DRAGON CRISIS

Destiny Unraveled

XIV

19th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 203

Karliah sat at the Riften's docks, gripping the letter in her hands as her knuckles turned pale in color. It never ends, she thought bitterly, does it? She desperately searched for a way to be rid of her troubles. Some kind of solution, a plan that could potentially solve all of her problems. However, the more she thought, the more she realized she was short on options. On top of her predicament, they've yet to hear back from Ziiah. Brynjolf was growing agitated ever since the courier returned their letter, saying that the young woman was untraceable. She's disappear'd, kin' sir, the boy said, I'm s'rry. Realizing that Ziiah had broken her promise on keeping out of trouble, Brynjolf had grown somber and bitter. Luckily, he had yet to pack up and leave but Karliah figured it was only a matter of time. Part of her wished to go with him and find Ziiah herself. She was tired of playing sitting ducks, waiting for a miracle to happen. She glanced at the letter in her hands again, reading its contents. She traced the intricate design of the Magnus' Eye stamp at the bottom of the letter. Forever grateful, she read the signature beneath it, Enthir. Karliah sighed as she glanced at the sky, tears threatening to roll down her ashen grey cheeks.

"I'm sorry my friend," she whispered, "but I can barely help myself."


Enthir watched as Sybil packed her bags.

"You're leaving?" he asked, sounding hurt.

Sybil was quiet for a while. "Yes."

Infuriated, the Bosmer stomped to her side and grabbed her forearm, forcing her to look at him. What once gleamed as sapphires on her face, the eyes of the Arch Mage were dull and dark in color. He could see the deep eye bags and the busted capillaries in her scleras. Exhaustion had taken its toll on Sybil's body and from the blank expression she sported lately, he figured her psyche was also altered.

"Please," he said, softly stroking her cheeks, "please, talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

She was quiet, as always. She never told him what was going on with her or what she had been up to all those months in her quarters. He assumed, as he always did, that she had dabbled in forbidden arts. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge made her careless in her pursuit and willing to cross all boundaries possible. It was saddening to see her so quiet, so dark and gloomy. Sybil Chafort was a force, a presence that no one ignored. Her current state was shun-worthy at best. She was a shell and it broke Enthir to watch it unravel in front of him.

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't anymore..."

"What is going on, beloved?" Enthir prodded, holding her by her shoulders. "Did you do something? Was something done to you?"

She closed her eyes. How can I tell him? she thought desperately. How can I break him? Voices started to protrude from her consciousness, vying for her attention. She tried to ignore them and focus on her partner. Oh, Enthir...

"This is for the best," she finally said, a bit more confidently. "Take care of everything."

"Sybil, please - "

"When I return," If I return, she thought, "I want this place to be bustling with students."

Nothing more was said as she holstered her staff and fastened her satchel. With her bag over her shoulder, she gave one more exasperated look at Enthir before leaving him alone in her quarters. She heard his screams as she descended the stairs.


Ziiah flicked the quill in her hand. She frowned over the blank parchment in front of her. She had been like this for almost two hours. Elvaynu and Kaani had been standing over her for the last half an hour. The two exchanged looks as if wondering how much longer it would take. Meanwhile, Ziiah fought a rather heated argument with herself inside her mind: whether to tell her father the truth or not. Already frustrated, she growled and threw the quill to the side before covering her face with her hands.

"Fuck it all," she mumbled.

Kaani and Elvaynu chuckled.

"Can't think of words, sera?" Elvaynu asked in jest. "Here's a tip - keep it short."

Ziiah rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid Papa won't settle for short."

"You haven't written him a letter since we left for High Hrothgar," Kaani said though it sounded more like a question.

"It's been what," Ziiah said, pausing for a moment to figure out the time, "nearly a month? Oh yeah, he definitely won't settle for short."

"So," Elvaynu asked, "what's the problem?"

Ziiah sighed. "I...don't know what to tell him."

A profound silence continued as if the two were giving her space to speak.

"I want to tell him the truth," Ziiah said softly. "I want to apologize and to be frank but I don't think he'll understand."

"Understand what?" Elvaynu asked, kneeling next to her. "It wasn't a choice you made Ziiah and he's a Nord, he should understand more than anyone."

"He's a parent though," Kaani said, putting a comforting hand on Ziiah's shoulder. "Sometimes, truth is not preferable."

"What do I tell him, then?" Ziiah asked. "Hey Papa, sorry for going quiet for a whole month, let's catch up soon?"

Kaani shrugged. "Depends. Are you going to catch up soon?"

That was another whole can of worms that Ziiah dreaded to open. She wanted to return to Riften at some point and before the dragon crisis, she believed she'd be returning home rather soon. However, she could no longer say whether she'll ever return home.

"I don't know," Ziiah said honestly. "I have a feeling like I'm losing control over my own life. Even if I wanted to go home, I don't think I'll be able to."

Elvaynu and Kaani looked at each other, worry written over their faces. Feeling for their friend, the two women circled their arms around Ziiah's frame and embraced her tightly. Ziiah smiled as she returned the gesture.

"Thank you," she whispered.


"You overstep your boundaries, Elf."

Kaelan smiled sweetly at the Jarl. "I have an official stamp by General Tullius on my orders and the Ambassador's approval. It is merely an investigation, nothing more."

Balgruuf frowned. "An investigation of a young woman who is a hero to this city and who just so happens to be a member of my court."

Kaelan chuckled. "Asure the Thalmor that we have nothing to worry about and we will leave you be."

"The Thalmor don't give up easily on their agendas," Irileth whispered to Balgruuf's ear. "Even if we tell him what he wishes to know, there's no guarantee that he will leave Whiterun's premises."

"The gentleman is here on the orders of the Thalmor and the Empire," Proventus whispered into his other ear. "We can't ignore his demands and turn him away. We have to give him something."

Balgruuf sighed. Damn it all to Oblivion.

"What do you wish to know?" he asked with a great amount of strain in his voice. "

Kaelan smirked.


Tashhee stood at the docks, inhaling the smell of the sea air. Somehow, it smelled different than usual. What once invoked painful memories and nightmares best left unspoken, she now felt liberated. The stone walls of Ysgramor's city were no longer caged in on her, swallowing her until she was nothing. No, they were just walls, like any other. The ships were just other vessels floating in the body of water, awaiting to depart on the next voyage. The sconces were just light in the dark, not a means to a burn. This, she thought with a large swell of joy in her heart, is freedom.

"Are we leaving or what?"

Snapped out of her thoughts, Tashhee nodded to the boatswain who awaited her patiently. He stretched out his hand to her and she took it gladly. No more scars, she thought as her hand gripped his. No more abuse, she thought as she jumped on the boat. No more pain, she thought as she sat down, followed by the boatswain who took the rows into his hands and started to paddle. No more nightmares, she thought as they rowed away from Windhelm. She didn't even look at it, having her back face the city throughout the journey.

No more.


Tarhrin sighed for the umpteenth time it seemed. His back was starting to protest as he bent over the maps in his basement. Charting the routes was difficult - charting routes that were constantly changing was an even harder chore. Spymaster, he thought bitterly. Why the fuck did I start this business? Having three men surrounding him and not contributing to his efforts was another hurdle to topple: Loro was busy with the forge and anvil, Veilheim fondled the mead barrel to the point Tarhrin thought the Nord would marry the thing and Nyx was berating Veilheim for being a drunken ass - rather loudly and annoyingly.

Tarhrin sighed yet again.


The Mad God laughed as he feasted on a bowl of finely cut cheese.

"Oh dear," he cackled, "these mortals are hilarious! Hilarious, I tell you!"

Haskil remained passive as he listened to his master rambling on and on about the selective group of individuals whose visages were swarming the hall of the New Sheoth Palace. His master enjoyed the illusions and similar sorts, often utilizing them in his free time for most mundane tasks. Haskil managed to evade being a victim to his master's illusionary whims, most of the time if not always.

"Just imagine," his master continued, "if I sent them a goblin or a scamp? Would they be surprised, hm?"

Haskil was about to answer but Sheogorath spoke again. "Maybe I should send myself or one of myself? Maybe a talking cheese wheel? Nah, too basic."

The Chamberlain resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, he remained stoic by his master's side, listening intently to his monologue or at least trying to.

"I know," Sheogorath exclaimed. "I could invite them here! Or should I teleport them unexpectedly to Dementia? Which sounds more horrible, Haskil?"

"I would not dare suggest, my Lord," the servant said, bowing his head to the Mad God.

Sheogorath scoffed. "You're no fun."

Haskil wanted to apologize but was interrupted by the unsightly presence of his master's liaison who strolled quietly to his side. Haskil wanted to sigh very badly for he felt great disdain in having her anywhere near Shivering Isles, much less near his master. Yet, Ahkriin paid him no mind as she passed him by and made herself comfortable - if possible - on the throne armrest where his master had been sitting.

"You like barging in here uninvited," Sheogorath mused, munching on his cheese. "Ol' Woodsman will think you're playing favorites."

Ahkriin chuckled. "I do have a favorite, there's no need for me to play games with anyone on that matter."

Sheogorath was quiet as he glanced at his recurring intruder. Ahkriin merely smiled.

"What do you want?" he asked evenly as he continued munching on his cheese and watching the visions play out before him.

Ahkriin looked at the visions as well as she answered, "I want to reunite Ziiah with her mother."

Sheogorath coughed.

"It's time, my Lord," Ahkriin said, unphased. "Ziiah will eventually look for answers to questions only she can answer."

"Are you completely outside of your mind?!" Sheogorath spat as he rose from his throne. "Ziiah is in the middle of a crisis and civil war! She doesn't need her!"

"I'm aware," Ahkriin said as she stood. "Which means you don't know where she is now?"

Sheogorath frowned before he summoned another illusionary bubble. For a while, he saw nothing. He reached for Ahkriin's hand and put it over the bubble, using her memories as a focus. An image appeared in the bubble and Sheogorath frowned even more as he saw Sasha trodding the frozen edges of the White River that flowed under Windhelm's bridge. Sheogorath glared at Ahkriin.

"How did you find out?" he asked slowly.

"I didn't," Ahkriin said honestly. "She came to the family tomb and informed the ancestors and then he told me."

Sheogorath growled. "That idiot! She'll ruin everything!"

"Which is why we must plan accordingly," Ahkriin stressed.

"Not we," Sheogorath said dismissively. "Me."

"I beg your - "

"Leave," he said and with a wave of his hand, he teleported her back to Apocrypha.


Sasha breathed heavily as she made her way across Windhelm's bridge. She gripped her cloak and covered the lower half of her face. Step after step, she came closer to the main gate, and with each step closer, her heart pounded harder. In her mind, Sasha had made a decision - a decision she fully believed to be right and true. Yet, as she glanced at the walls of Windhelm, she wondered if perhaps she should turn back. After all, her daughter was in Whiterun, or at least, that's where she was last seen according to one of Kematu's subordinates operating from Swindler's Den. He saw her enter the Whiterun dungeons and heard she had become a Thane in the Jarl's court. Your daughter is the Dragonborn, she remembered the words written in Alik'r warrior's message which were constantly resonating in her thoughts. Dragonborn, Dragonborn, Dragonborn, she thought over and over again. Sasha sighed and a cloud of mist left her mouth, condensing in the cold air of Eastmarch. I must do this, she thought. For Ziiah. She stopped in front of the main gate and turned to the guardsman on her right.

"State your business," he said and leaned in to take a better look at her face. "Reveal your face, stranger."

Sasha chuckled as she let the cloak fall, unmasking the lower half of her face. "Am I a stranger already?"

The guardsmen on her right stared in confusion. "Who are you?"

"Sasha the Nightingale, my good man," she smirked. "I'm here to join the Stormcloaks."