"I'm sorry, but I must decline."
"Why you-"
"Stop, Irelith." Balgruuf's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "And may I ask why? If it's about the pay, I assure you that you'll be paid handsomely."
"I'm," John kept his eye on the Dunmer, who'd immediately gone for her sword the moment he'd declined, "Not the type of person you'd want as security."
For a moment, the Jarl was silent, eyes still narrowed at John.
"Are you certain of your decision? I'm willing to give you time to think about it."
"Thank you for the offer, but I still have to say no."
Sighing, Balgruuf leaned into his seat. The former assassin was flattered, all things considered, that the Jarl was willing to hire a stranger on nothing more than a few words. However, that was when his paranoia had kicked in.
The way that the Jarl asked him, it spoke of something else.
"Perhaps some other time then? When you've settled into Whiterun?"
There.
Too much. Too pushy. The Jarl was desperate. Desperate for what, John couldn't tell.
"No."
And for a third time, John declined. At this point, he was ready to bolt. This felt too much like a build up to something. Not an assassination, there were very clearly civilians about, and with how they moved, they were very clearly not trained.
…Now that he thought about it, it wasn't like the presence of civilians had been an issue with Continental dealings, so he couldn't rule out the possibility.
Contrary to what he thought would happen though, the Jarl heaved a sigh of relief. Similarly, though somewhat better hidden, were similar sighs from Irelith.
Abruptly, the Jarl stood up, "We shall be taking a break for a while. We shall resume court in an hour from now." Balgruuf deliberately made eye contact with John. An invitation to a meeting, and by the motion of Irelith's head, that he was to follow her.
It set off more alarm bells for him.
He couldn't just leave though. Or rather, he could, but then where would he go? Skyrim was much, much more dangerous than New York, or any other place on Earth for that matter. To get from one city to another, beyond Jarl Balgruuf's jurisdiction, would mean renting a carriage, and those would be monitored specifically for him had he left now.
He was essentially left with no other choice than to follow along.
…
Irelith was silent as she led him across the entirety of Dragonsreach. They walked through the servant quarts, to the balcony atop the throne room, to even the court wizard's quarters. She pantomimed talking to him at times, even though she remained as quiet as the grave.
Suspicious didn't even cover half of it.
Finally, she led them down into an unused part of the keep. The moment they got close, John could tell that it had been uncared for for a long time. The smell of musty old cheese, the rotting wooden beams, the sheer amount of mold on the walls all told a story of how this part of the keep was blatantly near collapse.
It wasn't unheard of for parts of any building to have less care than others. If this area was in some tucked away location, he would have understood. Nobody would have to come here to clean it if it were just that, as nobody would even check if it was cleaned in the first place.
But no, it wasn't some far off section. This place was just two doors away from the main hall.
Needless to say, John was on guard when Irelith left him silently with Balgruuf at the end of the musty hall.
"Dragonsreach is old, if you can't tell." The Jarl began, staring, almost glaring at the lone door at the end, "Renamed after the defeat of the dragon Numinex by Olaf One-Eye, back during the First Era. When I was younger, I would try to find every little secret this old keep has in store. Sometimes, that feeling resurfaces, when I find a particularly hidden alcove long forgotten by my father, and his father before him. This?"
He gestured to the same door before turning to John, a furiously terrified look on his features, "This I wished I hadn't found."
Cautiously, John approached the man. He was acting erratic. Surely, a path literally visible from his throne wouldn't be as hidden as he claimed it to be? Furthermore, it was just a-
It was not just a door.
The moment his foot hit the ground, just slightly closer than he already was, he felt it. An ominous, foreboding presence. Watching. Waiting.
John was never one to believe in the supernatural. Why would he? He'd seen the worst of humanity, committed some of those even. Had ghosts been real, surely he'd be haunted by hundreds of them by now.
It was not just a door.
It felt like the horror movies Helen and he would watch. He could feel the blood rushing to his heart, pumping more and more adrenaline as he resisted the overwhelming need to run. He hadn't felt like that since he was much, much younger.
"You feel it too, then?" Balgruuf gave a nervous breath, "Aye, it's real. Farengar confirmed as much. Come, step away for a moment and we'll talk."
They did so, though they still kept the door in sight, and John had the distinct impression that the Jarl just plain didn't trust the door to suddenly open up.
"Right, where to begin?" Balgruuf sighed as he shuffled his hand through his beard, "I suppose the beginning will suffice. Back then, just after that dragon attacked Whiterun's western watchtower, the Dragonborn stayed here for a day, just to rest. I thought it only in good faith, after all." John nodded, having already met Nyssa, though keeping that to himself for now.
"I…well, there is no easy way to say this. My relationship to one of my sons is…strained to say the least. Nyssa, the Dragonborn that is, offered to help. I accepted. I thought perhaps that, because I am his father, Nelkir would be more willing to share his woes with someone else. I was correct, to say the least."
Staring once more at the door, more hatefully this time, Balgruuf continued, "Nelkir had been coming here, listening to the damned door."
A sharp breath. How? John could barely stand near it, let alone try and listen to it. What kind of mindset would the boy have had to have to be willing to stay near it.
"Please, don't think badly of my boy." Wearily, the Jarl sighed, "I believe that the door's influence - or rather, what's beyond it - is entirely the reason why he acts the way he does." Nodding once, Balgruuf walks towards the door, producing a key and inserting it into the lock.
"Before I open this, know that the only reason that I am showing you this is that you have no loyalties. Our debts to each other have been paid. There is no reason for any betrayal from either of us, understood?"
Despite the man sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than John, the former assassin nodded. Slowly, reluctantly, the door was unlocked. And just as slowly, John approached the now opened room, the presence seeming to heighten with every step.
The room was just as uncared for as the previous one. Cobwebs, mold, and rocks weathered by water filtering into the cracks. These were all details that John passively took into account. Not that he could think about them, not when that thing was in the center of the room.
Sitting on a stand was a nodachi, its ebony blade gleaming with a malevolent luster in the dim light. The weapon seemed to drink in the darkness around it, radiating an aura of death and despair. Its intricate hilt was adorned with ancient, foreboding runes that pulsed faintly, almost as if the sword itself was alive and waiting.
Balgruuf took a cautious step back, his face a mask of controlled fear. "This," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "is the Ebony Blade. An Artifact of the Daedric Prince Mephala, Prince of Lies and Deceit. I have no idea why it is here, but I found it when I was a young boy. My father and I decided it was too dangerous for any one of us to handle it, fearing the influence of the Daedra, so we sealed it here. I…it was not the best decision, I'll admit. And now, that decision has come back to haunt us, with my own son being its target."
"Why am I here?" John couldn't help but ask. His eyes did not dare to stray from the Blade. When Balgruuf called out the name, the shadows in the room darkened, and he could now feel something actively watching him.
Aedra. The word means 'our ancestors'. The people of Skyrim considered them gods. The opposite of which were Daedra, 'not our ancestors'. Demons.
He had never been for the supernatural, true, and that had never changed.
After all, how can something be supernatural when it was proven that the gods and demons were just another facet of life here?
"Frankly, you were not my first choice. I would have preferred the Vigilants of Stendarr to take it, but since they still haven't replied to my missives, you were the next best option. You have no loyalty to anyone here. No connections. No debts." Balgruuf repeated, "I want this thing out of here, no questions asked. I will pay you fifty thousand Septems just to take it. I don't care what you do with it, only that you get it out of Whiterun."
"If I say no?"
"Then you leave." Balgruuf shrugged helplessly, "As I said, I have no claims on your loyalty. Hell, I have no problems with you going out and telling the people about it. Even they know just how dangerous it is to handle a Daedric Artifact. And more than likely, you would just incentivize someone to steal it, which is a much more preferable outcome than letting it stay here."
"And if I were to be influenced by the Prince?"
"Then you are only one man."
John weighed his options. He could refuse and walk away, but the Jarl's desperation spoke volumes. The blade's influence was growing, and leaving it here would only delay the inevitable.
"Fine," John finally said, his voice steady. "I'll take the blade."
"Oh thank the Divines." The relief was palpable.
"On one condition."
Balgruuf's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Name it."
"I want information," John stated firmly. "About everything related to this blade. If I'm going to take this on, I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."
"Agreed," Balgruuf said. "We'll provide you with all the information we have. Farengar has done extensive research on the blade and its history. He'll share everything with you."
John nodded, "We have a deal."
…
The Ebony Blade was wrapped carefully by cloth, obscuring it from view. That did not stop everyone from getting out of his way, the sheer malevolence that echoed out of it more than enough to drive fear into even the bravest souls. John could feel its presence, even through the thick fabric. It whispered to him, dark promises and temptations that he resolutely ignored.
He had gotten both the information and the gold, though the latter he'd deposited in the Imperial Bank. The only thing he needed now was to get out of here.
John could have denied the Blade in its entirety. Walked away without another thought. Maybe that was even the smart thing to do.
He couldn't.
Wasn't he trying to be a better person? To be more than just John Wick?
What kind of person would he have been if he'd just let this thing fester and taint more and more people? Not a good one, that was for sure.
He couldn't return to Riverwood now. Not with the Ebony Blade in hand. He also couldn't, in good conscience, throw it away, not when it could just be picked up again. Thankfully, he already had an answer. Farengar's notes were of particular help, as did Balgruuf's offhand comments.
The Vigilants hadn't replied to the missives. Maybe they got lost in transit - Skyrim was dangerous after all, and the Vigilants were based all the way near Dawnstar, a journey that would take two or more weeks of travel.
If they couldn't reply, or wouldn't, then he'd just have to bring the package to them himself.
…
Commissioned by: brutalcrab
A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.
And a special thanks to: FireRogueWolf25, brutalcrab and Tassimo.