Chapter 44: Father and Son

"Wait!" Faendal called to Farkhali as she swiftly rushed through the dim land. The clouds in the sky were so heavy that even the trees seemed grey in their shadow. Farkhali had to admit this wasn't pleasant, even for her.

"For the love of Nocturnal, you normal people are so slow," she said, a corner of her mouth twitching, and slowed her step to allow the elf to catch up.

"It's you who is too fast," he snorted. "How are you doing it anyway?"

"Years of practice," the Khajiit shrugged and gave a hint of a smile. Faendal grimaced, and Farkhali found something about his expression slightly disturbing.

"So, what are we going to do once we reach the encampment?" He turned his eyes to the village on their right. It used to be his home for a long time before he had had to escape… and supposedly it had also been a home for one of the Blades. It occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to join them when the war is over. Or even before that.

"Magic."

"And by that you mean…"

"We're going to convince the guards that attacking is a very bad idea."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that."

They walked a while along the river. There were bushes they could hide behind until they reached the village. By then, they had to soak their feet in order to stay away from anyone's sight. None of them knew the situation in Riverwood, but neither of them was willing to find out.

"Is that how you managed to make that old paranoid work with you?"

"Didn't take much effort, really."

"Say," a subtle tone of seriousness crawled into Faendal's voice, "what is it that drives you? You do some crazy stuff, no offense. Funny I never heard of you before, because you might as well shake hands with the Dragonborn."

"So you've met Aislinn."

"Ah, now I see where you're coming from."

"Not quite…" the Khajiit muttered under her breath. What was her drive, really? Several images flashed before her. The twisted Redguard man. Her hand clutching a dagger. The Hunter with her wicked smile. Aislinn dancing with her twin blades. Balgruuf's face. She shook her head wildly, trying to chase the image away.

"Are you all right?" Faendal asked, frowning. He circled a rock in his way, treading carefully to avoid falling down and letting himself be taken by the wild current.

"Quite so. Let's push on."

They waded through the water, soaked to the bone by both the river and the rain, watching out for potential threats. Fortunately for them, it seemed that even the wild animals avoided the deluge as much as they could. Slowly they descended through the valley until they found a bridge. The first obstacle presented itself in form of two guards looming at its center. One of them seemed half asleep. The other one, however, was fully attentive to his surroundings, carefully inspecting every bit of the land. Farkhali frowned.

"This is a problem," she said simply and stopped her step.

"It is not. A short walk down is a waterfall. The road's a bit risky but there is a path that can used to cross the river, even in times of flood."

"You sure it's not guarded as well?"

"Of course I'm not. Just betting on the fact that I grew up here and they didn't."

"And if we run into them there?"

"Let's worry about that when that happens, shall we?"

"Fair enough."

They proceeded along the ferocious current of troubled waters. The path around the bridge was not so easy, as they could not go below. The river expanded so it almost reached the top of it. At one point, the two of them had to go separately, quietly sneaking around. At last, they managed to pass unnoticed.

The stream got even wilder as it descended. There was still no sign of anyone, the skies were grey and deserted and the only sound heard throughout the woods was the endless splashing and humming of the water. After a while of silent trotting, Faendal placed a hand on Farkhali's arm and gestured towards the horizon ahead, smudged by caps of snow-white foam.

"There," he stated. "That's our passage."

Farkhali tilted her head to the side. "You do realize what happens if we make a single step in the wrong direction?"

"That won't happen," he said with a smile. "I've taken this path a million times and you're a shadow tracker. That gives us a pretty good chance."

The Khajiit's brow quirked high. "How did you know?"

"Met one of your kind a long time ago." He shrugged. "I wasn't sure until I noticed the distance we've covered in such a short time. You handle your magic exquisitely."

Farkhali wasn't pleased. In fact, she felt slightly annoyed at the fact that someone could see through her tricks so easily. She fell silent and pointed to the waterfall. The elf gave an impish grin and hopped over the boulders in the stream like a chamois. Farkhali followed him closely, using his shadow to guide her. Soon the two of them were on the other side. Faendal smiled in encouragement and they continued along the path that opened before them, over the mountains and down to the plains of the Whiterun tundra.

The night was falling upon the land when they reached the city. The rain had finally subsided into a slight drizzle and from time to time they could spot a flickering fire from one of the camps that now surrounded Whiterun. The two of them approached the closest one in nigh absolute silence.

"I must say I can't wait to finally get rid of these," Faendal whispered, tugging at the Thalmor robes he was wearing.

"I bet." Farkhali let out a quiet chuckle. "Now's their big time though. Let's do this."

"And if we fail?"

"I thought I told you."

"You did. Just making sure you didn't suddenly decide you'd rather keep that fur of yours nice and shiny."

A corner of Farkhali's mouth twitched in half annoyance, half amusement. "Just remember to take things one step at a time. Plan your words and actions. If you need to think, make a gesture to get their attention."

"By the Nine, this will be hard."

"It will. I've never tried it before."

Faendal took a long, deep breath. "Let's go. This is making me anxious."

"Okay."

They both straightened their backs and walked towards the closest tent. A guard stopped them almost immediately.

"Halt!" an elf called to them in vibrant tenor. A group of other guards turned after them at once. Farkhali could feel several pairs of eyes on her and knew there was no way back anymore. "Who goes there? Identify yourselves!"

"Faendal of Riverwood, serving under the command of Master Aleth, and this is Ta'nima, our supplementary force. I am sorry to inform that we lost our third, Justiciar Yllona. She was killed in Falkreath in the rebellion."

"Rebellion?" the guard asked with a raised brow. "What rebellion?"

"We're here to deliver a message to Commander Velion." Farkhali felt this was her chance. She weaved just a tiny thread of magic into her companion's words. Faendal winced unnoticeably, but then his whole stance loosened, as though he had just drunk a pinch of something strong to make the fret go away. "Falkreath has fallen. The Nords have taken over and you are to fall back immediately."

"And who gave this order?"

"Classified information. Let me meet with the Commander."

"Uh… well, we're not in contact with him ourselves, but if Arcane Master Taren is enough…"

"No, he's not. Take me to the Commander. Now."

Several guards exchanged looks. Then one of them spoke.

"I know this one. He really works for Aleth—"

"It's Master Aleth," Faendal hissed and placed his hands on the hips in an unspoken threat. Farkhali silently commended him. Not bad. Not bad at all. "So?" He tapped a foot to signal his impatience.

"Yes, yes," the guard hurried with his answer. "Follow me. You," he selected another guard from the group, "find someone to replace me in the meantime. I am going to escort these two."

They treaded in silence through the vast encampment. Farkhali could see palisades and foundations for fortification in the distance, and also some unfinished stone structure close to the outer wall of the city. It was left in a mess, rocks and round pieces reminiscent of huge tubes scattered around, as though the workers had left the place in a hurry. The Khajiit deduced they must have been taken by surprise. There were no corpses or signs of fighting, however, and she hoped the citizens of Whiterun were safe inside the city walls.

The camp itself was oddly silent. Farkhali had seen several military camps, mostly Nordic or Imperial, and none of them had been anything like this. There were always soldiers complaining, singing or simply talking to each other, some of them were drunk, some were brawling amongst themselves, and even at night it was loud and lively. Not this one. It seemed the elves preferred the cold and silent approach. Or the regime was too strict. She was never certain, unless they were Dunmer. The Dunmer were quite different from their fair-skinned elven kinsmen. Farkhali resisted the urge to ask Faendal about it and tacitly followed his step. She did not even realize that even now, she was rather tracing his shadow than following the elf himself.

At last, they reached the largest tent in the camp. Several guards stood there and one of them, a Dunmeri woman with look so sharp it made their guide falter, stepped forward, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword. Farkhali studied her closely. She reminded her of Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, the always wary, short-tempered woman called Irileth. A voice at the back of her mind finally wondered whether the Jarl was safe.

"What's the meaning of this?" she asked with the typical dark elf accent. "This is the commander's tent. You have no business here."

Faendal politely let their guide speak. "These two have news from Falkreath they'd like to deliver to Velion—"

"Commander Velion!"

"…so I agreed to take them to him. Apparently, Falkreath has been taken by the Nords."

The Dunmer knit her brows and gave Farkhali and Faendal a pensive look. Farkhali suppressed a reaction. Her spell was still active, yet the woman did not need a single second to know they were impostors. She wanted to give Faendal a signal, but that would mean exposing them immediately. All the guards around them could attack them at once. There would be no chance of survival then. However, she did not like the look on the woman's face. What was she planning? Interrogation? Farkhali shuddered internally. Thalmor interrogations were infamous.

"News, you say?" the woman repeated with a raised brow and turned to Faendal. "What would you have to say to us and not the watch in Ilinalta Keep?"

"You are to retreat," the Bosmer said calmly. Farkhali wondered whether her spell affected the way he acted. Even now he was almost unnaturally believable. "We need to speak with Commander Velion to give him further instruction."

"I… see. Wait here. I will call him."

The Dunmer disappeared beneath the curtain which presented the entrance into the main tent. Farkhali watched it fall behind her, and for a while, the roughly spun fabric was the only thing before her eyes. She did not move her eyes to inspect her surroundings, nor did she turn to Faendal. There was silence, until Farkhali realized it lasted too long.

"She sure is taking her time," she commented in a neutral tone.

"It's a grave news you're bringing," the guard before them said with a shrug. "Of course she would prepare the Commander for it."

Farkhali contained a snort. A while later, the Dunmer finally stuck her head out of the tent and beckoned to Farkhali and Faendal. The two of them entered and the Khajiit knew immediately that something was amiss. There was no captain. Instead, a pedestal was raised at the center, carrying a bowl of water, and a picture of a red-haired elven head seemed to decorate its surface. Farkhali frowned when the head moved, and so did Faendal.

"Are these the ones?" a voice asked, and it came from the bowl. A very beautiful, refined voice, just like its owner.

"Yes, my Lady."

"Good. Leave the tent."

"But…"

"I said leave. Now, or there will be consequences. The Commander as well. These two will be the only ones keeping me company."

"Yes, ma'am." The Dunmer bowed and signaled to a wall which proved to be fake. An Aldmeri man, far more muscular than Farkhali was used to, emerged from behind it and glowered at them. He did not greet or say anything. The two of them left in silence. Farkhali raised a brow and looked around, but the voice caught her attention again.

"So, a stray kitten finds her way right into the enemy territory," she said sharply, "and just after she had escaped too. Welcome, Black Malkin. And you too, Faendal of Riverwood. I am Reinya Talwen, the First Squire in service to the Aldmeri Dominion."

Farkhali grimaced. "You're quite polite for a Thalmor. Is this why you 'always have your way without having to fight?"

The elf chuckled. "My my, is that what they say about me now? And you speak unlike any Khajiit I have met in my life. Tell me, dear Farkhali – that is your name, is it not? – did you really think you would be able to turn an entire army away from the best strategic point in the whole province?"

"I don't need to answer that question. And don't bother with threats. Let's just get this over with."

"As always, I am misunderstood," the woman said with a theatrical sigh. "Your red-headed friend, Brynjolf, first treated me with a hand on his dagger. I suppose it is a common sight these days, but I still find it… disquieting."

Farkhali's sight turned dark. The last bit of information she had on Brynjolf was that he had gone to save Aislinn. "Where is he?" she snarled quietly.

"I sent him to Winterhold, along with that young talented Dragonborn mage he had with him," Reinya Talwen said matter-of-factly.

"Aislinn is not a mage."

"I don't mean Aislinn the Dragonborn. She was her… did he say daughter? It seems you have a lot to catch on, dear Farkhali."

"I see the Thalmor have bred you well," Faendal jumped into the conversation, his voice gaining a slightly irked undertone. "You really enjoy toying with people, don't you?"

"You fail to see whose side I am on."

"And you fail to see we're not buying your damn bluffs!"

"Forsooth?" The fiery-haired elf gave a look that made both Faendal and Farkhali take a step back. "If that was so, none of you would have been here by now, Master Faendal. You were interrogated because someone believed you knew one of the Blades. You quite truthfully said you did not… and yet you were wrong. Delphine, who had left Riverwood shortly after the Dragonborn appeared, was indeed a Blade and eventually she sought refuge at the Sky Haven Temple in the Reach. Do you realize what the Thalmor would have done if they had this information? Not only to her, but to you as well."

Faendal opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to answer to that.

Farkhali's frown deepened. "Anyone could say that."

"True. Then I shall take the hard way." The woman let out a long sigh. "What other choice do you currently have than to believe me?"

"Eh… to not believe you?" A corner of Farkhali's mouth twitched.

"I will let you go. Commander Velion asked me to pass a judgement and decide what to do with you. He is expecting me to punish you and in his eyes, I am going to do just that. Your mission will not be easy."

"Mission? Since when do we go on our enemies' missions?"

"I heard that once a cat is convinced about something, it is very hard to change its mind. I suppose I shall try the impossible then." Reinya Talwen gave Farkhali a slightly reproachful look, like a mother scolding her child. The Khajiit twitched her ear inadvertently. "You will infiltrate the city as two Thalmor officers and ask for an audience with Olfrid Battle-Born. Velion will think I am sending you there so he can have you stoned to death by the citizens of Whiterun. And that will be your chance."

"Wait. Olfrid Battle-Born is your contact, right?" Farkhali's frown was momentarily replaced with an expression of utter curiosity.

"That is correct."

"So…"

"You will kill him."

"What?!" Faendal gaped at the Altmer with his mouth wide open. Farkhali placed an arm before him as though she was trying to stop him from going somewhere. Her eyes kept hypnotizing the bowl.

"However, there must be no witnesses. We cannot trust anyone from the other side, and if a Thalmor learns about it, then I am as good as dead. As you can see, it takes one spell to inform any of the Squires or even Elenwen herself."

Farkhali suddenly realized that her shoulders were stiff with suspense. With a deep exhale, she relaxed her muscles. She could not find a single reason to not believe the woman, although a tiny voice at the back of her mind warned her not to get too comfortable yet. She tilted her head to the side. "How does this work anyway?"

"The commune system? It has been gifted to us by a daedra, as almost everything we are currently using. Oh, how the elven race has fallen since the old times."

"The Dunmer have been praying to the Daedra since time immemorial," Faendal shrugged nonchalantly, gaining himself an exasperated look.

"We are high elves, Master Faendal. That 'high' is not there for nothing."

"And you're trying to convince us you're different?"

"Yes. We were the first intelligent and literate race to walk the surface of Tamriel. We should be your guides. My kinsmen serve a bad example for the other races. I am ashamed."

"Wha—"

"That… is an interesting opinion," Farkhali mused. "Not sure I like it, but it's definitely better than most."

"I do not require your approval," Reinya Talwen said with brows slightly knit. "Now go. We have spent too much time talking. Velion is certain to be enraged by the fact that I am not letting him kill you. I shall now speak with him. He will wait for Olfrid Battle-Born's signal to attack. The siege will be delayed. Use the time you gain wisely."

"Then…"

"No talking. Go. Oh, and Farkhali?"

The Khajiit raised her brow in question.

"Be careful with that spell of yours. Hold onto it for too long and it will backfire."

Farkhali gasped in realization and ceased her magic. Reinya Talwen nodded to her with a smile.

The two infiltrators excused themselves, backing out of the tent. A number of blades pointed to their necks.

"She wants to see you," Farkhali spat at the muscular elf. He left with a smirk.

A few moments later, he was back, his face wearing an unreadable expression. "Prepare a robe for the cat," he snarled, his voice unusually hoarse for a high elf.

"Excuse me, Commander…"

"Silence. Master Talwen's orders. And I'm not going to explain myself to the likes of you."

"Yes, Commander."

The two of them were seated on the cold ground, tied to a cart. A few Altmer rushed past them, ordered around by Velion who stood in the middle of everything like a statue, supervising the situation. He gave a Farkhali and Faendal a quick glance, baring his teeth.

"Don't expect heaven," he snarled through gritted teeth. "No matter what Master Talwen told you… you are going to suffer." Excitement reeked from his voice, almost like a beast toying with its prey.

Neither of them replied. They waited patiently in silence, watching the surrounding guards who quickly prepared everything for them. Farkhali was forced to dress into the typical dark Thalmor robes, which she silently commented with a sour scowl. Her, Farkhali, a Hammerfell Khajiit in service to the Skyrim Thieves Guild and the wandering caravans, clad in Thalmor attire.

Their captors made them wait for the night, cautiously watching them from the shadows. Farkhali snorted to herself inwardly. Her hands were tied, but she could still cast magic. She could get the better of them any time. Yet, she decided to wait.

It was an unpleasant, cold night. After the rain came the chilling Skyrim wind, the one that so much liked to sneak under one's skin and freeze the body from the inside. Farkhali and Faendal could not move and soon grew sore and tired from the waiting. The sky was covered in a thick blanket of heavy clouds, preventing the two of them from admiring the sparkling bundles of stars and shimmering belts of colorful aurora. Farkhali shifted uneasily in her uncomfortable seat and was immediately nudged by a guard. Their eyes met. Farkhali could see in his eyes that he was just as uncomfortable as she was.

"How about some fire?" she asked with a pinch of magic in her voice. "It might do you good too."

"It might," he growled quietly. "But not to them." He gestured to the whole encampment. Farkhali nodded in unwilling comprehension and with a sigh she used her tied hands as a rest for her chin.

The night dragged on, until at last, the skies gained on lightness. Their guards did not waste any time, and soon after it became light enough to see even for the most hazed human, they pushed them towards the city wall. There was a hole, and Farkhali noticed it had been made from the inside. The two of them were ruthlessly pressed through it, until a pair of Nords clad in soiled steel pulled them out on the other side. After them came their weapons which they immediately grabbed.

"Well well," one of the Nords drawled. "Now would yeh look at that. Hey, yeh two look terrible. You didn't spend the night out in that horrible cold, by any chance, did ya?"

"Oh, c'mon, Leinarth, don't tease our guests," the other one scolded gleefully. "Now, put on these," he held out two capes of a neutral, brownish color, "and follow me. Olfrid is waiting for you in his house."

The infiltrators quickly swung the heavy fabric over their shoulders.

"Any useful news on the state of the city?" Faendal asked as they stepped out into the streets. Farkhali gave an unnoticeable smirk. He was back in the role, and he needed no magic to sound convincing. She suddenly felt slightly stupid.

"News? Well, I s'pose yeh wouldn't know… they wanted to build some plumbing to get the water into the city… turns out it'll serve your cause quite well. Couldn't finish it 'cause they found out 'bout the invasion." The man shrugged indifferently and rounded a corner. "Not that it changes anythin'."

Farkhali looked around. The city was quiet. It seemed as though it had been lively not too long ago, but now its residents were shut inside their houses, save for occasional refugees camping in between the buildings. Some of the guards were patrolling the city and she could recognize a few Companions, but no citizens were out and the marketplace was silent and deserted.

They hastily traversed a few streets and a square and made their way into the Wind District. The House of Clan Battle-Born was one of the more pretentious buildings, with quaint statuettes of dragons decorating its roof on each side.

"I guess this is goodbye for now," said the man with less distinct accent and bowed slightly. "See you soon though. And have fun breaking skulls."

"We will," Farkhali said with a wicked smile, an image of Olfrid Battle-Born before her eyes. "Take care!"

Farkhali and Faendal slipped inside the house. It was almost empty, save for a dog lying under the table in the dining room. It did not growl or bark upon their arrival, only its shaggy head rose and turned after the sound of closing door. The animal went back to sleep as soon as it became silent again, seemingly disappointed. Farkhali looked around with a frown, her gaze sliding from the fireplace at the center of the house to the doors along the walls and finally to the balcony on the far side. Then there were footsteps and a man dressed in a fancy colorful tunic decorated with beads of precious stones stepped into her view, looking down at them from the balcony. Farkhali knew instantly that he was the one they had come to kill.

"Welcome, my friends," he greeted and gestured towards a doorway on their right, leading to a staircase. "My dearest friend, Reinya Talwen, informed me of your arrival. Today, we are going to write history."

The Khajiit and the elf walked up the stairs. Farkhali carefully inspected every corner around her, using the shadows to aid her. Their host noticed her roving eyes and chuckled.

"You don't need to be afraid," he said heartily. "There's no one here. My wife is currently in the Bannered Mare, helping out with provisions. Idolaf, my dearest son, is in the Dragonsreach. And my other three children…" he let out a heavy sigh, "no… they won't come. Not anymore. And unfortunately, none of them knows of my allegiance."

"Isn't it about time you told them?" Faendal remarked coolly. Farkhali felt chills run down her spine at the sound of his voice. "They need to accept the truth."

"No. We have a deal and you won't… wait. You… you don't belong to the Thalmor! I know you!" Olfrid Battle-Born drew a blade and pointed it at Farkhali. "You… you were here! You're Balgruuf's gofer! But this… this can't be! Reinya Talwen…"

Farkhali twisted her face. This wasn't what she had hoped for.

"Now!" she called and drew her dagger. Her magic saved her from the swing of Olfrid's blade, making her slide along her own shadow faster than the howling wind outside. She tried to slip past him and get behind his back, but the Nord was quick and sidestepped immediately to block her passage. Faendal, standing slightly aloof, nocked an arrow and promptly released it. It dug right into the man's forehead. Farkhali unwittingly let out a quiet gasp as his body toppled over the wooden handrail and fell into the fireplace.

The Khajiit was ready to exhale to relieve herself, but the entrance door suddenly flew open and in it stood a tall, pale man with fair hair and beard, both tied into a neat tail. He froze where he stood, with mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but the words had gotten stuck in his throat. Then he looked up and his eyes met Farkhali's. She knew him.

"Jon…" she started. The man inspected the rim of her robes and his face twisted into a combination of pain, fury and outrage.

"You Thalmor scum," he spat. "You… you killed my father. He even served you! And how did you repay him?!"

"No, you're wrong," the Khajiit raised her hands in defense. "Please, listen to us!"

"I'm going to kill you! I swear I'm going to kill you!"

"Jon!"

"Farkhali…" Faendal started, but she ignored him.

"Please…"

Jon Battle-Born darted towards the stairs.

Another person emerged from the outside, a woman in dark armor and a blade that could make anyone shiver on sight. She inspected the situation with a brief look and scurried towards the agitated man.

"Jon…"

"They killed my father!" he cried, drawing a sword on his way up. The woman caught up to him in an instant and threw herself at him, making them both land hard on the floor.

"Jon, stop! This is Farkhali! She's one of us!"

"She killed my father! She's a damn Thalmor!"

"Open your eyes, Jon! You said it yourself! Your father was a traitor!"

"But he did not deserve to die! Let me go!"

"You need to calm down!"

"I don't need to…"

"I…" Farkhali said, her quiet voice somehow drowning the others, "I'm sorry. I had to do it if I wanted to save Whiterun. But… you can now punish me any way you see fit."

She knelt down to lower herself to the Battle-Born Junior's level. The woman still on top of him groveled aside, but her hand stayed on Jon's shoulder.

"No," she said resolutely. "I won't let that happen."

"I'm fine with it," Farkhali protested.

"You might be… but I'm not risking infuriating my Thane."

The Khajiit could not help a chuckle. "Oh Lydia…"

The two women fell into a warm embrace. Then Jon's voice interrupted them and Farkhali shivered. It was a voice of a broken man.

"You, Khajiit…" he snarled under his breath, "explain yourself."

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! This is for all of you who have stayed with me, and for you who have joined recently as well! Glad I managed to finish the chapter just before Christmas. Now enjoy it, get lots of presents and be happy! :)

As for me… I'm making it my routine to write on the train on my way to work and back again, so I hopefully I can keep it up and provide a chapter more than once in six months, lol.

And as for the story… well, I don't know how to comment on it. Too tired for it now, so you do it for me. I'll be happy for any thought or opinion you will share with me.

Pietersielie:Hello! Good to have you back! And yes, you're absolutely right with the politics… but as you can see, I'm taking the politics to a personal level. :D No, really… we will have to go through a bit more of them to resolve all the storylines, but it's slowly completing itself. As you can see, just now I merged two storylines into one… and you might have noticed, but we are slowly but surely reaching the climax. Now to make it short… (ok, that was a good one, everyone knows the word "short" doesn't exist in Mirwen's vocabulary) Well, let's just say we're getting there. Though I will have to add one micro storyline to conclude the destinies of two of my characters, but it will be very short (there we go again).

Now… should I write Aislinn next, or should I concentrate on what's happening in Skyrim? The order isn't really important, since basically all of this is going to merge once she returns back to Skyrim.

Aanyway, thanks to all of you for reading, favoriting, liking, reviewing… and you know. As always, thanks to dart0808 for proofreading! Once again, merry Christmas, everyone!

And stay tuned!

Mirwen