Chapter 35
Ivarstead was as peaceful as any small town could be, with a civil war raging around it. Rift soldiers patrolled the one street through the village, and the sounds of the saw mill filled the afternoon air. Marcus waved to Klimmek, fishing down by the river, and headed for the Vilemyr Inn. Wilhelm smiled broadly at him as he entered.
"Now there's a man I'm glad to see!" he beamed. "What can I get you, friend?"
"Nothing at the moment, Wilhelm," Marcus replied. "I just wanted to give you a heads-up that there may be a lot of important people passing through here soon."
"Truly?" the innkeeper's eyes widened. "Well, then, I'd best get the Vilemyr ready! When do you think they'll be coming?"
"I'm not sure yet," Marcus confessed. "I'll need to talk to some people first, but I'll let you know. Has a message come for me from Winterhold?"
"Message? From Winterhold?" Wilhelm's brow furrowed. "No message, but one of the college mages showed up here earlier this morning. She was asking about you."
"A college mage?" Marcus queried. His heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn't be. It was too early for that! Even if Tamsyn had received his letter, which he'd only sent off yesterday, there wasn't enough time for her to have received it and get to Ivarstead from Winterhold. It had to be someone else. Suspicion made him cautious. Someone could be posing as a college mage to get to him.
Now you're sounding as paranoid as Delphine, he chided himself.
Aloud he asked, "Where is this college mage?"
Wilhelm shrugged. "She took a room, then headed outside. I heard her talking to Temba this morning about the bear problem Temba's been having."
Marcus thanked the man and made his way outside. The "college mage" could be anywhere. Perhaps he should talk to Temba first.
"Yeah, I spoke with a mage this morning," Temba Wide-arms grumbled. "So what? She heard me telling Wilhelm about the bears giving me trouble and offered to help. I told her to bring me ten pelts to cull the herds out there. I don't know where she went to get them, and I don't care, as long as those bears are dealt with."
"What did she look like?" Marcus asked.
"Dunmer," Temba said shortly. "Pretty enough, I guess, if you like dark elves. Other than that, I wasn't really paying attention. Like I said, as long as the bears are cleared out, that's all I care about."
Marcus thanked her even as his heart sank. He knew it was foolish, but he'd held onto a wild hope that the mage might have been Tamsyn, even though logistically, it would have been impossible. But why would a college-trained mage wander so far from Winterhold? Other than to help a thoroughly irritating mill-owner take care of her bear problem, that was.
Sighing, he headed back to the inn to wait and see if this mage showed up. It was too late in the day to start a trip up the mountain. He'd get an early start in the morning.
He was seated at a table in the corner, enjoying a venison steak with baked potatoes when she entered. Her hood was drawn up over her head, so he couldn't see her face, but there was no mistaking the darker skin on her hands. She glanced around the room, and her red eyes locked with his. Smiling, she came over and stared down at him.
"Is this seat taken?" she asked, in a low, husky voice so like Tamsyn's that he paused, fork halfway to his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he said, rising. "No, it's not, but…do I know you?"
The Dunmer smiled. "Maybe you do, and maybe you don't. What do you think?"
At a loss, Marcus floundered for words. "It's just that you sound an awful lot like the Arch-Mage," he finally pointed out, manners kicking in as he invited her to sit. He held her chair for her until she was settled, then reseated himself.
The dark elf mage chuckled warmly. "Well, I'm still working on the voice," she replied cryptically. "But I'm flattered. Thank you."
"Forgive me," Marcus began. "But is this leading somewhere? Just who are you?"
At that the girl laughed right out loud. "You really can't see through it, Marcus?" she grinned.
He stared. "Tamsyn?" he asked, heart pounding in his chest. "It's really you?"
"I'm getting pretty good at Illusions," she smirked.
"But…that's impossible!" he exclaimed. "I just sent my letter off to you yesterday! How can you already be here?"
"I've been working on Divination, too," she replied smugly.
"Divination?" He knew he sounded like a parrot, but he couldn't help himself.
"The art of seeing the unseen," the girl explained. "Just as Illusion is the art of misdirection."
"Well, can you drop the illusion part, then?" he asked. "I want to make sure it's really you."
"Fair enough," she said, as the Dunmer visage faded and the familiar, beloved features of the red-haired Breton girl took their place.
Marcus smiled in relief. Much better, in his opinion.
"So why all the cloak-and-dagger?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I had to make sure I could really fool somebody if I needed to," Tamsyn said. "I'm sorry to be a jerk about it, but I thought if I could make you think I was someone else, then it would be easier to trick someone who didn't know me."
"Your voice gave it away," he replied, "but you did say you were working on that. I don't understand why, though."
Tamsyn gave him an exasperated look. "You know why, Marcus," she said sternly, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. "You know that after you deal with Alduin, we still have the Thalmor to worry about." He practically had to lean towards her to hear her words.
Red mountain flower, he thought distractedly. She smells like red mountain flower. The spicy-sweet scent was unmistakable, and one he knew he would always associate with her. She must be wearing it as some kind of perfume. He liked it; it suited her.
"You still haven't explained how you got here so quickly," he told her now.
"No, I haven't, have I?" she smirked. "Must preserve some professional secrets, now, mustn't I?"
Marcus glared at her sourly until she relented.
"I told you I've been working on Divination," she reminded him. When he nodded she went on. "There's a…an entity…at the College," she began. "He used to be one of the best mages the College has ever known. Collette tells me he delved into secrets of Restoration magic no one had ever pursued before."
"What happened to him? You said, 'used to be', and that he's an 'entity'."
"I don't know the details," Tamsyn admitted. "Even in the game there wasn't much known about him except he had been born Breton. At any rate, there was some kind of accident during one of his experiments, and he became transformed into pure energy. He's now known as the Auger of Dunlain. I've been studying with him."
An auger, Marcus knew, was another word for oracle, soothsayer or seer; someone who foretold events before they happened. He could understand Tamsyn's interest in this.
"You're doing this because you want to see the future better," he stated.
"Partly," Tamsyn admitted. "But also because at some point my knowledge of the game will run out. I've sort of established a kind of reputation for myself now. People already think I have the gift. It would be a terrible let-down for them if I suddenly stopped being able to give good advice based on what I know of future events."
Marcus nodded. He could see that.
"And is it working?" he asked.
"Clearly," Tamsyn gave a wry smile. "I knew you'd be here today, so I made sure I'd be here. I just didn't expect to have to kill ten bears or I'd have brought more magicka potions."
"You killed ten bears all by yourself?" Marcus asked, impressed.
"Marcus, please," Tamsyn shrugged dismissively. "You and I have both taken down draugr, magical anomalies and dragon-priest liches. Bears are nothing!"
He supposed so, but her arrival here meant she hadn't received his letter. It would be waiting for her when she returned, he knew, but he impishly wanted to see her reaction to his closing words. "Well, you're here now, that's what's important," he said aloud. "Care to take a trip up seven thousand steps with me in the morning? There's a friend there I'd like to introduce you to."
A shadow crossed Tamsyn's face. "We can't go there yet, Marcus," she told him.
"What do you mean?" he frowned. "Why not?"
"Because there are a few other things you need to do first."
"Like what, for instance?"
She waited until Lynly cleared the table of trenchers before continuing.
"I saw you, in one of my visions, negotiating a peace treaty," Tamsyn said in a low voice. "Is that your intention?"
Marcus nodded. "Yeah," he sighed. "I thought about it a lot. I know I said I didn't want to have to deal with Ulfric Stormcloak across the bargaining table, but honestly, if I take a side in the war, more souls will be sent to Sovngarde."
Tamsyn gave a nod of understanding before speaking. "If you go up there and arrange this, and somehow convince Ulfric and Tullius to meet there, you can kiss any hope you have of a free and independent Reach good-bye."
"You're sure about that?" he frowned.
Tamsyn nodded. "None of the visions I saw when I was working with the Auger had any good results unless you speak to both Ulfric and Elisif beforehand."
Marcus blew out a frustrated sigh. "Why would that make a difference?"
"Because you need to be armed with information you don't currently have," Tamsyn told him.
"Is being cryptic a genetic trait in Seers?" he asked sarcastically.
"It's a class feature," she grinned back. "It comes with the territory."
"Could you perhaps be a little more vague then?" he grumbled.
Tamsyn chuckled and replied, "I'll try. Here's the deal: you have a dossier on Ulfric Stormcloak which you liberated from the Thalmor Embassy, correct?"
Marcus nodded. "Yeah, I got it on my first trip through. Don't tell me I have to go back in there and get more information! A flea couldn't sneak into that place now!"
Tamsyn laughed. "No, that won't be necessary. Go see Cicero. He's got some things for you that he…uh…appropriated on your last trip through. He didn't realize the significance of what he took until he showed them to me."
"You could have brought them to me yourself," Marcus pointed out.
Tamsyn shot him a look that made him feel ashamed of himself.
"He's your sworn brother," she reminded him. "It would do him good to have some human contact of the positive kind once in a while."
Marcus blew out another sigh. "Fine. I'll go see Cicero," he promised. "Then what? Are you going to give me any more hints?"
"I think once you see what he has, you'll be able to formulate your own plan," she smirked, giving him another one of those cryptic looks. He really hated it when she did that.
"How long were you planning to stay in Ivarstead?" he asked now.
"Just until tomorrow," Tamsyn replied. "And you'll need to get an early start to get to Dawnstar in one day. Just remember the password to the Sanctuary, when the door asks you the question."
Marcus thought back to the day he, Argis and Tamsyn had first gone to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary on Skyrim's northern coast. So much had happened since then that he couldn't remember the question, let alone the answer. He shook his head helplessly.
Tamsyn rolled her eyes. "The door will ask you, 'What is life's greatest illusion?'" she whispered. "You must answer, 'Innocence, my brother,' and it will open for you. Remember to call out to Cicero from the entryway, if you don't want him to strike first and ask questions later."
Marcus nodded. "Okay, got it." Then he grinned. "But it still means we've got time to spend together tonight."
A faint blush of pink colored Tamsyn's cheeks. "You're not suggesting we do anything….improper, are you, Dragonborn?" she teased.
Marcus answered with a smirk of his own. "Oh, I hope so. I sincerely hope so!"
Tamsyn's face flooded with color as she blushed to the roots of her hair.
"What would Wilhelm think?" she murmured.
Marcus was about to make an off-hand comment that he couldn't care less what Wilhelm thought, but stopped. This wasn't his old world. The morals and customs were different here. In his old life, people seldom thought twice about pre-marital, or "casual" sex. It happened here, too, if Ysolda was any example. But after her arrest, the women of the town picked her character to shreds with their scathing comments, feeling she was fair game. It was obvious to him now, from Tamsyn's simple statement, and from the reactions of Arcadia, Adrienne and Carlotta that casual sex was not the norm. Clearly it bothered Tamsyn that someone like Wilhelm - someone she would rarely meet again – would think she was a common prostitute. But after all, she was the Arch-Mage. As a public figure, she couldn't afford a tarnished reputation if she expected people to take her seriously or treat her with respect.
As frustrating as that was for him, he knew it meant a great deal to Tamsyn, so he clamped down on his desire before it could get out of hand.
"You're right, of course," he said, smiling to let her know he truly did understand. "But you are one amazing woman, Tamsyn, and it's easy to get carried away with how I feel about you."
She lifted her eyes to his. "How do you feel about me, Marcus?" she challenged softly. "I know there's an attraction there, but is that all there is?"
"Not all," he smiled, pulling at a chain around his neck. He'd been hoping for a chance like this, but really didn't think it would come. Now was the time. He pulled the Amulet of Mara out from under his armor and let it rest on his chest. The effect on Tamsyn was electric. She paled, first, then blushed redder than before. Her eyes grew so huge they were like two green forest pools he wanted to dive into. The candlelight in the room turned her hair to flames, and her full, sensual lips parted as she gasped.
"An Amulet of Mara!" she breathed. "I…I mean…you're…interested…in me?"
"I won't lie," he said solemnly, still smiling, holding her gaze. "I am. And you?"
The sun came out in her smile. "I won't lie…." she whispered. "I am!"
Marcus gave an inward sigh of relief. Argis and Cicero were right. She'd only been waiting for him to declare himself. "It's settled then," he said, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him, wrapping his arms around her. "It's you and me against the world." And he kissed her full on the mouth with everyone in the Vilemyr watching and cheering.
He could have had an engagement ring made; he could have gone down on one knee and proposed to her the way he'd proposed to Lynne all those years ago. But he knew if he proposed the way it was done in Skyrim, it would mean so much more to Tamsyn. With a little coaching from Argis, Marcus knew he'd made this moment nothing less than magical for the woman he now loved with all his heart.
When they finally broke apart, Wilhelm came up, shook Marcus' hand and congratulated them both, declaring that drinks were on the house. Boti and her daughter Fastred, who already seemed to know Tamsyn, gathered the Breton girl into a corner with Lynly Star-Sung to discuss wedding plans while Temba hovered, scowling, on the perimeter. Didn't the woman ever smile at anything?
Klimmek pounded him on the back. "Welcome to the ranks of the betrothed, my friend," he grinned.
Marcus blinked. "What, you too?" he asked, surprised.
"Yeah," Klimmek beamed. "I owe it all to Tamsyn, too," he said. "I wouldn't have had the courage to ask Fastred if she hadn't stepped in and helped me out."
Marcus looked over to Tamsyn, who was clearly bemused by the happily chattering women around her. He smiled. So that's how they knew her.
"I didn't know she was here at first until she dropped that disguise," Klimmek went on. "Don't know why she felt the need, but I guess mages do things differently. At any rate, Fastred and I will be getting married next month, if you can make it to Riften," he invited Marcus.
"I wouldn't miss it," the Dragonborn enthused, pumping the older man's hand in congratulations. "Jofthor doesn't mind?"
"Jofthor's delighted," Fastred's father grinned, coming up to them. "It means my little girl will be staying in Ivarstead after all. She was thinking about going off with Bassianus, but…well…"
"I'm delighted for all of you," Marcus said firmly. "And now, I think I need to rescue my bride-to-be. She looks…"
"Overwhelmed?" Jofthor supplied, chuckling.
"As good a word as any, my friend," Marcus agreed. He stepped over to the women, who were still discussing what style of gown Tamsyn should wear for her wedding.
"Something that clings to the figure, I think," Fastred was saying. "And maybe blue?"
"Oh, no," Lynly argued. "It should be green, to match her eyes. And maybe something in a Breton style, with a full skirt, and a lower neckline. Tamsyn's Breton, after all."
"You want her to catch her death of cold?" Boti snorted. "Lower necklines might be all the rage in Wayrest or Daggerfall, but here in Skyrim she'll need something much warmer. Perhaps something fur-lined."
"Mother, she's not going to be in the gown long enough to catch a cold!" Fastred protested.
"And besides, that strapping young man she's engaged to will be certain to keep her warm!" Lynly smirked.
At this point, Marcus felt obliged to step in before Tamsyn completely expired from embarrassment. "Ladies, if I may? I'd like to take a walk with my intended."
The grateful look Tamsyn threw Marcus warmed him to the core.
"You are my hero," she whispered as he led her out the door.
"I'm sorry," he told her contritely. "I had no idea they'd do that."
"What did you expect?" she giggled. "You had a room full of women and you threw a proposal in their midst. Of course they were going to pounce on the bride-to-be."
"You don't seem to mind," he stated, relieved. He was concerned she might be upset with him.
"Mind?" Tamsyn remarked. "No, not really. They're good people. And they don't get much excitement in a quiet little town like this."
"So, are you going to take their advice about your gown then?" he teased.
"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" she shot back archly. He chuckled and hugged her close.
They walked across the bridge which headed east out of town and paused halfway to watch the peaceful flow of water from Lake Geir as it passed the mill before tumbling down the rapids to join the Darkwater River.
"So," he said finally, "am I going off-line here? This isn't in the game, is it?"
Tamsyn chuckled indulgently. "Half the things you've done since you got here haven't been in the game, Marcus," she told him. "But overall I think you're still on track."
"Can you give me any heads-up about what's next?"
"Not really." She shook her head. "It all depends on what you do. That's the problem with most prophecies. If you attempt to circumvent them, you end up making them happen anyway. If you try to make it happen, something else occurs instead."
"Because the future isn't fixed yet," he stated.
"Exactly!" she agreed. "It's not a linear flow of one thing directly to another. Your friend Paarthurnax would probably tell you that."
"Yeah, well, Yoda said it before him. 'Always changing is the future.'" He mimicked Yoda's voice as best he could as he said it.
"And I'm probably the only person in Tamriel who would get that reference," Tamsyn grinned.
Marcus snorted in mirth. "I think that's safe to say." He sobered. "Alright then, I'll head up to Dawnstar in the morning and see what Cicero has. Then I guess I'll have to go from there."
"It's always best to keep your plans flexible," Tamsyn agreed. "Besides, if you don't know what you're going to do next, it's a sure bet your enemies won't know."
"And I seem to have acquired quite a few of those since I got here," he said sourly. "Thieves, dragons, assassins, Thalmor, cultists—'
"Cultists?" Tamsyn exclaimed sharply. "You never said anything about cultists before!"
"I forgot," he shrugged. "And anyway, they haven't bothered me since I took out that bunch on my first trip to Ivarstead."
"Did you find a note on the bodies?" she asked.
"Yeah," he admitted, "but I didn't really pay attention to it or follow up on it. I think I threw it into a drawer at home where I keep things like that."
Tamsyn frowned. "Have there been any other attempts from them?" she asked.
"Nope," he said succinctly. "In fact, I'd forgotten all about it until just now."
She said nothing, but pressed herself closer to his side. He gave her a squeeze of reassurance. He didn't know why the thought of the cultists bothered her so much, but he also knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn't give him a straight answer if he asked, so he let it slide.
"I don't know why I keep blushing around you," Tamsyn confessed, and though he couldn't see her face clearly in the moonslight, he was sure she was flushing now. "It's not like I've never been married before."
"You haven't," Marcus remarked. "Well, not in this life," he allowed, "or in that amazing body you're wearing now."
"Stop it!" she chided, making him chuckle. "You're not helping!"
"It's not just your body I'm attracted to, Tamsyn," Marcus said sincerely, bringing her closer. "It's everything about you: your smile, your compassion, your intelligence, your sense of humor. I could get lost in those eyes of yours. I've never seen a pair so green."
"I feel the same way about you," Tamsyn admitted. "At first I just thought you were one of the handsomest men I'd ever seen, even though I knew you'd been thrown completely out of your element, and even when you still weren't that nice to me in the beginning."
"Don't," he groaned. "I was a complete ass! I don't know how you can forgive me for the way I treated you! And it wasn't just in the beginning. I treated you horribly after we came back from Labyrinthian – even after everything we'd been through!"
"Well, to be fair, you were justified at getting angry over that," Tamsyn replied softly. "I should have said something—"
"It wasn't your secret to divulge," he assured her. "I understand that now. But that's water under the bridge, so let's leave it in the past, okay?"
"An appropriate metaphor," Tamsyn giggled, looking down into the water. She snuggled under his arm and leaned her head against his chest. Very soon the snuggling turned to kissing, and Marcus fervently wished he could just take her back to Whiterun with him and live out his days as a very happy, retired Dragonborn.
Tamsyn was the first to pull away. "You need some rest," she said reluctantly. "And so do I. We both have to get an early start in the morning."
"We could travel together," he suggested. "At least for a while, until you have to head back to Winterhold."
She hesitated so briefly that again, Marcus had the feeling she wasn't telling him something she knew. It would be so good, he thought, when this was finally all over, and she could just be frank with him. He understood her reasons, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.
"I'd love to travel with you," she smiled, clearing any doubts he had. They returned to the Vilemyr and their separate bedrooms, but it was a long time before either of them finally dropped off to sleep.
"I would kill for a cup of coffee this morning," Tamsyn groaned as they made their way north out of Ivarstead.
"You and me both," Marcus rumbled, digging the last of the sand out of his eyes. It was a chilly, wet, drizzly kind of day, and neither one spoke much as they negotiated the switch-back trail that led down into the caldera that was the Aalto Plain.
Wolves and bears learned to steer clear; trolls took a bit more persuasion in the form of Akaviri steel and the concentrated fire power of a Master level Destruction mage. By the time they had worked their way down off the ridge they realized they weren't far enough east to pick up the road that ran along the southern edge of the Aalto. Going north was impossible because of the sheer drop into the cataract that was the Darkwater Rapids.
"Let's keep moving," Marcus said. "It looks like easier going this way."
"That will take us too close to Darkwater Pass," Tamsyn frowned.
"What's at Darkwater Pass?" he asked.
"Falmer, chaurus, and treasure," Tamsyn said.
"You had me at 'treasure'," Marcus grinned. "Being a Dragonborn doesn't exactly come with a steady paycheck."
"Neither does being Arch-Mage," Tamsyn reminded him. "If you're willing, I think we can spare some time."
Upon later reflection, Marcus realized that Tamsyn's capitulation probably had something to do with her foreknowledge of a captured Argonian named Derkeethus being held prisoner by the Falmer. The miner was profusely grateful to them for his rescue, and offered his services as a traveling companion if they ever needed him.
"He fought in the Great War at Black Marsh, his home Province," Tamsyn muttered. "He's actually quite a good fighter."
"Noted," Marcus murmured back. In point of fact, however, there was really only one traveling companion he wanted by his side.
From Darkwater Crossing it was easier to find the road that led first west along the southern edge of the Aalto, and then northward along its western side. At Fort Amol they were set upon by necromancers who had taken over the stronghold. Marcus noticed the bodies of the Stormcloak soldiers who had once held this position. The roiling walls of frost that were targeted toward him sapped his strength to the point where he was actually down on one knee, struggling to stay alert and moving.
A warping sound told him Tamsyn had summoned her Dremora from the Sanguine Rose, and the creature roared its challenge as it swept toward the enemy.
She shot off a healing spell in his direction, but it wasn't healing he needed. With limbs that felt like lead and fingers numbed with frost, Marcus fumbled in his pack to find the strongest stamina potion he had.
By the time he got the cork out and had downed it, as the painful tingling of pins-and-needles rippled through his extremities, the skirmish was over and Tamsyn sheathed the staff in its holster on her back. She ran across the courtyard to him and knelt down, brow knit with worry.
"Are you alright, my love?" she asked.
"Yeah," Marcus said, breathing hard. "W-what the h-hell was that sp-spell?"
"Ice Storm," she told him. "Adept level Destruction spell. Pretty nasty stuff."
"N-no k-kidding," he chattered. "I f-feel like a fr-frigging pops-sicle!"
"We should rest for a bit," Tamsyn said, worried. "I'm tapped out of magicka at the moment, and all out of potions."
"Wh-what about ins-side?" Marcus shivered.
"There's probably more of them inside that didn't hear the commotion out here," she replied. "Come on. If you can walk, we should just get away from here."
"I c-can walk," he said grimly. He got stiffly to his feet. He hadn't felt this much pain in his joints since before he'd come to Skyrim. It was not a feeling he liked to revisit. Eventually, however, he warmed up as they walked away, along the road north. The only thing they took with them was a staff Tamsyn had found on one of the bodies.
"It's what they were using to make that Ice Storm," she explained. "Did you want it?"
"I'm not a mage," he told her. "You keep it."
"You don't need to be a mage to use staves, Marcus," Tamsyn pointed out. "But it's true a mage with higher levels in Destruction training would get more uses from it."
"Keep it," he insisted. "I have enough trouble remembering to use the spells you taught me."
By mutual consent, Marcus and Tamsyn agreed to travel together as far as Windhelm, where Tamsyn would take the carriage to Winterhold and Marcus would take the one to Dawnstar. Until then, they walked the road together stopping frequently as Tamsyn insisted on picking every Dragon's Tongue, Creep Cluster and Jazzbay Grape she could get her hands on.
"I think you missed one over there," Marcus teased, pointing in a random direction.
Tamsyn started to head off but both froze as an all-too-familiar roar filled the air.
"It can't be!" Marcus exclaimed in consternation. "I killed that son of a bitch months ago!"
"Nature abhors a vacuum, Marcus," Tamsyn called back, throwing up a powerful mage armor spell and readying herself with frost in one hand and fire in the other. Whichever one this dragon breathed, she'd be prepared for it. "Whenever a suitable roost becomes vacant, another dragon will swoop in and claim it for its own!"
Marcus drew Dragonbane and the Blades sword together and prepared to Shout. "That hardly seems fair!" he groused. "They're getting bigger and tougher each time!"
"Wait until you get to Skuldafn Temple!" she threw at him. And then there was no more time for banter, because the dragon was on them.
If the Ice Storm had frozen his Imperial ne-ne's to a shriveled nut sack, the ancient one's fire breath threatened to quick-fry them to a crackly crunch.
"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" Marcus bellowed at it, seeing with satisfaction the anguish in the great wyrm's eyes as the Thu'um took hold.
"Stay behind it!" he rasped at Tamsyn, his throat raw from the Shout. He launched himself to one side as the beast landed heavily in front of him.
Keep it grounded, he told himself. Don't let it get airborne!
A steady peppering of Ice Spikes smacked repeatedly into the dragon as Marcus whirled and feinted, slashed and stabbed. He kept his eyes on the pulsing glow of the Thu'um while dodging the razor-sharp teeth and cruel talons.
A wave of cold breezed past him as Tamsyn used the staff they'd found.
"Watch it!" he called out. "That was too close!"
"Sorry!"
The glow was beginning to fade, and Marcus Shouted again. Furious, the dragon snapped at him, but he nimbly stepped aside and sunk the Blades sword under a line of scales. The wyrm raged in its impotence, unable to maneuver on land as easily as it could in the air.
Another wave of ice hit the hindquarters of the dragon, and it literally shuddered at the touch. Marcus leaped in just long enough to bring Dragonbane around in a vicious slice that would have hamstrung a mammoth – except mammoths didn't have tough-as-nails scaly hide. Sparks flew from the steel as it skittered across the surface of the scales, neatly slicing several off.
They weren't doing enough damage, Marcus realized. Every place he could reach on the ancient one was too well protected. He needed to get into a position where he could use his entire body's weight to pierce through the dragon hide. He knew what that meant, and there was no easy way to do it.
"Distract him!" Marcus yelled to Tamsyn. "TIID!" he Shouted, and felt time wrap itself around him once more. The ancient one's head turned slowly to face Tamsyn as she sluggishly threw off yet another slow-moving flurry of Ice Spikes. Marcus could see the missiles from the tail of his eye as he made his leap to the top of the dragon's head. They looked almost as though they were floating, as though they might burst like a bubble harmlessly against the dragon's thick scales.
Pulling himself up with the aid of the horns on the dragon's head, he quickly sheathed the Blades sword and set Dragonbane at that specific juncture of the skull where it joined the spinal column. Shoving down with all his might, he threw his entire weight against the hilt, feeling it grate against bone, slipping past cartilage and ligaments, severing nerves and tendons as the tip made its way to the core of the dragon's brain. Suddenly time resumed its normal flow, and Marcus hung on for dear life as the dragon was wracked with its death-throes.
A shriek like none other rebound against the nearby mountains, echoing perpetually, fading with each repeat, until like the dragon's life force, it ebbed away and nothing remained. The Dragonborn leaped lightly down from the skull as the entire drake lit up from within and caught fire, burning away until there was nothing left but a few bones and scales. The soul poured forth and settled itself into Marcus, who once more waited patiently until the dragon within had resigned itself to its fate.
He opened his eyes to see Tamsyn staring at him. "So that's what it looks like for real," she breathed.
"You were there in Labyrinthian when I took that skeletal dragon's soul," he pointed out, rummaging through the remains and packing away a few more bones and scales to send to Balimund in Riften. He shared the gold and gems with her. "And you were there later, at Eldersblood Peak, too."
"I wasn't exactly in the best condition to notice in Labyrinthian," she drawled. "Morokei was handing me my tush on a silver platter." She shuddered at the memory. "And at Eldersblood Peak I was too busy examining the Dragon Wall to pay attention."
"That's a shame," Marcus smirked, admiring her very shapely backside. "It's such a nice tush, too."
"Well, aren't you sweet," Tamsyn cooed, firing off a healing spell on herself. Several cuts and burns healed as though they had never existed. "Did you need healing?" she asked solicitously.
"I need a laying on of hands, is what I need," Marcus grinned, grabbing her for a quick kiss. She pushed him playfully away and retrieved her pack.
"We should get moving or we'll never make it to Windhelm before we lose the light," she said sternly, but her eyes danced with mischief and the pink had returned to her cheeks.
Down, boy, Marcus told his rebellious male organ. She's pledged herself to you. Just be patient.
They made fairly good time after that, with nothing more than the occasional stray wolf or sabre cat to bother them before they arrived at Windhelm's stables, just as the sun slipped behind the mountains to the west.
The carriage to Dawnstar was ready to leave immediately, though Tamsyn would have to wait a few hours until the one to Winterhold returned from its trip to Riften.
"I'll be fine here," she told Marcus. "Go ahead and see Cicero. I think you'll be very interested in what he'll have to show you."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't like leaving you alone like this."
"Marcus Dragonborn," she said with some asperity. "I am the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. I think I know how to take care of myself!" Her eyes softened, however as she tilted his head to look into his deep brown eyes. "But I love that you care enough to worry about me." She kissed him deeply before pulling away. "Send word to me when you're going to High Hrothgar," she murmured. "I'll be there."
Marcus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Each parting from her was getting harder and harder. He pulled her in once more and returned the kiss, whispering "I love you, Tamsyn," before climbing into the carriage as it pulled away. He looked back to see her waving and returned it before the darkness swallowed her up.
"What…is life's…greatest illusion?"
The sepulchral voice of the Sanctuary door raised the hairs on the back of Marcus' neck. This place definitely gave him the creeps.
"Innocence, my brother," he dutifully responded.
"Welcome…home…" the door rasped as it opened under his touch.
The gloomy interior was lit by only a few candles; just enough light to keep him from breaking his neck tripping down the uneven stairs. He supposed that was by design.
"Cicero!" he called out, remembering Tamsyn's caution, "are you home? It's Marcus!"
For several moments there was not a sound in the place except a steady drip-drip-drip of water echoing from somewhere.
"Cicero? Brother?"
"Cicero comes, dear Dragonborn!" the jester's faint voice reached him. "Though he wonders if his brother has the blood of an owl, rather than a dragon."
Well, to be fair, it was very early in the morning. A few minutes later a rather disheveled Cicero made his way up a flight of stairs from the right. He looked as though he'd been sound asleep, and Marcus felt a bit ashamed. He could have waited until daybreak before entering the Sanctuary.
"Come in! Come in!" the red-haired Imperial gestured. "Cicero has mulled wine! He is delighted to see his brother again!" Knowing Marcus wasn't as receptive to his cuddling as Argis or Tamsyn, Cicero restrained himself to clasping wrists with the Dragonborn and led Marcus down to the kitchen area where they had plotted their infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy.
"It's good to see you too, brother," Marcus smiled, surprised at himself to realize the words were true. Cicero might be a psychotic madman, but under the madness lay one of the keenest minds in Skyrim. Marcus appreciated intelligence in whatever form it chose to take. "Tamsyn said you had something to show me."
"Ooo! Yes! Yes!" Cicero giggled, pouring Marcus a tankard of warm, spiced wine. The aroma was heady, and Marcus realized he hadn't eaten anything since leaving Windhelm hours before. Anticipating this, Cicero brought over a loaf of bread and some goat cheese, which he sliced and lay on a thick slab of bread, which he then skewered with a fork to toast over the fire. "Cicero will bring the papers, dear Marcus, but first we must eat!"
Hospitality was the first sign of trust between people, Marcus knew. If someone liked you and trusted you enough to share food and drink with you, it was a fair assumption that they intended no harm. Why go to the trouble to feed someone you intended to kill?
Unless it's to gain their trust, the errant thought popped into his mind. It's not like that's never happened before. But this wasn't some cable television show he'd been thrown into, and this wasn't a wedding. No, it's a freaking video game, he thought, with not some small measure of irony.
As they ate, the two men discussed what they'd been doing since they last saw each other. Cicero had little to tell; he'd only gone into town from time to time to get supplies. Most of his day was spent tending to the Night Mother and sharpening his blades, or cleaning up around the Sanctuary. As Cicero avidly listened to Marcus' tales, the Dragonborn was struck once more by the crushing loneliness of Cicero's existence.
This isn't good for him, he realized. I know he's a murderer, but he only kills on contract, or at need.
Cicero wasn't going into Dawnstar and randomly killing people. He didn't stalk travelers on the roads. He was holding himself to his own code of conduct, even if that meant it would be days or weeks without human contact.
Tamsyn believed he could be rehabilitated. While Marcus doubted this was possible, he accepted that Cicero needed more contact with people if he had any hope of "normalizing" his social skills.
"And now Cicero will show dear Marcus what he found in the Embassy of the hated Thalmor," the little man declared, jumping up from the table. He hurried down a side passage and was gone for several moments, returning with a sheaf of papers and a leather-bound volume.
"Why didn't you show these to me when you took them?" Marcus asked.
"We were….rather busy," Cicero explained, "and dear Marcus had just reunited with his sweet children. Cicero felt it could wait until later."
"We had time later," Marcus felt obliged to point out.
A weak laugh escaped the jester. "Er…heh heh…Cicero forgot."
Marcus grinned. "Well, I'm here now. Show me what you've got."
Cicero did, and waited patiently while Marcus carefully read through the thick stack of letters, documents and the dossier.
"Wow," he breathed when he was finished. "This explains a lot, Cicero."
"Cicero thought you would like this," the little Imperial said soberly, his usual high-pitched voice dropped to a normal register. "What will you do now?"
Marcus sat silent for several moments, considering his options. "Tamsyn kept me from going up to High Hrothgar to arrange a peace conference with the Greybeards until I could read these," he said finally. "Now I know why. She suggested I should speak to both Ulfric Stormcloak and Jarl Elisif in Solitude before any kind of meeting could be arranged."
"Did she tell you what you should say to them?" Cicero asked. It was a measure of how serious Cicero was that his voice was low, and the use of non-personal pronouns was remarkably absent.
"No," Marcus admitted. "She only said I'd know what to do when I'd read through these. She said any chance of negotiating a lasting peace would fail unless I knew what was in these documents."
"A lasting peace," Cicero repeated thoughtfully. "Is such a thing possible? Cicero does not believe it can be."
"I have to try, Cicero," Marcus insisted. "We have to try. Like it or not, you're involved in this thing now."
"Like it?" Cicero queried, his voice going up an octave once again. "LIKE it? Cicero LOVES it!" He jumped up and did an impromptu jig right on the spot. "Oh ho ho! Hee hee hee! The nasty Thalmor won't catch me! And if I spy a stinking elf, I'll cut his ears off by myself!"
Marcus laughed. He could easily see Cicero doing just that.
"When do we leave, dear brother?" Cicero asked eagerly. "And where are we going first?"
"Solitude first, I think," Marcus said. "Then Windhelm, and then up to High Hrothgar. I'll need to speak to the Greybeards to arrange the conference, so I'll need you to be on your best behavior."
"Cicero will behave! Cicero promises! Ooo! Do you think the Greybeards can teach Cicero to Shout?"
The thought made Marcus shudder inwardly, but he smiled at the jester's antics. It was going to be a long trip, but in no way would it be considered boring.
They went into Dawnstar first thing in the morning to purchase supplies for their journey. Marcus found and paid a courier double his usual fee to carry the dragon bones and scales down to Riften to Balimund, to work them into some kind of armor and weapons for him. The old smith had sent promising letters back to Marcus while he was at home in Whiterun, and admitted to a few failures before he figured out the secret. Now he needed as many bones and scales as Marcus could send him to work into a special suit of armor for the Dragonborn.
"I think the design is impressive, and you'll be pleased with it," Balimund wrote. "The bones are really heavy, though, and tough to work with. I hope you don't mind, but I'll be making you a suit of lighter armor from the scales. The bones make for better weapons anyway. It will still be better than anything else you or I could forge. I'll need at least a half-dozen more bones and at least that many more scales. Send them to me as soon as you can. In the meantime, here's a dagger I made as an example of what you can expect in a larger blade. –Balimund."
Lighter armor, was it then? Oh well, he could hardly complain, since he wasn't making it himself. It just meant he'd have to learn different defensive tactics. And the dagger was impressive. Tough and resilient, with an edge so sharp he didn't realize he'd cut himself on it until one of the kids pointed out he was bleeding. Blaise looked at it with envy, but Marcus promised him the next one from Balimund.
"I'd like to give this to the man who helped me rescue you children from the Thalmor," he told them.
Cicero sported the blade now, delighted beyond measure when Marcus had presented it to him the night before. Marcus knew that in his own hands, it would have been a fine weapon; in Cicero's, it was lethal.
It hadn't been easy, even for the Dragonborn, to arrange a private meeting with Jarl Elisif. Her Steward, Falk Firebeard, seemed overly-protective of his Jarl, and who could blame him? Elisif looked as though she was barely out of her teens, if that old. Small and petite, with flaming red hair that rivaled Cicero's in its hue, but was modestly contained within the golden circlet she wore on her brow. She was beautiful, certainly, but in Marcus' mind, no one could compare to Tamsyn, whose own red hair was a deeper, richer auburn.
Jarl Elisif was quiet and soft-spoken, and seemed ill-suited to run even the city of Solitude by itself, let alone an entire province. Her two Thanes, Erikur and Bryling, sat close by, giving her self-serving input on every judgement she made, and even her Steward, Falk, countermanded her decisions. There was no question in Marcus' mind that the Jarl of Solitude needed some "toughening up."
When a man from Dragon Bridge, Varnius, complained of strange occurrences in a nearby cave, Elisif was ready to send in the troops to clear it out, but her court discouraged this idea. The court mage insisted there was nothing there, and Falk advised her to make a more "temperate response". Varnius didn't seem happy with the result, but Falk dismissed him.
Before a private meeting could even be agreed to, Marcus found it was necessary to prove his good intentions by investigating the cave himself. In clearing it out, he and Cicero broke up a coven of necromancers trying to bring back someone they called "Potema, the Wolf Queen", and when he reported this back to Falk, the man paled beneath his red beard.
"Please, tell me you stopped them!" he begged, his eyes wide in alarm.
"It's done," Marcus said. "We broke up their ritual, Cicero and I."
"You've done a greater service to this city than you know," Falk told him. "A resurrected Potema! I shudder to think of it!"
"Soooo….does this mean you'll let me speak with her?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll have to see if I can fit you into her busy schedule," Falk procrastinated. "It wouldn't be fair to the other supplicants to push you ahead of them, even if you are Dragonborn," he said stiffly, his entire demeanor suggesting he doubted Marcus' claim to fame.
"Who was Potema?" Cicero asked, innocently enough, so Falk filled them in on the most infamous and dangerous Queen Skyrim had ever seen. Even Marcus was taken aback by her atrocities, though Cicero hung on every word.
"Oh, dear brother!" he sighed as they left the Blue Palace to head towards the Winking Skeever. "Cicero was just born in the wrong time!"
"I'm sure you'd have given Potema a run for her money," Marcus chuckled.
Having nothing to do but wait until they were able to speak to Jarl Elisif, Marcus and Cicero spent considerable time at Beirand's forge, repairing armor and honing weapons that were already razor sharp. Marcus did what he could to assist the people of Solitude while they waited; Cicero made friends with the local mad man wandering the streets near the Blue Palace. Somehow, this did not surprise Marcus in the least.
Each day they made their way to the Blue Palace, only to be told the Jarl was too busy to speak with them. And indeed, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of plaintiffs demanding Jarl Elisif's attention. She looked nervous and unhappy, and Marcus' heart went out to her.
Evette San petitioned to have the tariff against her imported spices reduced. "I can barely afford to run my wine stand in the market, let alone pay a thousand septim tariff on the spices!" she exclaimed.
"That does seem to be very high," Jarl Elisif began.
"My Jarl," Erikur interjected. "The tariff is a fair assessment based on the value of the spices Miss San uses. If she chooses to use them in her merchandise, she should be expected to pay the same amount as any other establishment in Haafingar, such as The Four Shields in Dragon Bridge, or the Winking Skeever here in town, would have to pay for the same supplies. Besides, the East Empire Company is the organization that sets the tariff, not the Jarl. She should be speaking with Vittoria Vici about this, and not be wasting your time here."
"I've tried talking to Vittoria about it already," Evette protested. "She won't listen to me."
"Perhaps Miss San should use less expensive, locally-grown herbs and spices in her wine," Thane Bryling suggested.
"Then it wouldn't be my secret family recipe!" Evette cried. "It would just be ordinary spiced wine that anyone could make at home!"
"Maybe if I talked—" Elisif began again, but once more Erikur cut her off.
"Jarl Elisif, you can't possibly be thinking of offending the East Empire Company over such a trifling matter?" he inquired shrewdly.
"Well, no, but—"
"Why, they might decide to pull up stakes here and relocate to…to Dawnstar – which, I might add, is in Stormcloak hands right now. That would give the enemy every shipping advantage in Skyrim! Can we afford to alienate the Empire, which has been so good to us, in this manner?"
"Of course not, Erikur," Elisif capitulated. She seemed to shrink into herself. "I'm sorry, Miss San. It's out of my hands." Her eyes pleaded helplessly with the wine merchant to understand, but Evette scowled.
"Forgive me, my Jarl," she said shortly. "I forgot what was truly important here."
Her sarcasm wasn't lost on anyone in the room as she flounced out. Erikur's lip barely lifted in a satisfied smile.
That bastard's on the take, Marcus thought. He's probably getting a cut from the tariffs. He refrained from saying anything about it to Cicero, however. He knew what the jester's solution would be, and he didn't need to be implicated in a murder. Though if anyone deserved it, that slimeball does, Marcus simmered.
Thinking of Cicero, Marcus looked around and realized the little Imperial was nowhere to be seen. Marcus' blood suddenly ran cold. A Cicero out of sight was a Cicero getting into trouble. It was worse than having a three-year-old in his care. Slipping away from the court proceedings, Marcus edged his way around to a corridor on the other side of the hall. There were rooms down this way, including Jarl Elisif's private quarters. He hoped the little man wasn't trespassing where he shouldn't. A peek into each of the rooms, however, revealed no Cicero. At the end of the corridor a flight of stairs led down to the first floor, and Marcus headed in that direction as purposefully as he could. It would be far less suspicious of him to look as though he belonged there. More rooms along this hallway, and still no Cicero. Marcus eventually found himself in the kitchen area. The cooks looked up at his arrival, but it was clear there was no jester here, either.
Where in Oblivion did he get to? he thought in frustration.
Across the foyer from the kitchen was another corridor, and Marcus went over to find a single door, locked tight.
"That room is off limits," a guard told him.
"What's in there?" Marcus asked.
The guard shuddered. "That's the Pelagius wing," the man told him. "Strange things have been known to happen in there. It's cursed, so we keep it locked. You can't go in there."
Locked, was it? That would have been nothing for a trained assassin like Cicero, who could slip in and out of places unseen. And wasn't Pelagius that Mad Emperor Falk told him about? Marcus sighed. If Cicero did somehow manage to get into that wing of the Blue Palace, there was nothing he could do but wait for his return. He found a seat in the outer hall and did just that.
[Author's Note: Next up, Cicero enters "The Mind of Madness" and confronts Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness himself! Meanwhile, Marcus gets his private audience with Elisif, though Falk insists on being present. What happens when Marcus reveals what he knows? If you like what's happened so far (and even if you don't) please be kind and leave a review. Compliments are always appreciated, but constructive criticism even more so. It lets me know I'm on the right track. Thanks for reading!]