A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to all my readers and reviewers! You're all great!
Roland was passing by his father's room in the stronghold when he noticed a faint, pale light shining through the crack underneath his door. Curiosity kept him in place, wondering what it could be. He looked down the hall one way, then the other, before reaching for the doorknob and slowly turning it.
The door opened without a sound, and Roland poked his head inside to finally see the source of the light. Dorian, standing in the middle of the room, held an immaculate sword the likes of which Roland had never seen before, made of a kind of silvery gray steel. It had the cruciform hilt of a one-handed sword with a long, straight blade. Pale, enchanted light gleamed from the weapon. He could feel the potency of the weapon's imbued magic even from his spot at the threshold.
"Its name is Durandal." Rolan nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized Dorian was looking at him. "The ancestral blade of our House. A weapon, it is said, that was granted to our ancestors by the gods to fight the forces of Darkness. Here. Hold it, my son."
Dorian smiled and beckoned him closer. Roland obeyed, feeling drawn to the weapon - he'd always had an interest in learning about enchantments during his free time. There was no way he would pass up a chance to hold one such as this.
As soon as the weapon was in his hands, Roland felt power thrum throughout his body. Upon testing the heft, he found the blade was much lighter than one made of mundane steel - it flowed well as he gave it a few practiced swings, humming softly as it sliced through the air. Dorian laid a hand on his shoulder, his features cast in Durandal's pale glow. "My father wielded this blade to great effect while he was king of Evermore, and his father before him, all the way back to the founding of our House."
Roland looked back up at his father. Still in awe of this legendary weapon he held, he found his voice had fallen to a whisper. "Why have I never seen this blade before today?"
"Because I have never felt the need for it." Dorian's smile was sad. "Durandal is a mighty weapon of war. It has seen countless battles, to the point that it has grown a spirit of its own, born out of bloodshed. The day may come where it must be drawn once again to defend our homes and families."
Roland returned to studying the magnificent weapon with a longing sigh. "It will not be mine to wield, however. I am your son, but I have no claim to the throne, nor any wish to it."
"You never know." Dorian squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Your little brother, Bernard, is proving himself to be far too sweet to become a fearsome warrior. A kind and just king he will someday make, but not a warlord by any means. He may yet have need of a strong arm at his side - and you might be it."
"Truly?" Roland gasped, looking down at Durandal with renewed excitement. "I would be honored…"
He admired the weapon for a moment longer before returning it to Dorian. Once his father slid Durandal back into its sheath, the enchanted glow faded from the room. They were left basking in the warm autumn glow of the evening sun, listening to the rumbling of life and activity that permeated the lower levels of the keep. Dorian looked out his bedroom window, watching the sun setting in the west. "King Ganelon and his party should be arriving soon. Have you prepared yourself?"
"As best I could," Roland answered stiffly.
Dorian frowned at his tone. "Is something wrong?"
The young man shrugged his shoulders, hugged himself. "I am nervous. You know I usually stay away from social gatherings like this. Out of sight, out of mind."
"You're part of the family. We would be honored to have you at the feast."
"But what if House Blackthorn asks about me? I do not wish to give them ammunition with which to shame you."
His father sighed sorrowfully. "You do not bring me shame, Roland. I think you are a brilliant young man, and you deserve to be shown respect. My son deserves no less."
Roland smiled, but it was strained at the edges. "Thank you, father."
Dorian clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll have fun. It will do you some good to learn from how I negotiate with Ganelon, as well. Run along, now - our guests are bound to arrive by sundown."
The feast in Durand Stronghold went splendidly. King Ganelon had spared no expense in bringing along his own casks of wine and a motley crew of entertainers of all sorts to enliven the feast, from bards and troubadours to sword-swallowers and fire-breathers. There was even a dancing monkey that Prince William had insisted on adding onto the menagerie. In truth, Ethenriel had felt like part of a walking circus as the Blackthorn entourage arrived in Durand Stronghold earlier that day, waving banners and sounding horns. But of course, she knew this was all part of Ganelon's plan to keep their Durand hosts occupied.
Ethenriel stood at attention near a shadowed corner of the hall, watching the scene in the feasting hall play out through the slits in her helmet. The wine Ganelon had brought - the famed Sanguine's Tears, one of Rivenspire's finest vintages - flowed freely from the kings' table to the soldiers' goblets. It was the first time in many years that anybody in Bangkorai had been able to taste fresh Northpoint wine, and everyone was taking advantage. Everywhere she looked, House Durand guards were already rosy-cheeked and laughing together. Even the dour, brooding King Dorian seemed brighter-eyed than usual - he was even smiling! While the wine flowed, the performers and musicians captivated the attention of everyone else at the feast. Bernard and Mirabelle, King Dorian's legitimate children, were particularly enthralled with the dancing monkey, Raisins. They laughed with glee as the little creature performed acrobatic feats on the table before them and greedily ate the table scraps they tossed him.
The grizzled Altmer watched the feast proceed with a sense of great discomfort. She had never been one for parties - much less feasts, which in her experience tended to quickly become loud and suffocating. This one was already well on its way. Give her a foe to fight, a monster to slay, anything! She would rather face the mortal perils of battlefield combat than suffer a social event. And the same applies for high-stakes missions of subterfuge.
This wasn't the first time her Majesty had commanded her to undertake a mission that required subtlety and cunning. Her mind was just as sharp as her blade, and over her many years of service to House Blackthorn, she'd made ample use of both. But this was the first time that she would have a hand in a mission with such a dark motive.
Ganelon had made his request perfectly clear. "I want you to slip away from the party when they least expect it and snoop around in King Dorian's quarters, if you can. See if you can locate his signet ring - we will need it to move forward with my plans."
The first part of his request she could oblige happily enough. However, the latter half of the mission would take a great deal of finesse - and to fail it would see her head rolling at the hewing blow of a Durand poleaxe. Not only that, but to accomplish this would mean to enact a bloody betrayal against a trusting host who had welcomed her into his home in good faith. It rankled mightily against the sense of Bretonic honor that Ethenriel had developed after all her years in High Rock. All of this just to aid the Thalmor!
It was too late to back down now. She'd known nothing but loyalty and service to this House for most of her life. The Blackthorns had become family to her ever since her uncle had perished during the Thalmor purges in Valenwood. To forsake them now, even in this dark hour, would risk her place in the House. It was with a heavy heart that she'd accepted her mission and prepared to do what she had been commanded to.
Honor exists in duty.
The guards were drunk. The many members of House Durand's staff were either too busy in the kitchen or among those serving the food and drinks. Ganelon had Dorian speaking to him almost as warmly as if they had been lifelong friends instead of bitter rivals. True, most of their banter involved backhanded compliments the likes of which would make a Nord blush, but it handily kept their Durand hosts distracted. Steeling herself, Ethenriel clenched her fist behind her back and summoned her magicka. She cast a glamor to make herself discreet and easily forgotten before slipping into the shadows - a spell she'd learned long ago just for this purpose of escaping parties.
A muffling spell on herself prevented her mail from clinking as she made for the nearest door, cracking it open a sliver. She looked through the gap and cursed. More guards in the hallway. They hadn't gotten anything to drink and were stone-cold sober. Ethenriel had no charms or glamors to slip past them - she would not be able to go this way.
She considered her options. The doorway at the opposite end of the hall would likely be similarly guarded. Her only other choice was to try and get outside. If she was vigilant, she might find an exterior point of entry to find Dorian's room.
The Altmer swiftly crossed the hall, sticking to the shadows. Her glamor held, and she reached the doorway leading outside before slipping out into the cold night air. Well-tended gardens with plants and trees of all kinds surrounded the innermost circle of the keep's walls. No guards greeted her, but she saw a pair of them in the distance by the light of the rising moons, patrolling the courtyard along the outer walls. Under cover of darkness, I may be able to give the patrols the slip. I will have to be careful.
Once the guards had passed by a few times, Ethenriel got a grasp of their patrol circuit. She recast her glamor on herself to encourage any wandering gazes to pass over her without notice, then took to the shadows once more. This was not her usual way, skulking in the darkness like a rat, but the mission required it.
Her feet made no sound against the pavestones of the exterior walkway, nor did they when she stepped foot onto the soft grass that surrounded the main keep of Durand Stronghold. Sticking to cover in the form of hedges and trees, the Altmer moved in a slow circuit around the keep. Her amber eyes scanned the parapets and windows, but she could find no easy point of entry. Every door was guarded. Of course, she could always kill the guards…
No. That is not your way. They do not deserve to suffer at your hand. Besides, the bodies would eventually be found - and then House Blackthorn would be the first to be suspected of foul play.
The woman crept under the shadow of a tall oak, crouched behind a cluster of bushes. She stepped around the tangle of tree roots and put her hand out to steady herself against the trunk. There has to be somewhere I can enter. Perhaps the servant's door, if there is one.
A voice gasped. Ethenriel felt a stab of danger and recoiled, bringing a hand toward the dagger at her hip. She froze, half-crouched behind the bushes, listening hard. Somewhere nearby - from behind the oak tree - she heard quiet breathing. The elf hissed. "Show yourself."
She saw a shadow move. The form of a man took shape, meekly holding up his hands. Ethenriel scowled at the terrified face and did a double take. "Roland?"
Roland gave a weak smile and waved with one of his hands. "Hi… Ethenriel… Long time no see?"
"Long time no see…" The Altmer was taken aback, raising her visor so she could get a better look at him. This handsome young man was the same awkward teenaged boy she'd pulled from the muck at the Evermore tourney all those years ago? Well, the lad grew into his father's features, that much is certain. "What are you doing out here?"
Despite being caught flat-footed, her firm tone of voice managed to make Roland flinch away - or perhaps it was the dagger she was gripping that scared him. "I-I was getting away. From the party."
Ethenriel blinked in surprise. "From the party? You slipped away from your own father's feast?"
Roland nodded bashfully. "I've always been encouraged to put myself out of sight when King Dorian had noblemen visiting. He invited me to sit at the feast this time, but… I suppose old habits die hard."
The young man's gaze roamed her face, studying her features. "What brings you out here, Ethenriel?"
Part of the Altmer was wondering if she'd already failed her mission. Another part of her mind, darker and desperate, pondered if she had to kill the lad - and how she might accomplish it. But how could she do that to him of all people?
No. You don't need to kill him. Play it by ear.
Her delay in answering could have been construed as part of her awkward social skills. Eventually, the Altmer slipped her dagger back into its sheath. "Believe it or not, for the same reason as you. I've never been one for parties. Too loud. Even if my king commanded my presence, I would rather not be in there."
Roland grinned and lowered his hands, relaxing. "Kindred spirits… Well, your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone you snuck out if you do the same for me."
"Deal." Ethenriel nodded, but her mind was still on the task that she'd been given. How could she slip away from Roland? Her illusory glamor did not work on people who were looking straight at her, already aware of her presence.
Roland himself gave her the answer when he looked out at the shadowed yard. "Would you like to go for a stroll with me? I know a good path that should keep us out of sight of the patrols. My father probably told them to send me right back inside if they caught me out here."
The woman hesitated for a long moment. It wasn't ideal, but it would allow her to continue with her mission in some capacity. She nodded. "That sounds pleasant, young knight."
He gave her a wry smile as they set off on their walk. "Are you always so formal?"
Ethenriel frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Young knight."
"I was being polite."
"You don't have to be. You can call me by my name if you'd like."
"Very well… Roland." My, how odd that feels. I can't remember the last time I called someone by their name - save for William, when I'm yelling at him for something.
The pair continued their walk through the grounds. There were beautifully cut hedges reminiscent of animals on display, as well as bright, flowering bushes no doubt imported from some faraway land here. Ethenriel's focus was divided between her companion and her mission objective. The former caught her eye now that she was forced to take a good look at him. He was a fit young man who had inherited his father's good looks; but whereas King Dorian was known for being a brooding, haunted man, Roland seemed more relaxed and quicker to smile.
"Do you like it here, Ethenriel?" asked Roland. "Have you ever seen Durand Stronghold?"
"I have." She nodded at the ramparts. "But only from a distance. Tonight was the first time in two hundred years I set foot inside this place. I find it odd that your father chooses to live here, instead of surrounded by opulent comfort in Castle Evermore."
Roland shrugged. "My father says he prefers it here. The big city makes him uncomfortable - I think perhaps he feels safer away from all the people."
He stopped them suddenly, looking up at the wall. Ethenriel followed his gaze until she saw what he did - hidden partly from view by the low-hanging branches of an oak tree, there was a large window that hung ajar.
"My father liked to look out his window, back when it was still his room," Roland remarked, pointing it out to her. "But it's my room now. He gets the bigger bedroom his father once slept in to share with his wife. I like the window, too."
"You must get quite the view from up there," remarked the woman. The Altmer's calculating gaze roamed over the scene. "Yes, there would be a good vantage point from that window. Good sight lines. Perhaps with a crossbow, one would be able to cover a large—"
The sound of Roland's snickering cut her short. She turned on him sharply. "What? Do you not agree?"
His smile was one of dry amusement. "I agree with the assessment, but… I was referring to the scenery. On a clear morning, you can see halfway across Mournoth from up there. I've always enjoyed watching the morning sun shining upon Lake Halcyon and the Bjoulsae."
"...Ah." Ethenriel cursed herself for feeling an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks. Thankfully, it was too dark for it to be obvious. "Of course. Yes, I'm certain that… it's very pretty."
Somehow, when Roland laughed, she didn't feel like he was making fun of her. It was quite a different sound, as well, compared to the boar-like snorting of Ganelon or the loud, braying laughter of William. More pleasant to her ear.
"Yes, very pretty," he nodded. "Moreover, when I stay out late in Evermore, the window is a good place for me to sneak back into the house."
The Altmer allowed herself a faint smile. "I didn't know you had a scoundrel's heart in you, noble Roland."
He snorted with mirth. "I may be a knight, but I'm not a snooty—"
"Who goes there?"
The voice was gruff and sharp. A Durand patrol must have heard them. Roland turned sharply in the direction of the voice, hissing a curse. "Shit. Someone heard us."
Ethenriel looked around frantically for a hiding spot. She couldn't be found like this, not now! But before she could gather her wits, Roland was shoving her toward the wall. "Go, go!"
"Go where?"
"Through the window!" Roland stabbed his finger at it. "There are a few stones jutting out from the wall that make for good handholds. You should be able to make it."
They came to a stop at the base of the wall. Ethenriel looked up along the flat of the wall - sure enough, her sharp amber eyes caught sight of the jutting stones. She looked back quickly at Roland, but he was already moving away, waving at her again with a loud hiss. "Get climbing! I'll distract the guard. The worst that happens to me is they send me back inside."
And then he was gone, back around the corner. The hulkynd pushed him out of her mind for the moment - survival came first - and turned back to the wall. It was a daunting climb, but she'd done scarier things in her life. With a deep breath to muster her resolve, she reached for the nearest handholds and began to climb. It was dark, with only the light of Masser and Secunda to guide her. Altmer had better night vision than humans, but that made the task no less intimidating as she fumbled with hands and feet.
She was driven by force of will, however. Fear would not be enough to stop her.
After what felt like an eternity clawing a path up the sheer face of the wall, her hand gripped the windowsill. The Altmer counted her blessings and scrambled up the rest of the way, breathing in lungfuls of air when she had both feet planted on solid ground. Climbing a keep wall in plate and chainmail was no easy task, yet she'd managed it. When Ethenriel glanced back out the window, she saw Roland being escorted back around the front of the keep by a poleaxe-wielding Durand guard. He put himself in the way to protect me, even knowing he would pay for it.
For a moment, she felt her resolve waver. To hurt House Durand would mean to hurt Roland, as well. But Ganelon had been clear when he'd given her this mission. To fail now would certainly stroke her king's ire - and then he might resort to more extreme measures against House Durand than simple forgery.
Ganelon only wants a copy of the House Durand signet ring, she reminded herself. He wants to forge documents that incriminate Dorian of secretly dealing with the Thalmor and arrange to have them intercepted by Iliac League agents. Then the League will tear itself apart from within, leading to House Durand's downfall.
It was a distasteful show of Ganelon's treacherous mind. But Ethenriel knew that the alternative would be much messier and much deadlier for everyone. Civil war. Nobody wants that. House Blackthorn and its allies could win that war, but how would that leave High Rock? Weakened and divided. We would be no better than the Nords.
She pushed away from the windowsill. This was the lesser of two evils. If her deeds here prevented the deaths of thousands in a bloody, internecine struggle like the one ravaging Skyrim today, then she would gladly fulfill her mission. With that thought in mind, the hulkynd steeled herself and made for the door.
The hallway beyond was empty. It seemed that the household troops were concentrated on the gathering of nobles in the feasting room on the ground floor. Ethenriel could hardly believe how empty the halls were as she traversed them carefully, muffling her footsteps with magic. This was almost too easy.
Dorian's room was not far from where she'd entered. The door opened without a sound. She carefully slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, amber eyes scanning her surroundings. There was a great deal of finery and lavish decorations all around, but her gaze fell upon the desk that sat at the end of the room, its back against a pair of large, latticed windows.
The signet ring was in one of the drawers of that desk. She pulled it out of its box and held it up to the moonlight. It was made of silver, and the figure of House Durand's rampant dragon was imprinted in the metal. Here is what I came for.
While she could not steal the ring without immediately arousing suspicion against House Blackthorn the next time Dorian wanted to sign and seal an official document, Ethenriel had another means to acquire a copy. Ganelon had supplied her with an enchanted wax box. She took the signet ring and placed it against the enchanted wax. It immediately encased it, forming a perfect mold of the ring without leaving a trace of residue. After securing the mold in its box, she tucked Dorian's ring back where she'd found it.
It is done. Mission accomplished. The thought brought her no delight.
Returning to the feast was a much simpler task than escaping it. By the time she returned through the front door after dodging more patrolling guards, it seemed like everyone in the chamber had drunk their fair share of Sanguine's Tears. She didn't even need her glamor to slip back into her old spot in the corner by House Blackthorn's table.
Her searching gaze found Roland,who seemed to have not gotten much of a chance to enjoy the wine - he was looking uncomfortably sober as he sat at House Durand's table, poking at his cold meal while ignoring the foodstuffs that Prince William surreptitiously flicked at him. But when Roland saw her again, a bright smile returned to his face. She reciprocated the smile with one of her own, though with a feeling of deep guilt in the pit of her stomach. I am smiling at the one I've betrayed. And he smiles back, oblivious to it, happy only to see I am well.
Ganelon himself finally took notice of her return. She gave her Majesty a short nod, patting her pocket with the ring mold once. The balding man made no show of having seen her gesture. He merely turned back to Dorian sitting across from him and raised his silver goblet. "A toast to you, King Dorian. You have been a most honorable host tonight, and I think we have made appreciable progress in our negotiations."
Dorian, rosy cheeked and grinning, barked a laugh. "Half of the time we were speaking nonsense! We have not even cemented your House's place in the League."
"Then perhaps that means we shall have to arrange for another feast to discuss it," chuckled Ganelon. "But I must insist that we begin to depart."
"Oh, very well. I welcome you to spend the night in the guest quarters of Castle Evermore, King Ganelon. They are certainly large enough to accommodate your party."
"How very generous, King Dorian. Until we meet again, then."
Ganelon stood, and so did his entourage. The entertainers and musicians, full on wine and stumbling over each other, staggered away in the Blackthorn royal family's wake. As the guests began to file out through the front door of the keep, Ethenriel quickened her pace to walk beside her king. "How did the feast go?"
William offered a disdainful snort. "I've had better. House Durand's cooks use too many strange Redguard spices. My breath must smell something dreadful."
King Ganelon grunted: "You've always had a hog's breath, my son. And you, Ethenriel? How did you fare?"
"I fared well," she answered, ignoring William's sputtering rage. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the ring mold, presenting it to Ganelon. "Here is what you requested."
He took it in his hands and opened the box, studying the imprint within. "This is good stuff. And you weren't detected or found out?"
She thought about Roland's smile, his laugh, the look of determination on his face as he'd gone to distract the patrol. "No."
"Good. Can't have any witnesses. It would jeopardize our entire plot." Ganelon admired the ring mold and gave a nasty chuckle. "Such daring, Ethenriel; I truly must commend you on this. No ordinary knight could have succeeded here."
William peered over his father's shoulder at the ring mold, his blue eyes bright with excitement. "What happens next, father?"
Ganelon turned a dark look upon his son. "Now it is time to find a silversmith, and then start drafting some more letters. King Dorian needs to catch up with all his new Thalmor friends, yes?"
Ethenriel winced at the sound of their chuckling laughter. She couldn't help but feel there was far too much malevolent glee in the sound. Thus begins the downfall of House Durand.