Chapter 21: The Unsettling Feelings

Elenwen was sweating hard. The golden-haired woman with equally golden eyes was not used to this kind of treatment but since she needed the Black Dragon to cooperate, she could not afford to enforce her authority like she usually did when dealing with the Thalmor. Her sharp-featured face looked even sterner than usual as she furrowed her almost invisible brows, marching back and forth through the laboratory.

"You have humiliated me," Alduin hissed in exasperation. He put too much power into the words and felt a part of the throat of his current vessel crumble away. Although he did not exactly feel the way mortals did, it was not a pleasant experience for him. Human bodies were awfully weak and he hated those frail shells which were barely sufficient to host a fragment of his power. There was only one human body which could contain it. He had had it at his grasp… and the blasted elves had let it slip away before he could claim it.

It was a mere thief, an elven woman and a filthy human cub. Somehow they had managed to get into the most guarded place in all Tamriel and save his prey. How could they have gotten past the guards? Where had they been at that time? Only three Squires remained, the cowards who had believed themselves to have power… but the rotstones were not power, they were a curse which went against the nature of dragons and the nature of life itself. Even Akatosh himself disapproved of them. They made him feel sick and powerless and so he had been forced to escape and risk being exposed. It did not matter. Many of the Thalmor knew of him by now and countless disputes had broken out once they had learned it.

"I do apologize, Lord Alduin," Elenwen said in a low voice.

"Apology won't give me back my body," he snarled. "Just where were your famed guards when those impostors were crawling their way in like the insufferable insects which they truly are?"

"We have been tricked," she explained miserably. "There was supposed to be a meeting but somebody made it known that it would take place ahead of the original schedule and summoned most of the guards who were on duty at that time under the threat that I would execute them. When I came, everyone had been gathered there for hours."

"You mean to tell me that somebody tricked your petty association and made your minions believe that you had issued orders for everyone to gather?" the rotten body asked her hoarsely and Elenwen suppressed the need to turn away in disgust. She tugged the lowest of the three buckles holding the collar of her elegant black robes together, which was a habit she conducted without fail every time she was uncertain about something.

"There is someone who wields powerful mind-controlling magic," she said with a smirk. "I had been fooled right from the start. Someone directed the Dragonborn to Markarth, I am sure about that, and it was thanks to them that she managed to escape from there. And that individual is one of us."

"You are pathetic," Alduin spat, leaving out the fact that it was his former right hand who had caused his own downfall back when the Tongues had banished him from the Time. And he was dead now. He had sensed him from the Dragonborn, his presence clearly emanating from her. But he had not been hostile or perfidious towards her and so she could not have been the one to have killed him.

It did not make sense, though. According to what he knew, no-one should have known about Paarthurnax except for the Greybeards and maybe the Blades. The Blades would never expose it to anyone, of that he was sure, for he knew their stubborn loyalty to their principles all too well. Their members had always been chosen with utmost prudence and only the strongest and most single-minded individuals would be allowed to enter their circle. So who could have known? Who besides these two groups of people could have gained access to such information?

The dragons who, most likely, would not be willing to share any kind of information with mortals… and the Dragon Priests. His Dragon Priests. But the Dragon Priests were mostly men and definitely not high elves, and they had come from the distant land of Atmora to…

It was all there. Now it made sense and his temporary body clenched its fists in the outrage brought about by the sudden realization. Such arrogance! How dare he belittle him like that, how dare he even think about the possibility of using his own power, the power of the World-Eater himself, against him! He would see to it that this impudent elf pays with his life.

"He is not one of you," the dragon stated quietly.

"Does he use illusions to even conceal his own identity?" Elenwen asked, startled.

"He does not need to. He might as well look the same as you, especially as the ones from the old Houses."

Elenwen shot him a doubtful glance and tugged her buckle again. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, mortal," he snapped impatiently. "Your traitor is an Aldmer and believe me, you have no chance of defeating that one if he has been around for so long. And I would not have it so. You will find him and lead him to me when the time is right. For now, you go and send your people to the north-west of Hjaalmarch. The Dragonborn is heading there."

"How do you know?" she asked him, gaining a spiteful look from him.

"Mind your tongue, weakling," he grumbled and she instinctively stepped back. "Question my knowledge once more and I will have you replaced in a very painful way. I do believe there is high competition among your kind for the post you're occupying at the moment."

She blinked in surprise and sudden fear crept into her face, clouding it in a shade of pale grey. He had been quite generous and almost obedient when she had found him, but lately his attitude had been getting unbearably imperious and there were traces of independency in his tone which had not been there before. She was sure that he was gaining power, little by little, from those sacrifices he so contemptuously proclaimed weaklings. Elenwen wondered if the rotstones would be enough to hold him in place once the Dragonborn had been devoured, but she had no choice but to wager on it. The Dominion needed the power of the Dragon Blood for only this power identified the true ruler of Tamriel. And this time, it would finally be her kin taking over.

She knew he would not be telling her more and so she turned her heel and walked away, touching a pair of rotstones in her pocket unconsciously. Her mood was awful, for it seemed like everything in the world was trying to get in her way. The Dragonborn escaping right under her nose, a mysterious Aldmer toying with all the Dominion (just how old did he have to be?!), an infuriated dragon who was refusing to share the secret about the said First One… and then there were the Forsworn who had so conveniently decided to aid the Dragonborn in conquering Skyrim. She was starting to hate Arethil, her new Squire. He always did his job perfectly but never brought her good news. First Sinawen, a mere errand girl, plotting secretly against the Thalmor and escaping, and now she was dead and it was impossible to interrogate her. Then the Forsworn who had been discovered thanks to a fickle Argonian thief… what would be next?

She was pacing through the wide sandstone corridor, the bottom part of her robes which was open at the front in a wide slit flipping about her wildly. Upon entering the hexagonal chamber forking into several directions, she turned left and took a narrow tunnel which ascended into the assembly room and further to a smaller complex of chambers she was using for various purposes, mostly personal. A woman of smaller figure with a mop of unsightly curly hair of the color of sand and a timid expression in her round face blocked her way and gestured in greeting. Elenwen hated half-breeds like her. There was no place for them, especially not in the Dominion ranks. Nevertheless, there were always some who tried to creep their way in, either in their greed for power, or for personal reasons, such as protecting their favorite nephew. They would not care about the nephew's duties, being driven only by their own selfish obsession.

"Lady Elenwen," she called to her shyly, her eyes fixed on the fluttering shadow of her body on the marble ground, cast by a torch behind her.

"What is it?" Elenwen uttered curtly. She was in no mood to listen to the heartbreaking cries of a lousy half-breed.

"Lord Arethil wants to see you," the woman informed her hesitantly. "He says it's urgent."

And this was the last thing she wanted to hear. She looked at the midget contemptuously, sparks of fury raging from her eyes, and watched her step back in fear. Without another word, she moved past her and marched on.

The short-haired elf was leaning against the wall of a small antechamber which preceded the assembly room, decorated with a series of Dominion banners, the eagle in their center proudly spreading its wings as if it was beckoning to soar. He wore his usual composed expression, confidence emanating from his face and posture. Still, he was not in the least cheerful and Elenwen knew he would bring more negative news to her. She joined him without a greeting, grimly expecting what he was about to say.

"I salute you, Lady Elenwen," he bowed slightly, sparing her excessive courtesy.

"Arethil," she nodded simply.

"A little privacy would not come amiss," he suggested and she made for the corridor leading to her private chambers, which was the only sign of agreement she was willing to give out. He followed her at a close distance and soon they arrived in a cozy carpeted room with windows opening to the south-east. A small mahogany desk was situated near the far end window and several ornate chairs were scattered around it. Elenwen locked the door behind her companion and seated herself in one of the chairs. Arethil did not take one. Instead, he stood by the window, watching the clouds on the eastern side float aimlessly, his face lit by the passing sun. He looked ageless and Elenwen wondered, as she did often, if he used magic to conceal his age. Such magic was forbidden, of course, but she now knew of at least one person who stood oblivious to such rules and still managed to escape punishment.

"So?" she asked abruptly. "What did you bring?"

"You won't like my report," he informed her with an imperceptible smirk and his hand slid along the varnished wooden sill under the window.

"What a surprise," she pointed sarcastically. "Out with it."

"Jarl Elisif and General Tullius managed to escape from Solitude."

Elenwen's composed mask crumbled and her face went pale as death.

"They WHAT?!" she squealed inadvertently.

"Someone organized a huge riot to distract us and they were pretty thorough. All the traces are gone, people are pointing at each other. Interrogation did not bring any results. We don't even have any reliable subjects. I am suspecting the Thieves Guild. Apart from those two, there are several other people who went missing, but if my information is correct, they did not disappear at once. There must be a secret passage leading from Solitude – presumably more than one of them. I only have one lead… but he is one slippery bastard. It was my mistake. I was trailing him but I underestimated the resources of the Guild."

He shook his head helplessly.

Elenwen was furious and under normal circumstances, she would have just killed the man. But Arethil was different from others and she needed him. Thalmor was already falling apart and she could not afford to lose one of the few who stayed true to its cause. She sighed in resignation.

"Is it true that we can command dragons?" he asked, expectation reflecting in his face.

"They are fickle friends. And we cannot command them," she said wearily. "The World-Eater can. Give him more leeway and he's going to go on rampage."

She could see the questions in his eyes. Everybody had questions. Why would the World-Eater want to stay in human body if he could easily take a dragon? But he would not explain that to her either. Elenwen suspected it had something to do with the dragons' nature of being almost purely competitive when it came to power. He never communicated with the dragons directly and she thought it suspicious but dared not question him outright.

"I don't think we have a choice here," he said quietly.

She stared at him for a long while before nodding slowly in approval.

"Call the Squires and the initiates to the assembly room. Oh," she added sourly, "and bring that Bosmer as well. Do let him know that this was his last assignment on the way. And bring me my tools from the old days."

"Oh? How long has it been since you last got your hands dirty?" he smirked.

"I'm in a very bad mood. And do refrain from unnecessary judgements if you feel sorry for the filthy Woodling," she hissed in warning as she rose and unlocked the door.

He gave her a mysterious smile before walking out of the room.

Aislinn pulled off abruptly, covering her mouth with both of her hands. She watched the thief with a trace of apprehension and he was sure that she was remembering something unpleasant. Perhaps he had acted too rashly. Perhaps she needed more time. In his desperate concern and precipitate chase after her he had forgotten that she had been abused recently and had probably suffered more than just physical injuries. What had she seen when he had kissed her? A rotten body of what had once been a Khajiit merchant, crawling over her and toying with her as if she was a doll made to satisfy his twisted desires? He felt like throwing up at that image. What must it have been like for her? He wanted to embrace her once again but was aware that it might hurt her even more, and so he stayed still and waited.

She looked at him with sudden caution but there was also a more than evident hint of apology in her gaze. Why would she apologize to him?

"I am sorry," he said to her finally. "Are you… are you feeling okay?"

"Me?" she asked as though she did not understand the question. He raised his brows. "Don't you…" she hesitated, obviously troubled by whatever was on her mind to the point when she was scared to articulate it.

He gestured to the ground and she sat down with a nod. He joined her, creating a slight distance between them so she would not feel threatened. She took a deep breath.

"Don't you find me… filthy?" she whispered at last. He stared at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry?" he said without thinking.

"After that… after what happened down there in the lab…" her voice was now a mere rustle of the breeze in the treetops and it had the bitter flavor of infinite despair.

Filthy… she was scared that he would become contemptuous of her just because someone else had tried to make a pass on her. No, that could not even be counted as making a pass, that person… or a dragon, in this case, had tried to thoroughly humiliate her. And she, the ever so proud Dragonborn that he knew to be the strongest person walking the lands of Nirn, had yielded to that attempt.

"Do you feel humiliated?" he questioned in astonishment, purposely avoiding any oblique hints that he was sure she would not respond to, and watched her jerk a little.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway, even if I denied it," she uttered quietly.

"I still want to hear it," he insisted firmly.

She shot him a reproachful look and he could feel the colorful spectrum of names she called him secretly in her thoughts.

"I do feel humiliated," she sighed in resignation.

"I hate to disappoint you," he said and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, "but we thieves don't see that many things as filthy. And not rarely we judge based on experience."

He watched with amusement as her expression turned from timid to sheer shock, and then sudden relief took over her and she laughed.

"So much information in that last sentence," she said with a shake of her head. "Maybe a little too much, Master Thief?"

"Well, you barely ask about me," he replied with a shrug, "and I just felt like sharing a little. Don't shut yourself off in your own small world. You deserve better."

Brynjolf noticed a flush make its way to her cheeks and dye them in a beautiful scarlet color and his lips curled in a subtle smile. Then it disappeared and his brows furrowed a little.

"Did I make you relive it again?" he inquired solicitously.

She hesitated.

"You don't have to be considerate of me. Just tell me."

"A little," she muttered.

Translation: You did, he thought to himself sourly. There were times when she was obnoxiously straightforward, but whenever something ailed her, she would instead try to act overly thoughtful.

He was thinking. It could be something he had done, or maybe she had just remembered incidentally, forced by the sudden flood of emotions and proximity. Either way, he decided he would not give up. Not now. She had not turned him down or refused him in any way and he had enough of waiting.

"Then," he said silently, carefully selecting his tone not to sound too demanding but not too indifferent either, "maybe I should work hard so your mind doesn't stray away." He watched her put up that familiar cautious expression she so liked to wear when she was unsure, but continued nevertheless. "Maybe I should capture you like I would capture a bird in the cage so you don't fly and waver, and grasp your heart so firmly that it would not have the room to feel humiliation again."

He examined her, with her mouth open ajar in a pair of thin attractive curves joined together in two gentle hollows creating soft and inviting shadows, barely breathing. The pupils of her eyes were widened in intent expectation, making her golden irises sparkle in contrast. By no means was this woman filthy, no. Right now, Brynjolf felt as though he was facing the most astonishing being in all Mundus. There was no fault to her, not the wide jaws that most of men would find unappealing, but to him they were the mighty supports which underlined her strong character. Not her slightly bigger nose either, for it reflected her honorable spirit, or the short hair that carelessly flew about her, a silky waving symbol of her freedom. Not her broad shoulders, the rock-solid evidence of how unbreakable she was, and not her waist which curved elegantly into the lower parts of her body just as a swan would curve her neck when she was about to soar. And her legs like two slender pillars which turned her into a graceful dancer when she was facing an enemy. He was convinced that out of all the people in the world, he knew her the best, he could tell every movement of hers, predict her reactions and read her feelings like an open book… and still, he enjoyed learning more, studying her like the most curious mystery there was.

They spent a while staring at each other in absolute silence, the air around them tense in anticipation. And then, Brynjolf moved slowly towards her and accepted the unspoken invitation. His lips made their way to the left corner of her mouth and brushed it gently as if they were nothing more than a morning breeze caressing her skin. She froze and stiffened under his touch and he thought himself shameless for a split second for using it to pull her closer and slide his left hand along her right cheek playfully. His lips went up until they reached her left eye and made her close it slowly before touching her eyelid softly. Then down again, and he did not fail to register her fairly long eyelashes which fluttered slightly and made him shiver in excitement he could not suppress. He bit her lower lip faintly and felt a vibe come down her body. She raised her hand, and for a moment Brynjolf feared she would push him away in rejection, but she never did. Instead, she buried it into his red hair and her lips parted.

Again, he took the invitation, carefully savoring her and making sure she received an equal share of that sweet and delicate taste. She was insecure and he sensed it, and only slowly she allowed him to grasp her heart, uneasy in remembrance of her recent experience, but there was also something else to it. He could sense her hesitation, as if she was walking down a steep path and was not sure which rock she could rely on to carry her weight. Her lips moved bashfully, quietly studying his, examining and testing little by little how far they could go. The sensation was driving him crazy but he also felt a selfish satisfaction over her inexperience. How pure she was, unlike him. Now he knew that there were places she was afraid to step into, places that he knew and she did not, and it made his heart jump for joy.

And again, he took advantage of it, taking control and guiding her along. He cursed her armor which separated the rest of her body from him, but at the same time he appreciated it for he was close to give in to his most primitive desires. He had seen her body before and it had carved itself into his memory quite exhaustively. The recollection alone made him hungry for more and he had to put up a fair amount of effort to restrain himself in order not to scare the lass. But she was slowly melting under his tender touch, giving in to the desires she had had no idea of possessing. Only with a great deal of self-repression did he finally pull away, his fingers running friskily over her cheek and lips for the last time.

She was speechless, her eyes fixed on him in a curiously dumbfounded expression, and he let out a silent chuckle of amusement.

"Lass," he whispered in her ear and enjoyed the sight of her jerking and almost jumping out in shock.

She shot him a quick glance but then turned away shyly. He reached out for her, seizing her chin and turning her face towards him.

"Look at me," he invited and she raised her head hesitantly. "How do you feel now?" he asked her gently, giving her room to back away, although he knew she wouldn't.

"Who are you," she breathed and pierced him with eyes like two wells of infinity, "and what did you do with Brynjolf?"

"Now that's a bit harsh," he said with an impish smile. "Even the thieves can be gentle, you know. They even have it in their job description." He winked at her.

"It's… better," she admitted reluctantly.

"No more humiliation," he said sternly with a raised finger. "It doesn't suit you."

She smiled apologetically and Brynjolf suppressed the urge to push her down on her back that very instant and continue where he had left off.

"I think we better go back and see how Lucia's doing," she proposed after a moment of silence. "And I guess I should do some hunting. I'm afraid I ate your last supplies."

A sheepish smile flashed over her lips for a split second.

Brynjolf put a hand over her forehead and shook his head.

"Leave it to me," he told her with a frown. "Your fever has not subsided completely. You need to rest."

She opened her mouth to issue a protest but he pressed his finger against her lips and gave her a scolding look.

"A Dragonborn is not the same as a god," he told her starkly. "You die if you strain yourself too much."

She sighed as he took his bow and quiver back from her. They rose and walked slowly through the great chamber opening beyond the door, heading to the passageway and the terrace beyond it.

Aislinn's thoughts were grim again, sobering up from the sweet sensation of Brynjolf claiming both her mind and body for himself.

"I'm scared of losing you."

Was he serious? So did he love her? There was no escape this time, she had to face her own feelings. She did not respond to him in any way and he would probably press her for an answer in time, but what was she supposed to tell him? She was scared of losing him as well, but maybe she was even more scared of hurting him. The path of the Dragonborn was a lone one. She would have to face countless enemies who would try to claim her power for themselves or just eliminate a bothersome obstacle out of their way, not to mention dealing with a loathsome black dragon who would occupy her being eventually. The thought made her shiver in a mixture of fear and disgust. The thief beside her obviously noticed it, for he gave her a concerned look, but she ignored it and continued walking.

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn
To keep evil forever at bay!
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

The lyrics rose in her mind as if they were always there, a song of an ancient prophecy. To keep evil forever at bay! But she was just a human and humans don't live forever. What would happen when she died? Would Alduin regain his dragon form and devour the world at last? Or would he just dissipate and be lost for eternity? In the end, it all came back down to the Akaviri of the old and their foretelling. But the only legacy they had left behind were the carvings on Alduin's wall, and if there wasn't a hidden part of it somewhere, Esbern had pretty much revealed everything there was to her. No-one knew much of the Akaviri nowadays, except maybe for Paarthurnax who kept stubbornly silent, and some remaining Dragon Priests and they were not exactly the talkative kind. She clenched her fists unconsciously when the image of the tall hooded figure of the mysterious High Elf Dragon Priest flashed through her mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Brynjolf inquired, pacing steadily at her side.

"The blasted Altmer who killed Paarthurnax," she growled quietly.

"According to Sinawen, he's not an Altmer," he corrected.

"I don't care what he is," she hissed dangerously. "I'm going to kill him."

"He's an Aldmer," he continued, ignoring the spiteful comment which, in fact, made him uneasy.

"I said I don't…" she froze in the middle of the sentence. "What did you just say?"

"An Aldmer," he repeated. "The First One."

"Did she mention his age?"

"Around four thousand years, she said, but I think she was not too sure herself. Apparently it was a miracle she knew his name."

"And that name is…"

"Andariath Torelloy."

"A strange name," Aislinn mused. "But I guess that goes with him being an Aldmer. Still, that proves Delvin's theory about the new Dragon Cult wrong. And somehow I don't think he belongs to the old Cult either."

"Why's that?"

"Because he would have a reason to fear approaching Alduin if he did. The Dragon Priests used to be the World-Eater's servants and he would eliminate any traitor had he the chance to do so."

"So who do you think he is?" Brynjolf asked and she watched him shudder in discomfort as the topic clearly drove him anxious. A feeling of guilt settled in her heart and Aislinn had the itch to ask him to return to his preferred lifestyle once again. She knew he would refuse but could not help but feel sorry for him.

"I don't know," she sighed helplessly. "He's clearly not with the Thalmor and he's not with Alduin either. If he was on our side, he wouldn't have killed Paarthurnax. It looks like he takes no sides… but what does he want from me?"

"We might learn more when we actually get our hands on the Elder Scroll," the thief told her. She noticed a poor attempt to sound reassuring but appreciated it nevertheless.

"Speaking of which," she turned to Brynjolf with a worried look as she remembered the Elder Scrolls that were supposed to be in her possession, "any idea what happened to my backpack?"

"Karliah is probably holding onto it."

"Then I hope she doesn't do anything risky. And best if she doesn't look inside."

"What do you have there? A weapon for instant death?"

"More like instant madness," she smirked dryly.

Brynjolf gave her a questioning look but she did not speak another word. They continued in silence across the terrace and then to the temple. A silent moan reached them as they entered the vast chamber with the benches and Aislinn hurried to its source.

Lucia was still sleeping in the small room at the back, twisting and turning as she wailed in her sleep. Brynjolf's head appeared in the door as he leaned to the doorframe but Aislinn paid him no attention. She knelt beside the little girl and patted her shoulder gently while stroking her head with the other hand.

"Brother… Martin…" Lucia uttered in her sleep and Aislinn wondered whom she could be talking about. She continued her attempts to wake her until her adoptive daughter opened her eyes, trembling slightly as she rose on her elbows.

"Mama," she breathed tremulously.

"It's okay, Luce," Aislinn said in a comforting voice. "I'm here."

The girl looked at her hesitantly and then fixed her gaze on the linen wraps covering the lower part of her body, a sudden flash of pain reflecting in her face.

"Who's brother Martin?" Aislinn asked her gently.

Her eyes widened, she raised her head and their eyes met, but then she shook her head.

"I don't know." Her voice sounded broken and Aislinn felt a painful stab in the heart.

"Then what were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember," Lucia said hoarsely. And then, suddenly, she put her face in her hands and quiet sobs echoed through the room. Aislinn pulled her closer and hugged her tightly, running her hand through her hair softly.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Everything will be okay."

Just what had happened to her little girl? What had they done to her? Whatever it was, she would smite the one who had made her suffer like this. No-one would touch the Dragonborn's beloved daughter and go unpunished. No-one.

Hello again!

So… most of you probably noticed that Fanfiction-net went through a big crash and the service was down for a day or so. It wasn't the first time and even after that, some of the features (like search, filters or the listing of stories in selected categories) kept breaking down. Therefore I got a little worried for my stories and decided to do a backup and to create my own fanfiction website where I would post them. So I would like to invite you to fanfiction-sekai-cz (replace the dashes with dots, FF-net doesn't allow links to be published anywhere on their website). You can read my stories there, comment on them, send me a message or subscribe to new chapters without registering. I will always post my chapters here and on my website so whenever the system falls, you can just go and check it out over there.

Hopefully that helps.

Thanks for following/favoriting and reviewing my story and see you around. :)

Mirwen