Chapter 28
It was already late when Marcus pounded on Skulvar Sable-Hilt's door. The stablemaster called cautiously through the closed portal, "Who is it? Who calls this late?"
"Skulvar!" Marcus called, "It's Marcus…Dragonborn. I need Sadie saddled right away!"
Grumbling, the black-haired Nord with the permanent frown unlocked his door and peeked out.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he demanded.
"I'm sorry," Marcus said. "I'll make it worth your while. I just need her saddled and ready to go in ten minutes or less." He bounced a large coin purse on his hand for emphasis. The jingling coins caught Skulvar's attention and he grumbled again.
"Give me a minute to pull my boots on," he growled. "I'm not stepping barefoot into horseshit even for you, Dragonborn!"
Twenty minutes later Marcus had pulled himself into Sadie's saddle and guided her out of town. He had thought about taking the carriage to Winterhold, but he was in a hurry, and felt that as long as he stuck to the main roads, and traveled through the night, he could get to Winterhold by early morning.
He stopped only once, at the Nightgate Inn to give Sadie a rest and to take a comfort break, which included downing a few stamina potions. He still wasn't the best horseman in Skyrim, but he had to admit he was getting better. The large, dappled grey mare was patient and forgiving, responded easily to his touch, and more than proved herself a trained warhorse when the occasional troll or ice wraith attacked.
Just beyond the Nightgate Inn was a cave that had been marked on his map by Nurelion, the alchemist in Windhelm, and Marcus remembered he'd promised to look in the cave for the White Phial.
When this is over, he sighed to himself. His children came first.
Not far from the Forsaken Cave, the road split. One way led south, past Lake Yorgrim and eventually down the hills into Windhelm. The other led further up into the mountains, past Fort Dunstad, which he and Argis had cleared out a few weeks before. It was staffed now by Stormcloak soldiers, who challenged him until he gave them a demonstration of the Thu'um by turning ethereal for a few moments.
Most of the soldiers at that point were willing to let him pass, but the captain was called over to give the final word, and Marcus realized with a shock that it was Ralof, from Riverwood; the man with whom he and Tamsyn had escaped Helgen all those months ago.
Ralof laughed and greeted him warmly, clapping him on the back and asking about Tamsyn.
"I'm going to see her now," Marcus told him. "She's been studying up at the College at Winterhold." He deliberately didn't tell Ralof that she was Arch-Mage now, or that they'd had a falling out. And he didn't want to examine his feelings too closely on just why he felt the omission necessary.
"I knew she'd head up there!" Ralof grinned. "So," he gave a smirk. "You turned out to be the Dragonborn, eh? Who would have thought? Are you here to throw your lot in with Ulfric Stormcloak?" he asked hopefully. "You should head to Windhelm in that case. I don't mind saying we could use the help."
"No," Marcus said, hoping his discomfort didn't show. "I'm in kind of a hurry, actually. The Thalmor have kidnapped my children—" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Thalmor!" Ralof spat. "And you've got children? Already?" His eyes widened before giving a knowing wink. "You work fast, my friend! Who is the lucky girl? Might I know her? I know a lot of the women in Whiterun."
"No," Marcus insisted. "It's not like that. I'm not married. I adopted some orphans."
"Ohhh," said Ralof, nodding his understanding. "And now the Thalmor have taken them? You just say the word, my friend," Ralof rumbled, clutching his axe. "I can rally a few men here, and we can go in—"
"No, Ralof!" Marcus said emphatically. "Thank you, no! An assault on the Thalmor would kill my kids for sure. Besides, it's all the way over in Haafingar, and I don't think you can move safely through that Hold."
"Hmm…you're probably right," the sandy-haired Nord mused. "But I still wish there was something I could do to help."
"I appreciate that," Marcus said. "I really do. But I think I've got a plan. I just need to implement it. And for that I'll need Tamsyn's help." If she'll give it to me, that is.
"Then I won't keep you any further, Dragonborn," Ralof said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're always free to pass through Fort Dunstad while I'm here. You hear that, men?" he called, raising his voice. "This is the Dragonborn! We let him pass!"
The men and women on the walls and in the motte began to cheer.
"Hail, Dragonborn!"
"Savior of Skyrim!"
"Three cheers for the Dragonborn!"
Marcus mounted Sadie and rode away with a smile pasted on his face and a weight on his mind. How loudly would they cheer for him, he wondered, if he decided to join the Empire's side in this war? Up until now, he had thought he might do that, but meeting Ralof again had him doubting his convictions. The blonde-haired Nord was the first person he'd laid eyes on in Skyrim, the first person to help him by giving him weapons and armor and teaching him how to use them. Ralof had helped him escape from Helgen when Alduin had attacked, all those months ago. To join the Imperial Legion now would almost seem a betrayal of that kindness.
This is the true ugliness of war, he thought. Not the fighting and the killing and one side beating the other. It's the ideology that forces men to make choices they'd rather not. Hadvar and Ralof were both Nords, Tamsyn had told him early on, had grown up together in the same town, and had even been – at one time – the best of friends. But both men were firm in their conviction to their cause, to the point where they could see no middle ground, despite the commonality which had drawn them together. War had forced them to choose sides, and now that kinship was gone. Perhaps they would never get it back.
Ralof's friendship to him made any future decisions Marcus would have to make about the civil war that much harder. I don't want to have to face him across a battlefield, he thought. He urged Sadie up the road with a kick to her flanks, jaw set grimly. The conflict in Skyrim would just have to wait a little longer. He had other things to worry about at the moment.
The pre-dawn light was staining the snow pink and mauve as Marcus rode into Winterhold. With no stable, there was nowhere Sadie could rest. A bit of an oversight on his part, but he hoped he wouldn't be here long, and he could get her to a proper stable before the end of the day. He stopped at the Frozen Hearth and asked Dagur if he could leave Sadie there, secured to the hitching post.
"Aye, that's fine," Dagur told him. "I think I've got an old blanket around here somewhere we can fasten around her so she won't be too cold. Eirid!" He called over his shoulder. A pretty girl with blonde braids, perhaps ten or eleven years old, came up from downstairs and poked her head up above floor level.
"Yes, Papa?" she asked.
"Go find that old red wool blanket in the chest downstairs. Put it on this man's horse outside."
"You mean the blanket with the buttons, Papa?" she asked.
"That's the one! Hop to it, now!"
"Thanks," Marcus said, handing over enough coin for their trouble.
"Where will you be, if I need to reach you?" Dagur asked.
"Up at the College," Marcus told him. "I need to speak to the Arch-Mage."
As he left, he heard Dagur remark to his wife, Haran, "You know, if business keeps picking up, maybe we can afford to build a proper stable on to the inn…"
At the bridge over the inlet below, Faralda stopped him until she saw who it was.
"Oh! It's you, Dragonborn!" she exclaimed. "Well, you're certainly welcome at the College. Go right on up."
I'd better be welcome, he thought sardonically, after everything I've done for them! Though he knew he hadn't done it alone.
He crossed the courtyard swiftly and headed straight for the Hall of the Elements. If Tamsyn was anywhere on campus, she was sure to be here somewhere. He could see at a glance that she wasn't in the main hall, though some students were in there practicing their spellcasting.
The door on the left was locked, but the door on the right opened onto a spiral staircase of stone that curled upwards. He followed it up until it emptied into the largest library he'd seen since coming to Skyrim. Mouth open in awe and delight, he stared around him for several minutes until a gruff voice asked him, "You need something, or are you just gonna stand there and gawk?"
It was an orc in scholar's robes, and quite possibly the oldest orc Marcus had yet to see. Balding, with a full beard white as snow, and what was left of the hair on his head ringing the sides and tied off in a topknot, he glared at Marcus, taking in the warrior before him. The orc's eyes landed on the Elder Scroll strapped to the Dragonborn's back, and suddenly widened, the purple irises almost filling the orbs.
"Tell me that's not an Elder Scroll!" he breathed.
"Yeah, it is," Marcus said, suddenly nervous. "Why?"
"How did you end up with one of those?"
"One of them?" Marcus asked. "I thought this was the only one!"
The orc laughed. "You really don't know what you have there, do you?"
Marcus pulled a face. "Of course I know what I have. I've even read the damn thing. Don't be insulting."
The orc looked dumbfounded. "And you're—you're not blind? I need to sit down." He walked carefully over to a chair and did just that, staring up at Marcus. "The only ones I've ever heard of who could read an Elder Scroll and not be affected by it are the Moth Priests, and you don't look like one of them," the orc said. "I'm Urag gro-Shub, by the way. I'm the librarian here. Just who in Oblivion are you?"
"I'm Marcus…of Whiterun," the younger man said.
"Marcus…of Whiterun….Dragonborn!" Urag's eyes narrowed. "Of course! You helped the Arch Mage save the College just last week! Saved my library, too, incidentally, so…thanks for that!"
"Well, it was really Tamsyn who saved the College," Marcus said generously. "I just helped with all the stuff that needed a sword. This is quite a library," he continued. "I had no idea this was here, or I'd have come by sooner!"
"Hmm…" Urag rumbled. "Hundreds of years have gone into this collection, and it's going to stay pristine. I hope we understand each other on that." When Marcus assured him he loved books and would never mistreat them, Urag nodded. "Good. If you need a book, come talk to me. Otherwise you're going to find yourself in a lot of pain."
"Actually, I might be interested in purchasing some book from you later," Marcus told him. "Some…thieves…broke into my house and ransacked the place. They threw most of my books into the fireplace. I saved some, but—"
"WHAT?" Urag roared, horrified. He looked as though he might have a heart attack. Indeed, he even clutched his chest. "You get me a list of what you're missing," he assured Marcus. "If I have a spare copy, I'll let you know; we can come to some arrangement."
"I'm grateful," Marcus said. "Really I am. It hurt to lose them. A few were even signed by the author, Calcelmo."
"Ah, that would be his series on the dwarves, no doubt," Urag nodded. "He lives in Markarth. You might be able to convince him to autograph some replacements for you." He looked keenly at the Elder Scroll. "I don't suppose—" he trailed off.
"What?" Marcus asked.
"You wouldn't be interested in selling that Elder Scroll, would you?"
Marcus considered this. He didn't know if he was going to need it again or not. "I think I'll hang onto it for a bit," he said. "I might need it still. But if I do decide to sell it, you'll be first in line."
Urag laughed. "I'll be the only one in line!" he assured Marcus. "I don't think anyone else would be able to use it, and it's not exactly something you leave sitting on a shelf at home!"
There was that.
"Right now I need to speak with Tam—with the Arch-Mage," he told the librarian.
"Hmm…" Urag mused. "Well, you'll have to see Master Tolfdir about that. He sets her appointments."
"Where will I find Master Tolfdir?" Marcus asked, barely reigning in his impatience.
"If he's not in the Hall downstairs teaching a class, he's probably in the Hall of Attainment, across the courtyard."
"I can't just go up to see her?" Marcus asked.
Urag looked scandalized. "That's the Arch-Mage's private quarters," he reproved. "No one just 'goes up there', not without an appointment!"
Marcus fumed silently, but thanked the old orc anyway, then headed down the stairs in search of Tolfdir.
The Master Wizard was, as it turned out, down in the Hall, teaching a class of students some kind of Alteration spell. Marcus recognized Onmund, and nodded his greeting.
"Ah!" Tolfdir exclaimed when he saw Marcus. "Dragonborn! Delighted to see you! How can I help you?"
"I need to speak with the Arch-Mage," he told the old Nord. "It's urgent."
"Really?" Tolfdir's eyes widened. "I'm afraid the Arch-Mage is rather busy at the moment with Enthir," he said. "Is there something I can help you with?"
A stab of jealousy went right through Marcus. Sure didn't take her long to get over our quarrel, he thought. But on the heels of that came brutal honesty. Why shouldn't she? You pretty much told her to fuck off.
"I'm afraid not, Master Tolfdir," he said now. "A situation has arisen and I need the Arch-Mage's expertise."
"Well, in that case, come with me," Tolfdir said generously. "I'll see if she has a few moments." He turned to his class. "The rest of you, keep practicing that Ironflesh spell. I'll return shortly to check on your progress."
Tolfdir led Marcus back to the vestibule and to the door on the right-hand side. He unlocked it with his key and led Marcus up the stairs. The Dragonborn heard voices as they approached the landing.
"…and I think if we can bring in some of those rare ingredients from Elsweyr and Valenwood, we can improve the quality of the potions we create here," a male voice was saying.
"I agree," Tamsyn's voice came back. "But the caravaneers want an arm and a leg for some of those ingredients. Can they be grown? If we got samples, would we be able to keep a continuous supply here?"
"Some of them can be," the male voice floated back. Marcus could see now he was a Bosmer, dressed in a green tunic and trousers, with an overcoat of a darker green, belted at the waist. His head was shaved on one side, and his strawberry-blonde hair was swept over to the other. "But not all of them. And where would we put a new garden?"
"There's plenty of room down in the Midden," Tamsyn said. "We'd only need to set up mage lights like the ones here to encourage growth. Failing that we can make room in the Hall of Countenance. There are several unused rooms there."
"I like the way you think, Arch-Mage," the Bosmer said approvingly. Both looked up as Tolfdir cleared his throat."
"Ah, Master Tolfdir!" Tamsyn smiled. "I thought you were teaching your Adept-level class."
"There's a visitor to see you, Arch-Mage," Tolfdir said. "He insists it's urgent."
"Who is it?" Tamsyn asked. Her face went impassive when she saw Marcus. "Oh, I see. Good morning, Dragonborn. How may the Arch-Mage assist you?"
There was no warmth in her greeting, her tone, or her face, Marcus noted. They might have been strangers meeting for the first time. The use of both his title and hers was intentional. She was putting him on notice that this would not be a meeting between friends.
I deserve this, he reminded himself. I hurt her badly. But dammit, I need her help!
"I need to talk to you," he said. "Privately." He threw a glance at the other two in the room, and Tolfdir immediately excused himself to return to his class.
The Bosmer, however, made no such move. He merely raised an eyebrow and looked at Tamsyn curiously.
"Whatever you have to say, you may say in front of Enthir, here," Tamsyn said, dropping her gaze to the papers in front of her and sorting them into piles. "He is one of my most trusted advisors."
Marcus really didn't want to discuss the kidnapping of his children in front of a complete stranger. Again, Tamsyn was letting him know that this meeting was nothing personal, and strictly business.
She wants to humiliate me, as I did to her, he thought. She wants her pound of flesh. But he couldn't bring himself to say he was sorry in front of Enthir. He didn't know how much the Bosmer knew about the falling out between the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage, and he had no intention of enlightening the man.
"I'd rather not," he insisted. "It's….personal."
Tamsyn did look up then, and the coldness in her gaze struck deeper and truer than any Ice Spike.
"I know," she said flatly.
He was dying inside. The only person who could help him was Tamsyn, and she was clearly unwilling to discuss anything with him without her bodyguard at her side. He wanted to apologize, to beg her forgiveness, to plead with her to help him, but his pride wouldn't let him do this in front of a witness.
And what becomes of Sofie and Lucia and Blaise? came the unbidden thought. If anything happens to them, will your pride assuage your conscience?
"Tamsyn, please…it's….it's my children," he said finally, brokenly. "They've been kidnapped….by the Thalmor."
"Oh gods," Tamsyn whispered, sinking into a nearby chair.
He hung his head, the confession torn from him, and once he began he couldn't stop.
"I've been a complete and total asshole to you, since the day we first came to Skyrim," he said humbly. "I don't blame you if you don't want anything more to do with me, because I've been nothing but a jerk to you. And I promise if you help me now I will go away and leave you alone. I'll never bother you again. You've done nothing but try to help me all along, and all I've done is hurt you. I understand if you don't want to do it for my sake, but…I need to save them, and you're the only one who can help me." He lifted his head and sought her eyes, begging…pleading. In spite of every effort not to give in to the emotions overwhelming him, he realized his eyes were burning with unshed tears. "They're my children," he said desperately. "Not by blood, but in every other way that matters."Hastily he brushed at his eyes, uncaring now if Enthir saw the Dragonborn in such an emotional state. "Please, Tamsyn," he whispered. "Please help me."
Whatever Tamsyn thought she might have heard, it wasn't this. She sat there, stunned and unable to speak for several long moments.
"I…uh..I'll come back later, Arch-Mage," Enthir said, quietly. He walked past Marcus and put a hand on the Dragonborn's shoulder. "Anything you need, you just ask me, Dragonborn," he murmured.
It was a small comfort, well meant, and Marcus put his hand on Enthir's and squeezed it gratefully, his eyes never leaving Tamsyn.
As Enthir left the Arch-Mage's quarters, he heard the soft padding of hurried footsteps heading down the stairs. The door at the bottom opened and closed quickly, and Enthir leaped the rest of the way down and cracked it open to see who had been listening to what amounted to a private conversation.
Nirya was leaving the Hall. Enthir's eyes narrowed. He had never really trusted the Altmer student. She talked loud and long about how the College had been long over-due for a change in leadership, and now that Tamsyn was Arch-Mage she lost no opportunity to remind the Breton girl that she had supported her all along. That wasn't how Enthir remembered it. He decided to keep an eye on Nirya. He liked Tamsyn and felt that while she was still very young, she had a good head on her shoulders, and could be just what the College had been needing for a long time to point it into a new direction.
After Enthir had gone, Tamsyn raised her eyes to Marcus and motioned him to sit opposite her.
"When?" she whispered.
"Three – almost four days ago, in the middle of the night," he said quietly. "They beat Lydia up pretty badly and left her for dead."
"Gods, Marcus!" Tamsyn moaned. "Is she alright?"
"She'll live," he nodded, a remote part of his brain registering that she used his name, not his title, "but I'm afraid she may lose her right eye. She tried to stop them."
"And you're sure it was the Thalmor?" the Arch-Mage pressed.
"They left this for me," he said grimly, passing her the letter.
She read it through, then put her head in her hands.
"This is retaliation, then," she muttered.
"That's what it looks like," Marcus said grimly. "But they don't know the meaning of the word, yet. Will you help me?"
"Of course, Marcus!" she exclaimed. "You know I will! But…I have to warn you…this never happened in the game."
That surprised him. "No?"
Tamsyn shook her head. "No, this goes back to what I said before about this—" she waved vaguely around them, "—being our reality now."
"And people having free will," he nodded. They were silent for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
"How did you plan to get your children back?" Tamsyn asked finally.
Marcus blew out a heavy sigh. "I thought about that all the way up here," he admitted. "I even discussed it a bit with Argis – he's staying at Breezehome to look after Lydia for the moment."
"And?" Tamsyn pressed. "What have you come up with?"
"Well, I know I can't go in there guns a-blazing, like I told Argis," Marcus said. "And I can't just walk in and give myself up, as Elenwen expects me to do."
"I don't think she expects you to do that," Tamsyn disagreed. "I think she's hoping you'll do the former."
"Really?"
"Don't underestimate her, Marcus," Tamsyn warned. "She didn't get to be First Emissary because she likes to hold fancy parties. She probably hopes you'll rush right in to save your children so she can kill you and say that you launched an unprovoked attack on a Thalmor-held fortification. Your children will disappear, never to be heard from again, and the only one who could protest would be a Housecarl who was left for dead by some 'home-invaders'." She made quote marks in the air with her fingers. "She is cold, calculating, and ruthless."
"Yeah, her journal pretty much gave me that idea."
"What journal?" Tamsyn asked, puzzled.
"The journal I found in her safe, when I was at the Embassy," Marcus said, frowning.
"There was no journal in the safe," Tamsyn pointed out. "Not in the game, anyway."
"Hmm…" Marcus pondered the ramifications of this for several heartbeats.
"What did the journal have in it?" Tamsyn asked eagerly. "Do you still have it?"
Marcus shrugged. "Yeah, I had it locked away. They didn't find it when they ransacked the house. I have to admit though, I haven't read it all yet, but there's enough in there to make for some pretty interesting reading for anyone high up enough in the Legion to want to take note of."
Tamsyn shook her head. "I'd hold onto it, then."
"Why?"
Tamsyn sighed and her mouth twisted in a wry moue. "Because while General Tullius might be very interested in its contents, he would want to know how you came by it, and that would mean confessing you took it from the Thalmor Embassy itself. Right now, the Empire has to kiss up to the Dominion. They're not strong enough to withstand another full-out war, not while the Stormcloaks are nipping at their backside. No General in the world wants to fight a war on two fronts."
Marcus sighed and nodded. "You're right about that."
"It's ironic, though, that I just received a letter from Elenwen the day before yesterday," Tamsyn mused.
"What did she want?"
"Here," Tamsyn said, handing him a letter. "Read for yourself."
"Greetings to you, Arch-Mage. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Elenwen, the First Emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion, and the Ambassador of the Thalmor Embassy here in Skyrim. It has come to my attention that one of my emissaries, Ancano, has perished while in his position as Advisor to the Arch-Mage. While I realize you are new to the title – and please allow me to express my condolences for the loss of your predecessor – I am nevertheless concerned over the circumstances of Ancano's death. It would grieve me to think that a trusted advisor and representative of the Dominion was targeted by dissidents residing within your halls of learning, as has been suggested to me.
"Ancano reported to me that something of significance was discovered by one of the expeditionary excursions into an ancient ruin near the College, and afterwards I received no further word from him. Inquiries on my part have been ignored. I can only assume that he met his untimely end in order to silence him, but I hope I am wrong on this.
"I am certain you are as eager as I to clear this matter up to avoid any future misunderstandings between the Dominion and the College. I would remind you that you operate at the forbearance of the Aldmeri Dominion – and the Empire, of course – and refusal to address these issues could result in a revocation of the Charter that permits your school to operate here in Skyrim. I await your reply. I remain, yours faithfully, Elenwen – First Emissary to the Aldmeri Dominion, Ambassador to Skyrim."
"Have you answered her yet?" Marcus asked.
"No, but I'll have to soon," she replied. "She's made a lot of statements that are inaccurate, and I think she's hoping I won't realize it. She's trying to buffalo me. But that's not important right now, at least, not to me. Do you have any other ideas about how to rescue your children?"
"I thought about asking Brynjolf for help," he admitted, "but I knew as soon as I thought of it that they're not up for this kind of mission. They're thieves and pickpockets and cut-purses, not trained warriors."
"Well," Tamsyn said with a slight smile, "I wouldn't sell them short, but you're right. This isn't the kind of mission for them. Anything else?"
"Yes," Marcus said. Has she forgiven me? he wondered. I can't tell. She's willing to help, but that doesn't mean I'm off the hook. And now I have to present Phase Two. "I need you to take me to Cicero," he said.
Tamsyn stared at him. "Are you out of your mind?" she blinked.
A brief smile chased across his mouth. Even surprised, she still didn't stoop to cursing!
"You realize he will kill you, don't you?" she warned him.
"No, he won't," Marcus said confidently; more confident than he actually felt. "He can't. He was told not to."
Tamsyn gaped. Actually, physically, mouth-dropped-open gaped. Marcus gave a smug grin. "How could you possibly know that?" she breathed.
"I—uh, had a little inside information," he said. "So, will you take me to him?"
"Marcus," Tamsyn protested, jumping up and pacing. "I can't just take you to Cicero! It's not that easy! If we go in there, he'll see it as a violation of his San—" She broke off, as if sensing she had already revealed too much.
"Of his Sanctuary, yeah, I know," Marcus said. "I figured out he has to be living in another Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. And maybe the members there will kill me. I'm willing to take that risk."
"There aren't any other members," Tamsyn said, still pacing. "He's alone. I told you that."
Then who else is out there? he wondered. Akatosh had told him Cicero was "one of the last" Dark Brotherhood members. Who were the others? Would the organization rise again? And would he be as willing to wipe them out a second time? He was beginning to realize that there were indeed uses for someone who had no qualms about killing. And does this mean I'm slipping over to the Dark side? he worried.
"Cicero is my only hope," he told Tamsyn now. "My children are being held at a place called Northwatch Keep. You read that in the letter. I found the place on my map, but I don't know what I'll face when I get there. I'm hoping Cicero can slip in, find my kids, free them, and get them out."
"He would do that," Tamsyn nodded. "Cicero actually likes children, and he's very good with them. Doesn't mean I want him around any kids I know," she gave a faint smile. "But Marcus, is that all you want? Just to get your kids back? What of the other prisoners there?"
"Other prisoners?" he blinked.
Tamsyn sighed and pulled back the hood of her Arch-Mage robes, tossing it on the table. "Yes, Marcus, the other prisoners. The Thalmor have been abducting people from their homes since before we came to Skyrim. Don't you remember Gerdur and Hod talking about it back in Riverwood?"
Marcus shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tamsyn," he said contritely. "I was not in a good frame of mind back then, and I'm afraid I paid very little attention."
Tamsyn resumed her pacing, and Marcus wished she would just settle down and sit somewhere. But apparently, this was what helped her to think.
"Ever since the Empire was forced to sign the White-Gold Concordat, which was a laundry-list of concessions the Empire had to make to end the Great War, the Thalmor have pretty much had free run of Skyrim. Well, except for the Stormcloak-held Holds, of course. One of the concessions was the banning of Talos worship. The Thalmor have used this edict ever since as an excuse for illegal search and seizure. Fralia Gray-Mane in Whiterun is missing her son, Thorald. She believes the Empire has him, but it's really the Thalmor. And I happen to know he's being held at Northwatch Keep. He's not the only one. People have been removed from their homes all over Skyrim and have never been heard from again."
"Judging from what I saw in the torture chamber under the Embassy, I can pretty much guess what happened to them," Marcus said grimly. Talos and Akatosh, he found himself praying, don't let that happen to my children. "So there are possibly other prisoners at Northwatch?" Marcus asked for clarification now. When Tamsyn nodded, he said, "Well, then, we'll just have to find a way to get them out, too."
"Quietly?" Tamsyn asked skeptically. "Without alerting the guards?"
"Yes!" he snapped, then relented. "Sorry, I'm just very frantic right now. I want to go in there and kill every damned Thalmor in the place. But I can't. So tell me, Tamsyn. What do you think?"
Tamsyn sighed. "I think we're going to need some help with this. Cicero is a one-man wrecking crew. I know I've said that before, and it's still true. But we're going to need at least a couple other people."
"Then as soon as we've got Cicero – if he'll come – let's get back down to Whiterun and see if Lydia is well enough to travel. I know she wants payback for what they did to her."
"I have a better idea," she said, sitting down and pulling parchment and ink closer to her. "We'll send a letter by courier to Argis at Breezehome, asking him to bring Lydia and meet us at the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar in three days' time."
"Why so long?" he asked, frowning. "We can get to Dawnstar by tomorrow. If they meet us there, we can be on our way immediately."
"Because it won't hurt us to give Lydia another day or so to recover," she chided him. He had the grace to look shamefaced. "And the other reason is that the creation of magical items takes time, Dragonborn," she scolded him. "And for what we need to do, we're going to need to bring a few things with us."
"What…is the illusion….of life?"
The harsh, sepulchral whisper from the hidden door raised the hairs on the back of Marcus' neck. With the image of a skull and the handprint that seemed to continuously ooze blood, it was the creepiest thing he'd ever seen. Since coming to Skyrim, he'd seen a lot of creepy things.
"Innocence, my brother," Tamsyn replied. She was wearing Master-level robes since leaving the College, explaining to Marcus that they helped regenerate her Magicka faster and enhanced her Destruction magic – something she felt was needed more for this trip.
"Welcome….home…" The dreadful door opened under Tamsyn's hand and she led the way down into the cave.
Marcus was glad he'd left Sadie at the Windpeak. The big mare had easily carried both Tamsyn and him from Winterhold, but it was slower going, as much as Marcus chafed at the delay. She deserved a rest for now, until he could get her back down to Whiterun. He had to admit, however, that he liked feeling Tamsyn snugged up behind him, holding on around his waist. And she was clearly a better rider than him.
"We owned a few on a small farm outside Springfield," she confessed.
"Illinois?" he asked.
"Ohio," she clarified. "Just a couple hundred acres, but I loved it there. Thought George and I would retire there, too, but…well…George turned out to be a jerk."
There wasn't anything Marcus could say to that.
"Cicero?" Tamsyn called now, as soon as they reached an open landing inside. Corridors led off to the left, and there was some sort of weedy garden area where a natural gap in the stone let in sunlight and rain. Ahead of them there appeared to be a set of stairs leading down to the right to a lower level. Directly to the right was a large coffin set on its end upon a pedestal. It was closed, but there were flowers scattered lovingly at its base.
"Cicero, it's Tamsyn! Are you here?" the Arch-Mage called.
"Cicero is coming, sweet Tamsyn!" the jester's voice echoed from somewhere within the bowels of this place.
The acoustics in here must be amazing, Marcus thought obliquely.
"Cicero, I'm not alone," Tamsyn warned.
There was silence for a long moment, and Tamsyn was obviously nervous.
"Cicero?" she called again.
"Pretty Tamsyn has brought someone in?" There was a deadly edge to the jester's voice. "There is a defiler here? In the Sanctuary?" The voice rose in both decibles and octave. "You've violated the sanctity of—"
"There was no violation, Cicero!" Tamsyn said calmly. "My companion knows what you are."
How is she managing to keep it together? Marcus wondered. That little maniac could be hiding anywhere in here!
"Maybe I should have waited outside," he murmured.
"No," Tamsyn said. "You need to talk with him—"
"I could have done that outside," Marcus pointed out. "Now he's upset, and I don't think he'll want to listen to me."
"The Dragonborn?!" Cicero's voice came floating back to them. "Pretty Tamsyn has brought the Dragonborn inside? Perhaps she has led him here for Cicero to play with?" There was a giggle. "Ooo! Cicero could have lots of fun with the Dragonborn. Of course, perhaps he might not think so!"
She wouldn't do that to me! Marcus thought, suddenly feeling more than a little nervous himself. She's not still mad at me….is she? He couldn't…wouldn't believe that Tamsyn would lead him here to his death, to be tortured by the maniacal little Imperial. He was told by someone that he couldn't kill me, but as Iago once said in a Disney movie, 'You'd be surprised what you can live through.'
"Cicero," he called, before his fears got the better of him. "I came to apologize, to tell you I'm sorry. I didn't understand before. Will you please come out where we can see you?"
There was silence for another long moment.
"What did the Dragonborn not understand before, hmm?" There was still a wealth of loathing in the way Cicero spoke Marcus' title.
"I didn't understand the service you provided," Marcus admitted. "I can't bring back the other members of the Falkreath Sanctuary, and I don't regret what I did then. But I do understand a few things now that I didn't before."
"Like…what…for instance?" the little madman prompted. He still had not shown himself, and the way his voice echoed in the chamber, it was impossible to pin-point exactly where he might be hiding.
Marcus looked at Tamsyn, but she gestured for him to continue.
"Where I came from, there were also assassins," Marcus said. "They've been used throughout history to change the fate of the world. Kingdoms and empires have risen and fallen on the turn of a blade. In some cases, the assassinations were terrible, killing good people who got in the way of others' ambitions."
He took a deep breath. "But in other cases they were justified. It was a way to rid people who were suffering from a tyrant who was grinding them into the dirt."
"You have Cicero's interest," the jester said. "Go on."
"My reasons for taking out the Falkreath Sanctuary were a reaction to a threat against me," Marcus said. "Astrid managed somehow to kidnap me from my own home, even with double locks on the door. I thank God that I was in Markarth at the time, and not at my usual home. My children weren't there. But it was fear for my children, and anger at her indifference to another child who was suffering that triggered my reaction; and her insistence that I should repay a death I never took by killing another innocent person angered me to the point where all I could think of was to rid the world of her."
"Cicero knows of Astrid's….perfidy," the red-haired Imperial said. A shadow moved from the left, and Cicero slid into the light. "But she was the one who kidnapped the Dragonborn and took him from his home, yes? Faithless Astrid was responsible, not the other Dark Brothers and Sisters. Why kill them?" Cicero's face was harsh in the partial light. The shadows that played across his features made him look more demonic than ever.
Marcus shifted uneasily. "I was caught up in the euphoria of having done something I felt was a good thing," he said truthfully. "When I spoke with Commander Maro in Dragon Bridge, he convinced me that the entire nest needed to be cleared out. And in my mindset at that time, I thought I was doing a good thing, preventing further assassinations of innocent people across Skyrim."
"Cicero is not concerned with guilt or innocence," the jester sniffed. "Only the contract matters." His eyes narrowed. "And the fact that the Dragonborn has defiled this sacred space and must pay for it with his life!" His face was twisted into a hideous snarl, and every muscle in his body was poised to strike. Yet he didn't.
"You can't kill me," Marcus said flatly. "You've been ordered…I don't know by whom…to leave me alone. Akatosh himself told me this."
Tamsyn gasped and Cicero's face lost what little color it had.
"But if it's blood you want," Marcus continued. "Then I'll give you my blood." He knelt then, there in the mezzanine, in front of the Night Mother's coffin and pulled his dagger, removing his glove.
"I give my blood freely to repay the debt for the lives I've taken," he vowed, slicing his palm open, and wincing only slightly as he did so. It was a very sharp blade. The blood dripped steadily onto the flagged stone floor. "By Akatosh himself, I promise I will not harm you, Cicero, as you are bound not to harm me."
Slowly, as if hypnotized, Cicero crossed the balcony and knelt in front of Marcus. He stared at the blood dripping onto the stones, darker than black in the shadows. He removed his own glove and, drawing his dagger, sliced his own palm, then gripped Marcus' hand. Their combined blood leaked out between the clasped hands, mingling on the stones beneath them.
"By this blood are we bound, Brother to Brother," Cicero said softly. "Each shall have the other's back, and none shall stand against us." For a moment, the jester was gone, and there was only Cicero, the Last Son of Sithis, clasping hands with the Last Dragonborn.
"DONE!"
The two voices thundered through the two men's minds, each unaware of what the other was experiencing. Cicero knew the abyssal voice he heard was the Dread Father himself. Marcus was more than familiar with the one inside his own head. Both men blinked and shut their eyes, overwhelmed.
Tamsyn felt a lump rise in her throat. Though she was completely unaware of what had just transpired, she knew that a major corner had just been turned in Cicero's rehabilitation. Cicero did not forgive easily. To see him finally accept Marcus as less than an adversary and more of an ally was more than she dared to hope for.
And then Cicero ruined the moment by throwing his arms around Marcus, hugging him and squealing in delight.
"Oh! This is wonderful! Cicero has a Brother again!"
Marcus was stunned. Wait a minute. Did I just become a Dark Brotherhood assassin? he worried.
A chuckle from somewhere deep inside assured him. No, Dragonborn. You do not answer to Sithis or the Night Mother. You are mine, not a Dark Brother. But perhaps, you are a Brother of Light, like the Knight-Paladins of Auri-El, long ago.
Does Cicero know this? Marcus thought, concerned. I hope he doesn't expect me to go on killing sprees with him.
You and Cicero are two sides of the same coin, Akatosh said. He is chaos; you are order. He is vengeance; you are mercy.
And Tamsyn? Marcus asked.
Akatosh seemed amused. She is balance, among other things.
What other things?
You must discover that for yourself, the Dragon God of Time said. You ask too many questions, Dragonborn. Go rescue your children.
Marcus gently extricated himself from Cicero, who jumped up and immediately broke out into a caper. All past resentments were now forgotten, and more importantly, forgiven.
"Cicero is so happy!" he giggled, taking Tamsyn by the hands and twirling her around the floor. Unable to help herself, Tamsyn smiled, dancing along with him.
"I'm so glad, Cicero!" she enthused. "But I'm afraid we have some serious matters to discuss."
Cicero stopped prancing. "Serious? Oh, but Cicero doesn't want to be serious, sweet Tamsyn! Cicero isn't alone anymore!"
This is all he's ever wanted, Marcus realized. He only wanted companionship, someone to talk to. How long did Tamsyn say he was alone? Twenty-five years? How did he stand it?
A wave of compassion suddenly washed over him, and he finally saw Cicero as Tamsyn saw him – a shell of a man who had had everything he loved taken from him. And some of it was by my hand, Marcus thought with guilt. It was only now that he realized there were strands of white in the red of Cicero's hair, lines of age carved into the Imperial's face. Though still toned, lithe and limber – if his capering was anything to judge by – Cicero was still a man in his mid-forties. And while Marcus felt older, he knew his body was much younger than Cicero's.
"Please, Cicero," Tamsyn was saying now. "Marcus came here today to beg your forgiveness and ask for your help."
"The dear Dragonborn has Cicero's forgiveness," Cicero cooed, cuddling up to Marcus. "What help can Cicero provide? Does someone need stabbing? Please say yes!" He fluttered his eyelashes again, and Tamsyn stifled a snort of laughter.
"Yes, Cicero," Marcus replied seriously, clapping his hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "There are several someones who need stabbing. That's why I came to you."
"Oh, happy day!" Cicero ululated. "Cicero must go sharpen his knives!" He leaped up again to dash off, but Tamsyn stopped him.
"Not yet!" she exclaimed, grabbing the little jester by the arm and turning him back to face them. "Now, let's sit down somewhere where we can fill you in on the details," she told him. "You'll need to know where we're going and, more importantly, who you need to stab."
Cicero led them down the stairs to a large area with a fire burning in the fireplace near a large table with benches.
"This would have been the mess hall," Cicero explained, "if the Sanctuary was at full strength. Cicero doesn't eat in here…it's a mess, you see?"
Giggling at his own joke, he swept the dust and dirt off the table and benches and motioned for them to sit down. A tunnel led off from one corner of the room into an ice cavern, and a chill wind blew in, competing with the fireplace for dominance of the room's climate. A doorway led into an empty chamber on the opposite corner, and Tamsyn knew that would have become a torture chamber. She shuddered and kept her back to it.
A final doorway, on the same wall as the fireplace and opposite the tunnel led further back into the Sanctuary, no doubt to the rooms that Cicero lived in and the pool he used to bathe in.
"Now," the jester said, all foolery forgotten now they were getting down to business. "Tell Cicero how he can help his new Brother."
So Marcus told him what had happened, and immediately felt nervous at the look of pure hatred and murder on Cicero's face.
"Hated Thalmor took my Brother's children?" he hissed. "They will pay for this insult!"
"That's what I'm hoping," Marcus said grimly. "Do you think you can sneak in there are find out where my children are being held?"
"Perhaps," Cicero said cautiously. "Cicero would need to know the layout of the Keep."
"I can give you a general idea," Tamsyn said, pulling a bit of charcoal from her belt pouch. "It's my intention to take a skiff from the dock in Dawnstar and have the boatman put us off at the jetty on the coast about a mile from the Keep. There's a back way in, but it will be guarded by Thalmor soldiers, and perhaps a mage or two."
"Cicero can handle soldiers," he said confidently. "He would rather not tangle with mages, though."
"If you're sneaky enough, you might not need to," Tamsyn said. She took the charcoal and began to draw on the table top. "Here's the coast," she said, "and here's the jetty. The Keep is here, and the back gate is here. The main front entrance is over here." She drew in the features, and Marcus marveled at how she could do this from memory.
"How can you possibly remember all this?" he murmured, while Cicero went to get some mead for them.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just see it all clearly in my mind. I told you I played hours and hours of the game."
But it wouldn't account for her precision memory, he thought. He remembered Akatosh had mentioned "enhancing" Tamsyn's memory; this must be why. After six months, anyone's recollection of details would tend to get fuzzy. Not Tamsyn's; she still saw everything in her mind as clearly as the day she played the game.
When Cicero returned with the mead, Tamsyn continued her intelligence briefing.
"There's a forge not far inside the back gate," she explained. "Near the forge, in this building, there's a door that leads straight to the prison cells, but it will be master-locked. Do you think you can pick it?" she asked Cicero now.
"Cicero can try," he replied, a bit dubious. "It may take a few attempts, though."
"If you take out the guards first, you'll have the time to try," Tamsyn told him. "But we have to operate with stealth. The last thing we need is to tip off the guards that something unusual is going on. They'll kill the children if they think something's up."
"Cicero can be very sneaky, when he chooses," the little Imperial smirked.
"Good," Tamsyn said. "And I have some potions for you that may help. In fact, I've got several things for all of us that should make this a bit easier."
"'All of us'?" Cicero queried. "Who else comes with us?"
"Argis," Marcus replied, noting how Cicero's eyes lit up. "And Lydia, hopefully, if she's recovered enough," he finished.
"Lydia is my Brother's Housecarl?" Cicero asked. "Cicero thought dear Argis was?"
"Lydia is my Housecarl in Whiterun," Marcus clarified. "The Thalmor beat the crap out of her to kidnap the children. They left her for dead."
"Oh ho ho!" Cicero chuckled. "Cicero thinks the Thalmor will wish they had killed her when she knocks on their door!"
Marcus gave a feral grin. "I'm counting on it."
[Author's Note: Next up, the raid on Northwatch Keep. It's ready, so I'll be posting it simultaneously with this chapter. Enjoy!]