A/N: This one has the same notes as the last one. It's based off of the second half of the Forsworn Conspiracy quest so a lot of the dialogue and most of the plot doesn't belong to me, etc. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, 'Nepos' Journal' belongs to the former.
Rating: M for violence and death.
"But our Khal is well? He will recover, yes?"
"Yes. With time."
The voice inquiring after Drogo's health was familiar and he opened his eyes to find, to his surprise and displeasure, Dar'Jazha sitting at his bedside.
Struggling into a sitting position, he stammered angrily at his partner. "What are you...where is Daenerys? Did you just leave her there?" He hesitated then assessed his own situation. "And what happened to me?"
The Khajiit exchanged a glance with his wife who was placing a wet cloth over Drogo's forehead. "Khaleesi is safely in Falkreath. She insisted that Dar'Jazha return to his partner and it seems she was right to do so, no?"
Ahkari nodded in agreement. "The angry Orc told Ahkari that you were attacked by the Forsworn for snooping. He dragged you back here. You have been unconscious for many hours now."
At the word 'snooping', Drogo remembered the task he had been given, and the events that had followed, and he pushed himself up against the pillows behind him. "Dar'Jazha, this city's going to Oblivion and I have to know why. I have to go see—"
"You aren't going anywhere," Ahkari interrupted. "Kleppr told us of what happened in the market and of our Khal's foolish quest. If you must have answers, please send Dar'Jazha on your errands. You are not fit to leave this bed." Dar'Jazha's ears flattened at his wife's suggestion, but he stayed silent as Drogo nodded.
"Yes. Dar'Jazha. Read this." He took Margret's diary from beneath his tunic and handed it to his partner. "Start at the third to last page."
The Khajiit obeyed and then raised an eyebrow when he had finished. "An Imperial spy? Working against Thonar Silver-Blood? Did she think he was Forsworn?"
Drogo shrugged. "Perhaps. Regardless, you must speak with him. Find out what he knows. I was on my way to the Treasury House when I was attacked, so...be careful. And if you find something out, give the information to Eltrys. He's waiting in the Temple of Talos."
Dar'Jazha sighed, but nodded. "Dar'Jazha will do as his Khal commands. But only because you are too weak to do it yourself." He grinned when Drogo made a face and reached for something at his hip. A moment later, he had his ebony dagger in his hand, its hilt facing Dar'Jazha.
"Here. You will need this more than I do."
The Khajiit nodded and took it from his partner before standing and turning toward the door.
"Dar'Jazha, wait. One more thing. Trust no one..."
When Drogo woke again, it was to find himself in an empty room. Dar'Jazha's absence could be accounted for, since he had been sent to the Treasury House and earning an appointment with Thonar Silver-Blood took hours even in the most dire situations. Ahkari, on the other hand, he had expected to see still sitting at his bedside. Instead, there was a note in her place.
I am taking Ma'ahni to the market place. There is a man outside your door, so don't even think of leaving. I will be back in a few hours. You stay in bed.
Ahkari
Chuckling quietly, Drogo sat up and looked toward the door. Sure enough, he could see the shadow from a pair of boots just outside where his appointed guard was standing. Sighing to himself, he got out of bed, wincing slightly at the residual ache in his skull, and bent down to pull a glass dagger from his boot.
Though he knew she was no fool, he hoped the act of giving his dagger to Dar'Jazha had convinced Ahkari that he was unarmed. Moving quietly across the room, he removed a panel in the wall where a long curved sword was hidden and was relieved to see that she had left it. Once it was strapped to his side, he exited onto the adjoining balcony. Feigning nonchalance, he surveyed the road below the balcony and as soon as the patrolling Markarth guard had turned a corner, he crawled over the balcony railing and, bracing himself, dropped down into the street below.
Landing as he had once been taught in combat training with his father, he managed to minimize the potential damage of his fall and by the time the guard came around again, he had sprang to his feet and was well-concealed in the shadows of a nearby edifice.
Taking Weylin's note from his pocket, he read it again and frowned when he got to the mysterious initial with which it was signed. In hindsight, perhaps he should have solved said puzzle before leaping from his window, but considering Ahkari had said she would be back in a few hours, and he had no way of knowing how long he had slept after her departure, he had little time to spare.
N. It couldn't be a title, as none that he knew of began with that letter. Most likely, it was the first initial of a name, though whose, he couldn't be sure. After a moment of mentally exploring the familiar layout of Markarth, he found a possibility.
Though Drogo had done no business with him for he was miraculously in favor with the Silver-Bloods, he had heard of Nepos the Nose, an elderly patron of the family who occasionally did business with the city's workers.
Confidant in his deduction, Drogo stopped a young woman on the street and smiled in an attempt to dispel the look of terror that briefly crossed her features as he appeared from the shadows.
"Pardon me, miss, but do you know where Nepos the Nose lives?"
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "It's on the north side of the third terrace, just beside Vlindrel Hall."
"Thank you."
With that, he released her and watched her scurry away before making his own way up the high stone steps to the third terrace of the city. Just as she had said, there was a golden door tucked into the stone of the mountain just beside the entrance to Vlindrel Hall, where the Jarl's Thane lived.
Tucking his dagger beneath his tunic to hide it from view, he knocked on the door and waited for a moment. It was soon opened by a middle-aged Breton woman who looked at him suspiciously and scowled.
"Excuse me, what's your business here?" Though phrased as a question, it seemed more like a challenge and Drogo was searching for an answer that would please her when a voice from inside the house interrupted his fumbling attempts.
"It's okay, my dear. Send him in."
The Breton's scowl deepened, but she obeyed the command and stepped aside with little resistance. "Yes, Nepos." She turned back to Drogo and raised her eyebrows in a gesture of impatience. "You heard him. Go on in."
Hesitantly, Drogo entered the house and moved toward an old man seated in front of the lighted fireplace. He looked up as Drogo approached.
"I'm sorry about my housekeeper. She's a little protective of me. Now, what is it you want?"
Opting to stay silent, Drogo removed the note from his pocket and handed it over, letting Nepos' own words speak for themselves.
When he reached the end, the old man sighed and smiled tiredly. "Ah, yes. You've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out. I've been playing this game for almost twenty years. Sending the young to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired."
At that, Drogo furrowed his brow. "Who is behind all of this?"
Nepos sighed again. "My king. Madanach. When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords, they threw him in the mines. I don't know how, but he lives. I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."
Madanach. Leader of the Forsworn. What had begun as a simple search for justice had seemingly turned into something far more dangerous. Unwilling to admit how much he knew, he decided to let Nepos talk. "What uprising?"
"The only uprising," Nepos replied wryly. "Markarth and the Reach are our lands. That is why we are the Forsworn. We cannot claim the home that is rightly ours. But then during their war with the elves, we had our moment. We drove the Nords out of the Reach in a great uprising. Then Ulfric and his men came. Those of us who didn't run were executed, except for myself, my king, and a handful of others."
"And your king. This 'Madanach'. What of him?"
"He is the King in Rags. A man who once held all the Reach within his grip. He stokes the passions of the downtrodden in this city. Directs them to kill the enemies of the Forsworn in our name. All from inside Cidhna Mine. A Nord prison. The irony is quite thick."
Drogo allowed himself a small smile at that, but became sober again as he asked his last question, the one that had come to mind only moments before and had been gradually increasing in importance since then. "But...why are you telling me all this?"
Nepos looked up at him and smiled in what could have been amusement before responding calmly. "My dear boy, what makes you think you're getting out of here alive? The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid. You aren't the first one to have gotten this far." He smiled and the sound of his servants' weapons being removed from their scabbards accompanied his final statement. "And you won't be the last."
Dropping to the ground, Drogo rolled away from the old man and sprang to his feet with both weapons in hand. Though momentarily stunned, the woman who had opened the door ran toward him with a yell of rage that died only when Drogo's blade cleanly separated her head from the rest of her body.
The shock of their comrade's gruesome demise stilled the other two servants just long enough for Drogo to charge them, his curved sword slashing one across the stomach as his dagger plunged deep into the chest of the other.
Pulling them both free, Drogo turned to face Nepos, who was standing by the fireplace with a sword in his hand.
"Perhaps the gods have finally heard me," he said more to himself, an almost peaceful smile spreading across his face. "This has been going on for too long. Far too long..."
The same smile still graced his features when he fell to the ground, Drogo's dagger buried to the hilt directly between his vacantly staring eyes.
Though he had brought weapons with him because he feared that things may have turned violent, it was with no satisfaction that Drogo carefully searched the bodies and then dragged them one at a time into the blazing fire.
On the body of Nepos the Nose, he found a worn leather journal. The last page held the following admission:
I grow guilt-ridden in my old age. So many of the young sent to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. All in the name of Madanach.
My king. Who watches us from behind the iron bars of Cidhna Mine. How long have I served you? Since the uprising against the Nords? Was there ever a time when all that violence hasn't over-shadowed our destinies?
What choice do I have but to do as I am instructed?
Throwing the journal into the fire with its owner, Drogo carefully cleaned both his weapons and his hands before leaving out the front door and breathing in the crisp autumn air with a heavy sigh.
Now that he had gotten to the bottom of the Forsworn conspiracy, all masterminded by Madanach, the King in Rags who lie rotting behind the iron bars of Cidhna Mine, Eltrys would be able to finally put the memory of his father to rest, and return to his wife and unborn child without the burden of his death shadowing his mind.
Slowly, he made his way through the streets of Markarth toward the Temple of Talos, wondering if Dar'Jazha had come to the same conclusion that he had through his meeting with Thonar. Regardless, the truth had been found, and now all they had to do was order Madanach's execution for the killings to finally come to an end.
When he reached the temple, the door was open, and he drew his dagger, peering into the dark hall that led to the statue with suspicion. From the darkness he heard a familiar voice and his heart sank.
"What have you done to Eltrys?"
His eyes, now adjusted to the lack of light, found the body of the Breton motionless on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Dar'Jazha stood beside him, ears back, teeth bared, and his weapon drawn. Across from him, between he and Drogo, stood two Markarth guards.
"Same thing we do with all the other natives who want to change things around here," one of them snarled. "We had a nice little deal going between Thonar and Madanach until you and Eltrys started snooping around. Well, you wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the King in Rags when you're rotting in Cidhna Mine."