Preface: Over the holidays, I watched a Let's Play of the Skyrim Romance Mod. And then I watched another one, and a third. Then I found some reviews on the mod. After talking to some folks on Tumblr and doing some drafting, I've begun writing a story following my Dragonborn as she deals with Bishop on top of her past and the current Dragon Crisis. Later on, she reconnects with Ulfric Stormcloak, who she knew during theGgreat War, though he didn't know her.

Beta: Thank you to the lovely ravenmind2001 on Tumblr for proofing this fic for me! Unless otherwise noted, she'll be the beta for all proceeding parts to this story.

Anti Bishop: I and several others in TESblr view this mod in a negative light, particularly Bishop, who many of us actually hate. He's behavior comes off as rapey and he often gaslights the F!LDB and reacts in anger when she doesn't comply with what he wants. That's part of what we're exploring here. If you liked this mod and want to maintain your good opinion of it, then pease, turn back now. This content isn't for you. However, if you're like me and dislike this mod and Bishop, then please, continue reading! Though we have to travel a dark road to get there, Bishop will get his jusst desserts in the end, and I promise it will be satisfying.

Content Warnings: While it'd be easy to say Bishop is his own warning and be done with it, I understand that many people appreciate more detail in the interest of their mental and emotional health. As I said, we have a dark road to walk before the triumphant ending - a dark night of the soul, if you will. Here I would like to add a blanket warning for the fic: stalking, dub-con, gaslighting, sexual assault/non-con all apply! I will do my best to mark each trigger at the head of the chapter it appears in. I will denote in the text where to stop readying with three asterisks * and a second pair of asterisks * to mark when the scene is over.

Content Warning for this Chapter: Physical assault. Content Warning Overview at the end of the chapter.

Pairing/s: Female Last Dragonborn/Bishop (one sided); Female Last Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak (endgame)

Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda; the Skyrim Romance Mod was created by Mara and is available for download on Nexus Mods.

Connect: Check me out on Tumblr at nerevar-quote-and-star. Fic tag: i didn't know you were keeping count


Part I: Rat

"What do you mean you left the dossier?"

"I mean exactly that! Guards entered the solar while I was reading it."

"You should've just grabbed it and ran."

"I should have done what I did: slipped in and out without disturbing any of the dossiers, leaving the Thalmor blind to just what we were after."

Delphine's pale face pinched. Leara waited for her to press the issue; aggressive needling seemed to be this woman's primary interrogation method, but to her relief, Delphine moved on. "So, what do we know?"

"He's alive and the Thalmor think he's somewhere in the Rift."

A flicker of relief and anxiety played a tug-of-war with Delphine's face. "If the Thalmor think he's in the Rift, then he must be. Are you sure it didn't say where specifically?"

Leara sighed, "I had to skim the last few paragraphs rather quickly or the guards would have found me." Then, "I suppose you want me to cover the entire Rift for Esbern?"

The younger Blade shot her a look. "We need to find him. Even with your caution, the Thalmor have us at a disadvantage. If they decide to act on their information, we may be too late to get him out of there alive." By 'we' she meant 'you', but Leara wasn't going to complain about that. She remembered Delphine's bullheaded and know-it-all attitude from before the war when the Breton was only a Knight-Sister too small to fit her armor. Years of hiding and acute paranoia only served to erode her tolerability further. Not a charitable thought, Leara mused, but an accurate assessment. The Kynesgrove dragon was enough.

"I suppose I'll be off then." And Leara stood to leave.

Delphine stopped her. "Wait just a moment. You can't do this by yourself."

"Are you coming, then?" Leara asked, resigned.

Delphine shook her head. "I need to stay here. It'll become too obvious if we keep leaving together. The Thalmor have eyes and ears everywhere. No, I want you to take Bishop."

"Who?"

"Bishop. He's a ranger who's been hanging around the common room for a while now. Has a bit of a reputation. Brutally efficient from what I hear. But keep intelligence on a need-to-know. All he needs to know is what he's tracking and where. Don't mention the Blades or the Thalmor or anything that could send him running for the authorities." A reputation for what? Leara wanted to ask, but Delphine waved her off. "You'd best get going. Remember, this is life or death. We've got to find Esbern before it's too late!"

"Of course." Leara lifted her satchel and sword belt from where Delphine had stored them. Strapping it to her waist, she nodded to Delphine. "I'll find him."

Delphine called out to her when she reached the stairs. Leara looked back. "And when you find him, just, ask him where he was on the 30th of Frostfall. He'll know what it means."

"I understand." More than Delphine knew.


At first glance, the barroom was empty when she entered, save for Embry, deep in his cups, and Orgnar, who was wiping down the bar. A second glance and she saw him; in the far corner was a figure swathed in leather so dark it faded into the surrounding shadows where the hearth light didn't reach. Leara slipped over.

"You're a ranger, yes?"

The man looked up at her with a lazy tilt of his head, his pale eyes giving her a once-over. "Who's asking?"

"I am." Leara dropped a coin purse on the table. "I need someone to track down an individual for me."

The man, Bishop as Delphine called him, didn't even look at the coin purse. "Woah, hold your horses, lady! I never said you could hire me."

Leara bit her tongue behind her smile. "I'm sorry, you are Bishop?"

"Last time I checked," Bishop huffed.

"Listen, I need help tracking an older gentleman in the Rift. He's lost and it's time for him to come home."

"That kind of sap could choke a spriggan," Bishop said, rolling his eyes. "The Rift, you say? I might just take you up on your offer – if you do me a favor."
Leara cocked her hip to the side and her head to the other. "What kind of 'favor' are we talking about?"

Bishop barked a laugh. "Don't flatter yourself! Besides, you're not my type. I need some help retrieving something of mine."

Did he just insinuate that she thought he wanted her to–? Never mind. "Well, what is it?"

Bishop cleared his throat. "I was tracking my wolf, Karnwyr, around here. We were separated while hunting a week ago. I've been hearing rumors of bandits holding pit fights this side of Skyrim. He's all I've got, and that's the only lead, so I'm off to shut them down before something happens to him.

"Where is he?"

From his jacket, Bishop pulled a leather-bound roll. He pushed his empty tankard to the side and spread it out to reveal a map of Skyrim. He stabbed a finger at a dark pinprick just north of Shor's Stone on the border between the Rift and its northern neighbor, Eastmarch. "Lost Knife Hideout's my guess. He's not a bad-looking wolf. Strong and ferocious. They want him for pit fights, maybe for breeding. Not that he'd complain about that part."

Leara grimaced. There was something off about this man, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She did need help finding Esbern, though, and Delphine said this man was good, or at least good at tracking. Helping him find his wayward wolf might cost time, but it may cost her more to try and track down the loremaster on her own in a country she was still woefully unfamiliar with. "All right, I'll help you find your dog."

Bishop rolled his map and stood in one swift notion. Leara was a little dismayed to find he was taller than her. As an Altmer with mixed Breton ancestry, she was still eye to eye with many of the Nord men she encountered. Bishop was at least half a head taller than her, practically as tall as a frost troll. He had the shoulders of one, too. "Great, we set out now!"

"Now?" Leara took a step back from the suddenly too-small corner.

"Yeah now. Time's a-wastin', your ladyship."

Leara took one glance back at the barroom. Embry was passed out on a table and Orgnar was gone. But there Delphine stood behind the counter, a reassuring smile pinching her pale face. It almost looked sincere. Suppressing a sigh, Leara adjusted her satchel and followed Bishop out into the dark spring night.


When Leara ascended High Hrothgar to answer the summons of the Greybeards, it was late winter, and ice still covered over two-thirds of the Seven Thousand Steps. That trip took her three weeks from Whiterun, given the poor weather conditions and her unfamiliarity with the territory. Her descent was quicker; the snows were melting by the time she hit ground again in Ivarstead and set off for Ustengrav. That was late First Seed. It was now Second Seed, and southern Skyrim was bathed in sun and temperate warmth.

Bishop had her at Lost Knife Hideout in four days.

Four, because apparently, she shook her hips while walking and that "slowed them down", or something.

Ignoring Bishop was becoming second nature, by this point. She'd ignore him entirely by just walking away, but she agreed to help him get his wolf back and wouldn't go back on her word. And she still needed his help to find Esbern. From what she'd seen in their cut through the Jeralls, Bishop knew the wilds of Skyrim like the back of his hand. Delphine wasn't kidding about his reputation as a tracker, at least. As much as Leara loathed to admit it, her lack of knowledge would be Esbern's doom, and she needed all the help she could get. Bishop was necessary.

They found the wolf in the pit, stuck in a cage neighboring a sabercat on one side and a pair of rabid, screeching skeevers on the other. The ringleader of the pit was going nuts, calling for anyone and everyone in his gang to come down and fight him. Leara shook her head with pity before sending an icy spear spiraling into the bandit's chest. The sharp shhtk of ice and iron trilled in the air. The caged animals whined. Beside her, Bishop whistled. "I'm impressed! I didn't think a woman like you had it in ya!"

Leara snorted as Bishop sauntered his way past the cages of snarling, biting predators to his wolf. "There you are, you mangy mutt! The Hell were you thinking, getting trapped and making me track you all the way to this gods' forsaken place?" Karnwyr laid down, his paws cast woefully over his muzzle. Leara only just restrained a snort. "There, there. I say we play a little game for old times' sake. I shoot an arrow into one of these bandit bastards' knees, and you can go rip his face off!"

Karnwyr woofed in clear excitement, bounding out of the cage. Leara, from her place at the control lever, cleared her throat. "You'll have to play your little game somewhere else."

Bishop didn't look up from where he was scratching Karnwyr's ears. "What?"

"We've already killed everyone here," Leara clarified. He was just too busy calling her a swamp boar to notice the half-frozen corpses oozing congealed blood as she – they fought their way through.

"Ri-ight." Bishop got to his feet, his wolf beside him. He reminded her of Ralof's nephew and his dog as they stomped around Riverwood, brandying words at travelers and bossing the blacksmith's daughter around. She also recalled the girl giving him a good wallop more than once.

Silence, save for the still-caged animals. Neither the Dragonborn nor the ranger moved to free them. "Well, I guess that's it then, your, ladyship," Bishop said at length as Leara perused a chest full of broken iron and steel bracers.

She looked over at him. "You're still helping me track my friend down, yeah?" He'd better . . .

"Don't worry, sweetness. I'm not going to leave you high and dry after you helped me. Even a wolf knows loyalty," he smirked. Leara didn't twitch. She didn't. "Who knows what kind of trouble we can find ourselves in along the way."

"Yes, well, I'm sure trouble will find us soon enough," Leara mused, her mind going to the Thalmor. Elenwen shouldn't have recognized her, no one should've, and yet . . . Something about the entire incident at the Embassy was still biting at her, and it wasn't just the race to find Esbern. She was missing something, something important . . .

"Hm, I'm looking forward to that."

Funny, because she wasn't.


"First place we should go is Riften, the spring from which all things rotten flow. If your old man is in the Rift, someone there will know about it. Several someones, if we're lucky."

"Hm," came Leara's answer.

Karnwyr pressed his nose into the palm of her glove. Smiling softly, she patted his head. Even if Bishop was, well, odd, at least his wolf was nice. Her hand fell as they approached the gate. A guard stepped into their path before they reached it, the eye slits of his helmet dark and foreboding. Leara almost rolled her eyes.

He held his hand out, and the two travelers halted. "Hold there. Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

Leara clasped her hands together. "Right, and what's the tax for?"

"For the privilege of entering the city," the guard replied. "What does it matter?"

"It matters," Bishop began, "because you're just another pig who thinks he can extort a pretty face for a few coins." Before Leara could speak, he was in the guard's face. From the corner of her eye, she could see other guards nearby reach for their swords. They didn't draw, but Bishop was clearly pushing them to that point. "Or maybe," the ranger went on, heedless, "you think you can get her into your bed, have her open her—"

"Quiet, you!"

"Why you—"

"Bishop, stop!"

The guard had his sword out, the others were getting dangerously close with their own drawn weapons, and Bishop was looking at her in rebuke. By Akatosh, what a mess! She yanked Bishop's arm back, throwing him off balance and putting herself between him and the cluster of guards now standing between them and the gates, all with drawn swords. If she could see through their helmets, she imagined they'd all look as happy as a minotaur, too. She repressed the urge to pinch her nose. "I'm sorry, guardsman. He's not used to civilized customs."

"Hey – oww!" Leara stamped on his foot.

Another of the guards appeared beside the first. "Say what you will. No one's getting in without paying the tax, and after that little display, we've half a mind not to let him in at all." All the guards nodded in unison. Drones, the lot of them.

"I'll pay twice the amount," Leara said evenly.

The guards all looked at each other. The first one shrugged, the second nodded, and the third held out his hand for her coin purse. "Two hundred septims, no less, though more is always appreciated."

Bishop was growling like a dremora behind her, but Leara silently handed over her coin purse. There were some odd two hundred coins in it, which wasn't easy to pool together, but the loss was worth getting through the absolute disaster that entering the sewage drain of Skyrim had become. The third guard took it in hand, weighing it thoughtfully before nodding. The first produced a key and with purposefully slow steps, escorted Leara and the seething mass of leather that was Bishop to the gate. He took his time unlocking it; Leara could feel Bishop boiling behind her, ready to shoot off again, consequences be damned.

She'd never tasted Black-Briar Mead, but if she were on any other mission, tonight would be a great chance to go swimming in it.

"Thank you," she smiled demurely to the guard as they passed into the city.

"I've got my eye on you," was the hard reply.

(*)(*)(*)

The golden smile on Leara's face wavered once they were clear of the gate and its guards. It slipped away entirely when Bishop dragged her into an alley and thrust her against a wall. Wooden planks dug awkwardly into the backplate of her silver armor, but she remained still. She inhaled, the beginnings of Unrelenting Force stirring into a gale in her mouth when his hand pressed into her windpipe.

No.

"Don't you ever do that again!" he hissed, looming over her face. "Do you not understand what corrupt guards like that do to beautiful women like you? They'll use you once and then expect favors any time you come through town!"

"Get – off – me . . ."

"Stupid woman," Bishop growled. Nonetheless, he backed off her.

Leara gasped, her knees threatening to buckle as she took in air. "I can't believe you'd just let them hustle you liked that!" he growled.

Leara coughed. By Akatosh. "Hustle me? They didn't hustle me! I bribed them to keep them from turning you into a pincushion!"

"Oh, was that what that was?" Bishop lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Next time, sweetness, let me handle the guards." With that, he turned and walked away toward the other end of the alleyway. Without missing a beat, he called back over his shoulder, "Next time you want to play rough, try and give a man a warning, all right? I want an equal share of the fun, after all."

(*)(*)(*)

Leara gaped after him as the Nord disappeared around the corner. Beside her, Karnwyr whined, clearly agitated with everything that just happened. "Yeah, me too, boy, me too."

She found Bishop at a railing, eyeing the market square with cutting scrutiny. She hung back as he watches a redheaded Nord pitch a scheme about 'Falmer's Blood Elixir' or something. It sounded like a scam, but that was none of Leara's business. She skirted around the canal, just out of Bishop's periphery. She was unready to rejoin him after that aggressive display. Did Delphine know he acted like that? Talked like that? That was the kind of behavior she knew the younger Blade wouldn't put up with, but it still made her wonder just why Delphine thought Leara needed help. This was one more item on a growing list that screamed of Delphine doubting her ability. With few friends in Skyrim and fewer answers to the ongoing dragon crisis, Leara didn't come to that decision lightly. No, it pressed down on her like a millstone.

The streets of Riften were a winding mess of wooden buildings and stone fences crushed together between canals that wound like ribbons through the city. Moments after slipping down a side street, the market disappeared from sight, and the pressing presence of Bishop lifted from her skin. She hadn't felt so scrutinized since the war. Something about this was different from the smoke and mirrors espionage she was forced to engage in back then, but that didn't make it any less troubling.

The sooner she found Esbern, the sooner she could part paths with the ranger and get on with this saving the world business.

She rounded another corner and jogged down the empty street by a few quiet residences. The bustling noise of the market hummed in the distance, not quite drowning out the slurring whisper of the canal ways as they flowed into the lake. It reminded her of Bravil, if a bit less muddy and haphazard. At the next corner, the cobblestone street split back toward the docks, so Leara took the other direction. It was just as vacant as the previous one. Where was everyone?

"All right, traveler! Give me all your money!"

Leara spun on her heel, her hand wrapping around the hilt of her katana. Off to the side, in an alcove made between a garden wall and the next building over stood a scrawny youth in scruffy leathers. Dark hair fell into his face, only to be pushed back by a shaking hand. Though she hadn't drawn her weapon, the boy looked ready to pass out at the mere sight of her. Beside her, Karnwyr growled, his hair standing on end.

"Oh no, no, no!" he mumbled, distraught, "Why did it have to be you?"

"Pardon? What are you talking about?" By the look of this kid, he was either off his medication or on skooma. Probably both.

"Why did it have to be you?" he carried on. The boy stepped toward her – and Leara stepped back, the hand on her hilt tightening. Still, she didn't draw. This screamed of desperation and hero worship. He stood in the middle of the street, his hands clasped, beseeching. "The only goddess every bard in Skyrim should be singing about?"

By the Nine, was he serious?

Discomfort and resignation settled over her shoulders with growing familiarity. Leara grimaced. "Stop, now."

He ignored her. "Oh, it hurts my heart so! I must ask for all the gold that you are carrying on your very beautiful—"

In a whirl of silver and red, Leara pinned the would-be thief on the ground, her knee and boot centered on his chest and stomach. Her katana remained sheathed, but she didn't need it to keep him in check. The boy looked up at her in absolute terror, his throat bobbing like the beating heart of a rabbit. "Listen," she hissed, and the boy's watery eyes darted from a snarling Karnwyr to focus on her face. "I'm in town looking for information and you've just volunteered yourself as my little guide. Congratulations! If you cooperate, there may be something material in store for you at the end. If you don't, well, I know how to dispose of trash. Do you understand?"

Frantic nodding.

"What's your name?"

"R-Raven!"

"Nice to meet you, Raven!" Leara stood and hauled the boy to his feet. She pointedly did not address the wet spot expanding across the front of his trousers. She did not want to know. Ever. "Now come on," she said, wrapping her hand around Raven's bicep. "I need to find someone, and you look like you're the one who has all the answers!"

Raven colored darkly. "I, I do?"

"Of course!" Leara laughed, light and warm. "After all, you know who I am, and I've never even been to this part of Skyrim before!"

Raven quickly regained his footing, physical and verbal. "Of course I do! How could I not?" If she wasn't hauling him by the arm, it might have appeared as if they were two friends out for an afternoon walk with their dog. But this wasn't anything so benign. "The legend of your beauty has spread across all of Skyrim! Every voice sings your praises, waiting for the day they meet you!"

"Yes, quite," Leara nodded, her insides cringing. That's just what she needed. A rabble of Raven-like fanatics waiting for her everywhere she goes. "But let's keep my presence here our special secret. Can we do that, Raven?" His mouth wagged open. Leara pressed on: "Now this is important! If someone were to go into hiding, who here would know how to find them?"

"The bartender at The Ragged Flagon," Raven said, now uncaring that she was manhandling him hostage. She had the unfortunate suspicion that he was into it.

"Can you escort me there?"

"Yes, yes, I can, my, uh, Dragonborn," Raven stuttered.

Following his pointed directions, Leara and Raven wound their way to one of the canals which flowed by what she assumed was the jarl's keep. A set of rickety stairs jutted out past the railing. They were on the second step down to the lower level when Bishop appeared, hair ruffled and mouth downturned. "What's this, ladyship? Getting down and dirty with the sewer rats now?"

Beside her, Raven blushed, this time from embarrassment. Nonplussed, Leara just scoffed. "I'm doing your job: finding the answers to my questions. Raven here has been lovely enough to help." Unlike you, but she refrained from adding that. Only just.

Bishop's pale green eyes fell on Raven. "Raven, huh? Bit scrawny for your tastes, eh, darling?"

"My tastes bear little weight on the matter," was Leara's terse reply. "Now if you're still coming, we're heading down to – where are we going again?"

"The Ratway!" Raven perked up.

"Yes, thank you," Leara nodded. "Now, Bishop, as I was saying—"

"Hold up!" the ranger cut in. "Are you serious? I've taken good care of you for days now, but at the first sign of trouble, you turn to this street rat? That's low, sweetness, especially for someone so high and mighty as you! I have half a mind to leave you here and strike back out on my own." He looked like he meant it, too, but that didn't phase Leara.

"You're welcome to do what you wish," she told him flatly. "I hired you to help me find someone. You've brought me to Riften, and I've found someone who can help me in the next stage of my mission. Your work is down, Ranger. Return to your wilds." Raven squirmed beside her. Leara ignored him. Years of solo operations, and this is what she was reduced to! She proceeded down the steps, Karnwyr at her heels.

"Now wait just a minute! Dragonborn or not, we're in a little too deep together for you to just get rid of me like that!" With that, Bishop swung over the railing. Leara and Raven kept walking. He followed them down to the lower walkway. "In the last week, I've saved your hide more times than I can count! I'm not about to let you waltz into the damn Ratway on a haunch with this skeever-faced prick breathing down your neck!"

Silence. Leara's jaw tightened as a nervous Raven stumbled across a plank bridge to another walkway. He would have fallen into the canal if not for her tight hold on him.

It was in a huff of agitation that the small party entered a little side door in the stone-lined canal wall. It was set further back in the stone than many of the other doors they passed, hidden behind a stack of barrels and a barred door that swung silently inward once pushed. The wooden door did the same. Beyond it yawned a dark hole, silent save for the distant drip drop of water and the faint scurrying of little claws. This was the gateway to the city under the city, and though no guard held the gate, there was a sense that entering would exact a heavier price than the tax the Riften guards extorted from travelers.

Bishop's hand caressed her shoulder. "You don't have to go in there."

"Yes, I do," Leara said, and she plunged into the dark, slipping from Bishop's hold while dragging Raven behind her. She pulled the young thief to her side. "Now, where is this 'Ragged Flagon'?"

"This way," Raven pointed, subdued. Whatever creepy act he was putting on before, Bishop seemed to have scared it out of him. She could thank him for that, at least. Or would if he'd stop yelling at her.

Sneaking through the dark in a group was a new challenge in itself. Leara hadn't done anything quite like it since she fled through the Skingrad catacombs, but this wasn't nearly as dangerous. It was thunderously quiet; save for Raven's whispered directions whenever they reached a turn or came across a room with too many offshoots to count, the only sounds were those of the ever-present water and the denizens of the dark maze. Bishop remained blissfully quiet, which Leara was thankful for. She didn't need another swamp boar comment.

It was forever later, not long after their descent into the tunnels, that they reached a door illuminated by lanterns and a curious mark scratched deep and bold against the faded stone. Leara gave it a passing look as Raven led them through this new door into a well-lit, cavernous room. Across a great cistern of water was a floating barge anchored to a stone alcove lined with crates and tables. At the back was a bar, behind which a man stood serving various people in worn leather armor not dissimilar to the set Raven wore.

"The Thieves Guild. So, this is where you lot scurry off to," Bishop said.

Thieves Guild. Of course. "The bartender, you said?"

"Oh, yes, Dragonborn!" Raven said, all superfluous prose gone. Though she wasn't a fan of his methods, Bishop at least served as a good fanatic repellent. "Vekel the Man is just the man for your, ha, task."

"Lovely." Releasing his arm, Leara made her way along the cistern's perimeter, flexing her fingers.

"Fair lady," Raven called out after her. "What about my gold?"

"You already have it," she shot over her shoulder. "You took a coin purse from my belt while this one and I were arguing." Bishop roared with laughter as the thief spluttered behind them, and Leara herself couldn't help the giggle that escaped.

As they neared the bar, she couldn't help but notice the gaunt faces contorted by the flickering candlelight that watched her as she and her companion passed by. Karnwyr bumped his head into her leg, his tail down between his legs. The atmosphere here was just what she'd expect from a bar of thieves: cold and distrustful. She didn't blame them, though. Even in a city as corrupt as Riften was said to be, crime didn't pay, not really. These people were miserable. Miserable and so very useful.

"Excuse me?" she called, stepping up to the bar. From the corner of her eye, a burly man absolutely covered in blond hair got to his feet. She could feel Bishop tense behind her when the bouncer took a heavy step forward. "I'd like two ales and a word, thanks." She said, coming to the counter.

The bartender gave her a dark look over the tankard he was cleaning; nonetheless, he pulled two dusty bottles of ale from under the bar and slid them over once Leara passed the requisite number of coins his way. At the rate she was losing money, she was going to have to get a regular-paying job. Being the Dragonborn wasn't as lucrative as it once was when being Dragonborn was synonymous with titles such as 'emperor'.

"There's two things to do at the Flagon," the bouncer said, coming up beside them. He was shorter than Bishop but no less dangerous, "Spend coin and then get out."

"I would just like to ask a question," Leara replied, turning an even, open gaze to Vekel, who looked, if possible, more distrustful than his bouncer.

"We don't take too kindly to people poking their noses around down here," he said. "Best take your drinks and get out before there's trouble."

"Listen, pal," Bishop spoke over Leara's attempt to persuade the barkeep. "This woman has come a long way to find her father. The only lead she's got led her here. The least you can do is accept whatever she's willing to give you and give her what she wants in return!"

"Listen, buddy," growled the bouncer. "You have five seconds to get lost before. I toss you out on your head!"

Vekel waved the bouncer down, frowning as he studied Leara. "I don't know about in prissy old Altmer skulking around, but there've been plenty others of your kind in here recently. I'm going to tell you same as I told all them: I don't know who lives in the warrens, much less the rest of the Ratway. You want information, find it for yourself or get lost. I'm not getting involved."

Others? The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on in. the Thalmor were here, somewhere, and if they were openly showing themselves here and asking questions, then Esbern was a lot nearer than she originally thought. Which meant they were running out of time!

Unopened bottle of ale in hand, Leara shuffled back from the bar, colliding with Bishop, and pushing him away from the growling bouncer. The warrens. They needed to get to the warrens! But which way?

Around her, the gaggle of bottom feeders nursed at their own tables, save one dark-haired fellow. Something tugged at the back of Leara's mind as she watched him exit the tavern toward the Ratway. Vekel's gruff laugh caught her attention. "If you want to try your luck in the warrens, door's back there. Watch yourself, you and your brooding boyfriend. Worse things than Dirge live down there." The bouncer, Dirge, flashed a yellowed smile full of menace.

"Thank you," Leara called over her shoulder as she hurried to the door, Bishop and Karnwyr on her heels. It was dusty, surrounded by cobwebs, and she wondered if it was the only way in or out of these warrens. If there was a way for them to slip by the Thalmor – or for the Thalmor to cut them off.

Everything depended on finding Esbern, and soon.

Dust motes stirred into the air, setting off a chorus of sneezes as the door shut ominously, sealing off any trailing lights from the tavern and shrouding them in the dark. Wiping her nose, Leara cast a dim magelight overhead. A ring of light revealed a dusty stone path, undisturbed save for the prominent trail left bare by many scurrying feet. Whether it was made by the inhabitants or from Thalmor agents, Leara wasn't sure, but she didn't want to stick around and find out.

"Come on," she whispered over her shoulder, palm raised to maintain the light at low brightness. "We don't have much time!"

"Who're we looking for, anyway?" Bishop hissed back. "Not your old man, clearly."

"No," Leara said. "He's a very dear friend of mine and he's in very real danger if we don't find him."

"Sounds serious!" There was a note of amusement in Bishop's voice. "Should I be jealous, darling?"

Jealous? No? Leara was quiet as she waved a rune of life detection over her eyes. All around her, thousands of pale pink pinpricks appeared in the dark: insects, spiders, and rats. A few skeevers. These were of little concern to her. It was the larger masses of violet smoke, pulsing with each individual heartbeat that drew her attention. Many were indistinguishable from each other, blurry and unfamiliar as a tree line on the horizon. Most of these were distant, either sealed behind doors or too far away to pose much concern—yet –but she studied each one, looking for a glimmer of familiarity in the swirling souls.

"And now she's ignoring me! Typical."

"Swamp boar," Leara coughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, it's just dusty down here."

"Nothing a little natural air won't clear up once we're done putting out old flames, eh, sweetness?" She could almost hear him wagging his eyebrows. "I know of a few hiding spots in the Rift's forests. There we can be alone with no distractions – and perhaps—"

"Shh, I smell something!" The hot etheric tang of electricity filled her nose. Her skin prickled in warning. "We're not alone down here. I'm going to put out the light. I need you to trust me!"

Bishop scoffed. "Let me make this clear: I don't trust anyone, not even the man pouring my drink." Says the guy she found drinking his way through the Sleeping Giant's ale stores. "The only two things I trust anymore are myself and my wolf, got it?"

"Yes, yes," Leara hissed, dismissive. She grabbed his hand, the magelight winking out and leaving them in the pitch black. Karnwyr brushed against her leg, present and silent. At least someone understood her. Illusionary magic dripped in quiet waves from her fingers, muffling their steps – and Bishop's mouth, though he probably wouldn't notice. Mundanes. There didn't seem to be an ounce of magical talent in him, which was for the best.

The moonstone ring on her hand burned cold, chilling her skin and pushing her magicka reserves beyond their natural limit. Engulfed in the dark and the specters of life in a smoky haze only she could see, Leara pulled the ranger behind her Karnwyr's rosy form following close by, as she searched with methodic precision amongst the signs of life for one she knew.

The smell of lightning grew heavier.

The ring sent frostbite crawling up her hand.

She almost missed it – would have, if not for the reflection of a spiraling tower over crystal waters, a snowbank high against ancient stones, a hall full of tables occupied by brothers and sisters. She saw these things sung in the heartbeat of another life, recognizable as they lived in her own soul.

Clairvoyance was a tricky spell. Some claimed it blindly led them to destiny. Others dismissed its use entirely. Leara used it as a lasso, binding it to her goal and drawing herself toward it as a mountaineer pulls himself up a cliff face. The icy moonstone bit into her hand, a cold reminder of just how much magicka she was pouring out and of the limited ability of the ring to support her. Just a little more . . .

In a muffled bubble, she pulled Bishop deeper and deeper into the twisted labyrinth. If at any time he protested when she brought them to a sudden halt or made a hasty turn to avoid the other souls wandering in the dark, she didn't hear it over the blanket of illusion. It was a cheap remedy; she knew that, and yet his inability to Not Talk was a serious liability.

The soul grew closer, less than a dozen yards away. Leara sacrificed life detection for a Nighteye spell that washed the lightless warrens in a green glow. Squinting, to keep her own magical glimmer as small as possible, Leara led the way up a set of stairs and across a stone archway that she'd have otherwise missed. She felt more than heard Bishop grunt as they made the ascent.

And then they were there, the tether of clairvoyance pulling her along a ledge before disappearing through a heavy metal door. It stood as an imposing barrier in a corner, easy to miss when traipsing blind through the warrens. The entrance to a bolt hole, and she knew who was inside.

Releasing the clairvoyance, she felt the muffle dissipate as well. Warmth began to seep back into her ring, thawing the frost just under her skin. Untaxed save for the Nighteye, it replenished her well without overdrawing. Leara stood trembling for a moment, then two, allowing her equilibrium to reorient itself.

"Hey, you all right? You're trembling." Concern failed to mask the obvious amusement in the ranger's tone. "What were you even doing?" he added when she didn't answer.

"I was blindly fumbling through the dark in a very dignified fashion, thank you," she snapped, unwilling to explain the amount of magic she'd performed just to get them there without incident. Electricity still stung her nose.

"Fine, don't tell me!" he said in a huff.

Leara rolled her eyes. She rapped a prim staccato of taps in a dizzying pattern. It thudded a deep, erratic beat reminiscent of children beating at drums.

Silence. Then— "Go away."

"Esbern," she called out. "Esbern, it's me, it's Elanor."

He wasted no time in replying. "That's impossible. Elanor was executed. The Thalmor found her – and if you know about her, then no doubt you're one of them. Leave me alone!"

Leara placed a palm on the door, restraining herself from pounding into it with a fist so cold it would shatter metal. To the side, Bishop was mouthing words like 'Elanor', 'executed', and 'Thalmor' like he was practicing for a spelling test. "Esbern," she began again, soft but still loud enough to be heard through the heavy barrier. "It's Elanor. I was there when they ordered the executions. If you remember the 30th of Frostfall, then the 7th of Frostfall haunts me every time I close my eyes. That was the day I was forced to watch all my brothers and sisters lose their lives to the Dominion."

"It's a trick." She could hear the tears in his voice the same as she felt them welling in her eyes, clogging her throat.

"It's not."

"All this emotion is giving me a stomachache," groused Bishop.

"Then stop eavesdropping and keep an eye out for the Thalmor!" bit Leara.

"I don't know if your ladyship has noticed, but we're standing in the dark."

"Aren't you a hunter? You have other senses attuned to tracking than just your eyes," she snapped before turning back to the door. The ring and shudder of locks and bolts scraping against metal were her only warning before the door slowly swung open. A thin candle hovered before a gaunt old face, lined with more than just the long years since the war and the fall of their order. "Esbern."

"It's you," he whispered. "Elanor, you're alive! How can this be? But, no, come inside, come inside." The candlelight and its ghost drew back into the hole. Leara followed, whispering for Bishop to keep a watch at the door. He rolled his eyes but stood at the post. The Nighteye fizzled out as she entered the room, Karnwyr following.

It was sparsely decorated, but much cleaner than she imagined many of the other holes in the Ratway were. A table and chair, both stacked with books, and a broken cupboard took up one end of the room while a thin bed and padlocked chest occupied the other. Candle stubs her dotted around the room, creating a dim and dismal atmosphere. The mood was reflective of her own.

"Now," Esbern was saying. "You had best tell me how you survived the massacre in Summerset when every other Blades agent was found and killed. How did you do it?"

"I was a shadow," she began, mind suddenly distant, lost to the past. The burn of a different ring and the sticky guise of Alteration magic clung to her skin. In those days, she didn't know the woman she saw in the mirror. Neither did the Dominion. "The Grandmaster sent me to infiltrate the Dominion. By the time I was in a high enough position to know what was going on, it was too late to try and warn anyone without revealing myself." Sometimes, usually at night, she still doubted that she did the right thing.

Esbern's face was drawn, deep in thought. "As relieved as I am to know you're alive," he began. She could hear the 'but' coming. "Why did you search for me?" There it was. "The Thalmor have been seen in the Ratway. It was only a matter of time before they found me, and now when they come, they will find you as well." He shuffled over to his stack of books, lifting one and studying its cover. "It's all hopeless."

"Hopeless?" Leara echoed. "How can you say that?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake-up and see what's going on?" Esbern shook his book at her, his eyes were bloodshot. Karnwyr whined. "Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him!" He deflated then, small and wraithlike in the dark. Leara's heart ached. "I tried to tell them. They wouldn't listen. Fools. It's all come true . . . all I could do was watch our doom approach . . ."

The weight of the world settled across Leara's shoulders. Esbern was wrong. There was one thing that could stand between mankind and the end of the world.

Her.

"Oh, yes. It's all been foretold," the old chronicler nodded, catching sight of her drawn face. "The end has begun. Alduin has returned."

Akatosh help her. "The only thing that stands between him and the world is the Dragonborn," she said. Karnwyr pushed into her hand, shifting so it fell on his head.

"Yes, but no Dragonborn has been known for centuries," Esbern said. "All the Blades' waiting and watching, and it was in vain. No Dragonborn has come." He sighed, "It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They've left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater."

"They haven't," Leara spoke up. She squared her shoulders, internal crisis packed away to be dealt with later. "Esbern, it's me. I'm the Dragonborn. By the grace of Akatosh, I'm here."

A mix of emotions spun across Esbern's face: shock, disbelief, realization, relief, and last of all hope. Hope settled on his face as the old Blade took her hand, his worn hand eclipsing her small golden one. "What? You're . . . can it really be true? Dragonborn? Then . . . then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must, we must . . .we must go, quickly now!"

Leara and Esbern made quick work of gathering his books and papers together. Over the years, the chronicler collected a wealth of knowledge on the Alduin, the dragons, and the prophecy of the Last Dragonborn. The thought of the Last burned in Leara's heart. All those years the Blades spent waiting for a new Dragonborn after the death of the last Septim emperor, and for decades, the one they searched for had been one of their order. The irony was not lost on her as she shouldered one of Esbern's bookbags, laden down with books about her processors, stretching back to St. Alessia and her covenant with Akatosh.

"Hey, ladyship? Something's out there, and I don't think it's one of those vagrants we slipped by earlier."

They were out of time.

"Do you know another way out of here?" she asked.

Esbern nodded. "Yes, come. We should proceed cautiously."

Back into the dark, across the ledge, over the arch, and down the stairs. The electricity in the air sent every fiber of Leara's being on edge. Not even in the embassy had it been this rampant. She hadn't felt this much electricity since the war.

Crack! A brilliant sliver of light shot through the air. Leara pushed forward with Esbern, and the bolt collided with the wall. Sparks ricocheted, snapping on her armor. Esbern cried out. Karnwyr howled. Bishop cursed.

"There's the Blades agent! Kill her!"

"Run!"

Temperatures plummeted as the air was shot with electricity. Leara ran, keeping pace with Esbern to help the old man through the twisting tunnels. She could hear the twang of Bishop's bowstring and Karnwyr snarling.

"I'm getting too old for this!" Esbern moaned.

"Where's the exit?" Leara asked.

A glowing compass rose appeared on the back of Esbern's hand, and he pointed in a direction away from the path back to the thieves' bar.

"I'll see you burn!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Leara spun around, frost gathered in her hands. A wizard was hot on her heels, having slipped by the rearguard held by Bishop and Karnwyr. Ice and fire met in a crashing song and the air filled with the snap-hiss of steam. Out of the mist, a lumbering form lurched into being. A frost atronach! It swung toward the wizard, and Leara took that chance to rejoin Esbern, his hand raised from conjuring the Daedra. He led her to a sewer drain deep in the wall. It wasn't very big. There was enough room for them to crawl through to the other side.

"Through here," Esbern said, tugging at the grate. It swung out on a hinge. "There's a ladder that leads up a hovel called beggar's row."

"Can you make it?" Leara asked.

Esbern wavered for a moment, then nodded. "Come after me," he told her. "Wait for me to get up the ladder before you crawl through. It's a tight fit."

Esbern crawled through the drain. Leara looked back over her shoulder, the distant sounds of fighting echoing back through the tunnels. She could still hear Karnwyr, and her heart went out to the wolf. He was sweet. She didn't want to leave him down here.

She stood to go back for him.

"Where is the Blades agent?"

"She's mine!"

She's mine. She's mine. She's mine. It resonated off the stones, bouncing back and forth between the walls. It bit at her heels.

Leara shot through the drain, pulling it closed behind her before scrambling up the ladder after Esbern, who she was surprised to see was already a decent way up the passage.

"I'm right behind you!" she called.

She saw Esbern acknowledge her. "What about your friend? The hunter?"

"He can take care of himself."

She hoped the Thalmor took care of him.


Content Warning Overview: Bishop puts hands on Leara and threatens her against a repeat performance of her actions at the Riften Gate.