Author's Note: I had fun with this chapter, hope you like it. Updates may get a bit slower with Nanowrimo coming. Please review! Would love some feedback.

17: Trouble on the Move

The trip to Riften should have been simple and swift. The Third Emissary's sense of urgency meant that the Thalmor left Whiterun Hold without resupplying. We'll pick up what we need on the road, was Rulindil's breezy response to Ancano's objection. Ancano realized further objections would be reported as over-cautiousness or even obstructionism. And normally their remaining supplies would have been plenty to get them to Riften. Ancano was accustomed to western Skyrim, where the Thalmor traveled openly, when and where they pleased. This deep in Stormcloak territory, he soon learned, the situation was shockingly different. They had actually been set upon by Nords twice. Cursed Talos worshippers! The first group they killed, not without some difficulty. Several battle mages had been seriously injured, requiring a lengthy stop for healing. Rulindil actually spoke of leaving them behind. And he'd been overheard, the fool, which plummeted the group's morale to a new low.

The second band of Nords was larger and better armed. The Thalmor were actually forced to flee and one of their packhorses was captured. Naturally, it was the one carrying the bulk of their food. Some of the radical ideas he'd heard voiced about purging Skyrim of Nords were beginning to sound pretty reasonable.

The next day they'd come across a group of Dunmer traveling to Riften. Elenwen's little toady suggested they remove their Thalmor robes and group up with them as camouflage. Ancano hadn't liked the idea—traveling with Dunmer? For protection? But at Rulindil's urging, he'd agreed. The Dunmer led them on a long detour to the south, deep into the mountains, to avoid a Stormcloak camp. Or so they said. During a rest break, a large and vicious pack of trolls boiled out of a nearby cave. Ancano had always thought trolls were solitary creatures but here they were. While the battle mages destroyed the beasts, the Dunmer fled, taking the rest of their food, most of their cooking gear, Ancano's large tent (which he had been reluctantly sharing with Rulindil) and half of the horses. The troopers now forced to walk were (to put it mildly) disgruntled.

Ancano could only assume they had been deliberately led to the troll cave. Purging the Dunmer might not be such a bad idea either.

The toady fumed all the next day. "We should track them down," Rulindil said. "Make them pay." His eyes burned. "Get my horse back."

"My scout says the Dunmer are now heading west. Are you suggesting we delay our mission? Or split our forces?" Ancano asked. Any elves he sent west would likely desert the moment they reached Imperial territory. He could hardly blame them.

"How dare these people treat us like this? Don't they understand we have conquered them?"

Was he truly so ignorant? Had Elenwen picked Rulindil solely for his pretty looks? Ancano bit back his irritation. What the Aldmeri Dominion had at the moment was not a victory. They had fought the Empire to a bloody standstill. Fairly decent terms had been carved at the White-Gold Tower, thanks to the skill of the diplomats, but true victory—and it would come, he never doubted that—was in the future. Why did Rulindil think they were in Skyrim to begin with? For his personal advancement? While the Thalmor rebuilt their lost troops and resources, it was critically important to prevent Cyrodiil and Skyrim from doing the same. Divines knew these humans bred like rabbits. That's why maintaining the civil war was so important. That's why these dragons could be so important. If the dragons could be controlled, they could devastate Skyrim better than any civil war. And if they could be controlled, perhaps they could be turned towards Hammerfell next. Or even Cyrodiil.

"We need to go back to Ivarstead," Ancano said. "I doubt they have horses for sale but at least we can get food."

"Go back?" Rulindil said. His voice rose in frustration. Nothing was going the way he'd planned. Ancano understood perfectly. However he was acutely aware of the sullen, hungry, antagonistic troopers watching them, and motioned to the toady to step away for some privacy. The toady didn't pick up the hint. "We're not going back. We're going on to Riften."

"How? Our supplies are gone."

"We'll live off the land."

"Hunt for our food?" Ancano asked. "Are you serious? How does that save time?"

"Do you claim to be less competent than the locals we've conquered?" Ancano stared. Do I look like some rustic Bosmer, ready to track down a rabbit and cook it over an open fire? "We will go onward," Rulindil said. "Not backward."

Ancano looked at the smoking troll corpses scattered across the clearing. Perhaps they were edible. Ugh. He took a breath and sought the right words to persuade his elite and temperamental battle mages to turn their talents to foraging for food.

Traveling with Babette was amazing, Aventus thought. They mostly moved by night, which was weird at first but once he got used to sleeping during the day, he found it exhilarating. And then there was the horse. He'd never seen anything like Shadowmere. Surely no other such horse existed anywhere in the world. He was huge! His hoofs were the size of dinner plates and his eyes! They were scarier than Babette's. The two of them could ride his broad back with no problem at all. Once a pack of wolves made the mistake of attacking them. Shadowmere stomped them to goo before he'd had time to get scared.

Nothing scared Babette. She was amazing.

She knew the Rift. She found an abandoned farm not far from the city and told Shadowmere to wait for them there. She talked to the horse like he was human and called him her brother. He certainly seemed to understand her. They had seen quite a few abandoned farms as they travelled and Aventus thought it was because of the war. But Babette said it was because years ago, the Rift had a bad old jarl who set taxes real high. A lot of people left the hold. The ones who stayed got so mad that they set his palace on fire while he was still inside. They burned him up. Too bad for them that most of the town caught on fire too. So now Riften wasn't nearly as big as it used to be.

Aventus wished he could live to be three hundred years old. Then history wouldn't be a story, it would be a memory. Of course then she'd be six hundred. So he'd never catch up. But maybe then it wouldn't matter.

They mingled with a group of travelers the next day. Babette wore a cape with a hood pulled over her eyes to keep the sun out. They walked to the palace, Mistveil Keep. From its shadow they could watch Honorhall. The orphanage. Aventus had expected to feel anger and maybe fear at seeing his old 'home'. But mainly he felt anticipation. For he was with Babette and she took away fear.

"Do you know the jarl?" he asked idly.

"Laila Law-Giver? Not really. I knew her mother. She was silly and rather stupid but they say this one is even worse. I know the court mage though. Wylandriah. I know her from Winterhold."

"You went to the mage college?" At this point nothing much would surprise Aventus. He'd already seen her do little bits of magic, like starting fires and healing his saddle sores.

"Not as a student, no, but they have a very fine library. I was astonished when she wrote that she was moving to Riften. Never thought she'd become a court mage, of all things. Wylandriah is rather, um, unworldly. I thought she'd be in research for life. Anyway, I mention her because if we become separated and you need help, go see Wylandriah. Tell her you're a friend of mine and she'll take care of you."

"Are we going to be separated?"

"Yes, we are. I'm going to find us a nice safe place in the Ratway to hole up for the rest of the day. And then I'm going to do a little surveillance."

"When are you going to kill Grelod?"

"When the time is right."

When the time was right. Aventus thought that sounded just fine.

In a surprisingly short time, Thorald had arranged a big meeting not just with the city guard captain, but also the steward, the court mage and a cross-section of concerned townsfolk, mostly business owners. Even Hemming Black-Briar and his daughter Ingun were there. Mjoll had been instrumental in setting this up. Grelka wasn't particularly surprised to see that Thorald and Mjoll had hit it off like old friends. Thorald had always had that ability to enter a room of strangers and leave with a bunch of pals. How he did it, she had no idea.

But more than his personal charm was working for him. News from Helgen, Whiterun and now Kynesgrove had rolled in and dragons were the main topic of conversation in the town. The meeting was held in the Bee and Barb and ended up taking over the whole downstairs of the inn. Every table was crowded and Keerava had brought in extra benches. Neither she nor Talen-Jei said anything about Grelka being banned, perhaps because she had come in with Thorald. The room buzzed with anticipation. And then Thorald stood up and began to talk about dragons.

He described their size, their appearance, how they fought, how they could flame from the air. He had actual samples of their scales, bones and teeth that he passed around. The townsfolk handled these with awe, like religious artifacts. Grelka felt a bit awed herself. Dragons were back. They were real. Thorald had killed two of them.

Wow.

He stressed the importance of disabling their wings. He said it would take magic and archers to do so. They must work together as a team.

"With these dragons about, fire is on our mind. When are we going to see the test of the new fire protection system?" Bersi Honey-Hand asked the steward. Several others chimed in. The steward, looking flustered, was interrupted every time she tried to speak. Thorald held up his hands.

"In Whiterun we don't have the advantage you have of being right on a lake but we do have cisterns to provide fire water. And we have a dedicated group of volunteers to fight fires. Perhaps you have something similar?" There was another long group discussion that Grelka tuned out of, but in the end it seemed no real decisions were made.

The talk got wilder from there. Someone asked if the Companions could be hired to help defend the town. Someone asked the court mage how she was going to help and she began a largely inaudible report. Test the fire system first, some heckler yelled and the mage abruptly sat down, in mid sentence. Someone wondered if fishing nets could be used to tangle the dragon's feet or wings. Thorald suggested cross bows with heavy bolts and he said they'd also had some success with throwing spears. Bolli, the owner of the fishery, suggested harpoons. He offered to help train any of the guard or militia who was interested in their use.

"What about poison?" Ingun Black-Briar asked.

"I don't know," Thorald said. "I have never actually seen a dragon eat. I wouldn't know how to bait one."

"We could poison our weapons," she said.

"Now that is an interesting idea."

"Do you suppose their physiology is based upon lizards? Birds? Something else?"

Thorald gave her a baffled look. "I really don't know."

"Perhaps you could let me have one of these scales and a bit of bone? I can run some tests. Maybe something corrosive could penetrate these scales."

Grelka had a hard time imagining anything corrosive enough to eat through a scale that wouldn't eat through the weapon first. But the guard captain was nodding his head.

"We need some kind of bomb," he suggested. "I've seen it done during the Great War. You put the poison in a jar and throw it at the target."

"Just remember we're going to throwing these bombs over our own city," Balimund said.

Keerava stepped from behind the bar. "Thorald Gray-Mane," she said. "It is said that you are the Dragonborn. That you are the only one who can kill a dragon. Are you going to stay in Riften and help us fight?"

With astonishment, she saw Thorald flush. He was embarrassed? About some stupid rumor? She waited him to deny it. She waited for him to laugh. With growing wrath she saw that for once in his life, he was caught wordless.

"Anyone can kill a dragon," he finally said. "I didn't strike the killing blow at Kynesgrove."

"But you can take its soul," Keerava said. "No one else can do that. That is what is being said. That is why we need you to stay here."

And still he didn't deny it!

"I have other duties," he said. "But I will stay as long as I can."

The meeting finally wound down.

"I'll walk you home," Thorald said. He gave her a sideways look that said he knew he had trouble coming.

"The Bunkhouse isn't home," she said. "It's where I'm stuck at the moment." Home, here? Gah. The second he looked away, Grelka punched him in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Dragonborn. Are you the Dragonborn?" He looked guilty. Guilty! "You are, aren't you? Gah! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was working up to it."

She punched him again. "You let me go on and on about my stupid troubles and you couldn't find five minutes to tell me something like this? Grr!"

"I'm really sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be," she muttered.

"Oh boy."

The worst of it was that she believed him. That Thorald Gray-Mane, a boy she'd known since she was a girl, could be a hero—maybe the hero sent by the gods to save the entire world—it should have been incredible. Unbelievable. And yet she believed. Hadn't she always known that he was special? Chosen? They walked on in silence. They passed Haelga's Bunkhouse. Finally Grelka said, "Where are we going?"

"Out to the stables," he said. "I've got something to show you." She gave him a dubious look. "In my saddle bags. It's a present."

"Hrm. It better be nice."

"I'm hoping you'll think so."

xxx

Hofgrir, the stable master, still had no news of Frost. Grelka nodded, unsurprised. Thorald led her to the tack room where he'd stored his saddle and gear.

"Oh. Oh, my."

Thorald grinned at Grelka's reaction as he dumped the load of shining dragon scales from his loaded pack. She crouched to stare at the loose pile and ran her hands through them.

"They're so light," she said.

"I guess they have to be if the creature can fly." But she wasn't listening. Like a Dwemer construct, he could practically see the gears in her mind meshing as she picked up one scale after another, turning and flexing them in her hands and holding them in different positions.

"Let's gather them back up and take them to the smithy," he said.

"Hrm."

Sky above, he hated it when she sounded just like his father.

The Thalmor arrived in Riften at night. Rulindil had arranged to leave their few remaining horses with a farmer outside of town. Another Dunmer. Ugh. Ancano had the strange precognition that they'd never see those horses again. To Ancano's discomfort, the toady went alone to meet with the gate guard. He knew a code to get them smuggled into the city and to set up an audience with Maven Black-Briar, Elenwen's contact in the city. Somewhat to Ancano's disappointment, this went off without a hitch and they soon found themselves inside an abandoned warehouse near the docks.

Maven met with them personally. Ancano had met her before, of course, at the embassy at Solitude. There she had been a confident woman of great personal power. Here, in her home city, she was—what? The only word Ancano could make fit was regal. Here she was a jarl in every way but name. Not only did she know it, everyone else did as well.

She provided a scruffy human called Thrynn to serve as their guide to the city's sewer system. This person was a thief, apparently, and their liaison to the Thieves Guild which operated under the city.

"Do you know where this Esbern is?" Ancano asked.

"Not for sure," the thief said. "Lots of layabouts down in the sewers, beggars and crazies, skooma addicts and such. But we'll find him, never you fear."

Ancano thanked Maven for her help.

"You must not show yourself in town," she warned. "This is a Stormcloak city and there are those who will stone you on sight. I cannot be seen openly helping you or I will lose credibility."

"I didn't know you cared about such things," Ancano couldn't resist saying. She gave him a cold look.

"Don't be a fool. One must always care about one's credibility." True enough, Ancano supposed.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" he asked. She gave him a frigid look before she shook her head and dismissed them.

Afterwards, when they had set up a makeshift camp in the Ratway, and when he'd sent Thrynn with the rest of their gold to fetch them all something to eat, he turned to the toady.

"Did you get the impression Maven was holding something back?" he asked.

Rulindil gave him a haughty look. "She is an ambitious woman. She would be a fool to cross Elenwen in any way."

But Ancano wasn't so sure. Maven had developed a broad power base over many years. The Thalmor were useful to her—and she to them—but it was clear she felt not the smallest scrap of subservience to them. Or, he suspected, to anyone.

Getting into the orphanage was easy when you were with someone who could see in the dark and was strong enough to boost you over the wall. Babette gave him a knife. It was long and really sharp.

"Poison?" she asked in a low whisper. She offered Aventus a little bottle of thick green goo to spread on his blade. It smelled really bad. The orphanage was smaller than he remembered, mean and depressing. He wondered if anyone here still remembered him. He'd first come here, when, a year ago? Was it longer than that? The guard who'd escorted him from Windhelm had spent the trip telling him how he'd love it here. He'd have lessons and friends and Grelod the Kind to make sure no harm would come to him. Then they arrived and his guard got a good look at Honorhall. He said nothing but his silence said plenty.

And then they were in Grelod's room. Aventus had never been there before. The funny, old lady smell made him want to sneeze. Grelod had a lamp burning on a table in her room. She never allowed the children to have a lamp at night, no matter how frightened any of them were of the dark. Aventus wondered if Grelod the Kind was afraid of the dark.

She should be. She really should be.

Grelod lay in her bed. Her mouth was open. She snored. She had the covers half thrown off like she was hot. He was going to plunge his knife in her heart but Babette mimed cutting her throat. And she was right. It was easier that way. He was surprised how easy it was. Grelod was alive and snoring. And then she was dead and silent. There was a lot of blood, all down her neck and soaking into the covers.

Babette smiled in an approving sort of way.

"Hail Sithis," he heard her whisper. She had him put his hand in the blood—it seemed scalding hot—and leave a bloody handprint on the wall. And then she reached under the bed and pulled out a heavy chest. There was more gold than he had ever seen or even dreamt about. She took out her coin purse and pragmatically filled it.

"Take as much as you want," she whispered. He filled his pockets.

"Let's leave the rest for the others," he said. "For the kids." She shrugged.

"It will probably get stolen but I suppose that doesn't matter."

Gold. Did it matter? Aventus supposed it did not. He followed her back to the Ratway.

"We're not going to leave the city?" he asked.

"Not tonight. The city gates are closed and the guards won't open them for a pair of sweet helpless children." She grinned. "Let's lay up here for the night, at least," she said. "Let the excitement die down. Besides, don't you want to hear what people say? After all, your nemesis has been assassinated."

Did he want to hear? At one time nothing would have pleased him more. At one time he wanted the city to denounce Grelod for her wicked ways. Now she was wicked no more. Now she was dead. "I'm just glad it's done," he said. "I thought I would feel angry or vengeful or something. But you know, I'm just glad it's done." She nodded. "What did that mean, what you said before? Hail Sithis? Who is Sithis?"

"What? Where did you hear that?"

"From you. You said it in Grelod's room after I, well, you know."

"I didn't say anything."

"You did. I heard you."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "Did you?" she said softly. "How interesting. How very, very interesting."

"And Babette—thank you."

"You did the work."

"I couldn't have done anything, if not for you." He smiled. "I want to be like you."

"You want to be a vampire?"

"I want to be an assassin!"

She laughed. "Maybe I should bring you home and let you meet my family. And then you can decide."

Home. Aventus liked the sound of that.