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Chapter 32 - Mephala Strikes
23 Last Seed, 5E 3
Festus was sober, if badly hung over, for the first time in two days when the Emperor's party set out for Riften. It was still hard to believe he'd killed Cassia, especially for such a stupid reason as not hearing her call "break!", but he had, and her body was being taken home for burial.
While he was out of things, mostly drunkenly unconscious and happy to be that way, one of the Emperor's oldest and most trusted friends had joined the party for this leg of the trip. She was a Khajiit, beautiful for a beast-woman, he had to admit, and she was the heroine of the Oblivion Crisis, hard as it was to believe. She was so small, and looked so soft, that imagining her fighting the strongest of Dremora in the Deadlands was almost beyond belief.
Yet she wore the Imperial Dragon armor that had been commissioned for her by the long-dead Councillor (or was it Chancellor, he couldn't remember) Ocato, so he had to believe it. And there was no doubt she had founded the most influential Khajiit Family and Clan in Cyrodiil, Ysshaya. And the Dragonborn, here in Skyrim, was her greats-granddaughter.
He shook his head as he took a combination of potions to settle his stomach enough to eat breakfast before they started out for Riften. Why in Oblivion would someone like that want to go to the smelly backside of Skyrim? When he sat down to eat beside his new partner, he asked.
S'Riska shrugged. "I cannot imagine. Riften is called the City of Thieves, which is something I would find difficult to associate with Ysshaya of Ysshaya. Though she may have had connections with that Guild in her younger days; they, I understand, can be most useful to adventurers."
"Yeah, I can understand how it would be. Most of 'em commit at least some minor thievery in their careers, and the Guild is pretty hard on free-lancers. Harder than the Legion is, from what I hear."
S'Riska chuckle-purred. "Well, in a way. It is almost unknown for the Guild to kill during a job, and in fact their theft victims are usually physically safe. But the free-lancers have usually been rather thoroughly beaten up by the time they are bound and delivered to the nearest Guard post. Well, if they survive, that is."
Once they were on the road, Festus studied the situation and decide it wasn't really all that bad. The Emperor, Empress, and Champion of Cyrodiil were in the display carriage along with the Emperor's aide. Half a dozen Penitus Oculatus kept guard on either side, a squad of Legionnaires front and rear, three Skyguard teams overhead ... it was secure enough. Wild predators looked for easy prey, and bandits would shy away from even a few armed men.
After an hour or so, S'Riska asked, "Are you going to have to get drunk every night?"
Festus gave that question serious consideration, and finally shook his head. "I don't think so. That would upset Cassi, and I loved her, even if we never got physical about it. Plus it's never a good idea to have a spirit in Aetherius angry with you."
"Good. I would hate to have to nurse my partner through a hangover every morning. So - do you think the Empire has plans to invade Morrowind? Talos ordered the reunification of his Empire, after all, and only Morrowind remains independent, since King Imiril surrendered and Alinor and Valenwood rejoined."
Festus laughed. "I'm hardly in His Majesty's inner circle, you know, but I can't see any reason to bother. It may have a few cities left, but since Red Mountain erupted, there really isn't enough left of it to be worth the effort. If it was up to me, I'd maybe send an ambassador to whatever's left of their government, like he did with Argonia. Oblivion, the dragon aid and communications alone should be enough to bring 'em back in. And we did give them Solstheim as a refuge."
The Emperor had heard the conversation, and smiled, calling the Agent over.
Festus bowed as best he could, while still keeping guard. "Yes, Sire?"
"That was an interesting analysis, soldier. Is that the general opinion?"
"I'm sorry, Sire, I'm a bit confused." Which was putting it mildly, Festus thought. "That Morrowind's not worth the trouble of an invasion? Pretty much, yes. The rest was just my own opinion. By Your Majesty's leave."
"And you have a very good point." The Emperor turned to the fourth person in the carriage, his personal aide. "Quintilius, send a message to Ambassador Tharia Qiina to prepare for a trip to whatever is Morrowind's capital these days, purpose being to negotiate Morrowind's re-entry to the Empire. And note she is to use this Agent's points for said negotiation."
"Of course, Majesty," Quintilius said, making notes. "The message will go out when we stop for the day."
"I can't believe it," Festus said, after the teams had shifted position so the rear guard wouldn't have to eat dust all day. "He actually listens to us!"
"It's said all the best ones do, S'Riska replied. "And given what he has had to contend with, it wouldn't surprise me at all if history adds 'the Great' to this Emperor's name."
"After he lost the war and had to sign the White Gold Concordat?" Festus was disbelieving. "That's what sent Skyrim into rebellion!"
"True," S'Riska said calmly. "But at the first realistic opportunity, he repudiated it - and Divines, how I wish I could have been in the Throne Room to see the Thalmor Ambassador's face when he did!"
"Good point - I'd like to've seen that myself."
When they entered Riften - on foot, since the gates and roads weren't wide enough for a carriage - Grams chuckle-purred to see a tall red-haired man in dark leather armor wave at her with a grin. "You've got a bit of extra security, Titus," she said.
"Hmm? What do you mean?" the Emperor asked.
"The local Guild-Second just signaled me that you're under Thieves Guild protection. That means you and your party don't have to worry about theft while you're in Skyrim. The Guild won't even try, and free-lancers know what the Guild'll do to them if they try anything."
"Really? I find that rather surprising. I'd hardly think of thieves as model Imperial citizens."
Grams chuckle-purred again. "Oh, they're not. But even wolves know to keep their dens clean and free of lesser predators."
The Emperor chuckled. "You have a point. I'll have to think of some way to express my gratitude. Do you have any ideas?"
"I'll give it some thought," Grams promised. "It can't be anything obvious, I'm sure you understand."
"Of course."
Jarl Mjoll the Lioness met them at the entrance to Mistview Keep, bowing deeply to the Emperor. "It is a great honor to have you in Riften, Your Majesty. I've had apartments prepared for you and the Empress, and your Penitus Oculatus guards, but I'm afraid your Legion and Skyguard escorts will have to stay elsewere - Mistview Keep simply isn't large enough for them. I do apologize."
"Don't worry about it, Your Grace," the Emperor replied. "My trip planners are quite experienced, and arrangements have been made, since the size of your palace is in the records. My congratulations on your accession, by the way."
"I thank Your Majesty," Mjoll replied, "though I wish it hadn't occurred because of several murders. But will you come in? The trip from Windhelm is a long one, so you must be tired. The official functions aren't until noon tomorrow, to make time for the Grand Plaza to be cleared of merchant stalls, to make room for the crowd."
"That sounds wonderful," the Empress said. "I'm not used to such journeys, any more. A nice meal, a bath, and then bed ... " She sighed longingly. "But what of Champion Ysshaya?"
"Don't worry about it," Grams replied. "I've got several places I can stay, thanks to my great-granddaughter's contacts here. I think I'll spend tonight at Riftweald Manor."
Mjoll raised an eyebrow briefly, then nodded. "Of course. We'll see you tomorrow, then. Should I schedule a speech for you?"
"Only if you have no one else available," Grams replied. "I don't have anything prepared, and I'm a terrible speaker to begin with. So I'd really rather you didn't."
"All right. The people may be disappointed, but I'll respect your wishes."
"Thanks. Now I'm going to find some friends for a small party, then some sleep. See you for the festivities."
24 Last Seed, 5e 3
When she woke, Grams felt a type of tension she hadn't felt in many years, the kind she'd learned back during the Oblivion Crisis that meant she'd soon be in personal peril. Over two hundred years, it'd been, since she'd sensed that kind of peril. What was it this time? Not the Deadlands, surely; those had been walled off two centuries ago by Martin's sacrifice, which still hurt her heart.
She sighed, no longer used to an adventuring lifestyle. But she had resources available now that she'd never had during her adventuring life, and she was going to take advantage of one of them. When she finished breakfast, she debated getting into her armor, because of that feeling of peril, but decided against it on diplomatic grounds, since the Jarl of the Rift might see the Champion of Cyrodiil in armor as a slight to her ability to safeguard the Emperor.
Grams chuckled at herself. Oblivion, even Titus might see it as a slight against his Penitus Oculatus agents! But for her own peace of mind, when she left Riftweald Manor, she went outside the city, to where the dragon on communications duty was waiting. She didn't recognize the scale pattern, just that it was an Elder. "Drem yol lok, dovah. Zu'u Ysshaya."
"Drem yol lok, Ysshaya," the dovah replied politely. "Zu'u Agbahfaas, unpartnered. May I do you a service?"
"I would appreciate it if you would call Lokbiidaan, since I know how seriously dovah take obligations, and I don't want to ask you to leave your post."
The dovah gape-grinned. "You are most understanding." Then he Called, "Lokbiidaan, meyz het, wah Ysshaya!" [Lokbiidan, come here, to Ysshaya]
"Geh, zu'u meyz." The reply was immediate, and minutes later, the blue dragon landed, ducking his head to his friend and rider. "What is it, fahdoni?"
"An uneasy feeling that makes my want my greats-granddaughter, your thur, to join me here. Would you go to her home and tell her that?"
"Of course. But would you not rather tell her yourself?"
"I ... think not. At least ... I just want her here, not there, and I can't understand why."
"As you wish, then, fahdoni." Lokbiidaan gape-grinned, then took off.
Yssha was surprised at the request because Grams knew how she felt about ceremonial things, but since it was Grams, she didn't hesitate beyond what time it took to change into something a bit fancier than a house-dress. Armor was out of the question; even the kilted version of her dragonscale no longer came even close to fitting. So she got into Taarie's latest creation, a blue silk gown with silver embroidery, and a silver belt with scabbard for her favorite eating-knife. As Marcurio wished, she was staying out of melee combat these days, so no mace or sword. At least he didn't object to her continuing with her exercise and sparring, since Danica said those were good for her.
Accompanied by her team, who were armored, she asked Odahviing to fly them to Riften. When they landed, the four asked about Grams, and were told she was staying at Riftweald Manor. She grinned at that, and headed there. Vipir the Fleet was guarding the door, and smiled when he saw her. "Morning, Dragonborn. Your greats-grandmother is inside, trading tall tales with Brynjolf and Delvin."
"Thank you, Vipir."
They went inside, and Yssha greeted her Guild-Second before turning to Grams for a hug. "What is it, Grams? I was surprised to get your call."
"I can't really say, youngster. Just a very strong feeling that I wanted you nearby, that something bad is going to happen." Grams shrugged. "Anyway, thanks for coming. You're looking well."
"I am feeling so, also." Yssha smiled. "Though I must admit I miss action. Marcurio has become more protective than I am comfortable with. Though I understand that is a common reaction for a husband with a pregnant wife."
"Very," Grams said with a chuckle. "I'd be worried about him if he weren't, in fact."
"Thanks for that, Grams," Marcurio said. "I can't help worrying about her and our son."
Yssha sighed. "Well, since we are here, I suppose I should pay my respects to the Emperor and Jarl. Fortunately for my peace of mind, it is far too late for me to be given a place in the formal ceremonies."
Grams chuckle-purred. "True. Go take care of your social obligations, and I'll see you at the ceremony."
Yssha wasn't sure what to think of the Grand Plaza, cleared of the usual merchant stalls and the two beggars who were usually there, and with a dais holding improvised thrones for Emperor and Empress. It was the cleanest and quietest she'd ever seen it, which was nice, but on the whole, she decided she'd prefer the usual hustle and bustle. But as time neared for the ceremony, the plaza began to fill, and she was able to chat with several of her merchant friends before she and Grams had to get up on the dais, then bow as the Emperor and Empress were seated, and Jarl Mjoll the Lioness joined them.
It was a fairly standard ceremony, with Jarl Mjoll making a brief speech, then introducing Grams and Yssha, and finally the Emperor and Empress. The Emperor's speech praised Mjoll for the efforts she was making to improve Riften, and other changes she intended to implement.
Finally the speeches ended, and the sovereigns rose from their improvised thrones and stepped off the dais to mingle briefly with the townsfolk. Grams was chatting with a Khajiit Penitus Oculatus agent, one of the two nearest the Emperor, when she spotted a flash of black as the other drew his sword and lunged at his sovereign.
There was no time to charge or cast a spell, so Grams did the only thing she did have time for. She shoved her friend back, away from the sword - and felt it enter her own back. Mephala, observing, took advantage of the changed target, guiding the black blade a couple of inches to the right. Grams' breath caught, then everything went black as she started to fall.
She was alone, in nothingness. No sun, no wind, no color, no anything else, for what seemed an eternity. But then Martin was beside her, and the dining room at Cloud Ruler Temple appeared around them. She studied her friend briefly, sipped at the wine that had also appeared, and put the goblet down. "I gather I'm dead, then. It's ... not quite what I expected."
"Not quite yet," Martin said, "but by the time your body hits the ground, you will be. Mephala guided her unwitting champion's blade straight to and through your heart - you're beyond the help of even the best healers. You're on the way to Aetherius, but for now, you and I are in a bubble of stopped time."
"But ... why?" Grams asked. "I don't really mind, you know. I knew this time would come eventually, and as I told Paarthurnax and Yssha, I'm looking forward to reunions with the friends and family that went before me. So why the delay?"
"Because my son Talos reminds me that you promised to midwife my daughter Yssha's baby, and you can't do that from Aetherius. To do that, you'll have to either remain in Mundus as a ghost, or return, also as a ghost. Returning is by far the more difficult, at least mentally."
"Huh. I could't help much as a ghost, either. But why're you calling them your son and daughter? You never had any - " Grams stopped herself as realization struck. "You're not really Martin, are you, my Lord?"
Sadly, he shook his head. "No. When Martin smashed the Amulet of Kings, he lost his individual existence in becoming part of me. He sacrificed himself knowingly and willingly to save Mundus. As your greats-granddaughter has done, and will continue doing. We feel we owe you more than enough for your own sacrifices to solidify your ghostly body long enough to help Yssha give birth, though you will fade and ascend to Aetherius once you have cleaned and held him briefly."
"And your recommendation, Lord Akatosh?"
"Remain on Mundus, not appearing to anyone until shortly before the birth, and then only to those directly involved. That would be the easiest course for all concerned."
"So be it, then."
The body finished falling, blood beginning to pool around it.
"GRAMS!" Yssha screamed, running to kneel beside her greats-grandmother and beginning to cast Restoration spells. At the same time, S'Riska drew on his partner, and Marcurio cast a Paralysis spell on both of them.
Other Penitus Oculatus agents surrounded the two paralyzed ones, prying the bloody sword from Festus' hand and putting him in shackles. Then one turned to Marcurio. "Thanks, mage - that was quick thinking."
"Thanks. Now I need to help my wife." He joined Yssha, kneeling beside Grams, but stood almost immediately, pulling her up with him. "It's too late, love. She's gone."
Yssha howled in a combination of rage and anguish, then buried her face on his chest and began pain-purring. Khajiit couldn't cry like humans, but the Divines had given them an equivalent release, though one most humans didn't recognize.
The rest of the Penitus Oculatus agents formed a cordon around the Emperor and Empress, hurrying them back to Mistveil Keep.
Mjoll called Nevan and Serana over. "Do either of you know if she had a particular devotion to any of the Nine?"
Both shook their heads. "Though since she was a Blade," Serana said thoughtfully, "there is a tie to Talos."
"All right, I'll mention that to Sister Allesandra, our Priestess of Arkay."
Titus turned to his wife, once they were in private. "I'm sorry, Shameer, but I don't think this progress can continue as we intended it,with Ysshaya murdered. I think we need to return to Imperial City and arrange for her to lie in state, preferably in the Temple of the One, as soon as possible."
The Empress nodded slowly. "I think you're right. Continuing after such a great loss would be ... perhaps not quite dishonorable, but improper. Though ... if any of the local mages can cast a stasis spell on her body, it might be well to send for her ceremonial armors, and let her body continue on the shortest route home, with full Imperial honors."
"Yes, that would be fitting. We will fly home, but she will be taken to the Temple by land, and with full honors. I'll have the arrangements made by morning."