Notes: Thanks to BlueEyre, Biff McLaughlin, zevgirl, Watson, Sokat and Myrielle for your reviews! It does help keep the muse on track. I'm getting ready for some construction on my house, and I'm finding that writing is actually rather relaxing!
~o~o~o~
It was four, maybe five, hours until dawn when Nessa reached Falkreath. She dismounted Shadowmere in the woods, leaving her odd mount where he wouldn't stir commentary. She left him ready to go, bags still tied to his saddle.
"I won't be long." She turned to leave him, took a step and realized she was caught on something. She turned to look and saw Shadowmere had bitten the fabric of her coat to hold her in place.
"Mere! What is wrong with you, horse?" It was uncanny how much the horse seemed to hate Brynjolf and wanted to keep them apart. It was almost as if he were jealous. "Let go!" Pulling, she managed to free herself from the horse and rounded on him, fury in her eyes.
"I will probably never see him again, okay? Does that make you happy? I'm going to die, or get thrown in prison, or go to the gallows. Let me just say farewell to the one person who seems to care!"
Finally saying the words that had eaten at the edges of her thoughts made tears prickle behind her eyes and sting at her nose. "Dammit!" She sniffed them back and took a deep breath to compose herself.
The horse snorted and turned his back, as if telling her to go, that he didn't care.
"Perfect. You don't care either do you?" She spun on her heel and walked into Falkreath.
The inn was deserted when she walked in. Even the innkeeper was in bed. She knew which room he was in, they'd broken in the bed before she left him here. Slipping quietly in, she made her way to his bed and gazed at him while he slept.
His relaxed face made her catch her breath. He looked younger, almost carefree. The worry lines between his brows were gone. Now she'd wake him up and he would certainly guess where she was going and what she had to do. She'd never tell him, of course, but he could read her like a book. He would know. He would know that she didn't think she would succeed. Maybe he'd try to stop her. They would argue. Their last few moments together would be bitter and regretful.
I'm stupid, she thought. Why did I think telling him in person would be better?
She glanced around the room and saw a desk with parchment, an ink bottle and quill. She went to it and quietly scratched out a note. It was dark and hard to see. Hopefully it would be legible. She'd dashed away every tear that threatened to drop and smudge the ink.
With a final sniff she blew on the paper to dry the ink and folded it neatly, dragging out the moment.
"Don't bother lass, I read it."
She gasped and leapt out of the chair, whirling to face Brynjolf who was leaning over her chair, clearly having just read every word she wrote.
"You shouldn't sneak up on me!" She let the folded paper flutter to the ground. "You read it?" she said contritely.
He stepped closer, hurt painted on his face. "It was all a big mistake. I should go back to Riften and forget you." Tilting her chin up with his finger he refused to let her look away. "Much easier to lie in a letter than in person, isn't it?"
She tried to take a step back but was blocked by the desk. Her eyes suddenly found the floor interesting. "I wasn't lying. We shouldn't see each other anymore."
"Tsk, tsk. You're an awful liar. Now, tell me why you were going to leave me—again, I might add—with just a note. The truth this time."
She tried to sidle away from him, but he had planted himself firmly in front of her, not letting her escape.
Sighing she looked up and met his eyes. It wasn't any use trying to deceive him, he knew her too well. "I'm being sent to Solitude to carry this thing out." Even now she couldn't speak about it directly. "I'm not sure I'll be back." The words nearly stuck in her throat, and burned as she spoke them.
"No you're not." His voice was harsher than she'd heard it in a long time. He grasped her arms and shook her lightly. "That's just insane. You said they wouldn't send you."
"And this is exactly why I wanted to leave you the note," she said, anger beginning to burn away sorrow. "I didn't want to spend our last bit of time together arguing, Brynjolf! We could just say our goodbye now and have some nice memories of our time together for… however long we have in this world."
His mood suddenly shifted and his grip loosened on her arms, eyes softening. "Lass, it doesn't have to be the end. Not of you, not of… this. You come back to Riften and we'll keep you safe. I can't explain it, but I know this is all wrong. I think there are forces stronger than your Night Mother that want you to return."
Her mood softened too. The room darkened further and the shadows felt comforting, welcoming. She had felt this before. It was so familiar. The sense of having seen this, lived this, was strong. Brynjolf's arms wrapping around her…
"Ness," he whispered into her ear.
She expected to see crows.
Crows? She leaned into him and their lips met in a soft kiss.
Crows. Those dark birds she'd seen on the false Night Mother in that last dream. Nocturnal, the patron of thieves. The soft shadows, now she recognized it. It was a dream she'd slipped into many nights when she wasn't dreaming of the Night Mother's tranquil garden.
Nocturnal believes she has laid claim to you.
Nessa suddenly thrust Brynjolf away and looked at him sadly. "They're using us. All those dreams… and now this. Don't you see? It's Nocturnal. You yourself said it. Even you are being manipulated. There is no us. It's them, doing this to us. None of this is real."
Brynjolf looked confused as she pulled away. "Lass? Trust me, everything I've said is real. I care about you… deeply."
Shaking her head, she edged to the door. "I don't know why the Night Mother and Nocturnal are doing this but I'm sick of feeling like a marker in a shell game."
He must think me mad, she thought. Why would I be the center of attention for two powerful denizens of Oblivion?
"Then let's leave here. I'll leave Nocturnal's influence. If you think that is why I care about you, then if I'm no longer a thief, I'm not hers to claim. You leave the Night Mother. We'll see then if they've clouded our minds with their schemes or whether this thing between us is real," he said.
Would it work? If she left, would the Night Mother drive her mad? Would Byrnjolf's affections dwindle without Nocturnal pushing him in her subtle ways? She wasn't sure which would be worse, to wake up one day and find him disinterested, his eyes following other women as they walked by, or to lose her sanity to the vengeful whispers of a voice in her head.
"I…" she whispered. Want to. Need to. I love you, dammit, have ever since you convinced me to plant a ring on Brand-Shei, I've been yours. But you didn't see me as anything other than a thief in training until Night Mother claimed me.
"…can't." She pushed away as he tried to embrace her. "If this is real, not just the meddling of Daedra then maybe time apart will prove that."
"Ness." His arms dropped to his sides and looked at her sadly. "Whatever you think best, lass. Just… be careful, you promise me? I want to have a chance to prove you're wrong."
She nodded. Her hand seemed to rise on its own, fingers skimmed his cheek. "I'll do my best." Staring at his face for a moment, she nearly couldn't move. Finally, with a sigh she turned and left.
By the time she found the grove where she'd left Shadowmere, she was blind with tears. Stumbling, she caught herself by grabbing onto the horse and burying her head into his neck. He nickered softly while she sobbed.
~o~o~o~
Meddling gods and Daedra. Really? Brynjolf slammed his hand against the desk wanting to feel the sting, wanting to feel something other than loss and a feeling like the best thing that ever happened to him was gone for good. It worked. His hand throbbed painfully.
She was mystical, maybe even a little touched with her belief in the Night Mother and Nocturnal interfering in her life. He'd heard of such things, and certainly Delvin believed, but Brynjolf had never seen any evidence himself. Yet, he'd seen her strange connection to dragons. There were other explanations. Could have been a lucky guess that the dragon was still there when they'd hidden in the woods.
What had possessed him to say that about forces stronger than the Night Mother? Where had that notion come from? He wasn't wrong about feeling sure that she was on the wrong path. That feeling was strong. Maybe he just hoped to appeal to her mystical nature by saying it.
He sat down at the desk, unfolded the note, and reread the gentle lies she'd written. His hand throbbed painfully, but a discordant thought just couldn't be dislodged.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong! This was wrong and he had to stop it.
There was no way he could get to Solitude in time. Her devil horse was far faster than any horse he might steal in this small hold, and the wagon was far too slow. She'd said that the Sanctuary was nearby. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to wait. If she survived and returned, he could intercept her and try again to convince her.
~o~o~o~
Solitude. Aptly named town. Nessa was assaulted by memories as she walked through the gates. There was the inn where she'd stayed with Arnbjorn. Even now, after everything that had happened, a quick flash of desire drilled through her remembering the passion they'd experienced here. A memory of Tullius threatened to surge into her consciousness but she quickly squashed it. Her finger played with the ring, the charm that Gabriella had made her. She looked nothing like the young girl who had inadvertently seduced the general.
Then came memories of Brynjolf and the care he'd taken of her. If it hadn't been for him she'd be dead. Such was her mood that she almost wished he hadn't rescued her. Those thoughts she squashed too. If she failed her head would decorate the end of a spike here in Solitude. It was a step up from Helgen though. She laughed at the morbid thought.
The trip had been faster this time. She managed to avoid bandits that frequented abandoned towers and waylaid strangers along the roads. More influence from the Daedra community? Why were they so concerned over what she did and what organization she worked with? She was nothing. A grownup orphan, a former thief, and now a killer. So what? Lots of people killing other people out there.
Maybe it was how those supernatural creatures passed eternity, meddling in the affairs of common folks. Probably the Night Mother and Nocturnal had a running bet. She resented them both for trying to control her, through fear or through her feelings for Brynjolf. Were her feelings even real? True, she'd been fairly well smitten from the very start, but even back then they may have been meddling.
She went to the inn and asked for a different room, not wanting to be reminded of her time with Arnbjorn. It didn't work; she thought about him as she undressed and bathed. She laid down to sleep, expecting to be swept into the senselessness she'd come to expect, but tonight for the first time since the Night Mother had spoken to her, she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned until just before dawn. Perhaps the Unholy Matron was too busy fighting the Daedra to see to her Listener.
The next day she wandered around Solitude and even poked her head into the old thieves' guild where Brynjolf had nursed her back to health. The place was as filthy as ever, but even so it held such memories. Perhaps not quite so many as the inn outside town where they'd stayed and first kissed.
Sighing, Nessa headed out the secret entrance and went back to the inn where she bathed once more before going to the Castle Dour in her disguise as the Gourmet.
~o~o~o~
The charm Gabriella had given her made her look like a middle-aged woman. The circles under her eyes from not sleeping certainly didn't detract from the effect. She presented her writ of passage to an official at the castle. Wait… he looked familiar. She shrugged. All these Imperials looked similar anyway. Most were dark-haired, not tall like her Nord countrymen.
"Ah, the Gourmet," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." He directed her to the kitchen and the head chef, Gianna.
As she walked away, she tried to remember where she'd seen this man before. It didn't matter if she had met him or not, she looked nothing like herself now.
She found the cook stirring a pot of potage. "Put the supplies over there!" The cook ordered her.
Nessa stopped and stared at the chef. "What supplies? I'm here to cook for the emperor. I am the Gourmet."
"The Gourmet? Oh finally! I can hardly believe it. Please forgive my rudeness. It's just…" she paused and looked unsure.
"Yes?" Nessa prompted her.
"I just can't believe the Gourmet is a Nord! I mean, your people cook everything in mead and none of your recipes…"
"I was trained in Imperial City, of course," Nessa replied with a haughty sniff.
"Oh, of course!" Gianna's momentary skepticism seemed to give way to fawning devotion. "The emperor has requested your signature dish, the Potage le Magnifique. I've taken the liberty of starting it."
Nessa nodded and glanced into the bubbling cauldron. "It looks… adequate." She reached for a nearby ladle and scooped some up, sniffing it critically, and then tasted it. She stared off into the distance as if critically evaluating its qualities. Finally she frowned and turned to the chef.
"Oh! I know you must have your own special preparation."
Raising an eyebrow Nessa searched for something to say. She suddenly wished she knew a little more about cooking. "The fire is too hot and such a hard boil has… bruised the broth. We shall have to repair it."
"Of course! Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know, but yes. I suppose it really should simmer gently…"
Looking around the kitchen Nessa spied a number of ingredients she recognized. "Elves ears!" She pointed at the dried herb hanging from the ceiling.
"Of course! That's brilliant," Gianna enthused. "Their musky flavor would cover up any… bruising." She grabbed the herb and pounded it in a stone bowl with a stone tool. "There!" Dumping it into the pot she gazed at Nessa looking for approval.
Nessa took another taste and sniffed disdainfully. "It needs…" she looked around the room and pointed to a table with five septims lying out, a package of something, and a bundle of herbs she didn't recognize.
"A septim? Really? Well that's… That's genius! The gold will lend a slight metallic taste to complement the lemon juice." She scooped up a septim and dropped it into the pot and stirred it again. "Anything else?"
"I have white nirn root extract that will finish it perfectly," Nessa said handing the chef her bottle of jarrin root extract. Astrid had assured her it was the most deadly poison in Skyrim and extremely difficult to distill. It had cost a small fortune to acquire.
The cook eagerly took the bottle and poured it into the potage. "Do you want to sample it before we take it up to the emperor?" She held out the ladle.
Nessa haughtily shook her head. "No. It is perfection now."
"Very well! Let's serve it. I'll just carry it up. You must come too. Just stand there and look amazing. I'm sure the emperor and his guests are dying to meet you. I will take care of serving."
The two cooks took the pot of thick soup to the royal dining hall where the emperor was chatting with several nobles around the table.
The emperor introduced Nessa to his guests as the Gourmet and she made a bow to the emperor. "I hope you enjoy the potage, your Imperial Majesty." She'd rehearsed the lines with Gabriella and knew how to address the emperor properly.
"Ah! So delighted you could make it," he replied. Turning to the other guests he said, "I present to you, the Gourmet."
Nessa bent her head respectfully to acknowledge the introduction and then gestured to Gianna to serve.
Setting the tureen on the table, Gianna ladled the first serving into the emperor's bowl.
"Ah! The Potage le Magnifique." He took a deep sniff of the bowls contents and closed his eyes, enjoying the smell of fragrant soup. "My friends, as emperor, I reserve the right of first taste." He raised the spoon to his mouth and took a generous taste. "Oh my, just delicious. It is everything I hoped it would be."
Gianna turned to Nessa, glowing with pride. "Maybe when this is all over you could send one of your cookbooks to me?"
Eyes glued on the emperor, Nessa barely heard her. "Of course," she mumbled.
Almost immediately the emperor began to waver in his chairs, his face looked distinctly gray. "I think something is… wrong." Then he passed out, his face landing in the bowl of potage.
"Someone poisoned the emperor. Get them!" A guest yelled.
"We're being attacked!" Someone else yelled.
The escape door! It was on the other side of the room. In the confusion attending the emperor's death, Nessa hiked up her skirt and grabbed the daggers strapped to her calves. Just as the guards saw her grabbing weapons, they charged for her, but she jumped onto the dining room table and kicked the poisoned soup tureen at one of them. Fearing for his life, he jumped out of the way and lost his balance. He stumbled and collided with one of the panicking guests and they both crashed to the ground.
The other guard got closer and jabbed his sword clumsily at her legs. She jumped backwards; nearly slipping on a cheese platter, but instead stepped on the edge launching a soft, ripe cheese which splattered messily as it hit the guard's face effectively blinding him.
Jumping off the table, she prayed the door was unlocked and it was. "Thank you, Astrid," she said quietly throwing open the door beginning the run across the bridge to safety. It was unguarded, just as Astrid had said. All she had to do was get to the tower, run down two levels then out of the city to freedom.
She had killed the emperor!
The thought nearly staggered her. A strange rush of emotions swept over her: fear, joy, even regret.
The emperor!
It would bring glory to the name of the Dark Brotherhood. Astrid would forgive her of everything. She could just about see Arnbjorn's secret look of approval. Even Nazir would be proud of her.
Halfway across the bridge the enormity of what she'd done hit her. What would happen now that the emperor was dead? Ulfric would certainly be named High King and…
A noise drew her attention and a pair of soldiers stepped onto the bridge.
Astrid had said the bridge would be unguarded! She stopped and took a step backwards as they advanced slowly. A third one emerged from the tower and the noise… it was someone clapping slowly.
The soldiers stopped advancing as someone emerged from the portal above the bridge, torch in hand. The light was enough to illuminate his face. The man at the gate! The one who looked so familiar. So much like… yes, the young Imperial officer she'd killed in Windhelm. Was that his father?
Her head spun. Waves crashed in her ears, she couldn't make sense of what the man was saying. Fear sickened her, nearly making her vomit. It seemed she would be on the executioner's block once again. Better to jump and end it quickly. She edged over to the side, but the guards began to advance once again. She'd never make it over before they caught her.
"… you, an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, just made an attempt on the emperor's life."
Attempt? He was dead. She saw it.
"…would've succeeded had it been the real man."
Not the emperor? Oh Talos, she'd failed after all! She took another step backwards, but the guards came forward.
"Tsk, tsk. Surprised? So was I when a member of your family came to me with a plan. We worked out a deal, you see, an exchange. I get you, my son's killer, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence. But I've changed my mind. I'll kill you and butcher each and everyone one of your miserable little friends. Your Sanctuary will be put to the sword."
It was him. Commander Maro, the head of Imperial security. Someone had made a deal? Who?
"You killed my son, all of you, and now you'll pay the price." Maro spat off the portal. "Kill her and make sure there's nothing left to bury!" He turned sharply on his heel and disappeared as the guards advanced in earnest.
So this would be the end? Here. Alone on a bridge. Better than a headsman's block. A sense of despondency washed over her. She felt her fingers loosen on her daggers. What was the use?
But she couldn't drop them. Instead her fingers tightened on the blades and a strange feeling thrummed through her. It seemed to start in her stomach and radiate out. A wave of ferocity, not just a reluctance to die, but desire to vanquish, to win, no matter the odds, radiated from her center to her limbs.
It turned into a fire that consumed all rational thought. Images of a helpless goat tumbling across the landscape, and that noise that had erupted from her after they killed that dragon. Whiterun. Thane. Dragonstone. Chaotic memories, long suppressed, flashed across her mind while reality trembled on the verge of becoming. From somewhere, well beyond rationality, came the word and power.
"Fus!"
The force erupted with her guttural scream and the guards, surprise on their faces, were swept backwards with an invisible punch of energy. There was no time to puzzle it out. She leapt forward, encountering the first of the fallen guards before he could get to his feet. The quick slash to us neck ensured he wouldn't follow. The second was so disoriented from hitting his head against the brick wall that he was only barely conscious. The third was trying to scuttle away from her, looking like a mud crab as he scrambled backwards, his hands and feet propelling him. His panic was palpable. He was no longer a threat.
The violence unleashed fed the rage and she sprinted down the stairs, stopping only to lash out at another guard who briefly blocked her way. Whether he fell or ran, she didn't even notice and another flight of stairs brought her to the exit of Solitude.
She whistled for Shadowmere and the horse came running, seeming to sense her haste. She leapt on his back and he ran, faster than she knew he could run, into the night.
It was a long way back to the Sanctuary and a long time to puzzle over what had just happened.
~o~o~o~
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The muse thanks you!