Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. Just a quickie before the ordeal that is Christmas begins.
The hallways of the embassy were lightly guarded. Only one or two soldiers and a wizard patrolled the rear area of the building. Avoiding detection was simple as I flitted into side rooms and closets and made my way to the doors of the rear courtyard.
The noise of the party wafted through the halls, masking my footsteps. I was back in my element again and a smile crept across my face. Even without the Beast-Blood, it was the grin of a wolf. This was why the Knights of the Nine took me in. If we needed money or intelligence, it was people like me who broke into the Thalmor office to get it. If a sentry or two needed to be silenced before a raid, I was the one doing the wet work. A prisoner convoy needed to be hit, it was me shadowing it, guard after guard disappearing into the trees or falling with an arrow in his back. Those ever-popular Knights in Shining Armor relish in their feats of strength and arms in the light of day, boasting endlessly of their triumphs. I have been one of those brave and skilled warriors from time to time. But their crushing victories would be impossible without the rouge and her lock picks, the ranger and his bow, the assassin and her dagger, or the scout and his shadows.
It was while hiding in one of those spare rooms that temptation got the better of me. Say what you like about the Thalmor, but they do equip their people with nice stuff. I had found my way into a wardrobe to hide from a pair of soldiers. Now the justiciar robes might have been too bold a fashion statement, but their gloves and boots were another story entirely. They were made of hardened black leather with thin yellow accents and lined with fur for the chilly climate of Skyrim. They were stylish, durable, comfortable, and now in my backpack.
I exited the main building and made my way to Elenwen's solar. The two floors of Elenwen's quarters and office were completely unguarded. At first I had trouble believing my good luck. The desire to spit in the eyes of the Thalmor became overwhelming. Not only did I look for evidence of the Thalmor's involvement in recent events, I also cleaned the place out. The late third-era elven dagger and short sword pairing; jade jewelry (beyond priceless in Skyrim); a tome on telekinesis; and more. By the time I finished if there were two loose septims for Elenwen to rub together, I would have been surprised.
The best take came from Elenwen's desk. She had several dossiers on people and organizations throughout Skyrim. Evidently, Delphine was who she claimed to be. The Thalmor thought the Blades were behind the return of the dragons. A Blade lore-master had been tentatively located in Riften. More interesting, they held some power over Jarl Ulfric and were carefully supplying his rebellion to keep Skyrim unstable. Even the Companions had their own file, though my role as Harbinger was not yet known. To my lingering satisfaction we were described as, "Potentially a decisive element if they were to become active in the civil war." Every major faction had its own folder: The Dark Brotherhood, the Thieves' Guild, and the College of Winterhold. Thump, thump, thump, they all went into my pack.
My hearing, still keener than normal from my time as a werewolf, heard the faint sounds of interrogation in the basement. I crept in and paused on the landing to assess the situation.
A Breton man was chained to the wall of one of the handful of small cells in the basement. "Please," he wept, "I've told you everything I know."
A soldier wielding a knotted rope stood in front of him and a Justiciar sat at a desk facing away from me as I crept down the stairs. Elenwen's dagger was in my hand. "But still Etienne, let's hear it one more time," the Justiciar at the desk prompted.
"I don't know what more you expect to learn..."
"Just answer the Justiciar!" the soldier yelled at the man, lashing out with the knotted rope.
"He's an old man I see every now and again! I'm not even sure he's the one you're looking for. He comes up to buy supplies from us every now and then. He lives in the Ratway beneath Riften!" their captive screamed.
"What. Is. His. Name?" the interrogator demanded again. The soldier's rope whipped down again.
"Esbern! He's called Esbern." the captive gasped.
By that time, my hand was tight over the Justiciar's mouth and his neck had a four-inch gash in it. I was impressed at how easy the cut had been. The curved, thin blade of the dagger did all the work for me. The soldier saw me kill his officer and charged me with his mace in hand. He was skilled with it and our fight went back and forth for a few minutes before I could drop him.
I turned my attention the half-conscious man strapped to the basement wall. He was covered in bruises and suffering from sleep deprivation. I was about to unpin his shackles when I heard the clomping of boots above me.
"I know you're in here spy! We have your accomplice. Did you really think you could slip away without being noticed?" I looked up to see a soldier with her sword drawn and the point ready to enter Malborn's back. The soldier likely had a good notion of where I was, but the shadows and bars of the cage were to my advantage for the moment. The Thalmor soldier began forcing the much shorter Bosmer down the stairs I had used. I tested the balance of the dagger I had stolen. It felt molded to my hand and the edge almost supernaturally keen.
The soldier and her captive were framed in the light of the stairwell a moment later. The soldier was nearly a head taller than the man she led. I stepped up and threw with all my might. The nine-inch blade spun from the shadows so fast the sound of its travel was a continuous hum. The blade lodged deep in the soldier's eye, the momentum throwing her head back in a brief jet of blood.
Even before loosening Malborn's binds, I retrieved and wiped the blade clean. "Whatever you learned, I hope it was worth it," he growled at me. "The Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life."
I didn't bother replying and instead went to rouse the torture victim. I cut him loose and he nearly dropped to the floor. Thanking me, he pointed out a trap door that he had seen his captors dump bodies into. He thought it might be a way out, I thought it might be a convenient hole for dead bodies. Looking around, I grabbed the Justiciar's interrogation notes. On a whim I grabbed the least bloody pieces of armor and an elven sword from the two dead soldiers. The months of toil had worn my set of leather thin.
Last, I discovered the unfortunate Brelas in the cell next to the one I just liberated. Thane Erikur was a pompous, drunken, seditious waste of air. His lone saving grace was a real appreciation for beauty. The Bosmer waitress was stunning. In appearance she was like an Altmer without the sickly yellow complexion. Now she was in a state of shock and terror. Arrested for doing her job and terrified at the prospect of facing a person who had just killed three people in rapid succession within a few feet of her, she was reduced to mumbling expletives under her breath and shaking. Brelas was only partially aware that I had cut her loose and brought her to the trap door.
"Etienne, make sure Brelas keeps up," I said, picking the lock and dropping down.
As it turns out, I was wrong about the sub-basement of the embassy. It was a small cave leading out the forest well south of the Thalmor's compound. Once we got away from the large pile of dead people that had collected beneath the trap door, the four of us stood briefly at mouth of the cave.
"We never met. I was never here," I told them. Without another word, the four of us went our separate ways. I half ran, half slid down the mountain side back down to the road to Solitude. I was a fair distance away and only approached the gates of that exceptional city towards midnight.