Rough Night

"What are you doing?" Serana asked.

Desmond had been scribbling on a piece of paper for the past hour as they hiked from Falkreath towards the Ancestor Glade. "Writing a will."

Serana pulled a face. "A will? What do you even have to give away?"

"Not much." Desmond went over the list, scrunching up his face. "Most of my gear goes back to Fort Dawnguard, I guess. Martin gets my books. You can have my crossbow if you want it."

"What do you need a will for?" Serana asked, looking over his shoulder as Desmond returned to his scribbling. "I'm not gonna let you die."

"Dying doesn't scare me," Desmond said. "More like... being unable to live. If that makes sense."

"You mean going blind."

"Dexion seems like he can handle it, but how am I gonna fight dragons and vampires if I can't see?" Desmond gave the paper one last flourish on Serana's name, willing her his crossbow. "Or what if I completely lose my mind? That'd be worse than dying."

"You seem pretty optimistic about death."

"Yeah, well. Dying doesn't scare me like it used to," Desmond admitted, signing the bottom of the will.

Desmond Ice-Fist.

"Were you born with that name?" Serana asked, grinning. "Seriously? No one gets that lucky."

"Nah, I just like to punch things a lot as a kid," Desmond said, folding up the will and nestling it safely in a pocket of his bag. "Liked it better than my dad's name, so I kept it."

"What was your dad's name?"

Desmond glared at her. "What's it to you?"

Serana shrugged. "I'm curious, that's all."

He let out a sigh. "Hairy-Legs."

"Wha—!"

Desmond punched her arm, watching her bite back laughter. "Right, exactly. Shut up."

"Are you serious?"

"Shut up, ok?"

Serana raised her hands, shaking with silent laughter. Desmond punched her again, leading the way into a cave.

It was a little warmer inside the rocky cave. Plants were growing in the rays of sunlight that filtered in from above, and the snow had melted into the ground.

"Not very impressive is it?" Serana asked, shaking some slush off her boots.

"Maybe all the moths are sleeping." Desmond balanced his way over a fallen log, looking for anything that might be a moth or a special tree.

"If this ends up being a wasted trip, Dexion and I are going to have some words when we get back."

"Cut him some slack, he just went blind," Desmond pointed out, winding around a stone tunnel. "He can't be that far off, right?"

A brightly lit waterfall greeted them at the other end of the tunnel. Trees dotted the Ancestor Glade, moths flitting around everywhere they looked. Desmond let out a low whistle.

"Here's your impressive, Sera."

"Wow." Serana stepped down onto the path leading them down, taking in the view. "Look at this place. No one's been here in centuries. I doubt there's any other place like it in Skyrim, it's beautiful."

"I've never seen anything like it." Desmond followed her down the path, past more clouds of moths. Stone arches led them towards a pool of ankle-deep water, where a big tree with curiously pink leaves sat.

"Sera, look at this tree!" He ran up to it, enchanted. "It's so—Sera, you're not looking, look—"

Serana was busy examining a huge stone set into the pool. She reached into its center, taking out the draw knife. "Got your knife," she said, turning around to toss it to him. "You think that's your Canticle Tree?"

"Probably." Desmond caught the knife, trying to figure out what to do with it. All he needed was bark, and the tree had plenty of that. "All right... sorry, tree." He swept the blade of the knife across a patch of the tree trunk, a sheet of grainy wood coming cleanly off. The newly exposed wood was shiny and pale, as was the underside of the bark he picked up.

"Hope the moths like that bark as much as Dexion said they would," Serana said.

"So... what do I do with it?" Desmond asked, replacing the draw knife in its stone circle. "Do I eat it, or—"

"Why would you eat it?"

"What else am I supposed to do, just wave it around?"

Serana shrugged. "Maybe the moths eat it, I have no idea."

"Maybe we should've brought Dexion."

"This isn't giving me any confidence."

Desmond left the pool of water, wandering around to look around the glade. "You're not the one that has to read the Elder Scrolls, though, so what're you worried for?"

"I don't want to have to carry you back to Fort Dawnguard!" Serana snapped.

A moth flitted in and out of sight. One circled around Desmond's head, making him slightly dizzy. "Right, because you're strong enough to pick me up."

"Course I am. Besides, you're like a twig."

"I am NOT—"

A pair of moths took up residence on Desmond's shoulder, a faint humming sound ringing in his ears.

"Is that—?"

Serana laughed. "Look at that! They've definitely taken a liking to you."

"This is so weird," Desmond breathed, feeling a moth land in his hair. He looked up towards his forehead, just barely able to see a V of antennae nestled on his head. "It's like a butterfly party."

"Yeah, but they're moths."

"Whatever. How many do you think I need?"

"I dunno." Serana took a step back, squinting at him. "And unless I'm seeing things, you're starting to..."

"What?"

"Glimmer. Just look at you." She raised her hand to shield her eyes as if from the sun. "You've got your own rainbow."

Desmond raised his arms, watching little streams of light peek out from the folds of his clothes. Sure enough, little snatches of red and blue shone over the ground and the moths' wings. "...How?" he asked, another moth landing on his elbow.

"If you turn into the sun, I'm leaving."

"I'm pretty sure moths can't turn me into the sun," Desmond assured her, blinking rapidly. The more moths came to crowd around him, the brighter he seemed to become.

Finally, a column of light shone down from the sky above, piercing through the glade to shine down by the Canticle Tree.

"I think that might be what we were waiting for."

"Great." Desmond jumped a ledge, heading back down to the tree. "Let's see what we can see."

Desmond led the way, nearly engulfed in a cloud of moths. The column of light was pleasantly warm and sent a few of the moths flying away. Serana looked between the two Elder Scrolls Desmond had brought.

"Blood or Dragon?"

"Just—gimme," Desmond said, blindly reaching out to grab one.

He unrolled one after the other, trying quickly to read. Indecipherable symbols burned into his vision, the fluttering and humming of moths swirling around him. The symbols and sounds blurred together and disappeared for a moment, plunging him into darkness.

There were two symbols he knew, that he saw on every map, but what was that last...?

"Desmond!"

He blinked, and made a point of opening his eyes. The world was dark.

"Sera?"

"Are you ok?"

Slowly, light crept back into his vision. Serana was standing over him, terrified. He was flat on his back, staring up and out of the glade. Moths flew over him, leaving him behind. He shook his head to try to regain more of his vision, the humming of the moths echoing around his skull.

"I'm... I'm good," he groaned, sitting up.

"I almost thought I lost you there... you went as white as the snow," she said, crouching down beside him. "Sure you're ok?"

"Yeah," Desmond said, watching fallen leaves from the Canticle Tree swim in odd blurs in front of him. "I'm, I'm fine."

"I never trusted those damn Scrolls," Serana said venomously. "Who knows what those things could have done to you, just look at Dexion."

"That was weird," he breathed, planting his hands on the ground in an attempt to steady the world around him.

"I could see it in your eyes, you looked a thousand leagues away." Serana tucked her legs beneath her to sit with him, still watching him carefully. "What about Auriel's Bow? Do you know where we can—"

"Map," Desmond said. "Map, gimme a map."

Serana dug around in his bag to find his map. "Do you even have space on here—"

"Gimme!"

Desmond grabbed the map from her, searching for something to write with. Serana pressed a piece of charcoal into his hand. He stared down at the map, remembering what he saw.

"Markarth... and Solitude, so... here," he said, marking the spot on the crowded map. "It's here."

"You sure?"

Desmond glared at her as his vision steadied. "Am I sure, I didn't go through all that to not be sure!"

"Right, right." Serana got to her feet, nodding. "Then it's almost over. We can finally put an end to this whole ridiculous thing. Let's get going, I want to get there before my father has a chance to track us down."

"Right, yeah... do you mind if I, just... like...?" Desmond trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "Gimme a minute?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Serana leaned back against the Canticle Tree, watching the moths fly in and out of sight. "...Are you sure you're—"

"I'm fine," Desmond insisted, staring at a moth that had landed on the trunk of the tree. "It's just, I read two Elder Scrolls and I'm kind of... something... right now. I think."

"Ok. I get it."

Desmond leaned forward, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his brain to work again. "So what do you know about Auriel's Bow?" he asked, his voice strained as he massaged his head.

"Not much," Serana said. "If you read any history it shows up from time to time, but it's a hard thing to track. As far as I know, it's never been held by a vampire. That would be a new one."

"So what's it got to do with the sun?" he asked, looking up at her. She made smoothing motions with her hand on the top of her hood, prompting Desmond to flatten his hair.

"Auriel is one of the elven gods," she explained. "He's with the rest of them in Aetherius. The way I've heard it, the sun represents the connection between our world and theirs. Supposedly, the bow draws its energy from the sun itself, which is why it shows up in that prophecy."

"So... what exactly does it do?" Desmond asked, pushing himself to his feet. He wavered a little, but stayed up on his own.

"That part, I don't know. Once we have it, hopefully it'll be obvious."

"All right." Desmond stretched, picking up the Elder Scrolls from where they had been dropped on the ground. "Let's see if we can catch a carriage to Markarth, we'll walk the rest of the way."

Serana grumbled. "More walking?"

"Adventuring is all walking," Desmond told her. "Welcome to Skyrim."

It was dusk by the time they reached Markarth's stables. A dog barked as they went into the city, arguing as the market stalls began to close.

"We can make it there by morning!" Serana argued.

"I'm not gonna travel at night when vampires are around," Desmond shot back.

"Excuse you?"

Desmond grumbled, annoyed. "You know what I mean!"

"Do you think I'm totally useless?"

"That's not it at all—"

"You got us the location, I can get us there. Easy!"

"And we'll do it when it's light out," Desmond said firmly.

Serana tossed up her hands. "Fine! Hopefully nobody gets there before we do—"

A woman screamed as a man with a knife seized her and sank the knife into her chest. The vendors yelled as guards took belated action, felling the murderer with only a few blows.

"By the Divines!"

"The Forsworn are here in the city!"

"I hate Markarth," Desmond breathed, taking Serana's elbow and trying to lead her around the crowd and towards the Silver-Blood Inn.

"Does this happen often?" Serana asked, craning her neck to see the damage. "What a mess..."

"First I've seen it. I try to stay out of the Reach," he said. "Forsworn are bad news. I knew we should've gone to Solitude..."

"Or we could just leave now," Serana said pointedly.

"Move along." Guards cordoned off the two dead bodies, watching Desmond suspiciously. "Everyone stay back. There are no Forsworn here."

"Gods. A woman attacked, right here in the streets." Someone near the inn nodded to Desmond, concerned. "Did you see what happened?"

"Not really, sorry. We only just got here," Desmond said.

"You don't have to say sorry to me," the stranger said. "I just hope the Eight give us more peace in the future. Oh, I think you dropped this. Some kind of note, looks important."

The stranger held out a piece of paper to him. Desmond wiggled his shoulders in a quick check to make sure both the Elder Scrolls were still there. "I haven't dropped anything, that must be yours."

"My note? No, that's yours. Must've fallen out of your pocket."

Desmond shrugged. "Right. Thanks."

"What's it say?" Serana asked as they entered the inn, reading over his shoulder. "Shrine of Talos? Isn't that illegal?"

Desmond strained his memory. "Who controls Markarth right now?"

She shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Whatever. I'll deal with this, you hang out here," Desmond said, marching up to the inkeeper. "Got a room for the night?"

"Sure—"

"You're gonna take on whatever this is now?" Serana demanded as Desmond paid the innkeeper. "Desmond, we have stuff to do!"

"And we're not gonna get to your stuff until tomorrow anyway," he pointed out, taking the room key. "This'll take me like an hour, probably someone lost a book or something."

"Just let the guards sort it out!"

"I think if he wanted help from the guards, he'd've asked the guards," Desmond said. "Just... get some rest, or—"

"I don't sleep!"

"Read a book or something," he said, passing her the Elder Scrolls and the room key and heading back out the door. "I'll be back in a bit."

"You'll never see the sun again. No one escapes Cidhna Mine. No one."

Desmond's ears rang with the slamming of the iron bars. He had nothing but scratchy prison clothes and an assortment of burns and injuries from trying to unravel the Forsworn conspiracy.

"All right prisoner, eyes front. You're in Cidhna Mine now," a perpetually angry Orcish guard shouted at him, "and we expect you to earn your keep. There's no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here, you work. You'll mine until you start throwing up silver bars." She scowled at Desmond. "You got it?"

"Sorry, what?" he asked, fed up with all of Markarth's guards. "I'm a little deaf in this ear."

"Don't get smart with me," she hissed. "I'm in charge. You keep it up, I'll have your toes cut off. Get down there."

More bars slammed shut, locking him in with the rest of the prisoners in Cidhna Mine. He took a deep breath, taking stock of the situation.

The guards of Markarth were definitely corrupt. Serana had no idea where he was, and even if she did, she had no way to get him out, because the guards of Markarth were definitely corrupt.

"Always knew Markarth was rotten to the core." He sat down by a fire set into the ground. The mine was dark and unpleasantly chill. What few prisoners he could see were emaciated and gaunt, stuck toiling away to mine the city's silver.

"What are you in for, new blood?" A man sitting nearby spoke up after a long moment of silence.

"Nothing," Desmond said. "Innocent."

"Innocent? So was I, for the first one." The prisoner smiled in a sorry attempt at kindness. "The other murders were all me, though. My advice? Serve your time at the pickaxe and get out. You don't want to end up getting a shiv in the guts over a bottle of Skooma."

The prisoner tossed a pickaxe at Desmond's feet. Desmond pulled his knees up to his chest, staring into the fire. "This is not the way I pictured my life ending. What're you here for?"

The prisoner shrugged. "A Nord nobleman I served was stabbed in the night. Wasn't me, but I knew I'd be blamed. So I ran. Joined the Forsworn, started killing, got caught, now I'm here."

"Forsworn?" Desmond asked distastefully. "Why'd you join them?"

"Because life was better under the old ways!" the prisoner spat. "No Nords and their laws. One day the Forsworn will paint the walls of Markarth in your kinsman's blood! Best you not be there on that day, Nord."

Desmond shrank into as small a space as his lanky limbs would allow. "Great."

They fell silent for a while. Desmond watched the flames flicker and briefly considered just picking up a pickaxe. Cidhna Mine did not seem like the type of prison to honor good behavior, but maybe if...?

"Where are the guards around here?" he asked curiously.

"They come in here once a week to clean out the bodies, grab any ore we've mined, and beat down the troublemakers," the prisoner told him. "That's the only time we get food, too. And if there's not enough ore mined up, we don't get any."

Desmond blew his bangs out of his eyes. This was sounding incredibly familiar, and not in a pleasant way. "Second verse, same as the first," he breathed. "Maybe Grelod was an inmate."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Desmond said quickly, sitting up straight. "You know where to find Madanach?"

The prisoner's eyes went wide. "Madanach?"

"Yeah, I'm settling this and I'm doing it my way, where is he?"

"If you're asking, that means you're the new lifer. Tough luck, friend," said the prisoner, with the ghost of a grin. "Those guards sold you out but good."

"That wasn't luck," Desmond snapped. "Where is he? I want to talk to him."

The prisoner shrugged. "No one talks to Madanach, I'm afraid. Not without getting past Borkul the Beast... And you don't want to talk to Borkul the Beast."

"Actually, I do," Desmond said. "Who is he?"

The prisoner cast a quick, pointed glance over his shoulder. An Orc was standing guard in front of a door, glaring at anyone who looked his way for too long. "Madanach's guard. Big, even for an Orc."

Desmond swore under his breath.

"Heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it," the prisoner said conversationally. "He's old-fashioned like that."

Desmond slouched down a bit, again taking stock of the situation and weighing his options. Stuck in prison for life as a man of barely eighteen years. The way this place was run, he might as well be eighty and deathly ill. Alternatively, if he could get out... perhaps eighty and deathly ill wasn't so far off the table.

"I left behind my daughter Uaile when I was taken," the prisoner offered up. "How old is my daughter now, I wonder? In prison, you lose track of time. Family's meaningless here."

"That's not true," Desmond said flatly.

"Got anyone waiting for you on the outside?" the prisoner asked. "Not that you'll see them, of course, but... it's nice to remember."

He shook his head. "Not really. No... no family," he said. "Just some friends."

The prisoner shrugged. "I suppose it's just as well. Fewer people to miss you," he said, watching Desmond shove himself to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"Either way, I'm dying in here," Desmond said, resentful. "Might as well go down fighting."

The prisoner shrugged. "Nice talking to you."

Desmond marched up to the Orc, doing his best to project every image of strength and power he had. Borkul the Beast was evidently not impressed.

"Well well, look at you. Your kinsmen have turned you into an animal, Nord."

Desmond scowled bitterly at the King in Rags, who barely looked up from what he was writing. He thought quickly, going over the day's work. The Markarth guards were still corrupt, but Borkul the Beast had been placated with Skooma and would hopefully be busy with it for a while yet. "I'm not an animal," he said, his voice low.

"A wild beast caged up and left to go mad," Madanach corrected. "So, my fellow beast, what is it you want?"

"Lot of things," Desmond said. "I'd like Skyrim to be peaceful, I'd like to see Morrowind someday, and I'd really like some revenge on you."

Madanach looked up. "And why would you say a thing like that?"

"Forsworn have killed a lot of people," Desmond said. "It's gotta stop. I'm pulling you up from the roots."

Madanach scoffed. "And you think you're the man to do it? Why not just try to stab me in my sleep, like everyone else with a death wish?"

"Because I'm a man, not a monster who pounces on prey when their back's turned," Desmond spat.

"Then come for me, son of Skyrim!" Madanach shot back, rising from his chair and conjuring a frost atronach from thin air. "Come for me!"

Desmond's stance faltered and he swallowed hard, thinking back through every spellbook he'd ever ready. Where was a dragon when he needed one?

"Please work," he whispered, calling every ounce of magic in his body to gather in his hands. He backed against the wall, the glacier of an atronach slowly advancing on him. "Come on, do something... Anything, come on... Aleius, help..." He shook his hands, trying to focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madanach pull open a chest. The atronach stamped its foot on the ground, ice creeping its way across the floor.

Finally, his palms sparked to life, radiating brightness and warmth all the way out to his fingertips. Panicking, Desmond pitched his arm forward, a ball of light flying forth and burying itself in the atronach's torso. The atronach doubled over with a howl before its limbs exploded off. Ice ricocheted off the walls and floor, sending Madanach diving for cover. Desmond threw up his arms to shield his head, terrified. What spell was that?

"Come and let's end this!" Madanach shouted, pulling a shiv from under his bed.

Desmond turned on him, hurling a stream of fire from his hands. Madanach shrieked as flames burned him through, swallowing him whole. Desmond watched the King in Rags writhing in pain as the blaze turned his skin to ash, blackening and shriveling the man the Forsworn took their orders from.

Desmond stood for a moment, horrified, and shook out his hands. "Good people do bad things," he echoed to himself. "Good people, bad things. They're different. This is different, this—"

He heard a creak from up the hallway. The door was opening. Desmond swore and looked around the room, as if that would help.

I promised you all we would escape Cidhna Mine together, and I have found a way.

"Auriel's Bow, here I come."

He scrambled through the gate in Madanach's cells, locking it behind him with a key pulled from Madanach's ashes. Borkul had managed to stumble through the gate, roaring mad with the rest of the mine right behind him. Desmond took the key with him, sprinting down the tunnels beneath Markarth.

He kept running through Dwemer-looking ruins, narrowly avoiding a mechanical spider that had no eyes but still made him uncomfortable. The ruins echoed with a noise that sounded uncomfortably like some enormous Dwemer creation that would be suicide to take on bare-handed.

The light of early morning spilled in from the mouth of the tunnel, and he could have cried for joy as he saw Markarth, sprawled out before him.

"Thank the gods!" Desmond ran out, trying to orient himself. Where had it spat him out? Where was the inn? Would Serana still be there?

"My eyes inside Cidhna Mine tell me that Madanach is dead."

Desmond whipped around. Thonar Silver-Blood was waiting by the tunnel, with an impassive face and a pair of guards on hand.

"I've broken out," Desmond said shakily, fists raised, "and if you throw me back in there, I swear I will do it again."

Thonar shook his head. "No. You've done a great service to the Silver-Blood family. I've had the Jarl officially pardon you."

"What?"

"And finish up a few other loose ends," Thonar added thoughtfully. "The Silver-Bloods pay their debts."

"What?" Desmond repeated, trying to piece the previous day back together.

"You have my thanks," Thonar told him.

"I don't want your thanks!" Desmond hollered. "You—this is your fault, you had your rotted thugs arrest me in the first place!"

"And you've proven that was the best move I could have made," Thonar said. "Don't give me that look, you're free to go."

"Desmond?" Serana's voice reached him from below.

"Sera?"

She ran up the stairs, looking petrified. "There you are! What happened to you?"

Desmond shrugged. "Got arrested."

"Arrested, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Here's all the things the guards confiscated from you," Thonar cut in, passing Desmond his bag and clothes. "And a little something extra for your trouble."

A pair of rings lay on top of his neatly folded cuirass. One was the silver emerald ring Martin had given him, and the other was snaking, silver ring he didn't recognize. "What's this?" Desmond asked, holding it up.

"My family's ring. Consider it payment for all you've done," Thonar told him.

Desmond pitched the Silver-Blood ring off the ledge and into Markarth's waterfall. "We're done here." He headed off with Serana, making sure nothing had been taken from his bag.

"What happened, are you even listening?" Serana demanded. "I've been looking for you for hours, what happened?"

"I'm listening," he said, pulling on his boots. "I broke a conspiracy and got arrested, went to Cidhna Mine for a bit."

"For a bit? Desmond, are you—"

"I'm being completely serious," he told her, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "The guards set me up and I went to Cidhna Mine and I broke out."

"And how in Oblivion did you do that?"

Desmond winced. "Blew up an atronach and set a guy on fire."

Serana stared at him slackjawed for a moment, her expression unreadable. "That's... actually kind of impressive, for you."

"It's be a lot more impressive if I could remember how I did it," he grumbled.

Serana walked with him down the stairs and towards the main gates leading out of Markarth. "You gonna put the rest of that on or what?" she asked. "We've got stuff to do."

"Can you give me like an hour?" Desmond asked, turning towards the inn. "I really need some sleep. Rough night."

Serana pointed up at the sun. "It's tomorrow. You said we were going to deal with my stuff tomorrow. You're done with your thing."

"You're really gonna drag me off with no sleep?"

"You do it to me all the time," she said.

Desmond glared at her, Serana scowled right back. "That's different and you know it."

She sighed. "You'll have to pay for the inn again," she told him reluctantly. "I left to come look for you. But you know, nice place. Bed's made of stone, if you're into that sort of thing."

He let out a long, annoyed groan. "I hate this town. Let's just go."

"You get arrested here a lot?" she asked.

"No, but the first time I came here..." Desmond trailed off. He put on his gauntlets and shook his head. "Never mind. It's a dumb story."

"Bet it's not."