You serve the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn; you guard and protect him. You are his Hofkinspaan."
"Oh, yeah, okay," Argis said, not entirely convinced.
"I thought I was supposed to kill him," Marcus said. "But he got away. What do I do now?"
The old gray dragon cocked his head to one side. It was as close as a dragon could get to shrugging.
"You might try to convince one of Alduin's allies to tell you where he has gone," he said. "But you would need to… siiv ven wah horvutah mok….find a way to trap him. The hofkahsejun of the Jarl in Whiterun was once used in that manner."
"Wait a minute," Marcus said. "The what?"
"The…palace," Paarthurnax said. "Ages ago, one of the dov was captured there. I used to visit him, from time to time; he was half crazed with loneliness," the old dragon said sadly. "He did not even remember his own name. I do not know how he came to be trapped, but the Bronjun, the Jarl, was very proud of his pet. Paak!"
If Paarthurnax could have spat, Marcus was sure he would have.
"The place has been known as Dragonsreach ever since," he concluded.
"So I need to trap a dragon," Marcus mused, rubbing his chin. He needed a shave, he thought obliquely.
"Indeed," Paarthurnax chuckled. "A worthy quest for a Dovahkiin."
Marcus gave a half-smile. "The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so," he said.
"True," the old dragon agreed, "but your su'um is strong. I am sure you will find a way to convince him of the need."
Marcus and Argis bid farewell to Paarthurnax shortly after that, and Marcus promised to visit again soon to let him know how things transpired. They stayed that night in Ivarstead and set out again for Whiterun in the morning.
Somewhere on the road just south of Helgen, a fireball came out of nowhere and immolated the two warriors. With his eyes streaming from the smoke and pain, Marcus cast around in all directions to see another headed their way.
"Down!" he cried, pulling Argis down to the ground with him. The fireball passed harmlessly overhead, and Marcus leaped to his feet.
"FUS RO DAH!" he thundered, and saw three figures lift into the air and slam into an outcropping of rock. Green and gold armor glinted in the sun, and the third figure wore black robes trimmed with gold. Thalmor.
He quickly motioned Argis to circle around to the right while he worked his way around to the left. As the three elves picked themselves up off the ground they suddenly found themselves under a retaliatory attack. It was short and ugly, and Marcus kept the mage alive long enough to interrogate.
"You can't make me talk!" the Thalmor spat. "It would take methods such as we use before you could get anything out of me, and you Imperials are too soft to consider the fine art of torture."
Argis broke his neck. "Uh, sorry, Thane," he said, not sound in the least contrite. "I guess my hands slipped."
Marcus scowled. "Next time let me decide when it's time for that, okay?" he simmered. He still felt there was much the Thalmor could have told him. Now he would never know. The only thing the mage had on him was a letter on parchment.
"Be on the lookout for the Imperial, known as Marcus Dragonborn. He is an enemy of the Thalmor, and has actively disrupted our activities and cause great harm. If spotted, you are to destroy him with extreme hatred.
"Be advised, he is extremely dangerous, and quite able to defend himself. If caught by the local authorities, we are unable to offer you any assistance.
"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!"
Though the letter was unsigned, Marcus would have bet dollars to donuts – or in this case, septims to sweetrolls – that Elenwen had been behind the pen.
"Well, at least it's 'extreme hatred'," Marcus grinned sardonically, showing the note to Argis. "I'd hate to think they were holding back."
"Why would they think you've done anything against them?" Argis asked as they continued on their way, after stripping the bodies of any valuables.
"Maybe because I have," his Thane admitted shamelessly. "I don't like those guys. There were people like them where I came from, and they almost took over everything. It was before I was born, but a great man once said, 'Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it.' I'm not going to give the Thalmor the chance to do to Skyrim what the Nazis nearly did to my old—home." He finished quickly, having almost said, 'world'. Argis didn't know yet that he hadn't been born in Nirn. Only Paarthurnax had heard the truth from him, though Tamsyn had told Faendal the day after they arrived in Skyrim.
Argis said nothing, and if he noticed his Thane's near slip, he didn't call attention to it. They made good time the rest of the trip, not stopping in Riverwood, though he waved to Alvor as they passed. By the time they got to Whiterun it was late afternoon, and both men were tired. A good meal and a long rest to decide what the next course of action should be was all Marcus wanted.
"Marcus! Thank the gods you're back!"
It was Adrianne, at her forge, and her manner was one of nervous worry.
"What's wrong, Adrianne?" he asked, glancing around. "Is something wrong with Blaise? Is he inside?"
He moved to go into her shop, but Adrianne stopped him. "No, Marcus, he's not in there. I—" She looked almost ready to cry.
"They took the children, Marcus!" she whispered. "Blaise, Sofie, Lucia…the Thalmor came….Lydia tried to stop them…"
Whatever she had been about to say was lost as Marcus bolted for his house, throwing open the door.
Inside the place was wrecked. Furniture was smashed and splintered. Crockery lay in pieces on the floor. Books had been thrown into the fireplace, and he almost cried. It had taken him months to collect some of those volumes!
He dashed upstairs, calling for his children, but there was no answer. Adrianne had told him, but he hadn't wanted to believe it.
A noise from downstairs alerted him, and he found Argis with his sword drawn pointing down the stairs to the basement.
Carefully the two men descended and Marcus saw that more damage had been done here. His display cases were smashed and the weapons and bits of armor he had collected had been taken. A trail of blood led to Lydia's quarters, where the priestess of Kynareth, Danica Pure-Spring waited in the doorway. Marcus hadn't seen her since he'd retrieved some Eldergleam sap for her to restore the Gildergreen tree in the park.
"Danica!" he exclaimed. "Why are you- where's Lydia?" A sick feeling twisted his gut.
"She's fine, Dragonborn!" the priestess assured him. "She's resting comfortably now, but it was a near thing. I don't know how long she lay there bleeding out before Adrianne found her." In addition to the near-fatal sword wounds, Danica told him, Lydia had been beaten within an inch of her life. One eye was still swollen shut, and the fingers of both hands had been broken, as if stepped on and ground into the floor. She had suffered fractured ribs and a punctured lung, and only the gods knew how she had managed to survive.
"May I see her?" he asked.
"I think so, for a little bit," Danica said, "but she really needs to rest." She stepped aside and let Marcus enter Lydia's private quarters. Though below ground level, it was roomy and warm, with its own fireplace, weapon rack and mannequin, practice dummy and bookshelves. A large, double-bed took up the end of the room farthest from the door, and Marcus crossed over to sit down on the chair next to his Housecarl's bed.
Lydia's eyes were closed, and not for the first time, Marcus wondered just how old she was. Looking at her now, she didn't seem very long out of her teens, though he knew she had risen through the ranks of Balgruuf's guard to become eligible for Housecarl duty.
"Lydia," he said softly, taking her bandaged hand carefully in his. "Lydia, it's Thane Marcus. Can you hear me?"
One eye…the good one…slowly opened, and Lydia turned her head slightly to look at him. He smiled. "How do you feel?"
"Better'n'I look," she mumbled through two split, swollen lips. "'M sirry, Fane," she muttered. "Tried stop 'm. Too many." Her eye squeezed shut. "Chil'ren," she gasped on a sob. "'Ey took chil'ren!" A tear slid slowly down her cheek.
"Shh!" Marcus soothed. "Don't cry, Lydia. We'll get them back, don't worry. Who was it? Adrianne said it was the Thalmor?"
Lydia gave a slight nod of her head. It was all she could manage. "Came 'n'a night," she managed. "Tried fight 'm, got hurt bad. I failed, Fane," she murmured. "I r'sign. Not worfy t'be yer Housecarl."
"I reject your resignation," Marcus said sharply. "And I'll hear no more such talk. You're my Housecarl until I decide to let you go. And I'm going to need you to get well soon, because we have to go after them. Do you know where they went?"
Again Lydia nodded slightly, tears still trickling down her left cheek, the good side. Marcus hoped she wouldn't lose her right eye. "Lef' this fer you," his Housecarl said, fumbling for something on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.
"I'll get it," Argis said, moving to that side. Lydia turned her head to follow this new voice and stared into a golden eye smiling down at her. "Gosh, you're pretty!" Argis blurted. Lydia just stared at him, pink coloring her cheeks that had nothing to do with a fever.
"'Ou mus' be blind if 'ou fink vat," she muttered, looking away.
"Only half blind," Argis grinned, undeterred. "But I don't miss much with the one that works."
Lydia blushed again and closed her good eye. Argis spared her any further embarrassment and handed his Thane the piece of parchment Lydia had been trying to retrieve. He broke the seal and opened it.
"Marcus Dragonborn," the letter began, "while I am not entirely happy with your intrusion into my private affairs, you have nevertheless proven what a resourceful person you can be. I have underestimated you, and I assure you that does not happen often…or twice. I know now that you are responsible for the break-in to my private solar, the deaths of several valuable employees, and the theft of some of my personal writings of a rather sensitive nature. Do not try to deny it. Since you have seen fit to take something which belongs to me, I felt I should return the favor and take something of yours. If you want your children returned safely to Whiterun, present yourself to my Auxiliary at Northwatch Keep by 15th Rain's Hand and turn yourself in to answer for your crimes. Or your children will have to. The choice is yours. –Elenwen, First Emissary, Aldmeri Dominion."
Marcus crushed the note in his hand.
"What's it say?" Argis asked, concerned. He'd never seen his Thane look that way before; as though he would willingly commit cold-blooded murder.
Forcing himself to relax, Marcus said, "Let's let Lydia get some rest. I'm sure Priestess Danica still has some tending to do." He turned to Lydia. "Just a couple more short questions, my friend," he said. "When did this happen, and what day is it? Argis and I have sort of lost track of time."
"It's the 4th of Rain's Hand," Danica said from the doorway. "And Adrianne found her early yesterday morning, when she came looking for your son, who didn't show up for work."
Marcus looked at Lydia for confirmation, and she gave another slight nod.
"Alright, Lydia," he said. "Try to rest. I need to think about some things, and I want you to get well as quickly as possible." He gave Danica a large pouch of gold. "Anything she needs to get back into fighting shape by the day after tomorrow," he told her. "See that she has it."
Argis followed him upstairs. "What are we going to do, Thane?" he asked. "What did the note say?"
Marcus showed it to him and Argis began swearing, using words Marcus had never heard come out of the man before. Some of them were in a language he didn't understand. He assumed it must be a native Reachfolk tongue, from Argis' mother's side of the family.
"We need to go after them now!" Argis said, frantically, when he finally ran out of swear words.
"I can't go in there guns a-blazing, Argis," Marcus said, worried. "They'll kill my children!"
"You can't give yourself up, either!" Argis pointed out. "They kidnapped children, for Talos' sake! This Elenwen bitch has already threatened to kill them if you don't turn yourself over to the Thalmor. Anyone who's low enough to stoop to that kind of threat wouldn't hesitate to follow through, even if they got what they wanted."
"I know, I know!" Marcus said, frustrated, pacing back and forth. "Look, let's just clean up around here, and maybe I can figure something out."
They spent most of the evening doing that, checking in on Lydia every few hours after Danica left with instructions. Argis, in point of fact, did most of the changing of bandages and administering of potions.
"I got six younger brothers and sisters," he shrugged. "I got used to playing healer while Ma and Da worked."
Marcus clapped him on the back and left him to it while he tried to sort out the books that hadn't burned and put them back into the shelf. Upstairs in his room he found the journal he kept with a list of all the ones in his library, and checked off the ones he would have to replace, if he could find them. It was busywork, he knew. He tried not to think of Blaise, Sofie and Lucia alone among the Thalmor. Would they leave the children unmolested? He knew he needed to be doing something but he had no idea what he might find once he got to Northwatch Keep.
He'd found it on his map. It was practically on the furthest edge of the northwestern coast of Haafingar. The only thing beyond that was an island with a ruin on it marked 'Castle Volkihar'.
Marcus tried to still his tumbling thoughts. He couldn't barge into Northwatch Keep. He'd be cut down before he could get very far. He couldn't turn himself in. There was no guarantee the Thalmor wouldn't just kill him and his children and get it over with. If only there was some way to sneak in…
He sat up straighter. Brynjolf and his Guild were the sneaky types. He slumped. But no, they weren't up to this kind of assault. They were good, but they were thieves and rogues, not armored warriors. And he didn't need to drag along an army of pickpockets and cut-purses to Northwatch Keep.
No. Not an army. Just a couple, if they were the right people. If they'd talk to him.
He jumped up and practically leaped down the stairs to Lydia's chamber where Argis was carefully – almost tenderly – spoon-feeding her some ground wheat gruel.
"Argis, can you stay here and look after Lydia for a bit?" he called.
Both Housecarls looked at each other. Their Thane was asking their permission?
"Of course, Thane," Argis replied. "Where will you be?"
Marcus smiled grimly. "I'm going to go get us some back-up."
[Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long chapter, and if you've stayed with me this far, please know I appreciate it very much. I promise you there is a point to these side trips…one I hope you'll enjoy as much as I have enjoyed plotting it out. (Oh yes, I try to keep a running outline of at least the next three or four chapters ahead, so I know I'm on track and I don't forget to mention something.)
If you like where this story is going, please let me know. If there's something you don't like about it, let me know that, too. Constructive criticism is at least as important as praise, so I'll take either. Thanks for reading!]