Inigo perched on the front steps of Mistveil Keep, his mind tallying the dwindling hours. Only one day remained before their departure for Whiterun to commence the summit, and his confidence in unifying the diverse factions wavered. His thoughts also drifted to those beneath Windhelm's shadow: Vilja, Galmar, the townsfolk, and the refugees of the Wretched Spire.
Though their last visit was not long past, a cascade of worrisome thoughts weighed heavily on Inigo's spirit. The uncertainty of the Daedra's absence gnawed at him - had they slipped in unnoticed by the docks? Was it possible that Dagon had already reduced the cold stone paths to rubble? Were the houses just peddles and matchsticks now? What was happening over there?
Windhelm, traditionally the least favored among Skyrim's Holds in Inigo's heart, now stirred a newfound concern for its well-being. The world, it seemed, was fraught with more perils than ever before.
The sky was overcast and the winds were brisk, yet Inigo felt an irresistible urge to take a walk and clear his troubled mind. The confines of the indoors were simply not an option. Having been confined indoors for too long, he yearned to roam freely, embracing his Khajiit spirit once again.
Inigo slipped out of Riften by the side gate next to Honorhall Orphanage and told the Guard that he just needed a walk, if Laila or the others would be wondering where he'd gone off to. "I just need to clear my mind - it is mostly empty anyways, but I want to fill it with fresh air, at least." he explained with a generous helping of self-deprecation to lighten the mood.
"Take care of yourself. Looks like rain out there, and I don't need to tell you that the roads aren't exactly safe these days." the Guard warned him as he pushed open the wooden doors and allowed the Khajiit exit. "Be sure to come back in one piece, aye? And if you go to the south, take care. There's a foul presence coming from Darklight Tower… Some say the place is home to necromancers."
Inigo nodded dismissively. "If I see a big, angry Bear along the road, I will do my best Ulfric Stormcloak impression." he passed through the doors and began to walk southward along the long path. His mind continued to wander as the smell of the dank waters of Lake Honrich filled his nostrils: fish, seaweed, and various waterlilies spoke to his nose in a symphony of autumnal odours.
Across the lake he could see Riften Soldiers treading along the path, in search of civilians to move southward to the Stendarr's Beacon and Dayspring Canyon area. To his left, he saw a small farmstead on the edge of some high bluffs, where other Rift guards seemed to be speaking to the flustered locals. Dawnguard Soldiers were also patrolling the mountain ridges above and walking the roads in search of stragglers, themselves.
His stomach sunk as he heard one of the farmers shouting about his livelihoods, and the indignant response of the Guards who were ordering him to head southward regardless. Inigo watched as the people began to gather supplies from within their homes and lead their cows and chickens along the path with aid from their hounds.
A mother and her daughter collected buckets of grain from their mill, while the grandmother and grandfather loaded them onto a carriage to be transported south. Inigo stepped forward to assist with loading the stock, aware that the short timeframe meant every bushel of wheat was crucial.
The local people, initially taken aback by a Khajiit offering help, soon felt gratitude in their pressing situation. Aware of Inigo's status as the Thane of Riften, the Guards chose to overlook his race and continued their duties alongside the locals, rather than watching him with suspicion.
Once the people were well on their way, Inigo oversaw them for a distance before going his own way, meandering off the beaten path, but keeping an eye on the refugees of the Rift as he ascended the cliffs.
The gray skies began to weep, tears dropping onto the golden leaves surrounding the cliffsides. Inigo followed their migration for a time, but was quickly distracted from the marching citizens and Guards. His keen ears caught the distant howls - the wolves. He spun around when the sound of racing paws and grunts grew closer. Their eyes glowed like malevolent stars, hunger driving them forward.
As Inigo made his descent, the wolves drew nearer. Their breaths fogged in the cold air, and their claws scritched across the damp stone. Inigo's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. He had confronted Dragons, Daedra, and Vampires before, but these wolves were unyielding - a pack driven by a singular purpose.
A flash of light illuminated the air, followed by a faint rumble across the skies. The raindrops grew more frequent, one striking his eye as he dodged the jaws of his assailant. "Come, my furry adversaries!" Inigo's voice reverberated against the cliffs. "I will dance with you amidst the rain, but be warned: I am not easy prey!" With that, he unsheathed his sword, knowing arrows would not suffice in time.
One wolf sprang forward, its jaws gaping wide as if to clamp down on his arm, yet it found only the cold steel of his sword. Another pressed him from the side and unfurled its jaws, pinching his side and causing him to spring to the left to evade the full brunt of the bite. Thankfully, the new armour Jarl Laila had given him was sturdy, protecting him from the beast's fangs, though it had the unfortunate effect of slowing him down. "Hmph. Heavy armour is for Nords, Jarl Laila!" Inigo grunted as he clumsily heaved himself around another lunge from one of the medium-sized canines.
He fought with the grace of a Khajiit warrior, each swing of his sword a desperate plea for survival. The wolves circled, their jaws snapping. Inigo's fur was matted with rain, his breath ragged. He glimpsed the alpha - the largest, most cunning of them all. Its eyes held intelligence - a pact with the shadows.
The alpha wolf lunged, teeth snapping. Inigo sidestepped, his boots slipping on moss, but he was able to hold his position by twirling around a tree and striking. His blade met fur and flesh, and the wolf yelped, blood staining the rain-soaked ground. But more wolves closed in, their eyes feral and unyielding from behind the curtain of water.
Inigo's boots slipped on the wet rocks. He parried, dodged, and struck, but the wolves were relentless. The alpha lunged, jaws aimed for his throat. Inigo twisted, his blade slicing through sinew. The alpha fell, its lifeblood mixing with rainwater.
The remaining wolves wavered. Inigo pointed toward the field. "Go!" he commanded. "Tell your kin that Inigo the Brave walks these lands. Let them fear my name!" he jolted forward with a loud hiss, and his ears flipped backwards threateningly.
As if understanding, the wolves scattered, vanishing into the forest. Inigo wiped his blade clean and sheathed it. His legs trembled, adrenaline fading. His breath grew shaky, and his jaw trembled from the sudden bout of stress. "Damn dogs. Can't a cat walk in peace?" he stopped for a moment to ascertain the fact that he was joking to himself at the moment, and it made his head spin. He looked around, surveying the bluffs he was now surrounded by, and the sprawling dark grass everywhere.
He was lost, now. In the war of cat and dog, Inigo had found himself not just off the main road, but past the forest. The uncertain skies above which poured water like a punishment gave him no information to what direction he'd gone.
"Oh, smart move, Inigo. This was more of a walk than you had bargained for." he looked around quickly, only to be startled by a lightning strike which hit the cliffside nearby. A tower stood behind him - a beacon of darkness that loomed behind him, sandwiched between cliffs.
The skies grew darker and an even heavier downpour fell upon the land. Seeing no other option, Inigo looked to the gloomy tower adjacent to his position and made a mad dash up the stairs for its door and quickly swung himself inside as a flash of lightning cleansed the air with a violent rumble. The heftiness of his armour caused him to lose his balance with his weary legs beneath it, and he fumbled forward, hitting the floor. "Oof!"
The tower trembled with the loud grumbles from the skies outside. The darkness was a blessing, masking the startling flashes of lightning. In the adjacent room, Inigo overheard the conversation of two women: one with a shrill and gnarled voice, the other's young and quivering.
"Where do you think you're going? Come back here immediately!"
"No! I've had enough of all of you! You're horrible!"
ZAP!
FWOOSH!
CRACK!
KA-BOOM!
"Hng... ooog..."
The explosion in the next room was so forceful that dust cascaded from the ceiling of the vestibule, enveloping Inigo in a fine white powder that settled on his blue fur. Inigo deduced that this individual was a formidable mage and prepared himself accordingly.
Author's Note: for the tower segment ambience: "Dragon Age Origins: Mage Circle theme". Thanks for reading! :)
Inigo furrowed his brows, hoisted himself up swiftly, and drew his bow. He cautiously opened the creaking door before him, shrouded in darkness. In the adjoining room, he spotted a figure clad in dark blue hooded robes standing over a witch dressed in black, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail, lifeless on the ground and shrouded in a thick veil of smoke.
"Wow... you cooked her like a Rabbit Haunch!" Inigo exclaimed as he watched the smoke rising from the burned body on his slow, cautious approach.
Startled, the mage leaped up and whirled around to confront the unexpected intruder. "By the gods! I know this looks bad. Let me explain..." She held up her hands, but not to attack; to show that she meant no harm to the invader. When Inigo gazed into her eyes, he discerned a look of fear intertwined with profound sorrow and deep regret. Unaware or not, she trembled as though she stood bare in the chill of Winterhold.
"Another lost soul surrounded by trouble, I see. What is this depressing-looking place?" Inigo pondered his current predicament, eyeing the skeletal remains scattered beneath a heap of debris in the corner, and questioned whether braving the storm outside would have been the wiser choice.
"I called it home, now I know that was a mistake." the sorceress declared with great shame betrayed in her tone. "I am, or was part of a coven serving the Hagravens that live here. So was she."
"Hagravens? Normally you would think that being a Cat would make me feel confident against those bird women, but you would be wrong." Inigo tried to lift the mood a bit, to no avail. He instead pointed to the dead hag on the ground. "But, if you do not mind me asking, why did you kill this one? She does not look like a smelly Hagraven to me."
"I didn't want to, but she attacked to try and keep me from leaving." The mage gripped her left arm tightly, her teeth catching her lower lip as she fought back tears. With a frantic shake of her head, she refused to succumb to the overwhelming emotions. "I just can't be a part of this place any more! The things we do here - evil, evil things. No more!" Inigo could only guess at the horrors she had witnessed throughout her life in such a place, particularly with the stark image of bones protruding from beneath the rubble. The terror etched on the girl's face conveyed more than words ever could to him.
Inigo advanced cautiously towards the distressed woman, securing his bow on his back. With gentle words, he endeavored to calm her, seeking to anchor her back to Nirn. "It will be okay - just tell me what is going on."
The mage took a deep breath and began to calm down. Seeing where she stood with Inigo now, she felt that she could tell him. "We were supposed to find a sacrifice. Human sacrifice. I told her I couldn't do it and she attacked. I've done horrible things living here, but never taken an innocent life. I couldn't just find some person for them to kill."
Then thankfully Inigo wasn't going to be the innocent life for their sacrifice by coincidence. "Well... that's, uh... Why did you need a sacrifice?"
The mage pulled down her hood and began to mousse her long, raven hair nervously in a feeble attempt to take her mind off the great deal of stress that compounded upon her. "The Initiation. My mother is going to become one of those things. I can't be a part of that."
Inigo grit his teeth. "Your mother wants to become a Hagraven? Eugh. Why, woman, of all the aspirations one could have..."
The mage slapped her fist onto her forehead. "Gods, I can't run away from this. I have to stop her. I'm going up there to stop her. This cycle must end. I don't know what brought you here, but I could use your help, if you're willing."
Inigo nodded, "I'll help you. Maybe we can try and talk some sense into her - convince her that there are other ways to stay young that don't involve sacrificing somebody to an evil hunting god to look like an old vulture; like Foundation, or exercise, or fresh air."
He hoped the situation would resolve smoothly so he could swiftly return to Riften. Venturing out for a walk had proven to be a grave error by day's end. Now, he found himself entangled in a witches' feud, a scenario he had no intention of joining. Yet, inexplicably, as he gazed into the mage woman's eyes, brimming with sorrow, he felt an irresistible pull. He could not just run out and leave her to her own designs now; surely what she was about to do would be dangerous alone, even for the most seasoned of warriors or mages.
Whether he was seen as a gentleman, a fool, or a man of compassion, Inigo was indifferent to such titles. He could not bear the thought of her death weighing on his conscience if there was something he could do to help.
"Good. Follow me. We have to fight our way up. I don't think anyone else here is about to have a change of heart." the mage said nervously as she pulled her blue hood back up.
Inigo extended a hand for a shake. "My name is Inigo, by the way. And I must admit that I like your colour coordination." he gestured towards her hair, now obscured, and her blue robes.
The mage turned around to look upon him once more from her lead, and responded in kind: "My name is Illia."
"Are you an Imperial?" Inigo looked at her features in attempt to discern her form of humanity. "It is unusual to see Imperials doing Breton rituals. That is what Hagravens are, yes? The Reachmen's and the Breton's traditions?"
Illia shrugged her shoulders as she began to ascend the spiraling stairs that rode the circular form of the tower. "I wish I knew why she was doing it; why anyone does it. But that's irrelevant now. It's my moral obligation to stop this before it goes too far."
Inigo followed her up. "Are you sure about this?"
"Let's get up there before mother finds out what we're doing." Illia, with stubborn determination, quickened her steps, ascending the stairs. A balcony awaited at the summit, offering a view over the room below and wrapping westward. Upon arrival, she promptly cast a firebolt at a witch who had, without hesitation, hurled a fireball towards her as soon as she emerged from a room opposite the main space. Thankfully she had managed to duck underneath the fireball, which smashed into the stone wall, causing debris to scatter around the air in a mighty burst.
The witch hurled a curse, "Filthy, traitorous wretch!" after absorbing the blow with a Greater Ward. She then unleashed a bolt of Chain Lightning at Illia, which ricocheted off her and arced to Inigo, who was standing behind.
Inigo caught the frail mage before she could hit the ground, and Illia was stunned in that instant. It was almost as if she'd never been hit with a spell before. Inigo sensed this weakness and shifted his stance to cover her from a subsequent attack, getting pummled with a fireball in the chest.
"A-are you okay?" Illia asked Inigo when she saw him lurch forward in response to the searing pain. She cast a ward ahead of him to block a third firebolt, and the Khajiit nodded.
"We'll flay your souls and feed them to the void," the wicked hag promised as she took a moment's respite.
Inigo squared his shoulders. "I've faced worse," he said, his voice steady. He was literally stuck inside of Azura's Star, caught between an empowered necromancer and Dremoras. This was a step backwards from that. "Illia, ready your spells."
Illia nodded, her hands glowing with arcane energy. "Together," she murmured, with a voice tinged with the taint of fear, "we'll put an end to all of it."
She had spoken little to Inigo, yet his presence at her side was a genuine comfort at this moment. Defying the women, or rather, the witches who had raised her, was no small feat. A sense of unease around them had lingered since her youth, and the desire for freedom had grown over time. With an ally like Inigo, she felt empowered to seize it, and to stop their wicked machinations.
The witch summoned tendrils of blood, but Illia countered with a ward and retaliated with an Ice Spike which tore through her stomach and Inigo launched an arrow through her cranium. The dark mage groaned her last as she collapsed to the ground. "Illia... why? We... were your... family..."
When her body hit the floor, Illia's breath grew shaky. She looked upon one of the women she knew from her childhood and shook her head. "No. We never were. I was just a means to an end for you... who poisoned her mind."
She wiped a tear away and spun on her heel to face Inigo. "It's not going to get any easier from here... if you want to leave now, I... I won't judge you."
Inigo shook his head. "No; I promised I would help you, and Inigo the Brave does not go back on his word." They ascended the spiral staircase which began on the next corner, and Inigo noted bloodstains on the wall and bones trickling down the steps. "Do tell me one thing though, Illia - why does necromancy always seem to involve murder in some way?"
"Because life energy is easier to draw from fresh bones as opposed to ancient ones." Illia put it simply. "A portion of the living always remains tethered to their bones, even after the soul is gone from the body. I suppose trapping the soul in its corpse keeps it tethered to it, and that's why creatures like Draugr are cursed to roam ancient ruins."
"Hmm. That makes sense." Inigo scratched his chin. "But why do it, though? I understand Conjuration - summoning Atronachs and even Dremora - but using bones to make moving skeletons to guard things - they are useless to begin with!"
The staircase ascended to the third floor, revealing a split-level area that served as the living quarters for the tower's witches. This space was divided into two elevated sections connected by a bridge, with a set of stairs granting access to the more expansive platform situated across from the entrance. At this level, there were doorways facing both north and south, each obstructed by spears positioned upright. Behind the southern doorway, a lever was strategically placed.
A witch and a troll were present, the latter bouncing up and down relentlessly, akin to a child in the midst of a tantrum. The witch's eyes glowed like twin embers, and her gnarled fingers traced invisible sigils in the air. With a flick of her wrist, the hag unleashed a barrage of fierce flames.
The room was small, barely large enough for a sword's swing with the clutter around them. They were guarded by Illia's ward for the most part, but the ward gave way under the mounting pressure.
Feeling the flames kiss him, Inigo wailed in pain and leapt onto the higher platform. The witch maliciously raised her hand, causing the stream of fire to trace his movements like a hose.
Illia growled, "Don't you dare!" and cracked her former ally in the face with a long Ice Javelin, killing her.
The troll lumbered forward with gaggled grunts, streaming over the walkway towards Inigo. It swung its long, clawed hand, aiming for Inigo's head. He ducked, rolled, and slashed at its legs. The blade bit deep, but the troll merely grunted, its thick hide resisting the blow.
Inigo's mind raced. The room was too small for evasive maneuvers. He needed to end this quickly. He lunged, aiming for the troll's heart, but the brute sidestepped, its claws crashing into the half-wall beside him, drawing thick, three-fingered gashes in the stone.
"They're weak to fire!" Illia casted a powerful fire spell at the Troll from below. The beast began to flail about and attempt to flee from the flames with no luck. The fire was blue in its colouration and it utterly consumed the fiend. Inigo was amazed at Illia's spellcraft. He wasn't entirely sure what her rank was as a mage, but she was very powerful for her age. He wondered if she had attended the College of Winterhold at some point.
Seizing the opportunity, Inigo roared, charging the troll. He drove his sword into its chest, and this time, the brute crumpled, its lifeblood pooling on the stone floor. Inigo fell backwards on his behind and felt a daze overtake him.
Illia hurried to his side and cast a Healing spell on him. "Ooh, that looks bad. Here, let me take care of you so it won't scar." A familiar feeling swam around Inigo, tingling every nerve and causing the sensation of pins and needles to spread throughout his body, numbing the burning pains.
Inigo was half-lucid, and he didn't know exactly what overcame him, but he looked at the hooded figure hidden behind the golden healing light and said, "Thank you, Cura."
Illia was taken back for a second. "Cura?" When she noticed the shift in Inigo's expression to one of shock and embarrassment, something seemed to register. "Hold on a second... Cura the Dragonborn? The Vigilant of Stendarr?"
Inigo slowly stood up with her and their eyes were locked. "Yes. They also call her Stendarr's Dragon. She was my best friend."
Illia's entire demeanour changed. She went from being surprised to understanding. "Ah, I see. I'm sorry for your loss, then. My mother's been afraid of her for years, but now that she died, she feels confident about going through with the Ritual."
Inigo was surprised to hear this new bit of information. The two of them proceeded to the gate and Inigo pulled down the lever. "What do you mean? How long was she planning this nefarious scheme?"
"In 202, the Vigilants of Stendarr discovered and assaulted our tower. She and the others soul-trapped them and used their souls to enchant their robes," Illia recounted with anxiety. "She worried it would attract the Dragonborn's notice to us, as it had with the vampires, given her affiliation with the organization."
Inigo was surprised to hear it. "How did you know about the Vampires?"
Illia admitted, "We were aware of the Dawnguard's activities out east. My mother made sure we kept our dealings discreet." She continued, "I recognize you, or at least your reputation. The strange blue-furred Khajiit Inigo the Brave, a Dawnguard ally alongside the mage Lucien Flavius, correct? And you've also become friends with a vampire named Serana? If so, I've found a very good ally, I think."
Inigo took a step backwards. "That is creepy. But I suppose stalking our operations was what kept you all out of Cura's line of sight."
"I wish she would have found us! This insanity would have been over long ago!" Illia declared loudly and boldly as she entered a narrow hallway and turned right. "And... we had an invisibility cloak around the premises of our tower... how did you find it?"
Inigo shrugged his shoulders. "To tell you the truth, I do not know. I ran from a pack of wolves in the storm outside, saw the seemingly abandoned tower, and ducked inside."
"I see." Illia pondered his answer. "Well... maybe it was fate that brought you here. Perhaps the gods have answered my prayers at last."
Her prayers, or her pleas?
They continued onwards through the tower and came upon a doorway locked by a set of bars, flanked by a lever attached to a nearby column. Illia turned to Inigo as he approached beside her. "Hagraven up ahead. Pull the lever when you're ready and we'll take her."
"Right on!" Inigo thrust the lever downwards and the spikes slid back into their holdings.
They passed a flight of stairs and entered a small chamber. Within it was the usual hagraven decor: impaled goat heads, hanging limbs, and a series of gnarled tusks and horns which surrounded the fur and hide tent. To the left of the tent was an unlocked chest with bones coming out, while the ground in front of the table held two pheasants that appeared to have fallen from a rack above. To the right of the door they walked through was a flight of stairs that have caved in. There was a dried skeleton among the rubble, while to the north is a wooden door leading to the top floor.
"Ugh... these things are so ugly, and so particular with how they like things done." Inigo observed the decor with scorn. "Jyggalag would be flattered, were they not so chaotic."
The Hagraven emerged from her tent and screeched with fury as she saw the two of them and set an onslaught of fire upon them both. Inigo leapt to one side and Illia to the other, causing the stream to hit the wall between where they now were.
Inigo dashed left and right, feinting around explosive fireballs and hacked at the stringent striga. His blade carved the flesh of her arm, but her claws caught his neck. Inigo flew backwards in an encumbered maneuver and immediately held a hand to his neck.
Illia leapt in front of him and dual-casted a ward to block the next set of Fireballs that were headed his way. "Come on, get up! I can't hold it back forever!"
Inigo quickly chugged a Healing Potion and ran off to the side. Fireballs pelted the wall, and one connected with him, causing him to be blown backwards into the rubble. A bombardment of fire spells rushed him and the arch-witch was unrelenting. Her hands weaved a tapestry of sadistic hatred as balls of flame exploded against the Khajiit, torturing him as he attempted to regain himself.
The Hagraven was so preoccupied with killing Inigo that she'd forgotten Illia's presence. The mage crept up from behind her and ripped her throat across with her Daedric Dagger.
The birdlike hag fell to the floor with a hissing gurgle as blood spurted from her throat. Her knees hit the stone first and then her gnarly face followed. Blood began to pool underneath her and fill the creases in the gray stone with red.
Illia's knees shook as she loomed over her body, dagger gripped in both hands now. The dagger slipped out of her trembling fingers and dropped to the floor. "I... what am I doing? I... I knew them... I knew all of them... my whole life." Her eyes were clouded, as was her mind as the gravity of it all sunk in. "Am I to kill my own mother? The woman who gave me life? Who taught me everything I know?"
Inigo gasped for air as he heaved himself back up. He slowly lumbered over to her. "No; if you can talk her out of it, maybe we can change her mind instead."
Illia looked at him, and at the dead Hagraven sprawled on the floor. "She wants to become one of those things. Their power is greater than most mages and they are immortal. I... I can't bear the thought of her becoming a beast like that. All for the sake of power."
"It reminds me of a story of a warlock named Sebastian Lort," Inigo sat down for a minute to recuperate and Illia elected to mend his wounds as he spoke. "his daughter worshipped Hircine and was turned into a werewolf. The sight of her becoming a monster disturbed him so much that he turned to the Daedric Prince Clavicus Vile..."
"Right. That's always a good idea." Illia rolled her eyes.
"He wanted his daughter to be freed of that curse." Inigo explained. "And Clavicus granted his wish by giving him an axe."
Illia was perplexed as to why he was telling her this. Of what relevance did it hold to her? "And what does this have to do with my mother and I?"
"You think that you must resort to killing to free her from this idea, like using the axe." Inigo stated as she finished mending his wounds. He was able to walk again and began to follow her out of the sickening room. "Unless you really think there is no way to stop her otherwise... I understand."
Illia walked to the door at the end of the hallway and jiggled the knob. When it didn't budge, she cursed. "Locked. Damn! One of the hags nearby will have the key. You'll have to take it from here. I'll keep watch here - unless you can pick the lock."
Go through all the corpses and hope one held the key, or give in to the Khajiit stereotypes? How enticing.
"I am an excellent lockpicker." Inigo boasted humorously. "And no, it is not because I am a Khajiit. I just have very nimble fingers and good ears."
Illia shrugged. "I wasn't thinking about your being a Khajiit. If you can pick this lock I'll be impressed. It's the most difficult one in the tower."
"Pah. Child's play." Inigo waved it off as he inserted the lockpick. He pressed his ear against the door as he began to turn one half of the pick against the other, jostling the lock. "Hmm..." he heard the light snapping sounds from within the shutters as he rotated the lock face carefully. He gave it a push and it snagged for a moment. He quickly stopped and readjusted its position again and listened for the barely audible 'click!', and gave it a stern push, breaking into the lock and pushing open the door.
"Wow, that was impressive." Illia looked at Inigo wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
Inigo swayed back and forth with pride. "I told you I was good at picking locks!" Internally, he offered thanks to whichever deity had guided his hand to pick the lock correctly on his first attempt, thereby substantiating his boast.
Truly, though, he was sure that she could have blown it off its hinges with one of her spells. Though on second thought, that would not be very discreet.
As the pair continued through the halls, they were beset by a large, multi-tiered hagraven lair. There was a short hallway lined with damaging spikes, with stairs leading up to a floor with a hag standing in a tent.
As soon as they were sighted, the witches declared war upon them, opening fire without hesitation or mercy. Fireball after fireball rained down like a punishing storm, and Inigo grabbed Illia by the back of her robes and pulled her behind a stone pillar with himself. He quickly drew an ebony arrow and waited for the Hagraven above to step forward and show herself, and once she did, he spiked her through the forehead with a well-strung arrow.
The witch toppled over backwards and Illia began to sling Destruction spells back and forth with the remaining witches. One of their lightning bolts struck her and sent her flying backwards into a wall, where she hit it with a loud gasp. The witch descended the stairs with her ally adjacent to her and they began to bombard Inigo with spells.
Thankfully he managed to find cover behind the pillar as they closed in, and deceived them when they came around over to his side by sliding around it. He impaled the first witch through the back and used her as a shield against the other, who Illia fired a Bound Arrow into the chest of.
The witch fell to her knees and briefly looked at the magickal arrow poking out between her breasts and touched it with her trembling fingertips. She looked up at Illia. "Illia... why? Why would you do this? On your mother's day of glory..."
Illia crept forward, the Bound bow still in her hands and aimed at her. A look of deep sadness was spread across her face. "Because w-what we've been doing all these years... it was wrong. D-dealing with those Daedra... turning ourselves into monsters... killing innocent people..." her misery overtook her, fouling her wavering eyes. "You... your conscience was seared a long time ago. You wouldn't understand."
The witch expelled a mouthful of blood onto the floor tiles. "Oh, I understand perfectly... *cough*... You're a coward. You're afraid that if you don't find a sacrifice... then you..." Her vision blurred, her voice faltering. She lifted a shaking finger to point at Illia. "...you realize... you're it..."
Illia released the second arrow, hitting the witch squarely in the forehead. The impact caused the witch to fall backward with a solid thud. As she hit the ground, her head tilted to the left and she lay still.
Illia shivered, banishing her Bound bow. "I was involved in far too many rituals... even though I never held the knife... even though I never excised their hearts... their lungs... I supplied the tools. The soul gems. The elixirs. I received a portion of the power simply by participating..."
As she revealed this, Inigo was surprised. He slid the dead hag off of his sword and turned to Illia. "So you did have a role to play in this." Her immense magickal prowess confirmed it to be true. Inigo wished he could have met her sooner, too; he could have brought her to Winterhold - maybe Faralda could have tutored her.
"I... I told you that, didn't I?" Illia tried to calm herself down. "N-no more. Not t-t-t-to m-me, not t-to anyone. Let's... sigh... let's keep going. We're almost there. I...I must do this." She pointed at a door at the end of the room. After collecting herself, she guided Inigo to it, but stood in his way. Her back was to the door and her gaze fixed on her new Khajiit ally. "All right. Mother is just outside this door. I have a plan."
She mustered conviction, clenching her fists in front of her, yet her eyes revealed her uncertainty.
Inigo was attentive. "What's the plan?"
He'd had his share of dealings with evil witches in the past; this would be another story for the campfire - though he would have to work on finding a way to glamourize it and make it more palatable for Lucien, Serana, and especially Vilja - picky, she was.
"I'll present you as the sacrifice. Just play along." Illia instructed, a palpable unease building up around her. "While mother begins the ritual, I'll strike. Then, together we can... we can kill her." she had to take a deep breath within that pause; it was no easy task.
"Are you certain you want to kill her?" Inigo implored, giving her one final opportunity to reconsider. "You only have one mother in this life, Illia." Having cherished his own stepmother, Inigo was appalled by the mere thought of her demise and the circumstances of her death; the idea of personally wielding the sword against her was inconceivable to him; it was an act of sacrilege.
Clearly, it was a struggle for Illia as she grappled with her inner turmoil. Her thumbs twisted together like entwined serpents, a prelude to her response, which was both somber and determined.. "I've thought this through, and it's the only way. She's too far gone, too corrupted by the Hags. At least in death she can be free again. Enough. Let's go."
Inigo grabbed her by the wrist before she could walk out. "Try, Illia. Just try to reason with her." the blue Khajiit expressed his compassionate nature, pleading not even for her mother, but for her own sake. "If something bad happens, at least you can really say there was no other option. I will play my part, just... try to negotiate first."
The Imperial mage paused for that ephemeral moment and her eyes met Inigo's. "You... you really do care, don't you. You don't even know me. Why does it matter to you?"
"Because I have seen much tragedy in my life. My brother died protecting me. My mother and father were killed protecting a caravan from bandits. I killed a friend of mine once when I was on skooma, in the past." Inigo informed her. "And, more recently, I saw my best friend dead on the ground with her throat slit. She is an exceptional being, and I am sure she will come back to us someway, somehow - but the other deaths I have known were forever. Once a life is lost, it cannot be brought back - no matter the necromancy you try."
The sorceress stared at Inigo as his speech sunk in. She was surprised to hear what she did, but she felt terrible for Inigo when she noticed how those deaths had affected him. "I'm so sorry. I... I shouldn't have pried."
"It is fine; let us keep moving." Inigo gestured towards the door.
"Yes. Let's." Illia used magic to conjure up some rope around Inigo's hands behind his back, which were now bound together. "Is... is it too tight?" she asked when she realized his wrists were essentially stuck together.
"A bit, but I will manage." Inigo confirmed as he gestured again to the door with his snout.
Illia sighed deeply and gathered herself. The hour was here now, and there was no turning back; especially after her betrayal of the others. She twisted the knob and pushed open the door, and led Inigo outside. The wooden planks before the door attached the tower to the high cliffs, where there was much necromantic memorabilia: bones lined the walkways leading up to an altar before a rugged shrine of Hircine, made from animal parts. There was a single chair next to a torch which was somehow lit under the storm above.
A lone elder stood amidst the sacrificial grounds, her white hair bound in an ornate ponytail, hanging over her rugged black necromancer's robes. She appeared to be offering supplication to the god of the Hunt, with her arms up in the air reverently.
Illia looked over at Inigo around her shoulder as she led him along the path. She stopped nervously before the woman, and held a Bound Dagger behind her back as she addressed her. "Greetings, mother."
Silvia, the high witch of the coven, turned around when she heard Illia's voice. Her eyes were quickly drawn to Inigo, and a residual bitterness was held in her voice. "Daughter. Who is this you have brought me?"
Illia stuttered lightly, and Inigo hoped it would not give away her plans. "I found a willing subject for you. Payment has already been discussed, of course."
'Willing subject' was a strong way to put it; it was more, 'willing as a ruse' in Inigo's case. Just how far was he supposed to take it? The tight grip of the binding behind his back informed him of just how much.
Silvia's bitterness seemed to have subsided and a sense of joy took her. She appeared to be pleased with her daughter now. She nodded to Inigo and gestured towards the chair next to one of the braziers. "Splendid! Please take a seat on the chair behind me, would you?"
Illia hesitated and watched as Inigo did as he was told with a light shrug. His eyes told her one thing: now was her chance to know whether or not her mother could truly be saved.
"I'll just prepare the subject now..." the witch walked over to the altar and began to sift through the oils and balms laid upon the stone slab. There wasn't much time - it was a fast bit of preparation.
Illia cleared her throat. "Mother, have you... have you ever thought about leaving this place behind? Perhaps... perhaps we could go on a vacation to Anvil. Watch the boats come and go... enjoy the coastlines."
"I've dedicated many years of my life to this moment. Don't be stupid; do you think I'm just going to throw it all away to run off and play adventurer with you?" Silvia barked at her daughter as she approached Inigo with the oils. He slowly pulled his face back and she grabbed the back of his head. "Hold still, now..."
Illia tried to bargain again. "If you become a Hagraven you'll never be able to roam civilized society again! People will never want you in their cities."
"I never wanted to be in their cities to begin with, dear. Least of all not here in this Imperial-hating rathole called Skyrim." Silvia spat against the Nords as she began to forcefully draw symbols on Inigo's face with the oil. Strangely, this oil was not disturbed by the heavy rainfall above.
"Not all the Nords hate you, you know. Yes, there are pigheaded morons in this province," Inigo tried to reason with her, though he could not deny Windhelm, or more specifically people like Rolff Stone-Fist. "but most of them are cool people - it has been my experience as a Khajiit." He recalled all of the Nords who were amicable to him: Mjoll, Vilja, Cura (though she was only half-Nord), Tolan, Adalvald, Jarl Laila, Jarl Balgruuf, the Greybeards, and many, many more could come to mind.
"Sacrifices don't speak." Silvia hissed at him as she finished her drawing. Next, she moved onto the red balm, which would contrast nicely with his blue fur.
Inigo shifted his gaze onto Illia pleadingly. Last chance. The rumbling sounds of thunder shook the air.
Illia felt it too, and her hands started to shake. "Mother... please..." Her eyes welled up with tears, blending with the rain falling on her. "Please... don't... don't do this, for your own sake."
Hearing her daughter's weeping, Silvia paused. She turned to face her. "Illia..."
The mage looked at her sorrowfully, pleading with her to change her mind.
"It's not a bad thing. I will live forever," Silvia explained, attempting to calm her daughter's intense emotions. "Don't you want your mother to be around for a longer time?"
"I..." Illia's heart was torn. She desperately wanted to save her mother's life, but the price - the complete surrender of her soul to the Daedric Prince Hircine, transforming into an abomination - was too steep. And the thought of taking an innocent life for such a cause? It was utterly abhorrent to her.
"All it will cost is the worthless life of this cat. Nobody will miss him, I assure you." Silvia proclaimed harshly as she finished drawing the extra runic symbols around those she'd drawn with the oil.
"I'm trying to change your mind because I love you, mother." Illia sobbed. Her fingers clenched tightly around the handle of her Bound Dagger.
"You'd best give up trying, dear, if you know what's good for you." Silvia saw nothing but the sacrificial offering before her and the eternal life which awaited upon its completion.
Inigo's eyes flared as she grabbed him by the collar and began to walk him towards the altar. She laid him on it horizontally and began her dark prayer. Inigo's life was in her hands, bound by magic restraints. It was too late now - Illia had to make her choice.
And she did. She gripped the Bound Dagger over her chest while her mother's back was to her. "I can't let you do this, mother. You have to die now!" She dashed over the dirt path and raised the knife over her head.
A loud crack of thunder roared overhead and a flash of lightning blinded the skies.
Author's Note: the best song for the fight: "Witcher 3 OST - The Song of the Sword-Dancer"
"Foolish child! What do you think you're doing?" In a fit of rage, Silvia spun and unleashed a fierce bolt of lightning, only to have it scattered by the swift intervention of her daughter's Dagger.
Sparks soared into the air, striking the shrine of Hircine and cascading down its snout. The Bound Dagger found its mark in the witch's upraised right hand, causing Illia's eyes to widen in shock. For a brief moment, they paused, their gazes locked in an intense exchange.
Illia trembled with fright as her mother's blood ran down her palm and dripped onto the murky grass between them. Her mind wandered in that instant as her pupils tracked the red droplets on their journey down.
I... I can't stop now. Now it's too late. She reassured herself as she gazed into her mother's eyes, filled with confusion and pain. Her lip trembled during that brief moment of uncertainty.
Silvia could scarcely believe it, herself. She gazed at the dagger which penetrated the palm of her hand, and her heart began to race. "Why have you done this thing?" she demanded of her daughter.
"I... I..." Illia trembled. "I gave you a chance to turn from it. You chose this." She yanked the blade out of her surprised mother's hand and leapt backwards. With each step, it felt as though her heart was being dragged downward, tugged into an abyss that threatened to engulf it entirely.
Silvia swiftly cast a healing spell on herself and hurried to seize a staff topped with a skull, which lay against a nearby upright stone slab. She unleashed a formidable wall of fire that slithered across the ground toward Illia, who promptly took cover behind another vertical stone slab.
Illia clutched her dagger, her breaths coming in heavy, labored gasps. Her throat felt tight, constricting her larynx to the point where not even a whisper could break free. Disbelief clouded her mind, the reality of her actions barely sinking in.
"Out of everyone in the world, I never thought you would betray me," Silvia snarled, pacing in front of the altar with her back turned to the bound Inigo. She attempted to sway to her side, to see around the stone. "Come out! I did not raise a coward! Come take your medicine! I'll make today a double sacrifice to Lord Hircine!"
Inigo tried to wrestle free against the magickal energy which continued to hold his hands together. "Come onnn... come onnn... wear off already!" he muttered under his breath.
Illia spun around the stone, poised to launch a duo of fireballs, yet she paused, recognizing the risk of accidentally hitting Inigo with a stray shot if she acted recklessly.
Silvia showed no such tact, striking her in the chest with a bolt of lightning. She felt it tear through her form and doubled over backwards. She clutched her racing chest and doubled over backwards as the searing spread through the rest of her body and out through the soles of her feet.
Silvia raised her staff of Hag's Wrath, the twisted oak branch adorned with crow feathers surrounding the hideous skull. Her eyes glowed crimson, and her voice dripped with malice. "Illia," she hissed, "you think you can stop me? I've danced with the dead, tasted their secrets. You're nothing but a child."
Illia's response was a torrent of ice shards. They spiraled toward Silvia, who deftly deflected them with a barrier of necrotic energy. The ground trembled as Silvia slammed the shaft of the staff against the ground and summoned skeletal warriors from the earth. Their bones clattered, and their empty eye sockets glowed pale with malevolence.
Inigo grunted, struggling in vain against his restraints. The witch shifted her gaze to him, discerning their plot. "Oh, no. After I deal with her, your end will swiftly follow. I'm certain it was you who swayed her against me. Savour this spectacle; it's the last thing you'll ever witness."
"I convinced her to try and reason with you, you senseless crone!" Inigo spat at the accusation. "She was going to kill you regardless!"
"We will see about that." the witch sneered. She could scarcely believe his claim; after all, why would her daughter just want to kill her? Especially now, when all that the Daedra promised her was coming to fruition? And come to think of it, where were the others?
Illia leaped, her boots barely touching the ground. She chanted an incantation, and the very air around her shimmered. Her skin turned translucent, and her form blurred. Silvia's skeleton warriors swung their rusted swords, but Illia danced through them like a ghost.
Silvia's laughter echoed. "You think invisibility will save you, my dear? I see beyond the veil." She thrust her staff into the ground, and roots erupted, ensnaring Illia where she stood. The roots tightened, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
But Illia's eyes glinted. She whispered forgotten words, and the roots withered. Her body shimmered back into view, and she hurled a bolt of lightning at Silvia. The necromancer staggered, her cloak smoldering.
Silvia retaliated, summoning a spectral wolf familiar - a creature of Hircine himself. Its eyes glowed amber, and its fangs dripped with venom. It lunged at Illia, but she sidestepped, her fingers tracing a protective ward. The wolf collided with an invisible barrier, dissipating into mist.
Silvia smirked with amusement at her little display. "I believe I have taught you a little too well."
Inigo tried his best, with all his strength to pull his arms apart, but it was incredibly difficult.
It was hard to see anything under the dark storm, but a flicker of lighting filled the landscape with colour in a moment, unveiling the black.
He glimpsed Illia, tears, sweat and rain streaming down her face. She was weakening, and Silvia sensed it.
Inigo knew he had to do something. He tried to reach for his bow using his feet, but it was just out of his reach.
The witch's eyes flared. "Enough," she spat. Shadows coiled around her, and she hurled a curse at her daughter, causing her to spin through the air and slide across the sodden ground as black tendrils snaked towards her through the air.
The black tendrils pierced through Illia's barrier and stuck themselves into her sides, causing her to cry out in anguish. As the skeletons closed in for another attack, she cast an explosive Fire Rune on the ground and stomped on it, engulfing herself and the enemies within a six foot radius in flame.
"Illia!" Inigo cried out when he saw the reckless maneuver. When the smoke cleared, it revealed a protective ward cast by her left hand, but her robes were still charred and blood ran down her sides from where the tendrils struck her.
The mage shuddered as the pain seared her while her cruel mother loomed ahead and raised her powerful staff to blast her with another great wall of flame. Illia looked up at her mother's harsh face, and trembled as she feebly raised her hands and formed a large ward.
The fires emerged like a Dragon's Breath, rushing towards her in a sea of immolation brimming with the odour of brimstone.
"ILLIA!" Inigo cried out to his ally, who struggled against her mother's vicious onslaught. Her ward could barely hold against the relentless torrent of flame.
Much to his relief, the bonds were weakening at last. With renewed vigor, Inigo strained to separate his arms, sensing the diminishing strength. His mind was consumed with a singular resolve regarding Silvia: it was he who must end her. The burden of her demise would not be Illia's to bear.
With one final maneuver, his bonds fell away like leaves in the wind, his eyes burning with the fire of retribution. He swooped down and gathered up his sword from the mud below. With a roar that pierced the air, he lunged at Silvia, his sword gleaming with a light as pure as his resolve.
The necromancess's minions turned to defend their mistress, but Inigo's blade danced through them like a gust through autumn leaves. Silvia's eyes widened in terror as the brave warrior closed in, his every step a promise of her impending doom.
Illia, seizing the moment, unleashed a torrent of magic so fierce it tore the night asunder. Silvia, caught between the sorceress's wrath and Inigo's steel, knew her end was near. With a final, desperate incantation, she sought to turn the tide, but it was too late.
The shrine of Hircine pulsed with a power ancient and wild, and as Inigo's blade met Silvia's heart, a shockwave of energy erupted, banishing the darkness. The necromancer's scream was lost in the gale.
The world froze around them and lightning flashed with a roar, lighting up the skies directly over them.
Illia looked on with astonishment and grave terror as she saw her mother cling to Inigo, sword embedded in her chest.
"Ohhh... uuunnng... hrg..." Silvia groaned in anguish, reaching a hand onto the back of Inigo's head and pulling his hair. She cursed under her breath as she tried to stay upright. Her life was slipping away, and she reached forward to her daughter. "Ill..ia... how... could you.. do this... to me...? Why...?"
Inigo drove the sword deeper, and a resounding slosh echoed through the air. Silvia's life was extinguished in an instant, and he gently laid her down on the ground, withdrawing the blade with solemn care.
The ground shook, and the shrine of Hircine trembled, collapsing to the ground. The remaining skeletons lost their forms and were rendered into bone piles in the mud.
Illia collapsed, drained but victorious. Silvia lay broken, her staff shattered. The storm clouds parted and the moon bore witness to their duel - a clash of life and death, vengeance and redemption.
The Darklight Tower sighed, its stones settling. Illia slowly looked up from her kneeling position, and wiped blood from her brow, her heart heavy. The shrine of Hircine watched, its antlers casting long shadows. The necromancess's reign was over, but Illia knew that darkness always found new vessels.
Inigo approached Illia and gently placed his hand on her quivering shoulder, remaining beside her as she gazed at the consequences of her actions with a broken heart. She raised her eyes to Inigo, her voice shaking. "Don't be sorry for me. I just - if I would have known it would come to this. Mother..." She was aware, yet she harbored a slight hope for a different outcome. Closing her eyes, she wished to erase the memory of the scene before her. "Keep Mother's staff. Think of it as payment. I want to leave everything from this cursed place behind. Goodbye. And thank you." she wrestled her shoulder free and quickly stood up, walking away with a heart seized by crippling anguish.
Inigo gazed upon the shattered staff, then to Illia, tears streaming down her face as she traversed the mudded pathway to the tower. His heart ached for her; in this moment, there was no triumph, no silver lining, no joyous conclusion. Her mother was dead, her family was dead, the staff was even broken, and he wasted his one day of rest arguably making someone's life worse.
He couldn't just leave her alone with her thoughts, to brood over the darkness that enveloped her; not now. He quickened his pace to catch up to her. "Hey! Wait!"
Illia turned to look at him, perplexed and morose. "You're free to go - why are you still here?"
"You could come with me," Inigo proposed. "there is much trouble afoot, and you are one of the most powerful mages I have personally seen. How would you like to help me save Skyrim?"
He grasped her hand, inviting her assistance. It was the least he could do to distract her from the events that had unfolded. At this moment, it was the finest comfort he could provide, a single ray of light piercing the shadow.
Illia thought about it for a moment. "I suppose it would be better than sitting around thinking about all this. I could also do some good for a change. Sure, I'll go with you." She was not fully aware of the situation, but she knew that offering help could be her initial step toward redemption for her actions here and throughout the years.
She turned to her mother, kneeling in the mud, and tenderly closed her unseeing eyes. "Still... I wish she had never encountered that coven. The lure of power devoured her. That's all power ever does. It devours. It seizes endlessly, always demanding more than one can give. Lives are lost in its pursuit."
Inigo nodded. "Unless it is put under control it will do the controlling, I suppose. I do not really know, personally. I have always been afraid of magic. Until the last two years or so."
"Can we give her a burial?" Illia requested, looking down to her mother's body again. "I... I can't bear the thought of abandoning her to decay."
Inigo nodded. "Sure. I can help you with that."
They might have been malevolent necromancers in the tower, yet they were the only family she had ever known. Twilight found her burying the hags and Hagravens in the tower's courtyard. It marked the darkest period of Illia's life, and she experienced profound grief throughout the burial and beyond. "I'll never see her again," she realized finally.
Inigo wrapped her in a tender embrace as tears fell under the fading sunlight.
Another tragedy, yet another consequence of a Daedric Prince's promise.
Or perhaps, it was simply human greed.
Having found peace at last, Illia addressed Inigo regarding the issues he had mentioned. As she brushed away a tear, she inquired, "Where are we headed?"
"We're bound for Mistveil Keep. Tomorrow, I shall join the Jarls at a Peace Summit." Inigo declared.
"A Peace Summit?" Illia was surprised to hear it. "The Stormcloaks have given up, finally?"
"Eh... not exactly. It is more that the Imperials and the Stormcloaks have a common enemy that we have to fight in the forces of Mehrunes Dagon." Inigo tried to explain it as short and concise as possible. "What happens beyond that will be up to them."
"Wait... Mehrunes Dagon? Gods... that was what -" Illia paused, her gaze wandering as she dredged up a memory. "Something devastated the mountain pass a while back... far to the Northeast of here. It's nothing but ruins and displaced terrain now. Could that have been..."
"He pursued Cosnach from Windhelm, heading this direction. It's possible he encountered Dagon somewhere between here and the Rift, far east of Ivarstead but not quite near Shor's Stone," Inigo said with a heavy sigh. "Rest in peace, Cosnach. You were indeed a drunkard, but the most courageous one I've ever known."
"Gods..." Illia trembled at the thought. "I don't need to even ask: I know what he wants. He wants to destroy the Province. These Daedric Princes are nothing if not sadistic and predictable." she looked to Inigo and gave him a nod. "I'll do whatever I can to help you, Inigo. You've helped me best my Daedra, so I will help you best yours."
"All right. There is much work to be done!" Inigo exclaimed as he walked away from the tower. Illia paid one final respect to her mother and the others before following him along the path.
Indeed, there was much to be done to ensure Skyrim's survival through the crisis. Inigo extended his hand to her, and together they Fast Traveled to Mistveil Keep.
Upon their arrival, Lucien let out a shriek and jumped back, taken aback by their abrupt appearance. "Mara's shoelaces!" he exclaimed.
Inigo greeted his friend with a laugh. "Hey, Lucien! Did I startle you?"
"You bet you did, you degenerate feline!" Lucien retorted. "I was just stepping out for some air, and then you spring that on me. Where on Nirn have you been hiding? It's getting dark, and the Jarl was about to rally a search party for you! I'd just about given up hope that you remembered you could Fast Travel, and then you spited me with it."
"My apologies. I was out for fresh air, too." Inigo laughed mischievously. "Though, I was sidetracked by much."
Lucien noticed Illia, who waved at him silently, and then he looked at Inigo again. "Hmmmm... I suppose you'll enlighten me about it at the table, eh?"
"Of course," Inigo kindly gestured, inviting Illia to ascend the staircase alongside himself and Lucien. She moved in silence, her mind still enveloped in the throes of mourning.
Lucien whispered to him as they reached the door, "Is she a good kisser?"
"That's not funny. You're going to feel like a turd for saying that when I tell you." Inigo retorted, giving him a whack on the arm and a scoff.
"Oh, come on now," Lucien laughed, rubbing his arm. "I am quite curious to know what transpired throughout the day." He surmised that something unfortunate must have happened, judging by Inigo's scornful expression and the woman's dejected stance.
"Illia, do you mind if I tell the others?" Inigo turned to the mage.
Illia shook her head and spoke reticently. "No. Go ahead."
Together, they crossed the threshold and entered the Keep. As soon as Inigo, Illia and Lucien entered, they were met with the eyes of Serana, Saerlund, Harald, Jarl Laila, Jarl Ulfric, Jarl Korir, and Jarl Skald.
"Well, look what dragged in the cat." Jarl Skald muttered sarcastically.
Jarl Laila stood up from her throne and approached Inigo. "My guards informed me that you were in the fields, assisting the citizens of the Rift in travelling southward. Good on you! ...But then they lost track of you. What happened?"
Jarl Ulfric nudged his head towards Illia. "And who is this mage?"
Illia stepped up. "My name is Illia. Inigo... helped me against a tower full of necromancers in the south." she put it simply, but refused to delve deeper for the Jarls, lest she be potentially targeted for association.
Inigo nodded. "Yes; things got quite hairy down there, but we managed to pull through." He could sense that Illia did not want to go into details, and so he refrained, himself.
"Good work." Jarl Laila praised him, and Illia. "Both of you."
Illia found herself unable to precisely articulate her emotions, yet a wave of elation washed over her upon receiving the Jarl's commendation. The actions she had taken still pained her, but there was a growing sense that, ultimately, her decisions were justified.
Serana stared at her with a look of suspicion, but kept silent in her corner. She was happy to see Inigo, though.
Jarl Ulfric spoke up then, addressing Inigo specifically. "Get some rest; we will need you to be mentally sound at the meeting with his great, butt-tightness General Tullius tomorrow."
"Yes, I could certainly use forty-one winks right about now," Inigo scoffed. He leaned toward Illia. "My new friend Illia will need rest as well. May she use the Guest Room?"
"Certainly," Jarl Laila agreed without hesitation. "Rest as long as you need. If you're a friend of Inigo's, then you're a friend of ours."
"Really?" Illia was surprised. It seemed that Inigo, the Dragonborn, and their companions were held in high esteem. Perhaps she should have sought out Cura earlier; they might have been able to assist her.
"Oh, indeed. Inigo is a friend to all in Skyrim!" Lucien said with a teasing smile, offering his hand. "Lucien Flavius, at your service. A wizard and scholar of some renown."
"Oh, I know who you are - I've heard your name before." Illia shook his hand.
As soon as she said it, Lucien was elated. He almost leapt with excitement to know that he was recognizable. "Really? You do? Wow-wee! I've finally made it into the big leagues! Do you think I'll someday be as recognizable as M'aiq the Liar, or Divayth Fyr, or Sinderion, or... or..."
Serana placed her hands on her hips and leaned back smugly. "Inquisitor Pelan?" Everyone in the room stared at her with a confused glare, and Serana saw fit to correct herself. "Oh? Nobody here knows about him? Never mind my example, then."
After some brief debate between Serana and Lucien on the veracity of historical documentation, everybody went their separate ways to rest for the coming morning. After all, tomorrow was the big day - the day that would decide where they stood come the struggled to find sleep that night, his efforts thwarted by the day's stress, while Illia, a few beds away, wept beneath her covers. Downstairs, Lucien engaged in conversation with Wylandriah, reminiscing more about his time and his exploits in Winterhold. Meanwhile, Serana took a leisurely walk to the Temple of Mara and settled on the front row of pews, bowing her head in prayer.
The Jarls also took their rest, keen to keep their minds sharp to avoid being exploited in a weakened state, which Jarl Korir suspected the Legion might attempt. Tomorrow, they would convene at Dragonsreach, where Inigo was to assume the crucial role of arbiter, in spite of Jarl Skald and Jarl Korir's reservations. Jarl Laila and Jarl Ulfric, as well as General Tullius, Jarl Balgruuf, and Jarl Idgrod trusted him, and that was enough.
Could he truly rise to the occasion? He was unsure, yet one thing was certain: his heart was in the right place, and it was resilient. Maybe, just maybe, he could count on that to some extent for the challenges to come.