Chapter 27: Paths and Solutions

There was darkness around her, all except small areas lit by tiny beacons floating in the air which looked like some sort of dreadful flowers turned upside down. It was not the kind of darkness she was used to and she would definitely not call it just shadows, created by the absence of the light. This one was almost tangible and she did not like the touch of it. It attacked her senses and made voices scream inside her head, filling her heart with horror, squeezing it tight. Whenever she stepped into it, it threatened to swallow her whole, and she could feel it eating off her skin and crawling into her head. The whole place was eerie, full of an overwhelming presence which was clearly watching her every step, studying her heart and mind and measuring her worth. Just where was she, really?

Karliah stood on a circular stone platform lit by one of those beacons, turning around slowly and studying her surroundings. This land seemed empty and yet full of something. Pillars of books stood around, forlorn, looming up to where the skies should be. The ground was blanketed in myriads of scrolls and pages torn from the books, and they all screamed to her of forsaken knowledge, lost in ages, older than Nirn itself and yet younger than the still unborn infants. It seemed as though time meant nothing here, serving just for a laugh to the unseen master of this place. Realizing that she still had her weapons with her, she reached for a dagger and squeezed its hilt to calm herself down. Little did it help but she refused to give in, still looking around for an escape.

There was a strange looking bridge in front of her made of odd substance which tangled and entwined in intricate ornaments. It traversed a sea of ominous liquid which seemed to be made of the same matter as the darkness that surrounded most of the place. She put a hand in her pocket and pulled out a coin. Upon being thrown into the sea, it hissed and dissolved quickly. Karliah felt like throwing up.

She forced herself to walk and then to run as she realized that the darkness which enshrouded her upon leaving the bridge had started to eat her off slowly, singeing her body and paralyzing her mind, coercing her into retreating to the utmost corners of her subconscious which she had not known of. Insanity threatened to take over her, jumping at her from unexpected places, showing her nightmares and visions of places she had never seen before, as well as illusions of people she knew or had known, yet different, cold and alienated.

"You should have never fallen in love with me," a voice whispered to her, sweet and yet firm, scolding, reproachful. "I died because of you. You led me on and made all of us turn a blind eye to the Guild."

"Gallus…" she breathed, but the voice faded as fast as it had come.

"Where were you those twenty-five years? How could you leave us to strive for our mere existence?!" another accusing voice echoed in her mind, sending a sharp stab through her heart.

"It seems I was mistaken about you. You are nothing. You never were worth anything, not worthy of the title of a Nightingale. If only your grandmother saw you…"

"Enough," she snarled, her face twisting into a frightful grimace. Finally, she reached another platform, panting a shaking heavily, and she was forced to stop abruptly the moment the light of a beacon lingering aloft touched her skin. Before her was a pond of that strange dark liquid and a repulsive tentacle shot out of it suddenly and tried to snatch her. She jumped out of its reach immediately, running for it again, and the nightmares continued.

She stood in an ancient Nordic barrow, snow falling on the stairs before her through a vent in spirals of tiny flakes, sparkling in the sole pillar of light at the center of the vast chamber. Before her was a man wearing a dark ash-grey cape and an armor of the same color, standing with his back to her, looking before him, and then he charged forward only to have his heart pierced through by an arrow black as night. Its tip came out of his back and stared at her as a harbinger of death before his figure slid down to the cold stone floor and stilled itself for eternity. And then she ran as fast as she could, leaving him behind, tears pouring down her cheeks, burning and freezing her at once. She ran for her life, away, away from the traitor, away from the unbearable pain which threatened to tear her heart apart, away from the suffocating fear.

She ran, barely catching her breath, the darkness around freezing her heart and limbs alike, screaming in her thoughts, begging for help, her whole body trembling as it never had before, and then she halted, trying to maintain her balance so she would not fall into another of those treacherous dark ponds appearing in front of her. The liquid darkness swirled and splashed, revealing a tall horrendous creature staring at her from above with its toad-like eyes, its claw-like hands lunging at her with surprising speed.

She felt weak in her knees but forced herself to fight back, drawing a short daedric sword she carried with her. She was desperate and frightened and there was no strategy to the swinging of her two blades, just a set of furious strikes to save her bare life. The creature seemed to be laughing at her, moving around her freely, but a cut to its greenish skin made it back away slightly. It tried to strike back but Karliah's nimble body was too fast for the tall colossus and she managed to get behind its back and slash a long deep wound into its flesh. It staggered but then it turned around swiftly, as though it did not feel pain, and charged at her, swinging one of its arms towards her and sending her a hundred feet away until she hit one of the pillars of books, surprised as it was rock solid and bruised her chest and her left shoulder painfully. She stood up shakily, blinking in pain, and darted back before the darkness that now surrounded her could eat her.

Three bodies lay before her, motionless, lifeless. A family, the little boy playing with a wooden sword a while before while his parents had been chatting happily near a stall. A number of Imperial soldiers had massacred them just for the sole fact that the boy had been bragging about his father being a brave Stormcloak soldier. It was her fault that they had died. She had refused to help them, too scared of exposing herself and her skills. There was endless fear in her heart, as she was scared of every person walking the vastness of Nirn. She could trust no-one, talk to no-one, barely surviving each day by breadcrumbs and water. So afraid was she that the Guild might find her, that she let so many others die, and all that was left in her heart was infinite regret and hatred towards herself. It was so painful and she just wanted to die… but at the same time, she was afraid to. Yes, she was despicable, a lowly being hunted more by her own conscience than the Guild which she had proclaimed her enemies. She knew she had to face the true enemy of hers one day, but she was scared, and so she ran, away from her guilt and regret, away from the pain she had inflicted upon herself…

And she ran and ran, the hand with the sword stretched out, and she caught the lurker before her unprepared, surprised at the straightforwardness of her charge, unable to fend her off, and it fell the moment the blade pierced through its body and sent it back to its pond of darkness. Then there was silence, only the silent sound of flipping pages interrupted it like a whisper of the wind, and she fell to her knees burying her face in her hands, her body trembling.

"Oh, gods, no," she whispered in between the sobs, "please, make it stop!"

"That said, you have already endured more than most of my victims," a voice echoed, sounding as if it was everywhere and anywhere around her. It was calm and composed, old as the world itself, and an undertone of amusement issued from it. She raised her head cautiously and looked around to see where it had come from. Just as she did, a great double-pupiled eye appeared before her, tangible darkness swirling around it and forming tentacles which stretched and contracted, touching everything they reached, searching, studying. She stared at the creature in horror, unable to move or breathe for a moment.

"You're…"

"Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of knowledge and memory, also commanding the Fate, at your service," he told her calmly. "It has been a while since I was last this entertained. However, it might be even more entertaining to let the granddaughter of great Queen Barenziah live."

Karliah stiffened and her eyes narrowed, and the Daedric Prince before her chuckled cunningly.

"Oh, surprised to see old Herma-Mora read you like a book? Yes, that's right, you are all like books to me, abysmal wells of knowledge craving to be added to my collection. Now, you have come here for a purpose, have you not?"

"I haven't come here, I was dragged here," she opposed angrily.

"Oh, but they never come when they don't need anything," he warbled and his eye watched her attentively, sending a cold shiver down her spine. "Were you perhaps searching for something?"

Karliah's brows furrowed as she tried to remember what she had been doing prior to being drawn into this ominous world. She exhaled deeply as she realized she had been holding her breath, and then she spoke.

"What I was searching for is none of your concern. Will you let me out of here?"

"Ah, Nocturnal's minions are always so stubborn," he sighed almost regretfully, making her raise her head in surprise again. "Do you honestly think you can hide your allegiance from me? Your entire family have been Nocturnal's pawns for as long as I can remember, and that's… very long. Still, you have made a strange alliance with my champion, and for that I might let you off the hook just this once. I can help you with what you need, that is if you tell me what it is. And, of course, I would demand something in return."

"Your champion?" Karliah asked curiously.

"Ah, inquisitive, aren't we? Knowledge is power… but sometimes it can turn into a double-edged sword. Fear the Dragonborn, little Nightingale, for she is strong. I can see the questions in your eyes… yes, she was here and walked the same path you did just a while ago. And so much more… without a single step backwards, without a trace of hesitation."

"Aislinn can't be your champion," she said and shook her head in refusal, but the creature before her just laughed.

"Why? Because she's also the champion of Nocturnal? I am not blind," he whispered and his one eye blinked as if it was trying to prove the statement. "You, however, are quite ignorant. She is my champion as well as the champion of Meridia, Sanguine, Molag Bal, Azura, Clavicus Vile… even the old fool Sheogorath claimed his share."

"And why would all of you go as far as making someone like her your champion?" she snorted doubtfully, but her own voice was betraying her, for deep inside she knew he must be telling the truth.

"You see… apart from being a Dragonborn, her soul itself is quite unique and has a certain strength to it that no other human will ever achieve. Is she aware of it? No, not yet. But I am looking forward to the moment she realizes. Am I telling you? No, that would ruin all the fun in that. But she is indeed a valuable asset to any deity out there. Ah, I believe this will bring an interesting competition."

"And what do you want from me?" Karliah snarled at him, unable to control her fear, anger and impatience. This place was driving her crazy and she could still feel the strands of Fate and Time tugging at her sanity.

"The question is, what do you want from me?" he purred.

"Fine," she growled, deciding that no harm could be done by telling the persistent Daedra the truth. At least no more than what had already been done. "I only wanted to speak to Nocturnal. Gather a piece of her champion and a piece of her foe. I haven't planned on asking that of you, though."

"But your subconscious thinks otherwise," he drawled, obviously amused. "Very well. I can provide you with both of those things, but you must give me something in return."

"And what would that be?"

"What would someone like you have that I desire, really?" he questioned silently.

Karliah watched him, unsure of how to answer to that. What would she have, really? Surely he would want something powerful. Does she have anything like that? Maybe, but it does not belong to her…

"I cannot give you any of Nocturnal's secrets," she shook her head resolutely.

"Then I guess there's no way out of this situation for you," he said in a reserved tone.

"I can, however, give you something else," she offered. She hated to make bargains with the Daedra, but he would have gotten something out of her anyway. Better to take the safer route while she still can.

"A mortal offering something that would be of value to me? Oh?"

"I can give you the secret of Barenziah's success."

The atmosphere around her changed and she knew at that moment that Hermaeus Mora found her offer too tempting to refuse. As she was not the first, nor the last Nightingale there was, he could certainly corner others to make them expose their secrets, but this was something different, something that belonged to her only. Suppressing any kind of emotion from showing in her face, she only smiled in her thoughts.

"Interesting," he hummed. "The Dragonborn surely chooses the most interesting mortals as her friends. Very well, I accept your offer."

With that, two of his dark tentacles pressed to her temples and she smirked with pain and a strange feeling of emptiness that filled her head.

A number of people were assembled in Dragonsreach, sitting around the two tables surrounding the fireplace in the center of the main hall. Vignar sat on the jarl's throne, the dragon skull decorating the hall looming above him like an eternal guardian. Most of the people present were elders who remembered so many winters in Whiterun that they sometimes joked about it being comparable with the number of steps to High Hrothgar. On this day, though, nobody was joking. Serious expressions framed the faces of the Council and the few guests who had arrived representing some group of people or, in case of Jon Battle-Born, acting as the Steward's aide. And then there was Lydia, the Dragonborn's housecarl and currently the one who had the most recent information about the elven menace. She sat next to Jon, at the end of the table on Vignar's right, with her back straightened and her eyes sharp and cautious. There was Vilkas of the Companions, for Vignar who had been their representative before was now sitting at the front, leading the city in Jarl Balgruuf's absence. Belethor, speaking for the refugees in the city, was leaning to the table opposite of Jon, and Olfrid Battle-Born was seated next to him, discussing something with him silently. Danica Pure-Spring was present in the name of the city priests, and Fralia Gray-Mane stood for the merchants. Nazeem, the youngest of the regulars, represented the farmers, much to Vignar's displeasure, while Ulfberth War-Bear did the same for the craftsmen who had originally been represented by Eorlund Gray-Mane. Due to his two relatives being a part of the Council, however, he had stepped down to prevent any suspicion of the Gray-Manes trying to take over it. The few guards who stayed in the city had sent a quiet Imperial called Terentius Ax in their name while all three of their representatives, Irileth, Hrongar and Commander Caius, were gone along with the Jarl.

There was a silent murmur in the room, occasionally interrupted by the cracking sound of the fire. Then, Vignar cleared his throat and all was still.

"Today we assembled here to discuss a pressing matter," he spoke in a clear voice. "While our Jarl is away, we are facing a number of issues, including the lack of accommodation for the ones seeking refuge inside the city walls, the lack of supplies for all of us, and, of course, the ever present threat posed by the invading Thalmor. There had been a request for a new wall which would protect the farms on the east from being ravaged by the Dominion soldiers. I do understand the need of such a measure. However, we must also consider the cost. Be it a wooden wall or a stone fortification, we will need to send someone to the wilds and have them retrieve the necessary materials as well as build the actual wall, and we will need to do it quickly. This is by no means an easy task. That said, an elven army has been seen approaching us from the north-east and if we lose those farms to them, it is going to be easy for them to just sit at our gate and wait until all the city starves to death. Now that I presented the problem, I would like the involved parties to speak up. First, Belethor as the spokesman of the refugees, can you present your arguments, please?"

"With pleasure," the Breton spoke in his usual affected manner as he stood up, and a sour grimace displayed on a few of the faces in the room. Jon noticed Lydia clenching her fists in secret and a trace of amusement flashed through his face almost unnoticed as he remembered the young housecarl being almost as hot-blooded as her Thane. And, on top of that, she was equally as skilled a fighter. The two of them created a fierce duo that barely anyone dared to oppose.

"The refugees of Whiterun have been strained continually with providing us with supplies from the farm," Belethor continued. "They have been a valuable addition to our city, always eager to work and help us with whatever we need, but what have we given them in return? Every day they are sent outside of the city walls, threatened by every menace that lies there in wait, only to provide us, the regular citizens and owners of the farms they work at, with food and water. They would at least deserve some protection. Moreover, as the Steward said, if we are to keep our hold of those farms, we need to fortify them."

Again, Jon had to wonder. Why Belethor, of all people? What was in it for him? He was not known to be altruistic, the welfare of other people had never been his concern. What would he gain by having a wall built? Would it somehow be good for his business?

Vilkas rose from his seat and Vignar's eyes narrowed, watching the Companion warily and raising a hand in a warning gesture. However, Vilkas had no intention of engaging in a fight, even a verbal one, and he politely turned to the Steward.

"May I speak?" he asked calmly, but Jon sensed a slight tremble in his voice.

Vignar nodded slowly and the handsome black-haired Nord turned his face back to the Council.

"What Belethor says is true, but I believe there is another side to it that he ignores," he said and his deep melodic voice felt like a soothing lullaby after Belethor's hoarse speech. "Here inside the city walls, the Companions can protect everyone. Once the people of the city spread throughout the hold to acquire the materials for the wall, we will either have to split up and weaken our forces or leave them to their fate there. Also, I do believe that the citizens of Whiterun are not given enough credit here for providing the refugees a place to stay, stitching their clothes and blankets and overall answering to their needs. And I believe the city craftsmen and builders have extended some of the houses using their own resources just so our guests would have enough room, have they not?"

"It is clearly more comfortable to stay inside the walls and do whatever comes to the mind than go and work outside under the constant threat of being attacked," Belethor returned dryly and shot Vilkas a contemptuous look. The Companion opened his mouth but Vignar was faster.

"Stop. Blaming one and pitying the other is not going to solve this issue," he told them sternly. "Lydia, please, give us your report now."

Lydia stood up and made her speech as brief as possible, presenting how she had discovered an elven army just around the corner and how their numbers could not be counted. Cautiously she avoided mentioning the stolen supplies. When she finished, all eyes were on her and a silent murmur broke out, steadily increasing in volume until Vignar raised his hand again.

"How far is the army right now?" he asked.

"Not even a day on horseback, but given that it is an army, it could take them up to three days to arrive at our gate. Four days at most, if we are lucky."

"Even if we send our most skilled ones, there is no way a wall is going to arise in just four days," Ulfberth War-Bear commented with a bitter smirk. "We will barely raise a fortified palisade in such a short time."

"But our water supply comes from the farms as well. Are we going to just stand and watch the elves raid them?" Belethor objected fiercely.

"Oh, unless our Vignar has a spare supply of water, just like he receives the food from somewhere," Olfrid Battle-Born joined him and sneered in satisfaction as all the eyes turned to the Steward, now slightly pale in the face. Jon suppressed a gasp and secretly shot his father and angry glance.

"You have a secret source of supplies, Vignar?" Nazeem drawled and stuck out his chest grandly. "Where from? How come we weren't informed of this?"

Jon clenched his fists and forced himself to hypnotize the flickering flames of the fire in the center of the room, concentrating on the golden glow and letting the anger flow away. How come everyone was so ignorant that they had not even noticed him and Vignar working constantly on distributing the supplies fairly?

"Now now," Fralia Gray-Mane whispered in a soothing voice. "Let us calm down. Looking at the state of things, there surely was no time to issue an official notice, but what does it matter anyway? We do get supplies and they are distributed among everyone in the city, a considerable part of the non-perishable ones being stored in case of emergency, which you would know if you actually asked. Let us be grateful for them."

"Birds of feather," Olfrid hissed, his fingers tapping the table in silence. "Maybe if we knew their source, we could actually count on them and stop worrying about the farms. But you Gray-Manes and your secrets…"

"The supplies arrive at Jarl Balgruuf's order," Jon finally joined the conversation, taking a deep breath to calm himself down and not start yelling. The looks of all people present were on him suddenly and he felt a bead of sweat make its way down his temple. Sure, every bard wanted attention, but not this kind. Even Vignar frowned at his statement, a slight hint of disapproval showing in his face.

"But they are not directly from him, I presume, as he needs every bit of his supplies to feed his soldiers," Olfrid said quietly and Jon sensed the danger from his tone.

"No, but the people providing them are his contacts, we don't really have the power to influence them and that should be enough information for you to go along with," he replied. He was sure his behavior would not go unpunished by his father, but for now he had to prioritize the needs of the city. He sighed ever so slightly when Olfrid smirked at him.

"Stop this at once," Vignar commanded, rising from the throne he had been sitting on until then, looming over Dragonsreach like a baleful statue. "There is a threat just around the corner and we need to find a solution, not argue over petty things."

"You call an unknown source of supplies petty?" Belethor demanded. "We don't know if we can count on them, some of them could be poisoned for all I can imagine…"

"There is no reason for them to be poisoned," Vignar retorted impatiently. "Now think of a solution."

"We have to do something," Lydia sighed with a frown. "We need the water at least."

"We have three arms merchants and one general goods store," Jon mused and a few faces turned to him with raised eyebrows. "How much of raw materials and ingots do they have left?"

"I have a fair amount, but that depends on what you need them for," Ulfberth replied.

"I could make a quick survey," Fralia offered. "But why?"

"Because maybe we could just lay some pipes and use them to bring the water from the river to the city," Jon explained. "It would still require a lot of work and the risk will be there, but it's easier than building a wall around the whole area. We just have to make sure that the elves don't find out about it. Maybe even make it seem like we're actually building a wall."

"Not bad," Vilkas nodded in approval. "That would make things a lot easier, and the Companions could take care of guarding the path."

"I think that some kind of wall is still needed," Belethor insisted. "For the farmers' safety. Can't you see how they are exposed to any kind of threat there?"

"I would propose a fortified palisade that would protect them from the worst," Vignar said. "I say they retreat from there the moment it gets attacked. This is the most we can give them."

"But if we starve here…" Olfrid growled.

"We won't starve," Vignar told him resolutely. "I'll make sure we don't."

The old Battle-Born gave him a doubtful look but sat back at his seat. There was a silence and then the Steward spoke again.

"If there is nothing else to discuss, let us vote. Lydia, Jon, Belethor, since you're not members of the Council, you will not take part in this. Jon, could you please hand out the balls, please?" he turned to his aide. "Blue for the great stone wall, green for the palisade, yellow for the pipes. The ones you vote for will be placed in the white bag, the ones you put away will go to the black bag."

Jon stood up and took a basket full of small colorful balls which lay at his feet. He distributed them among the Council members, carefully selecting one blue, green and yellow for each of them, accompanied with a pair of bags. Soon, the two tables were filled with bags of black and white filled with balls. Jon collected them again, separating the white ones from the black ones. He took a strange silver bowl with a flat bottom and dumped the contents of all the white bags in it, placing it at Vignar's feet so everyone could see it. Then he counted the balls in front of everyone.

"So…" Vignar spoke at last, "it seems we have a winner. Everyone is in agreement that we should lay pipes leading to the river. Only two people voted for the stone wall and the rest is for the palisade. So plumbing and palisade it is. Vilkas," he turned to the Companion.

"Yes, sir?" Vilkas raised his head eagerly.

"I'll need to talk to you about the Companions' role in this afterwards. We will need some backup in case there is an ambush before we finish the works."

Vilkas nodded and bowed slightly to the Steward.

"Does anyone has anything else to say?" Vignar addressed all of the attendees. Silence came in reply and so he continued. "Then this meeting is closed and you are dismissed. Thank you for taking your time and participating. I will send further instructions to you shortly."

There were sounds of chairs being pulled and feet shifting on the floor, and a series of murmurs broke out at once as the people in the hall rose from their seats and started chatting with each other, some of them discussing the recent development while the others decided to avoid the topic. Jon let out an exhausted sigh and Lydia patted him on the shoulder.

"You did a great job," she commended him. He nodded in appreciation.

"I'll need to talk to you later," he said to her quietly, looking around to make sure no-one was listening. "Something doesn't sit quite well with me here, no matter how I look at it. A sudden request for a wall, an elven army at our doorstep, stolen supplies that happened to arrive ahead of the schedule, and somehow it just doesn't seem like a mere coincidence. And Belethor… that Belethor coming up with something like that. There must be something he's after."

She nodded in comprehension. "I'll be at the Huntsman in two hours," she whispered. "Take your time, I'll wait. Don't come right after I do."

With that, she walked away, elegant in her formal attire of grey and gold, and her dark hair, considerably longer than when he had first met her, flew around her in graceful tresses. Suddenly he felt the urge to cuddle up in the embrace of a certain stern-looking warmaiden who, at this time, was probably at the said tavern, tending to the refugees or preparing a meal for occasional customers. He had barely had a chance to talk to Olfina ever since Jarl Balgruuf had left the city, and he missed her dearly. He hoped that this war would be over soon, so everything would just turn back to normal. For the love of Talos, he worried about her too, for he knew her passion for battle.

For the sake of us all, he thought wearily, I hope my suspicions are misplaced.

Then he stood up and walked out of the door, mentally preparing himself to face his father's wrath.

Andariath Torelloy was looking at the rocky hill, his face full of contempt which nobody could see. He was sitting comfortably on a spur protruding from the great cliff supporting the Blue Palace of Solitude, watching the swarming elves tending to their rather ragged and powerless hostages. His eyes slid to the summit where, presumably, an invisible Dragonborn was facing her new challenge. Much to his satisfaction, he noticed that the Dragonborn had left her adoptive daughter along with the annoying red-haired thief behind and proceeded by herself. Now she found herself, of course, in a dire situation, unable to Shout if she were to save all those pitiful creatures who had been captured in Solitude just to stop her from entering that place. Oh, how soft-hearted she was, a trait that worked greatly to her disadvantage in the time of war. But he needed her to go on and so he would do what she was so afraid of.

He made his way down the cliff in a few well-calculated jumps until he landed on one of the pine trees growing right under it. He slid down carefully and tasted the mist. He loved it, for it would help him achieve what he wanted. Illusion magic was an awesome thing, a tool more powerful than any fireball, a blast of frost or a daedric weapon. And he had spent hundreds of years mastering it and thousands of years devising new spells and methods which no-one else knew of. To control people's mind was a subtle art and it required precision which could not be acquired without constant training and diligence. Certainly, no mere mortal would be able to reach his level in their miserable short life.

He studied his surroundings attentively, stopping at the smallest details including a number of rabbits hopping over a small pile of withered leaves, a thick layer of lichen blanketing the surrounding pine trees, a change of the terrain nearby as it turned from the damp dark soil rising from the marshes to the cold grey stone, until he fixed his gaze on a clump of mist which hovered over a boulder nearby. It was in the elves' area of sight, right where he wanted it to be. He took a deep breath and concentrated. The best illusion was one that was convincing even to the one who had created it, and so he watched as a figure formed out of the mist, a woman with rather short chestnut-colored hair, a little less than six feet tall with broad shoulders, wearing a daedric armor, equipped with two blades and a bow over her back, partially attached to the backpack she was carrying. He closed his eyes and tried to remember their last encounter, recall the details. A slightly bent back, but that was probably due to the immense exhaustion from the torture. A bigger nose, rather straight, skin of natural beige color almost without a fault, thin pink lips and strong jaws. And golden dragon-like eyes, sharp as the finest blade and deep as the darkest well. Those he remembered well, for it was not easy to forget them. He almost wished he could keep her as his trophy, but that would mean giving up his plans… and that was unthinkable.

Finally, his model was perfect. Of course, he could have given her a helmet, but he found her helmetless version more appealing and enjoyed creating this work of art. Now he had to remember her voice. Strong, like a dragon's, a little rough and quite deep for a woman's voice. Good. He was ready. She was ready. He sent a stream of magical energy her way and his little creation Shouted.

The Shout was loud and clear and in an instant, the mass of bodies lurking over the mound started moving, a few voices issuing orders while the others readied their weapons or tugged at the hair or the chains of their captives. A threat echoed through the air and a severed head rolled down the slope as one of the hostages had been decapitated mercilessly. He made his illusion tremble and move, seemingly trying to save the one closest to her. Of course she would never achieve that, not only because she was not real, but also because he had to prevent her from being touched. Controlling her was not an easy task and his face stiffened with sheer concentration as he tried to visualize her and her movements from different angles, tugging at the strings of the elves' subconscious to make the illusion more believable. Another victim died. And then again. He prayed for them silently.

May you find peace in your death. Your sacrifice will soon serve as the means to protect this world from the undeserved power, he told them in his thoughts.

Then he raised his head and shot a quick glance at the summit. He should soon hear the real Dragonborn Shout, desperate and broken-hearted. She already despised him, and now her hatred for him would only deepen. So many innocent people falling victim because of him… but it was necessary. Maybe one day she too would understand.

And then it came.

"Fus Ro Dah!" her voice thundered and its echo tore through the mist and shook the ground. Ah, how he desired it, the true Voice of a dov.

The elves now turned around in confusion, their eyes widening in surprise, but it was too late. The one guarding the gate had been taken care of in a mere blink of an eye and now the door was closing behind her and her enemies were too slow to react. She had disappeared into darkness, leaving behind nothing but a lingering whisper in the air. He smiled and let the illusion dissolve. Now it was time to take care of the annoying little menace in shape of a little girl accompanied by a red-haired thief.

Long again. This story is really getting out of hand. I actually wanted to include the fight between Andariath Torelloy and Brynjolf with Lucia in this chapter, but seeing how long it had gotten, I decided that I would rather put it in the next chapter. So you'll have to wait a bit for that.

Now I made a little revelation about Aislinn in the part with Hermaeus Mora, so I hope you noticed it and now you'll chew on it a little. I also exposed a little about Andariath Torelloy and about his rather controversial character, hope you like it.

And then the Whiterun arc… well, I kind of tried to make it a little like a crime fiction, so I have to tell you that the leads are already there and it's up to you what you make of them. You can also find some leads in the game itself, so don't forget about the roles the characters featured in this arc had there. One of them is very important. That said, I hope I did not screw up with the Council meeting. You know… I'm really not good with politics. More like I suck at them. I used to help organize conventions here in Czech and whenever there was a meeting, I was completely lost and didn't know what to do. So… there you have it. Meh.

By the way, did you notice the association of the term "darkness" at the beginning of this chapter with Terry Pratchett's books? ;)

Again, thanks for your beautiful reviews and the favs/follows.

To capt. guest: Thank you and thank you! By suspicious, I basically meant that he didn't like them. Like when people say something is weird, but they don't really think why it's weird. Brynjolf didn't think of why they were suspicious either. It just crossed his mind. :)

Thanks to everyone for reading this chapter. As always, your reviews, favs and follows are welcome. Stay tuned!

Mirwen