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Not Drake but Jill: Act 3

Summary:

This began as an exploration of Elder Scrolls lore through the eyes, and adventures, of the Last Dragonborn. It got away from me.

Act 3: Things are falling apart. The civil war is heating up, more and more dragons are appearing all the time, and the College of Winterhold is under threat from both within and without. With the dragonborn forced to split her time between Skyrim and Solstheim her life is quickly spiraling out of control. It’s a good thing Teldryn is willing to step into the role of responsible adult… most of the time.

New Readers: It is not necessary to have read Acts 1 and 2 in order to understand most of what is going on in Act 3 (if you’ve played Skyrim). But I would suggest you read the “Story So Far” summary (link inside) for a quick recap of what quests have been completed and what “Cannon Divergence” includes.

Notes:

For a recap of the Story so Far (link)

Chapter 1: Apocrypha

Summary:

Alexa knows a trap when she’s in one.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 1 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Well, shit,” Alexa muttered, looking at the strange green sky above her and the inky black water, full of giant tentacles, stretching to the horizon on either side of where she stood. Her day, thus far, had already contained a barrow, a dragon priest, a word wall, and now a book that was a portal to – she gave the archway, made of black-bound books, in front of her an apprizing once over – Apocrypha.  Not quite the way she’d envisioned it – Morian Zenas’description had been of a maze of shelves not islands made of books – but, yes, this was clearly Apocrypha.  Which meant the chance of contact with yet another of the daedric princes had just increased to near certainty.  She took a step forward.

“So, another seeker after knowledge enters my realm,” a booming voice with the slimy, sucking, undertones of a pool of mud, announced.  “This is Apocrypha, where all knowledge is hoarded.  Sate your thirst for knowledge in the endless stacks.”  Alexa looked up, in the direction of the voice, to see innumerable tentacles and eyes bubbling out of dark splotches in the air.  She tried not to blanch.  She’d always found goat eyes a little disturbing. Disembodied floating goats eyes the size of her head were, honestly, nightmarish.  “If you tire of your search,” the sucking voice continued, “read your book again to return to your world.  For a time.  The lure of Apocrypha will call you back,” the voice chuckled smugly to itself as the daedra faded from the sky.  “It is your fate.”

Alexa squashed the sudden, nearly overwhelming, temptation to prove the Prince of Fate wrong by immediately reading The Winds of Change again, to leave, and never come back.  There were answers she wanted, to the questions of the world, and this place probably had some of them. 

Damn it.

She cast invisibility on herself and notched an ebony arrow to Auriel’s bow.

Notes:

1 The Doors of Oblivion, by Seif-ij Hidja.

Chapter 2: Raven Rock

Summary:

Making new friends.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 2 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Nine AM.  Teldryn Sero sat in his favorite chair near the cook fire in the Retching Netch.  Truthfully he was bored.  It had been several months since he’d come to Raven Rock after his last patron had committed suicide via bandit camp.  Soon he was going to have to find a new patron or be reduced to standard mercenary work – not a pleasant thought.  Though it was possible that new employment was closer than it seemed.  Gossip had it an adventuresome outlander had come in on the Northern Maiden yesterday and, almost immediately, gotten caught up in the ongoing tiff between Glover Mallory and Crescius Caerellius.  Then she’d disappeared down the closed mine shaft, apparently muttering something about there always being one more hole to get to the bottom of.  That had been a little less than a day ago and the gossips were already proclaiming her dead in a pitfall or eaten by spiders.  A pity really, he would have liked to have at least gotten a look at someone gullible enough to be taken in by Crescius’ wild tales and so foolhardy as to explore a long abandoned mine shaft with just a dog for help.  It would have made for a good story.  And, if she’d survived, she might have realized the usefulness of having someone with her who knew the lay of the land…

The front door of the Retching Netch opened and the outlander, and her armored dog, stepped into the foyer.  She was female, obviously, and too short to be a mer; also too slight to be a Nord or Redguard.  An imperial, he thought, or a Breton.  Hard to tell with her face covered with a strange, rather ugly, bronze mask.  Her armor was light, clearly bespoke, expensive and well used.  Her weapon, a bow, was breath taking but possibly too fancy to be functional.  The assortment of staffs strapped across her pack suggested at least some ability with magic.  Teldryn smiled inside his helmet, his employment opportunity had arrived.

“The best swordsman in all Morrowind at your service... for the right price,” Teldryn greeted her. 


“I wonder what became of Saint Jiub?” Teldryn remarked, looking around them at the piles of spawn ash.

“Why?  Are you hoping you’ll be sainted for slaying ashspawn?” his new patron – female, mid to late twenties, Breton, Alexa, no last name – enquired.

“I met him once, you know,” Teldryn told her reprovingly.

Alexa chuckled at that. “Careful Sero, you’re showing your age.”

“Oh?  And who’s to say it wasn’t last year that I met him?” he asked archly.

“Unless you’ve been spending time in the Soul Cairn that is extremely unlikely,” she replied, pushing open the door into Fort Frostmoth.

“The Soul Cairn?” Teldryn frowned, following close behind.

“It’s where the souls that fill black soul gems go when they’re used up,” she explained, shooting a rising ashspawn through the chest.

“I know what the Soul Cairn is,” Teldryn told her with slight irritation.  “I’m just interested in why he would be there.”

“He was in Kvatch when it was destroyed,” she told him.  “It seems a dremora soul trapped him before killing him.  Which makes you, if you really did meet him, more than two hundred years old.”

Teldryn pretended to be too busy with the ash spawn to answer.

“So what was the Oblivion Crisis like?” she asked a few minutes later as she picked open the gate to what had probably been the fort quartermaster’s office.

“Terrible.  What’s Saint Jiub like now that he’s dead?” he asked, not really expecting a response.

“Self obsessed,” she answered, rummaging the shelves for anything useful.  “He gave me the first volume of the autobiography he was working on when he died.  If I make it back to Skyrim alive, you can have a copy.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been to the Soul Cairn and come back?” Teldryn drawled.

“Don’t ask,” she told him, as they made their way down into the fort’s old crypt.

“I just did ask.”

“Tell you what, when we’re through here, I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

“You’re paying,” he reminded her, as she skimmed through a journal someone had stupidly left behind.

“I’m aware of that, Sero. You are not my first paid travel-buddy.”

“The others let you take them places like the Soul Cairn?” he enquired, going through the backpack on the floor.  He handed her the key he found inside.

“Never came up,” she replied accepting the key and heading back up to the main level.  “At the time I was traveling with a daughter of Coldharbor, not a mercenary.  She was born in the second era, which makes her even older than you.  So, don’t worry, I’m used to elderly traveling companions.”

“And she put up with you, did she?” he grumbled.

“See, now you’re just being a grouchy old man,” she told him, using the key on the tower door.


“You’re not going to ask me to turn around?” Teldryn enquired as his new patron began to strip her armor in a manner that indicated she was both very used to getting in and out of it and that she was accustomed to a lack of privacy.  They were in her room at The Retching Netch waiting for Drovas to bring them the dinner they’d ordered from Geldis on their return from Fort Frostmoth.

“Would you if I did?” she asked, sounding like she didn’t believe that he would.

“Probably not,” he admitted. 

“Then what’s the point?”

He shrugged to himself. If she wasn’t bothered by close living quarters, why should he be? “Nice tattoos,” he commented, changing the subject.  “I have a few myself.”

“They’re not tattoos,” she told him, finishing pulling on her college robes.

“You’re telling me your skin is naturally patterned with pretty purple flowers?” he asked, humorously, as he removed his helmet.

She settled in the chair across from him.  “They’re mage marks.  You sir, have the honor of traveling with the youngest Grand Master Mage in all of Tamriel.1  Don’t tell the Thalmor, they’ll try to kill us both.”

“Is that right?” he asked skeptically.  

“I’m also dragonborn. But don’t worry, I don’t expect you to believe that either.”

“Then why tell me?”

“So you won’t be mad at me for not telling you when we eventually get attacked by a dragon and I absorb its soul like some weird-ass soul gem.”

He was saved from having to immediately respond to that by a knock on the door.  She went to answer it, relieved Drovas of the tray he was holding, and returned to the table, kicking the door closed behind her.

“You know, most people would have had a bit more lead up to the ‘I eat dragon souls’ revelation,” Teldryn informed her as she arranged their food on the table between them.

“It’s been a tough few months,” she replied with a shrug.  “I figure if I have to roll with the punches you, as my companion, will too.  Best to warn you of what’s coming.  Where, and when, ever possible at least.”

Fair enough, he thought with a slight mental shrug.  “So what brings the dragonborn to Solstheim? Professional life or personal?”

“Personal, I’m afraid. A man who’s apparently been dead for several thousand years seems to have put a hit out on me.”

“Come again?”

“Welcome to my life, Sero. If you want to chicken out, I’ll understand, but I’ll be wanting my money back.”

“And give up the chance to travel with the fabled dragonborn?” he laughed.  “Parish the thought.  I’m just confused as to how a dead man can hire people to kill you.”

“Cultists.  It’s the why, not the how, that I’m here to find out about,” she clarified, just as there was a considerably more forceful knock on the door.

“Come in!” Alexa called, clearly not wanting to get up again.

The door opened to reveal one of the town’s more industrious busybodies.  Teldryn sighed.

“Captain Veleth,” Alexa greeted the man.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I heard you were back. What news from Fort Frostmoth?”

Alexa tossed him the journal they’d found.  “The General shouldn’t be a problem any more Captain.  Don’t know about the necromancer that raised him though. That’s some pretty high level experimentation…  Anybody in town piss off a necromancer lately?”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose,” the captain answered noncommittally.  “The only one around here who might know about that sort of thing though is that crazed Telvanni wizard over on the South Eastern coast.” He paused, glancing down at the journal in his hands.  “It’s a shame about General Carius.  There are quite a few tales of his exploits, including the founding of Raven Rock...”  

“Bit of a hero of yours?” Alexa asked with a soft smile.

The Captain gave her a wry smile in return.  “Anyway, Councilor Morvayn told me to give this to you if you made it back in one piece... and you got rid of General Carius.”  He handed Alexa a rather large purse as he returned the journal.  “Also, Second Councilor Arano would like a word with you as soon as possible.  It’s important.  Possibly more so than wiping out the ash spawn.  He’s waiting on the western road just out of town.”

Alexa sighed at her half eaten bowl of stew.  “Right, I’ll go see him once I’ve finished eating.”

Veleth nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

“Plot thickens,” Teldryn smirked.

“I’m never going to make it to that temple at this rate,” his new employer muttered.

Notes:

1 A narrative way of indicating Restoration 100 with all perks. See “Story So Far” for fuller explanation.

Chapter 3: Served Cold

Summary:

Alexa kills a dragon and gets a house.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 3 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They ended up spending most of the night in the back room of the Ulen Ancestral Tomb.  Teldryn dozed lightly while his patron seemed to simply enter a meditative state.  It was a little creepy how she sat there, perfectly still, eyes half closed, barely even breathing.  He tried not to think about it as he drifted in and out.

A little after midnight a hand nudged him awake, a finger pressed to his lips.  Someone had entered the tomb.  He leaned around the pillar he’d propped himself against to see who it was. He looked back to Alexa and nodded once in answer to the questioning look on her face.  He recognized the person paying their observances. 

Once Tilisu had gone, they made their way back to the Retching Netch only to discover that Alexa’s dog, Meeko, had taken her bed while they’d been gone.  So his patron opted for meditation in the taproom, over sleep, even waking him twice when he wandered past her on his way to join the workers at one of the stones.  He felt a surprising amount of gratitude for that.

The next morning they reported their findings to the Second Councilor.

The resigned look on Alexa’s face, when asked to “obtain hard evidence” was nearly comical.  “You any good at sneaking?” she asked him.

“Do I look like a thief to you?” he replied.

She sighed.  “Fine, you stay here and keep an eye on Meeko. I’ll be right back.”  She charged two spells releasing first one and then the other and disappeared right in front of him.

“Impressive,” he murmured but she was either already gone or chose not to answer.  Well, one thing was for certain, there was no doubting his new patron was a skilled mage. 

Teldryn eyed Meeko. Dogs were not common in Morrowind and, frankly, his time in Skyrim hadn’t fully won him over to the idea of keeping them as pets.  This one, however, had handled himself surprisingly well against the ashspawn the previous day.  Then again, maybe not so surprising, give the enchanted dog armor he was wearing. Meeko whined and presented the bridge of his nose for scratching.  Teldryn sighed and complied.

Alexa was away a total of fifteen minutes before she reappeared in front of him as suddenly as she had disappeared.  “You find evidence?” Teldryn asked, careful not to sound too impressed.  He’d never studied Illusion magic but knew invisibility took quite a bit of skill to cast.

“I did,” she answered simply.

What followed was the wholesale slaughter of more than a dozen members of the Morag Tong.  Poor bastards didn’t even see them coming.  By the end he was actually beginning to wonder why she felt the need for a traveling companion at all.

“It’s good to have someone capable at my back,” she said glancing up at him, as they worked their way back through Ashfallow Citadel, looting the place as they went.  He could hear the smile in her voice even if he couldn’t see any expression through the strange mask she wore.

“I too am glad to be working with someone who seems competent,” he replied.  “My last patron was killed trying to tackle an entire fort of bandits alone.”

“So these were Morag Tong?” she asked, inspecting the distinctive lightweight armor.

“Not impressed?” he inquired.  Certainly he wasn’t particularly impressed given that one stealthy mage with a bow had taken out so many of them almost single-handed.

“I don’t think assassins are used to being prey,” Alexa commented, conversationally.  “In my experience they don’t take the reversal well.”

“You have experience hunting assassins?”

She shrugged slightly. “I wiped out the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Skyrim a few years back.”

That caught him by surprise. “Did you now?  That must be an interesting story.”

“Not really.  They were hired to kill me, I killed them first.”

“And how did you manage that?” Teldryn asked patiently.  Sometimes talking to her, he was discovering, was a little maddening.

“I got tired of picking them off one at a time.  Heard the only way to get out of a Dark Brotherhood contract was to join them. So I fulfilled one of their contracts that absolutely everyone knew about.  Figured after that kind of insult they’d either send someone competent to kill me or they’d send a recruiter.  They sent a recruiter.  I killed the recruiter, took her stuff, and found myself in a unique position to collect a substantial Imperial bounty. A few days later I collected the bounty and went back to living my life with one fewer death marks on my head.”

“You think you destroyed them for good?” Teldryn asked, holding the tower door open for her.

“Nah.  The Dark Brotherhood is a cult of Sithis.  If the Dread Father wants to be worshiped he will be. Not a lot to be done about that. I just got rid of the ones who knew about the contract on my life.  Hopefully that’s enough.”  She patted her dog – whom she’d left outside on account of him being “as sneaky as a cave bear” – on the head.

“So you believe all that rot about them and Sithis?” he asked.  “Sounds a bit fishy to me.”

“I’m a dragon in a human body.  I’m afraid my crazy meter is somewhat drowned out by local signal.”

Teldryn laughed at that. He hadn’t yet heard her shout – or seen her do anything dragon-y – but he liked her well enough, so far, that he didn’t see much purpose in questioning, or demanding proof of, her strange assertions.

She stopped on the stairs, looking down on the bodies of the two Redoran guards.  “Pity about the guards.  Not like Raven Rock has that many to spare.”

They began the walk back to town.  “Your last patron was killed by bandits?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“My last patron was a true Nord.  He was dressed in animal skins, had tattoos on his face... a real traditional type, if you know what I mean.”

That caused a snicker. “What?” he asked her.

A true Nord, dressed in skins with tattoos on his face,” she mimicked before dropping back into her own voice, “says the Dunmer dressed in chitin armor with tattoos on his face.”

“Did you want to hear the story or not?” he asked in the tone of a man dealing with an impertinent child.

“No-no, please continue,” she returned, still chuckling lightly.

“He had an insatiable bloodlust and was extremely stubborn... one of the toughest employers I’ve ever had.  But he paid well.  Very well.”  His meaningful look was lost behind his helmet but he thought, from the slight tilt to her head, that she’d gotten the point anyway so he continued.  “We’d just cleared a ruined fort somewhere outside of Whiterun and, when we got outside, we saw one of them galloping away on horseback.  Well, my boss wasn’t about to let him get away, so we pursued... on foot, for three days.”

That caused some more snickering.  It was beginning to occur to Teldryn his new patron had an over active sense of humor.

“Until we ended up tracking him to one of the largest bandit encampments I’d ever seen.  My patron took one look at me, and made the most menacing grin...  At that moment, I knew I’d never see him again.  No amount of money would ever be worth that kind of death.”

“Glad to know you have limits, Sero,” she told him primly.

“So what did you do to end up a target of the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked.

“I translated a journal.”

“Aaand?” he prodded whens she failed to elaborate.

“The journal, it turned out, had belonged to the previous head of the Riften thieves’ guild.  In it he’d outlined his suspicion that one of his lieutenants was not only stealing from the Guild but had taken an artifact from a temple of Nocturnal and that the Guild’s worsening circumstances were the result of the daedra’s displeasure. 

“At the time I translated said journal the lieutenant in question had become the Guild master after the ‘tragic’ murder of his predecessor.  I think you can guess how it went from there.”

“I can, but why didn’t he just kill you himself?”

“Because, when he realized the danger he was in, he didn’t know exactly where I was and he wanted to make sure I never made it back to Riften.”

Teldryn nodded.  “And the Dark Brotherhood were supposed to be as good as couriers at finding people.”

“Exactly.”


They returned to Raven Rock just as the dragon attacked.  Teldryn was startled to hear his patron groan – as if the arrival of a dragon on scene was an annoying imposition rather than an utter disaster – as she dropped her pack and unhooked the staff shaped like a bright red rose. “Frost dragon,” she told him. “Use fire spells or physical damage. It’s got a lot of health and armor so aim for the wings to get it on the ground.  Stay away from its head.  A dragon’s bite attack will snap even the heaviest armor in half.”  She fired her staff at the ground, summoning a dremora, before casting a mage-armor spell and shifting back to her bow. 

The dremora took one look at the dragon, grinned at his summoner, and charged.  The dragon seemed to smirk as it turned to shout frost at them but Teldryn’s patron merely shouted the dragon’s attack it back into its face.  The dragon coughed and took flight coming to land on the bulwark behind them.

“Dovahkiin.  You have come as lord Miraak said you would.  Die now so that your power may hasten his return!”

“Zu’u ni hin krii!1” Alexa retorted.  “That honor belongs to Alduin alone!  KRII-LUN-AUS!”

Even with the help of the dragonborn it took the Redoran guard nearly twenty minutes to down the dragon. By the end Teldryn was fully ready to attest that the woman was Tamriel’s greatest healer.  Without her mass healing spells he was certain more than half the guard would have been dead in the first few minutes. 

Teldryn didn’t catch what the dragon said to her in its final moments but whatever it was caused the little Breton to snarl angrily before shooting the downed dragon a final time.

A moment later the dragon’s body began to burn from the inside, its scaly hide flaking away, as Alexa was engulfed in a storm of raw energy.  And then it was over and all that was left was a dragon’s lifeless skeleton.

“Asshole,” she muttered turning and walking away like nothing exciting, much less earth shattering, had just happened.  The guards stood there staring at the skeleton like they were half afraid it would spring back to life at any moment.

“Come on Sero, we have to make our report to the Second Councilor,” she called back to him over her shoulder.

“You know, after that display, I think they’re going to need to find a more substantial reward then just a few septims, Dragonborn,” he noted casually as he followed her.

“As long as I get a bath sometime this evening, I’m happy.”


That evening he helped her move her things from The Retching Netch to Severin Manor and was more than a little surprised when she handed him the spare key.  “As I see it you’re due a cut of the spoils,” she told him.  “This house is part of the spoils so the second room is yours if you want it.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he noted, frowning at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Do you have a house?”

“No.”  He’d been living at the Retching Netch since coming to Raven Rock.

“Do you see me being able to sell this place, in a timely manner, even with the mine reopened?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea, given everything you’ve seen, for me to live alone?”

“Definitely not.”

“Are you a terrible housemate who leaves his socks in the kitchen?”

That made him chuckle. “No.”

“Good.  Lets go get your things.”

“I don’t sleep with my patrons,” he told her as she turned to head back to the Netch for his stuff.

She looked back over her shoulder at him.  “I’m married.”

That stopped him.  He certainly hadn’t seen that coming. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s not really the adventuring type,” she replied.

“But, uh…” Teldryn gestured to the house around him.

“I’ll let him know. Whether he makes the trip or not will be up to him.  If he does, he’ll stay in my room anyway, so it’s not a big deal, right?”

“Most men don’t take kindly to other men living with their wives,” he pointed out.

“He’s not like most men,” she assured him.

That night Teldryn fell asleep, in his new room, wondering why the fact she had a husband who didn’t travel with her bothered him.

 

Notes:

1 I am not yours to kill!

Chapter 4: Neloth

Summary:

Grand Masters

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 4 (Winter, 4E 202)

Chapter Text

“Teldryn can you hear me? Teldryn, wake up!” the voice was familiar and insistent.

“What?  Is there a problem?” he gasped awake and found himself on his back and out of doors.  He looked around him.  The moons still rode high in the sky and, not too far away, he could see the outline of Tel Mithryn against a glowing green skyline.  The strange weight on his chest turned out to be Meeko who immediately set about licking the eye lenses on his helmet.

“Oh, thank the Divines, for a moment there I thought I’d lost you,” Alexa smiled down at him.

“By Dagon’s eyes, how did we end up here?” he asked her shoving her dog off him and sitting up.

“I don’t really know,” she replied looking around them.  “I must have finally fallen asleep.”

Teldryn decided not to think about the fact she’d just admitted to going three days without sleep.  At least, he noted, they both seemed to have gotten dressed before sleepwalking to the other side of the island.

“That’s the Telvanni wizard’s place over there, right?” she asked, pointing south.  “Lets go see if he’s figured out what’s going on yet.”

“You know all Telvanni are certifiably insane, right?” Teldryn warned her as they started off. 


“The Telvanni are amazing,” he confided, as they entered the giant mushroom grove surrounding the tower, a few minutes later.  “Look what they’ve grown from the ash... have you ever seen anything like it?” he turned slowly around several times trying to take it all in.

“I have to admit, houses grown from giant mushrooms is a new one for me,” Alexa laughed.  “I thought you said the Telvanni were all crazy?”

“Insanity does not preclude genius,” he told her sternly.  “And you should be careful, you’re sounding awfully jaded for one so young.”


“You again.  Didn’t I see you in Raven Rock?” the imperious Dunmer demanded, after a swift glance over his shoulder to see who had entered.

“You did,” Alexa acknowledged looking around her.  “Where is everyone?”

“They are off working on their pillar,” the wizard replied without concern.  “Happens every night.”

“Can’t you make them stop?” Alexa asked.

“Make them stop?  Oh no, certainly not.  At least not yet…  Not until I’ve figured out what is going on.  Imagine the power of being able to command entire villages to do your bidding,” Neloth replied, apparently too engrossed in whatever he was doing to give his visitors his full attention.  “Imagine what I could do with that power,” he added to himself.

“You must be a very powerful wizard already,” Alexa noted. 

“I am likely the greatest wizard you will ever meet,” Neloth sniffed.

At that Alexa sighed and removed a gauntlet.  The tinkling sound of a healing spell seemed to actually catch Neloth’s attention.  He turned to face them for the first time. His eyes narrowed as he watched petals swirl across Alexa’s arm.  “So you’re the one, eh?  I had heard you were rather young.”

Alexa snuffed the spell and just stared a hole in his forehead.

Neloth grimaced, pushed up his sleeve, and began a fire enchantment.  The deep red key patters of Julianos began flowing across his skin. “Happy now?” he demanded imperiously.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Grand Master,” Alexa replied with a very slight bow.

“Of course it is,” Neloth snorted.  “Was there something you needed or are you merely here to gawp?”

“I came to ask if you’d figured out what’s happening to all those people yet.”

“No, but I have my theories.”

“I was thinking that whatever happens it takes control when they’re sleeping,” she offered.

“That much is obvious,” Neloth drawled.

“I also think the weaker willed ones have greater trouble waking back up,” Alexa continued patiently.

“Entirely possible. What of it?”

“Well, I was wondering if the effect might be akin to the Dreamweaver’s ability to steal memories and replace them with nightmares.  Only, instead of replacing a memory with a dream, this replaces a dream with that mantra, and the mantra somehow connects the sleeping mind to the will of the caster until the sleeper wakes.  It is, of course, like the Dreamweaver’s ability, cumulative until, eventually, even the strongest willed can no longer wake.”

“That is… surprisingly astute of you.  I don’t suppose you know how the Dreamweaver achieves that effect, do you?”

“No, and I’m afraid the Skull of Corruption is currently out of reach.”

“Destroyed it did you?”

“Not personally.  But I was there.”

“Pity… there might have been something to learn from it.”

“That thing gave me a headache just looking at it,” Alexa mutter to herself.

“Are we done?” Neloth demanded imperiously.

“Unless you have some advice for me,” she answered.

“Big temple, center of the island, you can’t miss it.”

“Anything I can get for you while I’m out exploring the center of the island?” she asked dryly.

“Hmm.  I do have a new spell I’m working on.  I hope to be able to conjure ash spawn.  If I could get a sample of ash from an ash spawn, that would be quite useful.  I’ve made this special tool that will extract... well, you don’t need to know the details.”  He grabbed the extractor off the table it was lying on and handed it to Alexa.  “Just go harvest a sample.  Of course, the creature will have to be dead first, but I trust that’s something you can... bring about.”


“And that is why all the Telvanni live on Vvardenfell,” Teldryn told Alexa as they exited Tel Mithryn. “So that nobody else has to put up with them.”

She laughed at that and tossed him the extractor.  “This sounds like a job for Saint Teldryn, eradicator of ash spawn!”

“I’m beginning to think you’re a terrible person,” he mused, pocketing the strange device.

“There’s a Thalmor Justiciar in Markarth who tells me that fairly regularly,” she acknowledged.

“Is there now?  I thought you had to avoid contact with the Thalmor.”

“I have to avoid the local Thalmor learning what I am.  It’s not necessarily the same thing,” she replied, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“There’s a story there,” he told her.

“Isn’t there always?” she asked softly.

Chapter 5: Miraak

Summary:

The Last Dragonborn has some thoughts on the First Dragonborn

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 4 (Winter, 4E 202)

Chapter Text

The Temple of Miraak had started off unpleasantly creepy – what with all the enthralled people working outside – and had devolved steadily into downright disturbing the deeper they’d gone.  Frea, the rather terse, and very Nordic, Skaal they had picked up, haranguing her people near the Tree Stone, hadn’t made things any better with her ongoing commentary on the legendary horrors of Miraak and his Dragon Cult.  Their perturbing journey culminated in a room the focal point of which was a single book on a lectern.

Alexa stopped short the moment she entered the room, and gave the black book an odd, measuring, look. “Something wrong?” Teldryn asked her.

“This book... It seems wrong, somehow,” Frea announced before Alexa could answer.  “Here, yet... not.  It may be what we seek.”

“I think I know what happened to Miraak…” Alexa said, her voice unusually harsh.

“You do?” Frea demanded. “You must tell me!”

“Hermaeus Mora happened to him,” Alexa replied, pointing at the book.  “Those things are portals, of a sort, to Apocrypha.”

“Hmm…” Frea frowned in consideration.  “When Miraak sought to turn against the dragons he must have asked Herma-Mora for aid. But where is he now?  If this book was his connection to Herma-Mora why has it been left here?”

“I don’t know…” Alexa sighed with a tired slumping of her shoulders.  

“If this is like the book that madman we ran into, from White Ridge Barrow, was talking about then there are more of them on the island,” Teldryn pointed out.  “They might have nothing to do with Miraak at all.”

“If it has nothing to do with Miraak then what is it doing in his temple?” Frea scoffed.

“I suppose it is possible Miraak didn’t leave it here,” Alexa murmured thoughtfully.  “It has had several thousand years to find its way here… and daedric artifacts aren’t known for staying where you put them.”

“Find its way here?” Frea echoed, incredulously.  “Why? What purpose does placing it here serve? No one else has come this far since Miraak himself!”

Alexa walked slowly around the lectern her eyes never leaving the book.  “I think it’s an invitation,” she whispered.

“An invitation to what?” Teldryn asked skeptically. “Madness?  The madman who accosted us on our way here seemed like something of a cautionary tale to me.”

Alexa glanced up, meeting his eyes, and then suddenly smiled.  “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“If you touch that thing I certainly will,” he replied.

Alexa circled the lectern a second time and then stepped up to the book.  “Alright, Prince of Fate,” she announced.  “I’ll play your game, just like you always knew I would.”  She flipped open the book.  The book grew tentacles that wrapped themselves around her and Alexa became partially transparent.

Teldryn had never lost a patron to a book before and was damned if that was how this was going to go. He took a step forward to snag the book from Alexa’s hands only to find Frea in his way.

“I would not touch her,” Frea cautioned.  “Dark magic fills this place.”

Teldryn rolled his eyes at Frea from behind his helmet.  The dark magic had been obvious since well before they’d even come to the temple.  This though… was something else.  Still, she was probably right.

It was not long before there was a loud gasp and Alexa returned to being fully visible.  “Mother fucker,” she hissed, slamming the book shut and turning to address the two of them.  “That asshole can ride dragons!”

Teldryn crossed his arms in what he hoped was a nonchalant and unconcerned manner.  “Mother fucker?” he drawled.

“Miraak,” she snapped. “On a dragon!  He can control them!”

“Miraak?” Frea demanded, taking Alexa by the shoulders.  “Where? Where is he?  Can we reach him?  Can we kill him?”

“Like I said, he’s in Apocrypha,” Alexa told her, pulling away.  “The book transported me to where he was… sort of.  I mean, my body was still here, but it was also there.  As to killing him, I certainly hope we can, but I don’t know how we’d do it.  Being injured while reading one of these books simply throws you back out of it.  But he’s fully in Apocrypha.  Not in-between like I was.  I… have no idea what any of that means in relation to ending Miraak or his control over your people.”

Frea looked at the Black Book on the lectern.  “This is a dangerous thing then.  We should return to my village and show this to my father.  Perhaps Storn can make sense of what is going on.”  Clearly unwilling to touch it she gave Alexa a meaningful look.

Alexa picked up the book and put it in her pack.

Teldryn sighed.  “The way out is over there,” he offered helpfully.


“You see that green light?” Frea asked, stopping just outside the Temple’s hidden entrance.  “That comes from the Wind Stone, where my people work against their will.”

“Not against their will,” Alexa corrected softy.  “This is no simple compulsion that leaves the affected aware that they have been deprived of choice.  They have no awareness of what they are doing much less the self determination to decide whether or not they wish to do it.”

“Then it is worse than we believed,” the Skaal woman stated.  “We must hurry.  My village is just ahead.”


“Father!  I have returned!” Frea called out as the passed through the barrier around the village. “There is yet hope!”

“Frea!” the oldest member of the circle responded as they drew close.  “What news do you bring?  Is there a way to free our people?”

“No, but I have brought someone who has seen things...  She has confirmed that Miraak is the one behind the suffering of our people.”

“I feared that it would be so,” he answered in a resigned tone.

“But how is that possible? After all this time...” she asked, kneeling beside him as if to join the circle.

“I fear there is much we do not yet know,” he told her, patting her shoulder gently.

Frea looked towards Alexa. “Please, tell Storn what has happened,” she half commanded half pleaded.

The old man turned to acknowledge the two strangers standing behind his daughter.  “So, you have seen things, yes?”

“Yes,” Alexa answered simply.

He nodded.  “My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village.  Time is short.  Tell me what you know.”

“I read a book in Miraak’s temple and found myself in Apocrypha,” Alexa answered succinctly.  “Miraak was there.”

“Legends speak of that place,” the old man nodded, speaking as though the temple was at an unimaginable distance from their current location, rather than just over the next hill.  “Terrible battles fought at the temple – the dragons burning it to the ground in rage.  They speak also of something worse than dragons buried within.  Difficult to imagine, but if true...  It means what I feared has come to pass.  Miraak was never truly gone, and now has returned.” He met Alexa’s eyes for the first time.  “If you could go to this place and see him...  Are you like Miraak?  Are you Dragonborn?

“Yes,” Alexa replied, simply.  “He was the first and I may be the last.”

The old man’s brows arched in surprise.  “Then perhaps you are connected with him.”

“But what does that mean?” Frea demanded of her father.

“I am uncertain,” he answered her before addressing Alexa again.  “It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction.”  He paused, his brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment, before shaking his head once – as if to clear it – and continuing on. “But our time is running out.  The few of us left free of control cannot protect ourselves for much longer…  You must go to Saering’s Watch.  Learn there the Word Miraak learned long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone.  You may be able to break the hold on our people there, and free them from control.”

“Saering’s Watch?” Alexa asked.

“An ancient Nord structure from the time of the dragons.  Follow the river, up stream, and then take the pass to the north.  You will see it to the west of the track that leads to the northern coast.”

Alexa nodded, turning to go. 

“No,” Teldryn interjected, grabbing her by the arm.  “Do you think I have not noticed that you have not really slept in four days?” he asked when she looked back at him.  “We need to eat and sleep before we go on.”

“Four days?” Frea gasped.

Storn nodded.  “The barrier will hold long enough for you to get some sleep, Dragonborn.  There is food in the Great Hall behind us and I believe Fanari would not object to you using her bed.  Go and sleep child,” he added when he saw her hesitate.  “Miraak’s magic will not bother you as long as our barrier stands.”

“It’s not Miraak that worries me,” Teldryn heard her murmur as she opened the door into the Great Hall.

He waited until the door was closed behind them.  “So, if it is not Miraak that has been causing you to choose meditation over sleep, what is?”

“Oh it was definitely Miraak that was causing me to choose to meditate but the first dragonborn isn’t the only problem I have sleeping these days,” she answered, dropping her pack by the fire and pulling out a bearskin for Meeko to sleep on.

“Explain.”

“When I absorb a dragon’s soul I gain their memories,” she told him, beginning to work on removing Meeko’s armor.  “In my dreams I relive the memories until it is hard – sometimes – to remember that I was not there, I was not part of...” she swallowed and then waved the rest of the sentence away.  “Storn and Frea do not know half of what the Dragon Cult was capable of at its height.”

He nodded, dishing some of the stew, in the pot over the fire, into a bowl.  “I’m a fairly light sleeper, when not being mind controlled. We’ll share the bed.  That way I can wake you if it becomes necessary.”

The corner of her mouth twitched in a slight smile as she accepted the bowl of stew he was holding out to her.  “I don’t sleep with people I’m paying,” she told him.

“You’re married,” he replied, smiling in return.

Chapter 6: Fate of the Skaal

Summary:

Teldryn learns some things about the Last Dragonborn.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 5 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Alexa woke she’d gotten almost a full five hours of uninterrupted sleep.  It was somewhat surprising to discover how much not sleeping alone could lessen the intensity of her nightmares.  Stranger still, she realized, as she slipped out of bed, how liberating being out of the Empire – and away from the constant presence of the Thalmor – was turning out to be.  For the first time, in as long as she could remember, there was someone in her life she had no intention of lying to, or purposefully misleading, not just because doing so would be doing him a disservice but because she could think of no real reason to do so.  If things with Teldryn went bad, or turned awkward, it would not affect her purpose for being here or threaten her ability to live as part of some larger group.

Down on the main floor of the hall Alexa added wood to the fire, and water, butter, and milk to the footed kettle standing in the embers and then put on her armor – a process that kept her busy until the mixture in the kettle was warm enough to add the grain for porridge.  Alexa then sat herself on the bench beside the fire and pulled out a Black Book. She had a theory, regarding the ability of the dragon tongue to shape reality, and, with any luck, testing it wouldn’t take her more than the few minutes the porridge would take to cook.


Teldryn stretched carefully. The give of the mattress and the slide of furs indicated he was not alone.  He stretched out a hand to where a sleeping dragonborn should have been and found… more fur.  Meeko grumbled and pretended to still be asleep.  Except for his tail which began to loudly thump the mattress.

Teldryn grimaced slightly as he struggle, stiffly, out of bed.  The previous day had been long and he was not as young as he used to be.  At least he hadn’t been forced to sleep on the ground, or in his armor, as he had been dreading might be the case.  That was something.

The dragonborn, he observed, was busy having her head wrapped in ghostly tentacles again.  He didn’t approve, not that his approval mattered. But, after getting his armor on and descending to the first floor, he discovered there was fresh porridge in the pot standing in the fire and hot water for tea.  He made tea, spooned some cereal into a bowl, and then settled across from Alexa to wait.  The porridge had been spiced with an array of herbs not commonly available on Solstheim and was surprisingly good.  Meeko, who had followed Teldryn down the stairs, put his head on Teldryn’s knee and stared up at him imploringly.  Teldryn grimaced at him and dished up another bowl.

About a minute later Alexa closed the Black Book with a snap.  As she did so a bunch of books and papers appeared in her arms.1 “Sleep well?” she asked, the books and papers falling from her arms to the floor.

“Did you sleep at all?” he enquired.

“A few hours…  Until the dragon memories grew too loud.  No full-blown nightmares though.  So, thanks.”

He nodded, unsurprised. The sleeping potion she’d taken would only have lasted a few hours.  “So you decided to do some light planes walking?” he asked.

“I had questions I needed concrete answers to.  I thought Apocrypha might have them in a more tangible form than dragon memory,” she picked the papers up off the floor, smoothing them out and folding them carefully before filing them away inside one of the books before putting everything in her pack.

“I take it that it did?” he noted.

“We’ll see.  I haven’t read any of it yet.  Still, Mora is quite pleased with my grasp of the obvious.” She sighed and dished up some food for herself.

“So you’re not worried by the madness thing?” he asked, as she ate with smooth efficiency.

“I figure that, if I were going to go mad, the tea party with Sheogorath would have done it,” she answered, putting her mostly empty bowl down for Meeko to clean.

“Tea party?” he enquired, archly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“That is the Wabbajack strapped to my pack,” she pointed out mildly.

“Along with the Sanguine Rose,” he observed, taking her bowl from Meeko, and rinsing the dishes in the bucket of water beside the fire.  “I had noticed.”

“I left Dawnbreaker and the Ring of Hircine with friends in Whiterun, the Ebony Blade at the College of Winterhold, and Azura’s star is at the bottom of my pack somewhere…” she continued, drying the dishes as he handed them to her.

“You, young lady, are far too blasé about contact with daedric princes,” he remarked, dryly.

“I don’t think my being in a near constant panic over their attentions would do anyone any good,” she told him.  “Since that’s the only other logical reaction to my situation, I have chosen fatalism.”

“What about your bow?” he asked, as they donned their packs.  “You get that from a daedra too?”

“It’s a family heirloom of sorts… and the only proof I’ve got that the father of my soul cares about what happens to me.  I’m told he once used it to shoot Lorkahn’s heart into the sea.”

Teldryn was silent for a moment as they stepped out into the snow.

“Septim for your thoughts?” she asked.

“Just wondering what a guy has to do to get on your Saturalia gift list.”

“Making sure I live that long would be a good start,” she smiled.  “And traveling companions do, usually, get first consideration when it comes to interesting finds.”

He smiled at her from behind his helmet.  “Shall we go find something interesting then?”


“You’re attending the College of Winterhold, right?” Teldryn asked as they made their way up the steep hill on the far side of the ravine from the Skaal village.

“I am…” she answered, clearly unsure of where this was going.  “Though I think we can both agree that my truancy rate is appalling.”

“Is Thalmor advisor Ancano, from the erotic adventures series, a real person?”2

She stopped and turned to gape at him.  “Those things are selling out here?”

“Quite well,” he confirmed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were also selling well in Summerset.”

“Wow.  It seems J’zargo has found his true calling,” she murmured.  “And yes, to answer your question, Ancano really is the name of the Thalmor advisor to the college.”

Teldryn chuckled.  “I bet he’s none too pleased with his new found notoriety.”

“He is a rather earnest fellow,” she agreed.

“I’m surprised the Thalmor haven’t discouraged the series’ publication,” he offered after a little more climbing.

“They might have, if the advisor were not so universally disliked,” she answered.

“Wait, are you suggesting that the publication of the series is an internal hatchet job?” he demanded, floored.

She paused again, looking back over her shoulder.  “I think I’m suggesting that, even if the first one was published simply in fun, opportunists have likely taken advantage by now.  Thalmor internal politics seem to be as underhanded, and dangerous, as the rest of their endeavors.”


That night, having cleansed the Wind Stone, they slept in the Skaal village’s Great Hall again. This time, however, not in the bed, in the loft, but in a pile of extra furs, collected from all over the village, under the stairs.  The dragonborn had balked at the idea of taking the bed of someone there to claim it; especially on what should prove to be their first night of uninterrupted sleep in several months. 

Still, to Teldryn’s way of thinking, it was they, and not the Skaal, that had killed not one but two dragons that day.  The first at Saering’s Watch – whose soul had been absorbed by a rude apparition in black robes and disturbing mask – and the second down on the coast after the dragonborn had revealed to Storn that she required either a dragon’s knowledge – or a week of uninterrupted meditation – to use the word she’d just learned.

He was comfortable enough but Alexa was, rather obviously as she remained fully dressed in her scholar’s robes and curled tightly in on herself, too cold.  After about ten minutes of thinking nasty thoughts about dragonborn who let being kind, and almost unnaturally thoughtful, stand in the way of good judgment he turned over and pulled her against him.

“So, that was Miraak?” he asked, conversationally, over the gentle snoring of the historian and the village chieftain.

“Yeah.”

“He seems like a nice fellow,” Teldryn noted sarcastically.

She fidgeted slightly but remained silent.

“On the bright side you didn’t have to absorb the dragon’s soul,” he added.  “Only one set of new memories to contend with tonight.”

“There is that,” she half laughed, but he heard a note of tears in her voice.

“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked after another moment of silence.

“I… don’t understand. Everything I’ve read about Tiber Septim. Everything I’ve seen about Miraak… Every dragon I’ve killed…  Behind the charisma they’re horrible people.  If I am a dragon, as they are… would I even know?”

“You are wondering if you are a horrible person?” he asked, a little surprised.

Again she didn’t answer.

“Maybe it’s something you have to work up to,” he suggested, amusement coloring his voice.  “They’ve all been at it a hell of a lot longer than you.”  That didn’t seem to help. 

“You called me a terrible person just yesterday,” she reminded him.  “I know you were joking but I can’t help wondering if you didn’t mean it just a little bit.”

He sighed softly.  The insecurities of children could be so trying.  “Not even a little,” he reassured her.  “If it makes you feel any better, based purely on only our brief interaction today, I wouldn’t willingly work for Miraak, and I certainly wouldn’t share a pile of furs with him or ask about what was keeping him awake at night.  The worst thing about you, besides your blasé attitude towards insane situations, is a deplorable sense of humor,” he told her. “Oh, and a distinct lack of respect for your elders.”

“Is there an elder around here I’m supposed to respect?” she asked.  “If you think I’ve been rude to Storn then I will apologize to him first thing in the morning.”

“Me, s’wit.  I was talking about me,” Teldryn grumbled at her.

“Well, in that case, please consider how extremely forthcoming I have been with you, old man.”

“That’s true,” he allowed, slightly puzzled.  “Are you not usually so open with the people you hire?”

“Haven’t always had quite as much to be open about,” she pointed out. “But no.  I mostly don’t tell people about being a Grand Master, the issues I have with the Thalmor, or exactly how many daedric princes I’ve had dealings with…”

“That seems reasonable. I doubt most would believe you,” he commented, in another attempt to sound comforting.

“It still resulted in years of lying to everyone I know,” she responded, her tone oddly flat.

“So what’s changed?” he asked, actually curious.

“With all the dragon’s around being dragonborn has been impossible to hide.  Combine that with an order I found on the body of a Thalmor Wizard a month ago and it seems hiding is no longer an option.  So… no reason to lie anymore, I guess.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “Is there more to your current worry than just being confronted with your jackass older brother today?” he asked.

She went back to silent fidgeting for a bit.  He waited her out.

“My last relationship ended when I woke up, after a run in with Sanguine, to find myself married. Then, barely two days later, I learned that I’m dragonborn and…” she sighed.  “My lover at the time didn’t take it well and said some rather unkind things about ‘manipulative behavior’ and whether I was actually capable of caring about people.  Most of our friends… took his side.  The thing is, I had been clear with Vilkas from the beginning that there was never any possibility of long term commitment between us.  That one day it would become necessary for me to leave and, when that day came, he would not be invited to come with me.”

“But he was young enough, and self-centered enough, to believe that, given time, he could convince you otherwise,” Teldryn predicted.

She nodded.  “As I was packing my things into the cart for Winterhold he arrived and told me he forgave me.  He said he understood that I had been tricked by a daedra, that I hadn’t meant to get married, and that we could ‘work out’ the dragonborn thing.”

“Work out being dragonborn?” Teldryn groaned.  “I hope you hit him.”

“I didn’t.  I kissed him on the cheek, told him good bye, got in the cart, and left him standing there.”

“Admirably restrained of you.”

“The worst part is, the more I think about it, the more I realize the entire time we were together I was falling in love with someone else.  Doesn’t that make me a bad person?”

“No,” Teldryn sighed, feeling profoundly resigned to the role he found himself playing.  “Just a very young one.”

That caused her to give a slightly choked chuckle.  “Thanks, old man.”

“No problem, baby girl.” There was silence between them again. “The guy you’re in love with... is it mutual?”

“… Yes.”

“The discovery you’re dragonborn didn’t scare him off?”

“He indicated it was a relief to finally have an explanation as to why my life is so strange.”

That made Teldryn smile. “Will he be joining you here in place of your accidental husband?”

“No.  We’re… not together.”

Teldryn frowned at that. “You’ve been mutually in love since before you discovered you are dragonborn and…” it hit him.  He propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “The Thalmor Justiciar?” he asked, aghast.

“Commander and Second Emissary to Skyrim,” she affirmed, softly.

“And you’re certain of his feelings for you?”

“He was pretty clear about them the last time we talked.”

“Clear how?” Teldryn demanded, disbelieving.

Alexa rolled her eyes. “I’m may not have figured out the ins and outs of Altmer flirtation but when someone straight up tells you that he regrets not having told you about his feelings before you married someone else… that’s a pretty clear message.”

“Remarkably clear,” Teldryn agreed.  “What did you tell him?”

“I asked him if it was a good idea for the Second Emissary to Skyrim to be in a relationship with the dragonborn.”

“Practical, but not particularly romantic,” Teldryn smirked.

“He… doesn’t know there’s a death order out there with my name on it,” she whispered.

“So he also doesn’t know about the grand master thing?”

“Or my real name.”

“Awkward.”

“In my defense, even after he pointed out that I’ve never used a family name in Skyrim, he didn’t ask me what it was.”

Teldryn thought about that for a second.  “Either he is the worst investigator in the world or he’s decided you’ve got your reasons and he doesn’t want to know…”

“Still, I’m not sure being loved by a Thalmor Commander is necessarily proof that one is a good person.”

“Given that you’re human, it is definitely proof that you’re charming.”

“You mean that I’m dragonborn?” she asked, wearily.

“It seems we’ve come full circle,” he admitted.  There was silence between them for a while.  “So what is your real name?” he asked, finally.

“Sikendra d’Arthe,” she answered quietly.

“Of the d’Arthe trading… oh. Not, I take it, killed off by their competitors in the East Empire Company as was rumored.”

“No.”

“All to get to you?”

“It would seem so.”

“No wonder you’re not together.  What are you going to do?”

“Apparently move to Solstheim and shack up with an elderly Dunmer,” she smiled.

“Says the woman who seems to have a thing for at least one older mer,” he pointed out.

She thought about it for a second and then began to snicker.

“What?” he demanded.

“I just realized my husband’s even older than you are…”

Notes:

1 From this point onwards Alexa has access (via Apocrypha) to “obscure texts” aka unofficial lore (link).

2 Call back to A2:15, 5 (link) and A2:29 (link).

Chapter 7: Cleansing the Stones

Summary:

Age is an odd thing in TES.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 6 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Teldryn had thought the trek to Saering’s Watch, and back, killing two dragons, and cleansing the Wind Stone, had made for a long day.  He had been naive. 

On the fifth day of their association the dragonborn had woken up early and, steaming cup of tea in one hand, talked to just about every person in the Skaal village.  Furthermore, it seemed that, after the horrors of the previous day’s cold weather, she’d decided to purchase Skaal coats for them both.  A project the Skaal seemed only too pleased to help with, drowning the petite Breton in oiled horker skin lined with ice-wolf pelt.  By the time they were done she looked not unlike a child wearing their elder siblings clothes.  There was something a little endearing about it.

It was nearly ten AM by the time they finally left the village, wearing their new winter coats, traveling southwest to the Beast Stone before doubling back a bit to drop down into the slightly warmer climes of the eastern coast.  The dragonborn, thankfully, seemed completely unmoved by the plight of the Nord warriors, from Thrisk Mead Hall, they came across at a rather ramshackle camp on the shore.  Though she smiled politely she didn’t stay to hear their story beyond learning that rieklings had taken the hall and wishing them luck with taking it back.  The stray dog they found, a little further south, was a different matter entirely.

“TAH,” she said, offering her hand to the dog.

The dog stopped barking and immediately shoved its head between her knees with a deep, shuddering, sigh.

“I think I’ll call you Krin,” she told the dog, scratching its back.  “It means ‘courage’ in the dragon tongue.”

Teldryn had, briefly, hoped that Meeko might save him from the addition of a second dog to their traveling group but Meeko, far from being upset, appeared to be ecstatic over his new friend, running circles around everyone and even repeatedly licking the other dog’s face. 

After cleansing the Sun Stone they’d stopped by Tel Mithryn, to drop off the spawn ash they’d collected, just in time to see a young man Teldryn assumed was Neloth’s apprentice lose control of a creature he’d summoned and then run away rather than deal with it.  Alexa, however, simply summoned a bound bow and shot the thing once, banishing it back to Oblivion.

“You made that look easy,” Teldryn noted casually.  “If I didn’t know anything about conjuration I might have assumed the boy was grossly incompetent rather than in real danger.”

“Thank you?” Alexa responded, sounding dubious.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t stick around,” Teldryn continued as they climbed the ramp to the main tower. “Watching someone a full decade his junior fix his mistake that easily really would have been embarrassing for him.”

“I’m a Grand Master,” she reminded him, pulling off her mask as they stepped through the tower door. “Even if I’m not particularly skilled at something I usually have a large enough magicka pool to brute force it.”

“Except that particular version of the spell you just used requires an adept proficiency level,” he smirked, stepping onto the levitation glyph.  “No way to brute force that.”

A brief, whispered, conversation with Talvas left Teldryn in possession of a staff of paralysis.  Not bad for the price of a single arrow from a bound bow.  An equally brief, but somewhat more entertaining, conversation with Neloth, upon delivery of the spawn ash, revealed that his steward had, apparently, disappeared.  So Alexa had promised to keep an eye out for the woman.  A stop by the apothecary, in the hope of picking up a few potions, had gotten them an earful about Neloth and his unreasonable demands and the information that Verona had set off for Raven Rock the previous day and not returned.

Two portions of blisterwort purchased and promises to soak taproots made they started towards Raven Rock. “Aren’t you going to ask about the Black Books?” Teldryn enquired as they walked away from Tel Mithryn.

“Stones first,” she replied. “I think it’s more important, at this point, to stop the construction of the shrines than figuring out how to kill Miraak.”

“If you kill him, they’ll stop building the shrines,” Teldryn pointed out.

“Storn said to defeat Miraak I would need to learn the knowledge that Miraak learned.  But… it’s… I don’t know.  Something’s bothering me about the whole situation.”

Teldryn cocked his head at that but didn’t otherwise respond.

She made a noncommittal gesture.  “It just… it seems to me that everyone on this island – from random madmen to Telvanni wizards to Nord blacksmiths and Skaal shamans – knows just enough to set me on a path to reading more and more of these Black Books.  It feels… contrived.”

“You think everyone on the island is trying to see how many of them we can get you to read?” he asked, skeptically.  Surely if she had some sort of persecution complex it would have shown itself before now.

“Not exactly,” Alexa replied.  “I am becoming a little worried that the daedric prince of fate is setting me up.”

“To what purpose?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  But the Black Books… I don’t trust them.” 

“Why, because they grow tentacles and wrap them around your head?” he asked, sarcastically.  “That seems very narrow minded of you.”

“There is that,” she laughed. “But they’re stranger than that.  When I read the one I found in Miraak’s temple a second time I realized that it felt… a little like reading an Elder Scroll only less like a fragment of endless possibility and more like a maze in which choice is an illusion because all roads lead to the same location.”

“You’ve read an Elder Scroll,” Teldryn remarked flatly, uncertain why he was even surprised.

“Two, actually.  In sequence.  But that’s not really the point.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing Sheogorath already has his hands in your head,” he told her.  “The competing sources of insanity might cancel each other out.”

She laughed again but sobered quickly.  “I fear that, in exchange for the knowledge contained in the books, I’m letting the Prince of Fate rummage around in my head.  I think… I think the books are traps constructed to lure people into Mora’s service.  Something about the way he greeted me the first time I read one…” she shook her head. “It makes me uneasy.  Especially if the knowledge Miraak learned is what has left him trapped in Apocrypha since the Dragon War.  I’d rather not read another one until I have some idea as to how to avoid becoming like Miraak… What is that?” she gasped pointing off to where a man sat beside a campfire on the edge of a cliff. 

“The silt strider?” Teldryn asked.

That’s a silt strider?  Is all animal life in Morrowind insectoid?”

“That which isn’t lizard-like,” he replied.

“So… like no mammals or birds at all?”

“Very few.”

“Is that because of the heat and volcanic ash or the magical influence from Red Mountain?”

Her sudden excitement made him smile to himself behind his helmet.  “That’s not really the sort of thing a spellsword knows much about,” he told her, a little sternly.

“Even with at least two centuries to develop outside interests and hobbies?” she enquired.  “Surely you’ve done more with your life than babysitting adventurers?”

“Right, because studying animal species in the Ashlands is sooo much like learning to knit,” he drawled.

“You knit?”

“I do not.”

“I think I’m confused.”

“Thank Azura, I’m not the only one,” he sighed, as the dragonborn turned her attention away from him and onto the other Dunmer.

“From the look of you I’m guessing you've never seen a Silt Strider before?” the driver began upon noticing that the dragonborn had been reduced to a state of childlike wonder.

“No, it’s magnificent!” she gasped, moving to closely inspect the large insect.

Teldryn rolled his eyes behind his helmet and stopped paying attention to their conversation.  He did not, however, stop watching his patron. Her conversation with the former driver was detailed and animated.  Was there anything she wasn’t interested in learning about?

In the end she purchased a few odds and ends from Revus more, Teldryn thought, as a way of paying him for his time than because she wanted any of the miscellaneous things in his inventory.1

They found Verona’s body, and a small horde of ash spawn about twenty minutes later.


Something was clearly bothering his usually chatty patron as they walked away from Tel Mithryn for the second time in one day.  “Something on your mind?” Teldryn finally asked as they hopped the small stream.

“The mycologist… She said she was a young girl when Red Mountain erupted, meaning she’s probably younger than you are, but...”

“She seems older to you,” he finished for her.

“Older even than Neloth,” Alexa agreed.  “But she said Neloth was old even when she was a child.  I… think I don’t understand how mer age.”

“Mer who frequently use magic, typically, age more slowly than those that don’t, like alchemists,2” he answered.  “It also helps to be relatively pureblooded.”

“The oldest mer I’ve ever met was well into his fifth millennia but appeared, to me, to be no older than you,” she told him.  “But, while he was definitely a pureblood, he wasn’t a particularly impressive mage.”

“Four thousand years?” Teldryn whistled, impressed.  “That is extremely unusual.  There can’t be more than a handful of mer that old, even in Summerset.  Still, Miraak’s that old, and he’s human.”

“No…” she disagreed. “He is dragonborn.”

“So there’s some chance you’re going to live that long?” Teldryn smirked.

“I… don’t know.”  They walked on in silence for a while before she suddenly turned on him.  “Merciful Mara, why would you even suggest something like that?” she demanded shoving him lightly.

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely confused.  His mind had been on other things for last ten minutes.

“That I might live for four millennia!”

“You’re right, living as long as a mer is a terrible fate,” he countered.  “Besides, it’s not exactly likely, is it?  The Septims may have lived a long time, by human standards, but I never heard of one making it to two hundred.”

She looked away from him. “None of them ever absorbed a dragon soul,” she whispered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked, repressing the shiver of fear that had just run up his spine.

“Dragons are immortal.  Even if their physical form is killed their soul, unless its absorbed by another being, remains here, on Nirn, trapped in their bones, capable of being returned to full life at any time.  But when I absorb them… it’s not like putting things in a jar.  The dragon souls don’t stay separate from mine.  Over time they combine with my own, completely.”

“What are you saying?”

She closed her eyes. “I think I’m saying that it’s possible Miraak still lives, not because of his connection with Hermaeus Mora, but because the number of dragon souls he absorbed has made him immortal.”

“And how many souls is that?” Teldryn asked, his tone softening.

“I counted ten soulless dragon skeletons on the main approach to the temple, five along the ridge, and three inside.  So at least eighteen?”

“And how many have you killed?”

“Nine, so far.  But, if I kill Miraak, I will probably absorb his soul, which would include all the power from the dragon souls he has absorbed…  I think I’m going to be sick.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her towards him.  “Look at me,” he ordered.  “So far this is all speculation, you don’t know what will happen when you kill another dragonborn.  As far as I know that’s never happened before anywhere on Nirn much less in Apocrypha. Don’t freak yourself out with idle speculation.”

He saw her swallow hard. “You’re right, of course.  When we’re done cleansing these stones I’ll go ask Paarthurnax about it.  He’ll know. Then I can panic to my heart’s content, on top of a mountain, where no one else can hear me scream.”  She turned away from him and began walking again.  “That way, with any luck, the world can go on believing the dragonborn knows what she’s doing and isn’t mere seconds away from a nervous breakdown…  Is that a light in the distance?”

Watching her walk towards the point of flickering light in the distance, inland from where they stood, Teldryn sighed.  It was hard to tell if the dragonborn’s distractibility was a good, or bad, thing. One thing, however, was certain: it was leading to him getting a lot of unnecessary exercise.


The dragonborn managed to buy a very fancy glass bow from the sketchy Dunmer in the ramshackle trading post. Which meant it was nearly two AM by the time they got home, since the dragonborn had felt it wouldn’t be safe to sleep in the manor until they had cleansed the Earth Stone .

The dogs immediately bedded down together, next to the fire in the kitchen, and Teldryn didn’t have the mental fortitude to wonder why the Rose dremora glared at him while it hustled the Breton woman down the hall to her room before vanishing in a puff of purple light.

He didn’t think he’d been happier to see a bed in his life.

Notes:

1 In one of my play-throughs Revus was killed by some ash spawn. I had to stop my game and go download a revival spell mod (I play on PS4) because I couldn’t stand the idea of Dusty being all by herself.

2 This is just a guess. Don’t quote me.
In reality I think Bethesda hasn’t been as careful, or consistent, about aging mer – and how that appears physically – and why some can be so much older than others, as they might have been.

Chapter 8: Echoes of the Past

Summary:

Alexa converses with a Hagraven.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 7 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

When Teldryn left his room, the next morning, he found the dragonborn, and the dogs, were not in the house.  Breakfast was, however, laid out for him.  He sighed.  The girl needed to get more sleep.  It didn’t matter how inhuman – possibly immortal – she was, there was no way this perpetual lack of sleep was healthy.

He was just finishing up when the front door opened and Meeko and Krin came bounding into the room ahead of the dragonborn.  Upon seeing him they immediately crowded around the table to beg for a piece of his breakfast.

“What’ve you been up to this morning?” Teldryn asked Alexa, as she dropped her pack on top of a barrel of vegetables.

“Sold the junk we’d picked up,” she tossed him a purse with his cut in it, “and handled that new steward thing for Neloth.  Don’t know how much he’s going to like the results but, given the way the people around here seem to feel about him, he’ll have to send to Morrowind if he want’s better.”

Teldryn snorted softly. The Telvani wizard-lord’s impression of himself and the impression the citizens of Raven Rock had of him were in no way related.

“I also purchased a few days of traveling food, for which I had to listen to Geldis gush about his renewed business and then something about the guards spotting werewolves in the mountains…”

“Heard about that from the beach patrol a few weeks ago,” Teldryn acknowledged.  “Not sure how seriously I’d take it.  They’re not always the most sober individuals.”

“Well, given what the Skaal said about werebears in the area I think it fair to say that Hircine’s hold on the island is somewhat stronger than I’m comfortable with.”

Teldryn gave her a curious look.

“Hircine’s not my favorite daedric prince,” she admitted with a slight frown.  “Still, I doubt it will be a problem.”


“All this walking...” Teldryn complained as they headed north after dealing with the bandits at Brodir Grove.  He was still trying to come to terms with the amount of money Alexa had simply handed the Dunmer “explorer”, digging in the Nord barrow, earlier in the day.  “I wish there was a silt strider around here.”

“You mean other than Dusty?” she asked.

“I wish there were a working silt strider around here,” he amended.

“Well I can always summon Arvak for you, if your old bones get too tired,” she told him.

“Arvak?”

“Oh, you haven’t met him yet!  Allow me to introduce you,” Alexa smiled at Teldryn, her hand glowing with the dark blue light of a conjuration spell.

To Teldryn’s dismay what she summoned was a glowing, translucent blue, skeletal horse with flaming mane and tail.

“Arvak,” Alexa smiled, patting the steed on a shoulder bone. “This is Teldryn.  Teldryn, I found Arvak in the Soul Cairn.”

“I think I’ll walk,” he told her, firmly.

“Suite yourself,” she said, mimicking him.


On their way to Moesring Pass a cluster of six stones lit by candlelight, in the shadow of a cliff face, caught their attention.

“What in Azura name happened here?” Teldryn whispered, staring down at the dead Nord woman on the central slab.1

Alexa knelt beside the body looking it over carefully.  “Initially poisoned with a mixture of wolfsbane and belladonna,” she murmured, pointing to some foaming around the dead woman’s mouth and a stippling rash across her throat.  “The mixture would have left her drained of both magicka and stamina.”2

“Unable to fight back,” Teldryn summarized and Alexa nodded.

“But she was actually killed when her heart was – expertly – removed,” Alexa continued, peering into the gaping hole in the woman’s chest.  “The costal cartilage, of the second through fifth ribs, has been cleanly detached.”

“Meaning someone’s done this before,” Teldryn summarized.

“Probably a hagraven,” Alexa added.  “The wound is very similar to that created when making a briarheart.  These other wounds though, deep as they are, didn’t bleed much indicating they, at least, happened after she died…”  Alexa rocked back on her heals, still considering the altar.  “Seems the Redoran Guard were right,” she concluded. “There are, or were, werewolves in the area.”

“Were?”

“This,” she gestured at the dead Nord woman, the candles, and the six stones, “is the rite of the Wolf Giver; a method for curing lycanthropy that doesn’t piss off Hircine.  But, usually at least, only a member of the Glenmoril Wyrd can instruct a would-be ex-werewolf in how to complete it.”

“And how is it you know so much about the cult of Hircine?” Teldryn enquired, remembering the distaste for the prince she’d expressed earlier in the day.

“Know that, two years ago, I would have killed you for this,” Alexa announced, raising her voice in a way that indicated she was no longer speaking to Teldryn.

“But now you are one of us,” a rasping voice, from the nearby cave entrance, croaked, startling Teldryn. The hagraven grinned at them both before fixing her eyes upon Alexa.  “Now you know that the responsibility for this lies with the one who sought freedom, not with the one who pointed the way.  Welcome to Solstheim, Beast Master.  As you can see your services are not needed here.”

“I still hold you, and your prince, responsible for the things done in his name, but… you can be assured that I am here for reasons other than to offer the services of a Beast Master in this place,” Alexa answered steadily.

“Good,” the hagraven croaked.  “You are not in good standing with our prince.  It is best that his frustration with you not overflow onto those who dwell here.”

“Oh?” Alexa asked skeptically.

“You freed, without sacrifice, those you should not and have left your own hunt for far too long.  The trail grows cold and the Huntsman impatient. It is not safe, Beast Master. Even for you.”

“I hunt a Manifest Metaphor and am being hunted by what I’m coming to believe is an institutionalized madness,” Alexa told the hagraven.  “To which hunt are you referring?”

“What stalks you may be an idea, Beast Master, but you will never be safe until it is dead.”

“And how does one kill an idea?” Alexa demanded.

“Do as you have before,” the hagraven instructed sternly.  “Turn the hunt inside out.  Find its den by hunting those that dwell within it.  Only they have the knowledge you require.”

“I do not torture people,” Alexa replied, standing up.  “Or sacrifice others to undo my mistakes.”

The hagraven snorted indelicately.  “No, dragonborn, you are the sacrifice laid out upon the altar of creation.  You will suffer and bleed and, maybe, even die trying to complete the purpose for which you were created.  But, even should you slay your current quarry, that Other will still seek your death. Perhaps it will even succeed and rip your heart from your still living chest… it has happened before, has it not?”3

Alexa blanched and the hagraven gave a wheezing laugh.  “Hear my advice, Dragonborn.  Knowledge and power flow into you, like a soul into a gem, and, like the gem, another has always chosen what fills you.  But you are no inanimate object.  Learn control – learn to choose – or be destroyed, even as your brothers were.”

Alexa stared, silently, at the hagraven for a moment.  “Thank you for your advice,” she whispered with a slight bow.  “I hope this assistance does not cost you.”

The hagraven snorted again. “My sisters and I guided the Nerevarine through the rite of the Wolf Ender.  If our lord could forgive that, He will forgive a little guidance… from one sister to another.”  She turned and hobbled back into the cave.

Shit,” Alexa hissed, under her breath, as she turned away from the altar.

“Do I get an explanation?” Teldryn asked softly, as she passed him, not moving from where he stood.

“Later,” she told him. “I need to think first.”

He nodded, and turned to follow.


“Do you know what this is?” Alexa asked, looking around her as Teldryn pulled a riekling spearhead from his thigh.

“A poor attempt to use Dwemer tech in a different capacity?” he grumbled, trying not to let the relief of the healing spell Alexa casually threw his way fill his voice.  He’d have to take a closer look at it when they camped but, for now, the pain had receded and the bleeding stopped.  He tested his weight on it.

“It’s the remains of a Dwemer airship!” she told him, picking open a box behind the stairs. “Ah, here we are.  The book I was looking for.”

“You were really looking for that?” he demanded incredulously.

“Weird, I know.  But the College Librarian has his ways of finding things…  It would be interesting to know how he does it.” She looked around her appreciatively again.  “Would you mind if I took a moment to sketch some of the mechanisms?”

He shrugged.  “Sun will be going down soon.  I’ll set up camp outside.  It’s too loud in here.  Besides between that spire of rock and everything the riekling scavenged we should do well enough.”

Alexa handed him her pack after removing her journal and a few writing implements.  “There’s a centurion dynamo core in there,” she told him. “Along with the tuned lever required to slow it’s rotation.  It’ll work better for cooking, and staying warm, than trying to build a fire on snow.”


“So, you are a member of the Glenmoril Wyrd?” Teldryn asked, as they settled into their bedrolls that night, the rock shelf they were lying on warmed by the strange red glow of a Dwerem dynamo core.

“Not technically, though I agree the technicalities don’t seem to matter much.”

“Not technically?” he prodded.

She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.  “Long before I was revealed as dragonborn I was already a Grand Master. I thought it was enough to explain the heightened interest the daedric princes seemed to take in me.  Maybe it did and the dragonborn thing has only made it worse… I don’t know.  Either way, some poor decision making on my part, in the summer of 199, brought me into direct contact with an avatar of Hircine.  He made me a Beast Master, following the traditions of the Foresworn not the Glenmoril.  So no.  I am not a member of the Glenmoril though I have been granted a few abilities usually considered – by those who are not Foresworn – exclusive to their coven.”

“So you’re a member of the Forsworn?”

“My status as a Beast Master has lead to my adoption into one of their tribes, yes.  And yes, I was gifted a set of their ridiculously scanty armor, but no I have never worn it.  Skyrim is far too cold for such things.”4

“I see,” he smirked, knowingly before sobering again.  “I thought you were being hunted by the Thalmor not... an idea?”

“It is all one,” she answered, in a dismissive tone.  “The Thalmor… I don’t know enough to fully explain it yet, but I’m beginning to think that at least the modern Thalmor, at its heart, is an organization based not upon a political philosophy so much as upon a cosmological model; one that has been ‘revealed’ to their leaders as a sort of ‘mystical hidden truth’ that, if properly embraced, will allow all mer to transcend material existence.”

“You mean it’s a cult,” Teldryn remarked dryly.  “That figures.”

She nodded.  “One that appears to believe I shouldn’t exist.”

He arched an eyebrow at that.  “Shouldn’t exist as in a basic teaching of the cult is ‘all dragonborn must die’, or as in you need to be disappeared because you don’t fit into their cosmological model and so are proof of some sort of flaw in the logical framework of everything they believe?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “But since they wiped out my family more than a decade ago I’d say the dragonborn thing is likely seen as further proof of concept rather than as initial cause…” she let her voice trail off and was silent for a moment, clearly thinking something over.  He waited her out.  “Not that they’re entirely wrong,” Alexa finally added.  “Dragonborn are aberrations.  We exist only because something went very, very, wrong during the Mythic Era and Akatosh, and the jill, have been trying to fix it ever since.  But I don’t…” she sighed, rolled onto her back, and looked up into the dark sky.  “There are too many memories to sort through. And each time I kill another dragon it just adds more.”

“And that isn’t a problem for you?”

“It is – more than you can imagine – but… the world seems unwilling to slow down for me.  And the dragons are more than willing to hunt me down even when I do not go to them.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “And you hunt… a manifest metaphor?” he prodded, frowning, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

“The dragons tell me that, in the Dawn Era, belief gave physical manifestation to concepts.  Some of these manifestations endured long enough to gain believers of their own and become gods, but they all began as metaphoric physical manifestations of a conceptual piece of Aurbic law or the lesser laws of nature and existence.  The concept of Destruction has taken many forms – many avatars – since the idea of boundary – of being finite – first became a law of Creation.  But the one that belongs to the triad of the of the world’s creation, existence, and destruction, is Alduin, the World Eater.  For reasons I do not fully understand He neither achieved transcendence, nor faded away, but remained here, on Nirn, until the end of the Mythic Era when he suddenly vanished.”

“At the end of the Dragon War,” Teldryn guessed.

“At its turning point, certainly,” Alexa agreed.  “But Alduin the World Eater has returned.  Even now he calls His dragon followers back from their graves.  Should they go unchallenged His dragon army will conquer the world and this cycle of creation – this kalpa – will likely end.”

“How long do we have left?”

“Guessing, I’d say, maybe as much as a century, or as little as a decade.  Dragons are extremely powerful foes and there are very few people remaining with the skills to fight them effectively.”

“And you are supposed to stop him?” he demanded, astonished.

She gave a bitter little laugh.  “Actually Miraak was supposed to stop him.  But I’m beginning to suspect that Hermaeus Mora goaded the first dragonborn into trying to prove that he was master of his own fate by not doing so.”

“You’re telling me that Miraak chose to allow the continued existence of a being meant to end the world just to prove he didn’t have to do what his father wanted?” Teldryn demanded incredulously.

“Pride is not an uncommon failing in my brothers and, for those of us bound tightly by fate, free will is an alluring concept.  But… lately I’ve been thinking, that free will may not be the ability to choose one’s fate so much as to choose the path one takes to get there.  No act of will, on my part, can change the fact that I am dragonborn but I do not think this means I must follow in the footsteps of Miraak or Talos.  In fact, I am almost certain our Father would rather I took a different path from theirs.”

Teldryn was silent for a while.  “So, now that you’ve confirmed Miraak is to blame for what is happening on Solstheim, how do you plan on dealing with him if you think Hermaeus Mora is setting a trap for you?”

“We’ll finish cleansing the stones and then I’ll go ask Paarthurnax what he knows about Miraak and Hermaeus Mora and the Black Books… and if there is a way to choose what I absorb. The hagraven was not wrong.  I should find a way to actively participate in the shaping what I am becoming.”  She paused, watching the shifting colors of the aurora that had just begun.  “Not like Talos.”

“Who is Paarthrunax?”

“A dragon and my teacher.”

Teldryn nodded.  That made a strange sort of sense.  “And what happened to Talos?”

“He was drake.  His – lust is not the right word – compulsive acquisition of power… resulted in his absorbing something that, perhaps, he should not have.”

“And that was?” he prompted.

“Shezarr,” she answered softly, and then shook her head.  “I can’t fully explain that either… yet.  As I said, I’m only just beginning to sort through – much less understand – the accumulated knowledge of the dragon’s I’ve already killed.  Luckily only one of them was alive at that time so I only have his memories to work through for information on Talos.  As for the rest… their memories of how things were…

“There are so many pieces – fragments – of a shattered frozen form that I cannot find the edges of… There is a pattern, somewhere, to what has happened to the world, but I do not see it yet.”

“There may be many who envy you, dragonborn,” Teldryn told her, softly.  “But I do not think I will ever be one of them.”

Notes:

1 Image

2 Real World symptoms of poisoning from wolfsbane (foaming at the mouth) and belladonna (rash). TES Wolfsbane Petals: (link) 3. Drain Endurance, 4. Drain MagickaTES Belladonna: (link) 4. Drain Magicka.

3 Alexa would assume the hagraven is referring to one, or more, of the following “hearts”: the Heart of Lokhan, the Mantella, or the Amulet of Kings… There is a surprising amount of heart removal/replacement in TES lore. See my lore notes for further discussion. (link)

4 Quick aside: Skyrim, while just as far north as High Rock and Morrowind, is considerably colder than its neighbors because each region’s respective Tower alters the landscape around it. (See Subtropical Cyrodiil: A Speculation)

Chapter 9: Water Stone

Summary:

Things come to a head.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 8 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The dragonborn screamed in frustration and anger; the earth trembled and the previously cloudless sky grew dark.  “Run!” Teldryn yelled at the few people who had not already had the sense to flee. “Get out of here!” 

The storm hit, deluging the area around the Water Stone in a torrent of rain as lightning struck the ground repeatedly around1 where the dragonborn knelt before the skeletal remains of yet another dragon.

“Storm Crowned indeed,” Teldryn muttered, grabbing Alexa by the upper arm and hauling her to her feet. “Come on little dragon.  It’s time for us to go home and for you to take a day off.”

It was fully dark by the time they stumbled through the front door of Sevrin Manor.

Teldryn was only a passible cook.  Luckily there was still some dry meat and cheese left over from the last time the kitchen had been restocked.  “Eat,” he ordered, putting a ‘sandwich’ in front of her.  “When you’ve finished, go take a bath.  I’ll deal with the dogs.”


The dogs had been dried, fed, and a second bear pelt had been added to the area in front of the kitchen fire where Meeko often slept.  Teldryn had changed into the gray robe he wore around the house, and cleaned his armor, but Alexa still hadn’t emerged from the bathing room.

“You haven’t fallen asleep in there, have you?” he asked, pushing the door open.  She wasn’t there.  Her armor was still on the floor but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Suddenly panicked he ran to the edge of the bathing pool.  Teldryn’s heart jumped into his mouth when he saw Alexa lying motionless on the bottom. Without thinking he jumped into the bathing pool and dragged her to the surface. 

Alexa opened her eyes, looking at him in confusion as she scrabbled to get her feet under her.  “Teldryn?”

“You’re alright!  I… I thought.  You were motionless on the bottom!  What was I supposed to think?”

“Waterbreathing spell?” she answered, sounding dazed.

“Oh…”  Right. Mage.  “Sheogorath’s tits you scared me,” he confided, his grip on her tightening slightly.  He paused, looking her over to make sure she really was ok.  She was a pretty thing, by anyone’s standards, he realized suddenly. 

“Why’s your hair purple?” he asked, to distract himself from the sudden, inappropriate, realization. 

“Sanguine,” she answered.

“Oh,” he said again, sounding almost as dazed as she did.  He hadn’t let go of her yet and she was standing all but pressed up against him from the way he’d dragged her to the surface.  “What color is it normally?” he enquired, letting go, and taking a step away.

“Black,” she answered, head tipped slightly to one side, ice blue eyes on his face.

“I see,” he swallowed hard. “I’ll, um, just let you get back to not drowning, then.”  He took another step back, and then quickly turned away.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alexa slide back under the water.

With a resigned sigh, it wasn’t like she was particularly aware of his presence at the moment, Teldryn stripped off his gray robe and wrung it out before throwing it onto the floor. He then used the soap he found on the edge of the pool to quickly wash off what remained of the last few days of travel before climbing from the pool and scrubbing himself dry with a towel off the shelf. 

Done, Teldryn donned one of the robes still hanging on the wall – deciding not to wonder which of the house’s former occupants it had belonged to – and then smacked the surface of the water a few times to get Alexa’s attention.

She surfaced with a dull, questioning, look.  He held a towel open for her.  She slid, silently, from the water and into his arms, standing, motionless, as he began to carefully dry her off.

There was the slightly fuzzy whirring noise of an alteration spell and he realized his hair, and hers, were suddenly dry.  “Seems dragon memories include a few useful things along with the nightmare inducing memories of the Dragon Cult,” he murmured, dropping the now equally dry towel on the floor beside the pile of her armor.  “Come on, little dragon, it’s bed time for you.”


When he woke, a few hours later, it was to Alexa whimpering, beside him, in her sleep.  If the things she whispered between distressed little sobs were words, it wasn’t in a language he recognized.  Surprisingly strong fingers dug painfully into his arm as the nightmare deepened.  Wincing he turned on his side to face her.  “Lexi?” he called softly, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand.  “Alexa, you’re having a nightmare.  Wake up.”  When that didn’t work he tried something else.  “Sikendra, get up right now or you’ll be late for class!”

Alexa’s eyes flew open as she startled into a sitting position.

“Son of a…” she gasped between heaving breaths.  “Why would you do that?”

“You were hurting me,” he told her, calmly, pointing to the rising bruises on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, with a guilty glance at the impression her fingers had left on his skin.

“It’s okay,” he told her, as a healing spell briefly flared around her fingers and his arm.  “Go back to sleep.”

She nodded mutely, sliding back down beside him to lie on her back staring up at the ceiling, just as he was.

There was slightly awkward silence between them for several minutes.

“You’re not falling back to sleep,” he eventually grumbled.

“Neither are you.”

“Should I go back to my room?”

“Only if you want to have to run all the way back here when the nightmares get bad enough I start screaming.”

“You can’t really have been living on this little sleep for months now,” he commented.  “How do you normally handle the aftermath of killing a dragon?”

“Lots and lots of sleeping potions,” she replied.  “But I already used the ones I brought with me and haven’t found the ingredients, locally, to make more...”

“Maybe we should make the potions a priority,” he suggested.

“I’ll ask Milore Ienth about it in the morning.”  There was silence between them for a few minutes, and then Alexa sighed and sat up.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I’m clearly not getting back to sleep, so I might as well go do something useful with my time,” she answered, slipping on a pair of fur slippers before disappearing in the direction of the alchemy nook.

He watched her go.  

This was a problem.  Teldryn liked Alexa and she paid well enough that he’d been hoping this job would turn into a long-term engagement of his services but her not sleeping, clearly, wasn’t sustainable.  If she kept it up Alexa would be insane, and dead, in under a year and Teldryn would probably be forced, by self-preservation instinct, to leave her service long before that.  What Alexa needed, he concluded, wasn’t a mercenary it was a companion who was enough of a friend that they wouldn’t let her go on like this.  But did he want that sort of relationship with his new patron? Being a person the dragonborn could lean on didn’t seem like a particularly safe occupation. 

She was a funny creature, he reflected.  So interested in everything, so unphased by the crazy things that happened to her, and yet so very uncertain of herself.  Young,  he’d thought.  But sometimes, just for a moment, unimaginably old as well.  It was an interesting combination.

He ran a restless hand through his mohawk.  Sharing a bed had already thrown their relationship into the grey area between the typical relationship between a mercenary and their patron and… something else. Truthfully there was no reason for him to sleep in her bed.  Not when sleeping on the floor beside it would do just as well for waking her from nightmares, and yet here he was.  Worry for her had caused him to make the offer in the first place but simply having a presence beside her as she slept, it turned out, wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares at bay.  Truthfully he was more worried for her now than he’d been when he first made the offer.

The problem was that the most obvious – and likely effective – way Teldryn knew to deal with the current sleep situation broke one of the more important rules he’d laid down for himself over more than a century of mercenary work.  Getting along with one’s patron was acceptable – even preferable – being friends was allowable, if one was careful not to let it cloud one’s judgment, being lovers, on the other hand, could prematurely terminate a profitable partnership or make it impossible to leave a dangerous one… and Alexa already had both a husband and a lover.  Getting in the middle of that, no matter how unusual those relationships might be, seemed like a bad idea.

The only other way he could think of to deal with the current situaiton would require a level of organization and commitment he was certain the dragonborn was not currently capable of; at least, not on her own.  He sighed and rolled out of bed.  It seemed she was right about him.  Mercenary “babysitter” was his lot in life.


“You know, working yourself to death is not the only way to handle all this agitated energy,” Teldryn informed Alexa mildly, about fifteen minutes later.

“You have a better suggestion?” she asked, dully, turning to face him.

“My people have some experience with these things,” Teldryn answered, handing her a cup of canis root tea. “You’ve seen Neloth,” he added.  “He’s an extreme case, but I doubt his usual state of mind is functionally all that different from the one you are currently experiencing.”

“Now there’s a terrifying comparison,” she muttered, making a face at the bitter licorice flavor of the tea.  “This is foul, by the way.”

“I know,” he admitted. “It’s even worse cold, so drink it quickly.”

She pulled another face at that but dutifully drained the cup before setting it down on the alchemy table.  “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, “you are going to meditate.”

“What?”

“You told Storn you needed a week of meditation to learn a Shout.  If meditation can help you learn Shouts I assume it can help you sort out the dragon memories.”

She hesitated for a moment and then smiled a little wryly.  “I suppose freezing on a mountain top isn’t actually necessary for contemplating the meaning of words.”

Notes:

1 Companion’s Insight: Your attacks, shouts, and destruction spells do no damage to your followers when in combat. (In-game Companion’s Insight doesn’t effect the lightning from Storm Call, but that is BS.) Eventually – after some thought and practice – the understanding Alexa has gained from this “insight” will give her the ability to choose who is affect by area of effect spells. At the moment it's a bit hit or miss.

Chapter 10: A New Source of Stalhrim

Summary:

Teldryn pulls the rug out from under Alexa… supportively.

Notes:

Solstheim, Day 10 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“It’s just one thing right after another with you, isn’t it?” Teldryn complained, mildly, as they walked away from the Skaal village.  They’d returned to the village – dousing three taproots in the Headwaters of the Harstrad along the way – to inform Storn that all the stones, besides the tree stone, had been cleansed, only to discover that the village smith was missing.

“You don’t mind killing Thalmor, do you?” Alexa asked as they made their way towards the abandoned lodge not far from the Altar of Thrond.

“What makes you think it’s the Thalmor?” he asked.

“High elves dragging something through the woods?” she responded sourly.  “Who else would it be?”


The Thalmor soldiers at the abandoned lodge didn’t fair any better than the Morag Tong had.  Upon entering the lodge Teldryn and Alexa could hear the Skaal smith calling for help from the basement.

“Ah, there you are,” Alexa smiled at Baldor Iron-Shaper as she descended the stairs.

“Outsider!” he gasped. “I remember you.  You’re the one who freed the Skaal from the dark spell. Thank the All-Maker that you have come. These accursed elves have taken me from my home.”

“Are you hurt?” she asked, crouching down beside him to cut his bonds.  “Do you need healing?”

“No, my wounds are not serious.  I don’t think the elves were trying to harm me.  Perhaps they intended to frighten me.  At worst, I have a few bruises to show for my ordeal.”

“Do you know what the Thalmor wanted with you?” she asked, casting Heal Other just incase the smith was not being totally forthcoming.  She noted, critically, that some color did return to his face as the spell took effect.

“I do not know this word Thalmor,” he admitted, relaxing slightly.  “But if you mean the elves, they were trying to learn the secrets of forging stalhrim.”

“Why would they need you for that?”

“Stalhrim is enchanted ice hard as iron and cold as death.  It can be forged into deadly weapons, but the art is known only to the smiths of the Skaal,” Baldor confided.

Alexa frowned slightly at that.  “The smith in Raven Rock would have me believe that stalhrim is an extremely rare resource.  Is there truly enough of it on the island to make the elves’ interest in it worthwhile?”

Baldor shook his head slightly.  “I would not have thought so.  But their leader, an elf named Ancarion, has a map.  He says that it shows the location of a hidden source of stalhrim.”

Alexa and Teldryn exchanged a look.  “Where can I find this Ancarion?” she asked.

“They have a ship. They took me there and showed me the map.  You will find it on the northern coast of the island.  Please, do not let Ancarion make his weapons.  Kill him or let him live, but take the map from him.  It belongs with the Skaal.”

“I will do what I can,” she assured him.

“Then I will return to the village,” Baldor announced, heaving himself up off the ground.  “When you have the map, please bring it to me there. And thank you.”

“Will you need help?” Alexa enquired, following him up the stairs.  “It will be dark soon.”

“No.  I will be fine.  I am not yet so old that I cannot find my way at night.”

“Then we will stay here and make for North Shore Landing in the morning,” she told him as he stepped through the door.

“May the All-Maker bless your days, my friends,” he said, nodding to them one last time before disappearing out into the growing darkness.

“You know what I don’t understand,” Alexa announced, the moment the door closed behind the smith.  “Why would the Thalmor soldiers take Baldor to their ship and then bring him all the way back here to interrogate him?  It makes no sense.”  She sat down at the table and began to sort through the things they’d looted from the Thalmor soldiers outside, as Teldryn got a fire going in the hearth.  

“Maybe their leader didn’t care for the noise?” Teldryn suggested.  “Or maybe he thought distancing himself from anything that happened here would allow him to claim he wasn’t involved should the Skaal come knocking?”

“Maybe,” Alexa replied, noncommittally, as she unfolded a piece of paper, and frowning thoughtfully at the contents.  “But, if that was his intent, perhaps putting his orders in writing was not the best of plans?”

“Someone’s not used to setbacks,” Teldryn noted, reading the note over her shoulder.

“No kidding,” Alexa agreed, putting the note down and going over to the fire.  “It seems to me that Ancarion isn’t particularly good at this.”

Teldryn snorted at that but said nothing as he began digging through his pack.

“What’s the chance, do you think, that this is his first assignment this far from the Isles?” Alexa asked, blowing the dust out of the large pot by the fire.

“Outside the Empire even,” Teldryn remarked.

“You think he’s disposable?” Alexa asked, in surprise, as she headed outside to fill the pot with snow.

“No designated interrogator in the group,” Teldryn pointed out when she got back.

“So, he might not be expected to succeed…” she muttered, putting the pot full of snow beside the fire.  “Or whoever ordered him out here didn’t have the pull to requisition even an apprentice interrogator,” she added after a little more thought.

“So his search for stahlrim weapons is not even officially ‘off the books’...” Teldryn commented, using Flames to heat the water in the pot.

“As in not sanctioned at all?” she returned, glancing swiftly up at him.  “Who could send out a group of Thalmor soldiers without official sanction?”

He shrugged, going back to pulling food from his pack.  “The head of a great-house could do it.”

Alexa took the ingredients he handed her and set about making stew from a mixture of fresh ingredients and a jar of pre-cooked meat she’d purchased from Geldis.  “If someone’s trying to get ahead then it would be better for Ancarion to fail than to be found out, right?” she asked.

“Assuming Dunmer rules of engagement,” Teldryn acknowledged.

Alexa made a face.  “Grandmother always did say that knowing how to manipulate people was a life skill.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Teldryn enquired, taking a seat at the table.

“Well, it seems to me that, if we simply kill the entire group it is possible someone will eventually send people to check on them.  So I think we’re going to have to try to convince them to leave.”

“You think you can convince a Thalmor agent to accept failure?” Teldryn asked, absentmindedly pulling some twigs out of Krin’s tail as Meeko sat hopefully beside the fire with his bowl in his mouth.

“I think I can convincingly imply that, if he doesn’t play along, his presence on this island will end up in an official report to one of the Thalmor Emissaries in Skyrim.  If the reputation of the Fourth Emissary is what I believe it to be that will leave Ancarion, and his patron, open to significant blackmail.  If it comes to it I also feel certain Councilor Morvayn would be fascinated to hear about Thalmor activity on the island.”

“Isn’t there the chance that the Thalmor agent will see killing us as his best chance to avoid either of those events?”

“Well, if he does, we can always fall back on your plan to just kill everyone,” she answered with a shrug.

He arched a brow at her. My plan would have been to avoid the entire situation,” he informed her. “I just assumed, after what happened outside, that killing them all was still your plan.”

“Sure, Sero, whatever you want to tell yourself,” Alexa laughed, handing him a bowl of stew before dishing some up for the dogs.  “You want to take bets on how condescending this Ancarion will be?” she asked, joining him at the table.

Teldryn considered her narrowly.  “What’s the scale?”

“We’ll call Neloth a nine out of ten,” she answered.

Teldryn snorted with laughter.  “Alright, you first.”


“You are interfering with official Thalmor business,” the Thalmor foot soldier informed Alexa as they approached the docks in the mid afternoon of the next day.  “You will leave immediately if you value your well-being.”

Alexa looked him up and down.  “Please tell your superior that I am a member of the College of Winterhold here on Solstheim with both the knowledge and approval of Fourth Emissary Ancano.”1

The foot soldier looked over his shoulder to the figure in Thalmor robes on the deck of the ship. The robed figure nodded once.  The guard grimaced slightly.  “You may go aboard, but know that we are watching you.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Alexa responded as she made her way down the dock.

“Your claim that you are here on behalf of the Fourth Emissary is an interesting one,” the mer in Thalmor robes began, his voice full of elegant condescension.  “But this is not Skyrim.  What is your purpose in this… place?”

“Strange cultists have attacked members of the College of Winterhold,” Alexa replied evenly.  “I have traced them back to this place and am now investigating the madness that has swept the inhabitants of this island.”

“That has nothing to do with my mission here,” Ancarion sniffed dismissively.  “Why approach me?”

“I require the aid of the Skaal to finish my investigation,” Alexa replied simply.

“So…” he began, tapping his fingers on the ship’s gunwale, “you are here for the map, then?”  He looked her, and Teldryn, over with a deepening scowl before sighing theatrically.  “I assume you’ve already found that dullard of a blacksmith.  Tell me, did my men simply let you take him?”

“Not exactly,” she answered. “I’d suggest cutting your losses.”

Ancarion’s expression turned hard but he tone remained languorous.  “Unfortunately for you, my mission here is a secret.  To protect it I have no choice but to silence you.  Now, give me one good reason that I should not kill you where you stand.”

Alexa cocked her head to one side her eyes never leaving his face.  “Perhaps I’m confused, agent Ancarion.  Is the ability to exploit a resource as limited as stalhrim really worth the time and effort the Dominion has invested in this endeavor?”

Ancarion’s jaw muscles visibly flexed as he ground his teeth. “I admit, we are not making the progress we had hoped,” he ground out.  “This venture may be more trouble than it’s worth. Still…” he leaned in slightly to tower over the Breton woman in front of him, “you cannot expect me to just hand you the map, so you can deliver it to the blacksmith and laugh at the foolish Thalmor you so easily outwitted.”

“You are suggesting that I might find the Thalmor funny?” Alexa returned, affecting a mild surprise.  “I assure you, agent Ancarion, that I find nothing about you, or this situation, amusing.”

Teldryn watched in amusement as the agent recognized the threat for what it was and was left, open mouthed, and uncertain of how to respond.

Alexa smiled, coolly, at the now incredulous Altmer.  “But I am not unreasonable.  I may even be able to help you,” she continued, throwing Ancarion even further off balance.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, suspiciously.

“The smith said that, in return for his freedom, he’d give me a few pieces of worked stalhrim…”2

“And you are offering to sell me these weapons you acquire?”

“I am offering to trade them to you,” she replied.

Ancarion narrowed his eyes slightly at her word choice.  “And, I suppose, I have to give you the map first?”

“The smith will need stalhrim in order to make these weapons,” she pointed out.

He visibly hesitated for a moment before drawing a piece of paper out of a pocket and holding it out to Alexa.  “Very well, take the map.  Return here with stalhrim weapons and I will pay you a fair price for them.”

“No,” she replied, taking the map from him.  “The Skaal do not want you here.  Which means your continued presence would, likely, impede my own mission.  So I will forward, to you, the stalhrim pieces I manage to acquire.”

Ancarion hesitated again, briefly, before nodding his agreement.  “Fine.  My men weren’t happy here anyway.  If we can be rid of this place while still achieving our goal, so much the better.” He walked over to a makeshift writing desk beside the ship’s mast and quickly jotted something down.  “You may send them to this location.”

“Understood,” Alexa nodded, taking the paper.  “It has been a pleasure, agent Ancarion.”


“You’re not really going to help him, are you?” Teldryn murmured as the Thalmor ship pulled out to sea.

“Me?” she responded in slight surprise.  “No. But I owe Mephala a new toy.  A single stalhrim weapon, for agent Ancarion’s personal use, forwarded to him by one of his more conniving fellow agents, seems like the sort of thing the She might find… diverting.”

Teldryn blinked once in surprise and then shook his head in disbelief.  “You are a little terrifying, sometimes, you know that?”  He looked up at the darkening sky and then at the small shack not far from where they stood.  “Come on.”

“It’s not that late yet, we can keep going and find someplace less… fishy,” Alexa pointed out, when she realized what Teldryn had in mind.

“No, we can’t,” he told her. “You are going to meditate for the next two hours.  Then we will eat and, if you still want to move on after that, we can discuss it.”


Learn control, learn to choose, or be destroyed!

Alexa startled out of her meditation.  The sun was just dipping below the horizon dusting the sky with pink and gold.  She watched, unmoving, as the first stars, planets all of them, the physical remains of the aedra, made their appearance.

“Something bothering you?” Teldryn asked, handing her a cup of canis-root tea.

“I am wondering if, a year ago, I would have sought out, confronted, and then threatened, a Thalmor agent the way I did today.”

“Have you come to a conclusion?” he enquired as she downed the tea.

She pulled a face and handed the cup back.  “I believe I would have killed him, and reported it to Councilor Morvayn, rather than interact with him myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“This seemed... better.”

“Setting someone up to have their life ruined by a daedric prince seemed ‘better’?”

“Turning the Thalmor against themselves… it is what they would do, in my place.”

“If it is bothering you so much, you could still choose not to,” Teldryn pointed out.  “That agent has already cut his losses.  If he truly expects you to live up to your side of the bargain then he will learn a useful lesson when you do not.”

“If I survive killing Alduin the Thalmor will still come for me.  Hobbling them now may make a difference in the future.  I just… never thought I could before.”

“So you are more sure of yourself than you were?”

“Am I?” she wondered aloud. “And how does one tell the difference between being self-assured and being foolish?”

“You handled the interaction on the boat expertly enough,” he noted.

“Through sheer force of personality,” she responded, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

Teldryn frowned at that for a moment before it hit him.  “Ah... You are worried that you are changing.”

“I am changing.”

“Change is an inevitable part of life,” he told her.  “Why is it that this change bothers you?”

She shifted uncomfortably and then sighed in resignation when he continued to watch her, waiting for her response.  “I wonder how long it will be until I look at the people around me and, rather than seeing my friends and colleagues, see lesser beings that will never understand the world as I do.  How many more dragon souls will it be before I too deny the right of people to self-determination, as the dragons did, and as Miraak has?”

“And you see that as unavoidable?” he asked.

“I was created to kill a god,” she reminded him.  “Do you understand the implications of that?”

He cocked his head, still watching her.  “Tell me. What do you believe the implications to be?”

“Only a dragon can kill another dragon and only a being with the power of a god can fight, much less kill, a god,” Alexa told him.

Teldryn poked thoughtfully at the fire, sparking it to greater life, before glancing back up at her. “You are dragonborn, a daughter of Akatosh,” he reminded her gently.  “Whatever your place on the power scale between a Grand Master and a god is, was, or will be, you were born a demigod Sikendra.  It seems to me all that is left is for you to decide is what kind of god you wish to be.”

She stared at him in stunned silence.  “You say it so easily.”

He shrugged slightly. “I am Dunmer.  We have seen more than a few of our own rise to god-like status and I have seen enough, in the last ten days, to know that, whatever shape you wear, you are not truly human.  But there is a great distance between simply not being human and being a monster.”  He smiled a little bitterly into the fire.  “In fact, I’d argue, that simply being human does not preclude one being a monster.”

“It does seem to limit one’s scope,” she pointed out.

“The shortness of human lives is good for that at least,” he agreed.  “But that does not change the truth of my words.  You still have choices left to make, dragonborn.  You should make them before circumstance make them for you.”

Notes:

1 Not technically inaccurate just deeply misleading.

2 Alexa does not have the proper level of smithing ability to work with stalhrim herself.

Chapter 11: A Flurry of Loose Ends

Summary:

Sidequest montage!

Notes:

Solstheim, Days 13-18 (Winter, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The cold, from the wind blowing down off the glacier behind Northshore inlet, woke Teldryn just after dawn.  Turning over he saw that Alexa was already awake and seated beside the fire with the dogs.  The scene, lit by the first golden rays cresting the glacier, was like something out of a particularly sappy Altmer painting.1  In the moment, her skin tinted golden by the new sun, Alexa almost looked like… Almalexia.2  The thought startled Teldryn enough that he bolted upright in his bedroll and then winced as various joints complained at the mistreatment.

Alexa smiled as he joined her and wordlessly handed him a mug of tea, knowing better than to try talking with him before he was fully awake.  Objectively, if not for the way she attracted trouble, the dragonborn was the best patron he’d had in decades, Teldryn reflected, taking a sip of the tea.  He didn’t know what she put in it but he knew by now that it would deliver the necessary morning stimulants as well as relieve the dull ach and stiffness of a night spent on the ground.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked finally, giving her a grouchy once over.  No one should look so put together this early in the morning.

“A while,” she answered. “I’ve already completed my morning meditation.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Five whole hours, I think,” she answered, handing him breakfast.

He settled on a chest they’d pulled out of the mud the evening before.  “What’s the plan for the day?”

“I thought we should check out the location on Ancarion’s map, see if it’s real or not, and look for the body of Glover Mallory’s apprentice,” she answered.

“Oh?” he asked, he’d wondered what had happened to the boy.

“It seems he thought he could sell a recipe for chitin armor to the rieklings,” Alexa told him, splitting what was left of the porridge into two bowls for the dogs.  “Apparently he hadn’t noticed they don’t have much in the way of crafting facilities.”

“They’re an odd group,” Teldryn remarked, stirring some of the heat out of his porridge.  “The locals seem to think they’re what’s left of the Snow Elves.”

Alexa shook her head. “Deeply unlikely.  For one thing they’re more goblinoid than elven.  Besides, I haven’t seen any aetherium on the island.”

He glanced swiftly up at her.  “What?”

“Given the current distribution of the Betrayed in Skyrim it seems likely the Dwemer were having them mine aetherium.”

“… Right,” he muttered, returning his attention to his food.  He wasn’t awake enough yet to think about the implications of that.

“I’d also like to check out the Dwemer ruins up the hill from the Water Stone before we head back to the village,” Alexa added.

“Alright…”

She gave him a slightly guilty look.  “I… uh, used to study the Dwemer.  Before the whole dragonborn thing.”

He nodded, not particularly surprised.

Clearly realizing their brief morning conversation was over Alexa rose from her sitting position with a fluidity that belied any stiffness from the cold or a night sleeping on the ground and began the process of breaking camp.  Teldryn ignored her until he was done, and had given Krin the last few bites of his breakfast, before creaking stiffly to his feet.  Traveling with a young demigod had its demoralizing aspects he reflected.


“The dwarves were a clever race,” Teldryn noted, the next day, as Alexa expertly navigated them through the upper levels of Fahlbtharz.  “I wonder what happened to them?”

“Mass neumolysisfollowed by absorption into the Numidium,” she answered, indicating with a gesture that he should ignite the oil on the floor to clear the spiders nesting in the hall ahead of them.

“And that means?” he asked, waiting for the flames to clear.

“Functionally?  The Numidium ate them…”she answered, beginning to move down the hall.

In the next room they killed two dwarven spiders and a dwarven sphere.  Teldryn was surprised when, rather than immediately setting about pulling the animunculi apart, the dragonborn took more interest in the ornamental mushroom garden.5 

As he came over to see what she was looking at Alexa gestured at the garden before them.  “Behold, cosmic irony.”

“I have always found decorative mushrooms deeply ironic,” Teldryn responded levelly.

“You remember how, only yesterday, I said I hadn’t seen any aetherium on the island?” she asked, pointing to the strange glowing rocks in the center of the arrangement.  “Well, now I have.”  She gave an exasperated little sigh.  “Do you mind if I take a moment to study this?”

“I don’t mind being paid to stand around,” he answered with a slight shrug.


The dragonborn – Teldryn thought as he considered the room full of giant, rotating, Dwemer cogs – was practicing avoidance.  Still, it was nice, after the past few days, to see her excited about something.

“How long did you study the Dwemer for?” he asked, catching up with her on the far side of a set of rotating bridges where she stood looking through the journal of a dead woman dressed like a Skaal.

“For four or five years before I came to Skyrim,” she answered. 

“Is there anything you haven’t studied?” he enquired.

“Many things, but staying a step ahead of the Thalmor meant remaking myself on several occasions,” she told him, her mind clearly focused on what she was reading.  “It’s… a little strange to think I was planning to have given up on being Alexa by now,” she added, closing the journal.  “It seems this woman, and her friend, came looking for a Dwemer artifact called the ‘Visage of Mzund’.”

“I suppose it is heartening to know they were here, risking their lives for a reason, rather than just exploring,” he responded dryly.


“Are you ever planning to be Sikendra again?” Teldryn asked, a few minutes later, as he handed Alexa the journal of a dead Dunmer.  He had to nudge her arm with it a few time to draw her attention away from the wall of resonators in front of them.

“Maybe, one day,” she answered, accepting the journal.  “Though, I suppose, it is possible being Iizkaandraal will replace being Alexa before I get around to being Sikendra again...” she paused, reading through the journal.  “Hey, can you shoot one of the glowing disks on the far left resonator?”

“Iizkandraal?” he asked, taking aim.

“My dragon name,” she answered, pulling a piece of charcoal from her pack to write with.

He did so and then glanced back at her as the resonator wound upwards and the little glowing nodes around the boiler began to pop out from the wall.  

Alexa considered the boiler for a moment, her head slightly cocked to one side. “It’s a steam pressure gauge,” she concluded, making a new note in the Dunmer’s journal.  “Hit that first resonator again, then hit the second one.”

“Alright...” he responded, loosing two arrows in quick succession.  “Do all dragonborn have dragon names?”

“Miraak means ‘Allegiance Guide’,” she informed him as the pegs on the boiler receded back into the wall before popping back out again.  “It was given to him when he became a dragon priest and so has only two syllables,” she continued, taking note of the new number of extended pegs.  “I suspect that Miraak was never given his full dragon name because he never fully accepted his role as dragonborn.  Dragon names are signifiers of purpose as much as they are names.  To refuse one’s purpose would be to refuse one’s name.”

“And what does your dragon name mean?” Teldryn asked, repeating the process.

“The three syllables are: ice, Kyne, and prayer,” she replied, continuing to take notes.  “The dragon who told me my name translated it as ‘Kyne’s icy prayer’.  I assume it is in reference to Kynareth’s gift of my status as a Grand Master.”

“Talos also only has two syllables,” Teldryn pointed out.

“It’s also not Tiber Septim’s dragon name.  ‘Talos’ has no meaning in dovahzul.  The empire, of course, claims it means ‘Stormcrown’ in ehlnofex.  First two resonators on the left and the one in the middle on the right should do it.”

“You do not agree?” he asked, complying with her instructions.

“I am uncertain how much trust I would place in any assertion made about Tiber Septim, no matter the source,” she answered as they watched the gauge around the boiler fill.  “Revisionism has always been a problem with figures such as he.”

“So what was Talos’ dragon name?” he asked, as a hollow grinding noise indicated the gate was now open.

“I don’t know,” she answered putting the Dunmer’s journal and her charcoal away and shouldering her pack again.  “I assume he had one but no dragon I have killed has known it.  Though, to be fair, only one of them was even alive at the time.”


“Well, what next?” Teldryn asked, as Alexa dropped her pack on the table.  The lift they’d taken out of Fahlbtharz had left them just north of the abandoned building in which they’d found the Skaal smith.  Which meant they were spending another night in the dusty lodge.  At least it had beds and a decent hearth he reflected.

“I thought we should deliver the map, and stahlrim, to the Skaal,” she answered, drawing the samples she’d taken from the mushroom garden out of her bag.  Then she took out a striking hammer and used it on the sample of glowing rock she’d taken.  Humming filled the room.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” Teldryn demanded, covering his ears, as Alexa hurriedly dampened the vibration.

“Just checking my original identification,” she replied, when the sound stopped and he’d removed his hands from his ears again.  “Have you seen rocks like this anywhere else on the island?”

“No,” he answered.  “Is it really aetherium?”

“Raw and unrefined,” she told him.  “But chunks that large are very rare.”

“I thought that it only came from a lost mine in Skyrim.  Why would the Dwemer here be using something that valuable as decoration in a planter?”

“They must have been studying its affect on plant life,” she answered, inspecting the unusually large mushroom she’d harvested from directly between the rocks.  “This looks like a type of bleeding crown,”she noted.

“If that’s a bleeding crown then you should get rid of that rock sample,” he informed her.  “Take it from a Dunmer,” he continued in response to her questioning look, “if something can mutate plants that way it’s not safe for people to be around.”

“Noted,” Alexa smiled, and turned her attention to the Dwemer helmet they’d retrieved as he set about making the fire.  “Ever heard of Mzund?” she asked, after a moment.

He shook his head.

“I think it must be a smaller site, possibly now on the Morrowind side of the boarder with Skyrim. All I know for certain is that it was related, in some way, to the cities working with aetherium in Skyrim.” 

“Something they apparently had in common with Fahlbtharz,” he noted.

She nodded.  “If this thing is anything go by, I’d guess Mzund was working on infusing aetherium into metal... which, unlike working pure aetherium, may not have required something as unique as the Aetherium Forge to do.”

Teldryn watched her examine the tonal structure of the helmet for a while.  “You know…” he began.  “Aside from the obvious, flooded, city on the southwestern coast there is another Dwemer ruin on the island, if you’re interested.”

“You ever been in it?” she asked, glancing in his direction.

“No.  It’s in a hole just south of the Temple of Miraak.  It’s not far from here.”

“We can go tomorrow and then spend the night at Tel Mithryn, drop off those taproots, and check on how Drovas is settling in,” she decided.

“You know Neloth will probably want you to do something for him, right?”

She shrugged.  “Could be interesting.”


Teldryn woke, late in the night, to see light coming up the stairs from the cellar.  He glanced in the direction of where Alexa had been sleeping only to find that Meeko and Krin had claimed the bed.

He rolled out of his own bedroll and went to investigate.

Alexa was sitting at the small round table, writing in a black bound book much smaller than the one they’d found in the Temple of Miraak.7

“I thought we’d talked about this,” he said, sitting down across from her.  “If you can’t sleep you’re supposed to meditate.”

“I tried, but…  You were right, meditating has helped sort through some of the dragon memories.  A few had interesting implications.  I was hoping that, if I wrote them down, my mind would stop fixating on them.”8

“So your current lack of sleep is due to partially solving the previous reason you weren’t sleeping?” he asked, tiredly.

“Yes.  You don’t need to worry though.  It’s been almost a week since I last killed a dragon.  If the pattern holds I shouldn’t have any trouble sleeping tomorrow.”

“Don’t think that means I won’t make you keep meditating,” he told her, standing up and making his way back towards the stairs and sleep.

“Hey, Teldryn?”

He paused, and looked back at her.  “Yeah?”

“Thank you for caring.”


Standing in front of Tel Mithryn, three days later, Alexa watched as Miraak absorbed another dragon soul.

“Do you ever wonder if it hurts?” the first dragonborn asked her menacingly.  “To have one’s soul ripped out like that?”  He laughed and faded back into Apocrypha when she refused to answer him.

“That seemed rather pointed,” Teldryn noted from where he stood, protectively, just behind her right shoulder. 

“You mean almost like he meant to imply that he intends to do the same thing to me?” she returned sarcastically.

“Something like that,” he replied, unruffled.

“Truthfully, I’m beginning to have mixed feelings about this,” Alexa admitted.  “On the one hand, no new memories to contend with, on the other… he’s getting stronger.”  She sighed heavily, and turned towards Raven Rock.  “Something tells me I need to make my information gathering trip to Skyrim a quick one.”

“You’re still planning on that?” Teldryn asked, sounding surprise.

“I still need to speak to Paarthurnax about choosing what I absorb and how to handle the attention of a particular daedric prince,” she reminded him.  “I haven’t seen anything to make me think either of those things have ceased to be important.

“Well, any time you want to head for Skyrim, I’m right with you,” Teldryn informed her affably.


“You’re leaving me behind?” Teldryn demanded, the next morning.

“I am,” she replied, adding a few last things to her pack.  When he didn’t argue, and the silence between them became awkward, she glanced up, meeting his eyes. “The Greybeards don’t much care for visitors,” she told him.

“And the house?” he asked, his red eyes boring into her.

“Is half yours.  Same as always.”

He said nothing.

“I shouldn’t be gone more than a month,” she informed him and then rolled her eyes when it became clear he wasn’t going to respond to that either.  “I can feel your disapproval, Sero.  I can take care of myself, you know.”

He shrugged slightly his eyes still locked with hers.  “Fine, go on...  When you decide to return to your senses, you know where to find me.”  He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and walked away.  The last thing she heard from him was the door to his room closing behind him.

Notes:

1 In my head Altmer fine art come in two major styles:
1) an a-symmetric style that plays with negative, or blank, space, similar to that of Muromachi period Japan, and
2) the lush intensity and romanticism of the Pre-Raphaelites.
There is probably a class distinction in preference between the calm stylized simplicity of the former and the color, detail, and emotional content of the latter. (Yes I am suggesting that the Thalmor would use art to emotionally engage the masses with a romantic narrative of regaining the perfection and heroism of the past… because that’s part of how fascism works.)
Equally, I feel, the Dunmer probably skew towards a more surrealistic style and subject matter.

2 1) We know that Teldryn once met St. Juib. 2) We know St. Juib was killed during the Oblivion Crisis. 3) The Tribunal fell only six years before the Oblivion Crisis. So it is entirely possible, in-game, that Teldryn would remember the Tribunal and its members.
For those who don’t know/remember who Almalexia is I found her card art from TES: Legends and put some information about her in the margins. Take a look. (link)

3 "Neumo-lysis": [P]neuma (Ancient Greek): spirit. Lysis: the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane.

4 Sytel: “… Am I close?”
MK: “Very. Pretty soon you get your own Stompy Robot. And cause absorbocide to your whole frikkin’ race.” - Made Up Word Round Up (link)

5 Picture 1 (link)

6 Picture 2 (link)

7 I believe the only black-bound book, that is not one of the “Black Books”, is the Book of the Dragonborn.

8 Don’t worry, this will be elaborated on.

Chapter 12: Return to Winterhold

Summary:

Alexa visits Saarthal.

Notes:

Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

As Alexa entered the Hall of Attainment she thought she heard a soft snicker in her mind.  The voice sounded uncomfortably like Mephala’s. Putting that aside for later consideration she dropped her bag on the floor of her room, opened her wardrobe, and stopped short.  Clothing she was absolutely certain wasn’t hers hung beside her own.


Enthir looked up in surprise as Alexa stepped, uninvited, into his room.  “Would you like to explain the new clothing in my closet?” she enquired calmly.

“The what?” he asked, blinking at her in surprise.  “Your wardrobe lock is pick-proof and I definitely gave you the only key.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed at that.  “Have any of our mutual friends been in town?”

“No.  Frankly, no one’s been in your room since you left, not even the Advisor and he used to borrow books from you fairly regularly. Speaking of whom…” Enthir stepped past her and closed his door conspiratorially.  “The Advisor’s been acting a bit odd.  He’s been disappearing – leaving college grounds – for several hours at a time most days.  I have no idea where he’d even go around here.  It’s not like he’s particularly welcome in town.”

“Alright…” Alexa said, narrowing her eyes.  There was no reason Enthir would have to close his door to tell her that.

The Bosmer sidled slightly. “Um, while you’re here, there is a small problem I could use some help with.”

“Oh?”

“Arniel asked me to set up the delivery of something from Morrowind.  Don’t ask me what, he made most of the arrangements himself, so I don’t know.  But it was a simple task so I didn’t keep close tabs on it like I do with the dangerous stuff.  Arniel doesn’t know yet but the courier is missing...”

“Right…” Alexa drawled.  “I’m amused that you would assume something Arniel personally arranged to be delivered from Morrowind wouldn’t be worth keeping an eye on.”

“Fine, yes, be a jerk about it,” he grumbled.

“Do you know if the courier made it out of Morrowind?” she asked, relenting slightly.

“My contacts tell me he crossed the boarder but did not make it as far as Riften,” Enthir told her.

“I’ll look into it,” she told him, tossing him a bag with three more Stones of Barenziah in it.

“You want me to see if I can figure out who’s been in your closet?” he asked.

“No.  Having had a moment to think about it, I’m pretty sure I know what happened,” she sighed, rubbing tiredly at her face.

“You ok?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance.

“People and dragons are trying to kill me,” she reminded him.

“You find any answers in Solstheim?”

“Not any good ones,” she sighed.  “Things are… complicated.”

He arched an eyebrow at that.

“Complicated enough that Hermaeus Mora seems to be involved.”

Enthir gave a low whistle. “That is complicated.  My condolences.”

Alexa gave him a sour look. “Thanks.”

“How long before you think you can go looking for that courier?” Enthir asked without quite looking at her.

“I was intending to head south later in the week,” she told him.  “I’ll see what I can do then.  You’ll owe me though.”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “As you say, dragon lady…” he paused.  “You still helping Gane with his research?”

“I’m still interested in seeing what he’s up to, if that’s the same thing,” she answered.

“Well I have something he says he needs, but he hasn’t been able to pay me for it…” Enthir said reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a grand soul gem.  “We could call it even for the business with the courier.”

Alexa took the soul gem from him, looking it over carefully.  “What’s so special about this soul gem that it’s in some way of equal value to me hunting down, and killing, a bunch of bandits for you?”

“I can’t imagine what he expects to do with it,” Enthir admitted.  “It’s warped beyond any ability to capture a soul.  But finding a soul gem that fit his specifications wasn’t easy.”

“Fine,” Alexa agreed, pocketing the gem.

Enthir smiled.  “Best of luck, and give my regards to Karliah, if you see her.”

Alexa, who had been about to leave, stopped, and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Enthir… you have told her how you feel, right?”

Enthir suddenly became quite engrossed in the contents of the chest he was putting the stones of Barenziah in.

“You’ve given her the stones I’ve already sold you, right?” she pressed.

Enthir made a semi-affirmative noise but didn’t look at her.

“But you did it without using the exchange as the starting point for a conversation about your relationship,” she surmised.

“I may have failed to mention any ulterior motive,” he agreed.

“You want me to tell her?”

“No!”

Alexa crossed her arms and stared him straight in the face.

“No, it’s alright, I can handle it myself…” Enthir babbled, pulling nervously at his fingers.

“… Alright,” she allowed slowly.  “If there’s anything else you need from Riften, let me know before I leave.”


On her way back to her room Alexa ran into Tolfdir.  “You’re back!” he smiled.  “Your last paper, on the possibility that the ancient Nords used the thu’um to create the large underground spaces for their cities and temples, was fascinating!  I was hoping you might take some time out of your busy schedule to take a look at the parts of Saarthal we’ve uncovered,” he said, turning to follow her down the stairs.  “We seem to have hit something of a dead end.  But, with your experience, you might see something we haven’t.”

“The only thing I know about Saarthal is that the Dragon Cult never rebuilt it and that Jyrik Gauldurson is said to have fled there after killing his father,” Alexa admitted, continuing to her room.

“Truly?” Tolfdir returned, frowning slightly.  “You are certain the Dragon Cult did not rebuild it?”

“I am.”  Alexa replied, beginning to dig through her pack for the book she’d acquired for Urag.  “Why?”

“Well we’ve found an abundance of early First Era wards,” he explained, remaining outside her room and talking to her from the doorway.  “Perhaps they were placed by Jyrik Gauldurson’s allies to cover his retreat, but why would he retreat to a ruin?”

“Give me a day to rest and unpack,” she told him, tucking the book under one arm and reaching for her coat.  “Then I’d love to have a look.  Do you know where I might find Arniel?”

“At this time of day he’s usually in the Arcanaeum,” Tolfdir answered.  “Day after tomorrow you said?  I was intending to take the other students there first thing that morning. You should join us.”


“I’ve never seen anything like this in Nordic ruins before.” Tolfdir announced, looking upwards.  “Why just look at all those coffins!”

Alexa glanced up, in the same direction Tolfdir was looking, at the only domed ceiling1 she’d seen in Skyrim.  Her stomach turn over and she quickly looked away.  This was wrong.  At the very least a “vault of heaven”2 ceiling formed from caskets was simply not the way things were supposed to work.  It was inversion at its creepiest and – even without the Psijic’s warning – indicated something very, very, wrong had been happening in Saarthal.  Not that the skeletons and decorative skulls displayed just outside hadn’t been rather suggestive of the same thing, but this indicated a greater theological distortion than simple necromantic decorative sensibilities.

Was this distortion from the time of Ysgramor or an addition to the location made by Jyrik Gauldurson? she wondered.

Two false dead ends to get even this far only proved that someone had gone through a lot of effort to cover up whatever this was.  Then there was the layers and layers of warding magic.  In Alexa’s experience there were two reasons you put up layers of warding magic, to make a vault or to make a prison, and, taking the dead ends into consideration, Saarthal was looking a lot more like a prison than a vault. Still, she was pretty certain she knew who, if not what, was in the basement3 but that alone couldn’t explain what she was seeing.

“This is really not good,” she muttered to herself.

“What?” Tolfdir asked.

Alexa pointed up. “That’s not Atmoran, or Snow Elf, or Dwemer, or Dovah, and I’ve seen nothing like it in Skyrim’s other ancient ruins.  So where, conceptually, did it come from?”

“Well I’m certain I have no idea!” Tolfdir exclaimed, excitement showing in his voice.  “But it bears closer inspection.  I’d like to stay a while and examine this.  You, however, should press on.  See if you can find whatever this vision of yours mentioned.”

Not a vision, Alexa thought to herself as she pulled the chains on either side of the gate.  It felt like the Psijic had used a time slowing technique – the effects of which would have been obvious to anyone conversant with the Slow Time Shout – combined with a form of projection, possibly into her head rather than into reality, which, while impressive, was not an idea Alexa was comfortable with.4  “If you’re so concerned about it,” she whispered to herself, descending the stairs on the far side of the gate,5 maybe you should come deal with it yourselves?”  Neither Tolfdir, nor her apparent mysterious order of Altmer observers responded.  “Altmer,” she muttered, prepping a sunhallowed arrow.  “You know, if the entire rest of the world finds your condescension frustrating, maybe the reason really is you and not everyone else?”


Alexa did not, as the Archmage had suggested, go to see Urag for information on the orb.  There were three other apprentices who, when they got back, would be perfectly capable of spending some time in the library.  She, on the other hand, was halfway to panicking and would be of no use to anyone until she’d calmed down and had a conversation with Paarthurnax.

Notes:

1 Having stared at this ceiling, in-game, for several minutes I am uncertain as to whether this room is supposed to have a domed ceiling or whether the room is the bottom level of a hollow, underground, tower. So I’ve had Alexa, at first glance, assume the first, but further examination will reveal it is the second, so that I can address both possibilities.

2 IRL constructing a ceiling to look like it’s covered in stars is not uncommon especially in domed architecture (religious or not). What has happened at Saarthal is that un-dead bodies (since the caskets are the black ones used for draugr) have been placed where there should – logically – be stars. I cannot overstate how very disturbing this is from a TES lore standpoint as it is symbolically replacing immortality with un-death in the structure of the universe.
Image: “Ceiling Comparison” (link)

3 Alexa has already completed Folgunthur and Geirmund’s Hall and so is pretty certain Jyrik Gauldurson is in Saarthal somewhere.

4 Probably actually a dreamsleeve transmission. But that is so arcane a concept it's going to take time for Alexa to figure that out.

5When you approach the door you are facing north but when you pass through, after the load screen, you are facing east (see pictures, link). The ruin then continues in, generally the opposite direction from which you came. Fictionally a spiral staircase seemed like the best way to handle these shenanigans but, realistically, Bethesda wasn’t always careful about how well their underground cells fit together.

Chapter 13: The Logic of the Situation

Summary:

Addressing several questions and raising a few new ones.

Notes:

Lore and theory heavy chapter.
This chapter took sooo much work.

Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I understand why you like it up here,” Alexa began, looking out over the world beneath them, her back against the northwest side of Paarthurnax’s word wall.  “It is blessedly removed from everything happening below.  Almost a different world.”

“Are you hiding from something, Iizkaandraal?” the dragon asked from his seat above her.

“Perhaps.”  Silence stretched between them only broken by the whistling of the wind around the mountain’s peak.  “Are you going to tell me that the dov do not hide from their troubles?” she wondered finally.

“No.  Not I,” he snorted.  “We who avoided extermination at the hands of the Akaviri were the ones who hid.  Still, fate is a thing from which even we cannot hide.”

Alexa glanced up at him. “Why did the Akaviri come to Tamriel?”

“They came here to hunt dragons.”

“Why?” Alexa blinked in surprise.  “The remains of Alduin’s dragon cult was no threat to Akavir, how did they even know about it?”

“They didn’t.  The tsaesci can, to an extent, become what they eat.1 In the beginning they ate man, became man-like in form, and learned the use of tools and magic.  As time wore on they ate dragons and became immortal.  So we left and, eventually, they followed.”

She considered that for a while.  “The Bend Will Shout that Miraak uses… it is Akaviri in origin?”

Paarthurnax cocked his head so that he was looking directly down at her.  “What makes you think that?”

“Hermeaus Mora does not create knowledge, It hordes it.  Which means the Shout had to be in use somewhere before Mora could teach it to Miraak. But if it had been known in Skyrim surely the Dragon War would not have been as long as it was…

“I once read that the Tsaesci had ‘enslaved the Red Dragons’2,” she continued.  “Confusing as their memories told me that only dragons can compel other dragons to obey.  But that was before I knew of the Bend Will Shout or that the tsaesci could ‘become’ what they ate.  I am sure the memories will now fill in the gaps.”

Paarthurnax grinned at her.  “You truly have the mind of a jill.  That is exactly what happened.  But… I do not think you came all this way to speak with me about the men of Akavir.”

She acknowledged this with a slight nod.  “You, and the Greybeards, have shown yourselves capable of passing me very specific pieces of information meaning that you can choose what I absorb from you.  Is there a way for me to choose what I absorb?”

Paarthurnax gave her a curious look.

“Someday I may have defeated Alduin but find myself still at odds with a dragon.  On that day I might wish to defeat him but not burden myself with all his soul.  Or, perhaps, the day will come when I require a specific piece of knowledge but do not wish to absorb an entire soul to learn it.”

“This can be taught,” Paarthurnax agreed.  “Though it will take some time.”

She nodded, not surprised. “I have a few errands to run before I can devote myself to an extended period of study…  Truthfully I had planned to do them before coming here.”

“What made you change your plans?” Paarthurnax asked, concern in his voice.

Alexa fidgeted uncomfortably.  “Do you know anything about an orb buried beneath Saarthal?”

“No,” he replied somberly. “The magic I sense in Saarthal is strange to me.  I know only that it is a thing out of place.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know why but… it scares me.”

“Do you fear it as joor or as dov?” he asked, his voice low and resonating.

“I… don’t know,” she answered, tiredly. 

“The Dragon Cult never rebuilt Saarthal,” Paarthurnax noted thoughtfully.  “Our kind always found the area… disquieting.  Perhaps you have been given the chance to discover the cause?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed.

“Where do the Greybeards send you next?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Ancient’s Ascent,” she answered before changing the subject herself.  “Do you know how many dragonborn have absorbed as many dragon souls as I have?”

“Only one other,” Paarthurnax replied. 

“But there are legends…” she objected.

“The Akaviri heard the stories the Nords still told of Miraak and assumed his ‘theft of power’ was like that of the tsaesci’s: real but not observable.  Since, in Akavir, only the tsaesci who had consumed a dragon had learned to Shout, they believed anyone who could Shout must be of dovah-sos. Eventually those men of Akavir who remained learned that all men could become masters of the Voice.”

“But the legends that attributed Miraak’s power-absorption abilities to Reman Cyrodiil persisted,” Alexa nodded, understanding.  “So Miraak is the only other one?”

“At one point Talos could have…” Paarthurnax answered carefully.  “But his contact with the shezzarians rendered him incapable of such a thing even before he became emperor.  Eventually even his dragon voice was lost to him.”

That took Alexa a moment to digest.  “Are you suggesting Tiber Septim slit his own throat to hid the fact that his continuing absorption of Lorkahn’s essence had left him unable to Shout?” she finally demanded, aghast.

“No,” Paarthurnax hedged. “Rather I am telling you that the thu’um depends on one’s ability to focus one’s vital energy not on the ability speak loudly.”3

“So the damage to his throat should not have left him unable to use the thu’um?”

“I have always believed that it was Talos’ becoming a shezzarian oversoul that finally took his thu’um from him,” Paarthurnax admitted.

“How?” she asked.  “Is absorbing the soul of a god really so different from absorbing the soul of a dragon?”

“Lorkahn is not like other gods,” the dragon replied.  “And no, the soul of a dragon is not exactly like the soul of a god.”

“So it really is just the first and the last dragonborn,” Alexa whispered.  “We’re it?  The only dovah oversouls?”

“Miraak was to walk the path you now tread: to face and defeat Alduin.  Of all dovah you and he are set apart by this,” Paarthurnax confirmed.

“Why?”

The dragon above her shifted his weight uncomfortably.  “Alduin is unique among the dov,” Paarthurnax explained.  “He can increase the strength of his thu’um, not just by draining the life-force from living mortals, but by consuming the sillesejoor, the souls of mortal dead, specifically those slain in battle.”

She held up a finger her brow furrowed in contemplation.  Paarthurnax paused, looking quizzically down at her.  “The souls Alduin consumes… is his consumption of them an act of neumolysis?  Do they cease to exist?”

“They are un-made, just as the souls of the dragons you absorb are.  They will not return in this, or any other, kalpa.”

Alexa looked up at him in horror.

Paarthurnax hummed in acknowledgement of her dismay but continued with his explanation.  “You are, as Mirrak is, Alduin’s inverse in this: a joor who consumes the souls of dead dovah.  Dovah killed in combat.  This is no accident.  It is the way of our world that only a thing’s inverse can remove it from the Pattern.”

“Remove him from the Pattern?” she whispered.  “But that would make this kalpa endless, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Alduin is as much a manifestation of the dinoksetiid - Time’s Death - as he is dov.  I doubt killing its avatar will end the existence of such a force.

Alexa pondered that in silence for a while.  “Do all things have a inverse?” she asked finally.

“No,” he answered. “Most things only have a converse.  Having an inverse is exceptionally rare.  Enough so that, in your case, a god had to intervene in order for you to be.”

Silence stretched between them again and then she asked, “If Akatosh is the manifestation of Time’s birth and his converse, Alduin, is a manifestation of the Time’s death what am I who am Alduin’s inverse?”

“Logic dictates you are a manifestation of tiidunahzaal, time unending.”

“And Talos, what was he?”

“He was, and is, the tiidunslaad,” Paarthurnax answered.

Alexa frowned.  “Those mean the same thing, don’t they?”4

The dragon snorted in amusement.  “It may seem so, but it is not.  The one is the obverse of the other – two sides of the same coin.  Evgiir unslaad, ‘season unending’, was once our way of denoting the natural state of jul – war – while, evgiir unahzaal, was how we indicated the natural state of the fahliil – political machination.  Both describe the continuous conflict that is the natural state of joor but the connotation is different.”

“You are saying that Talos has become the Manifest Metaphor of the constant battle to… what?”

“Maintain the balance of forces such that Creation may continue to exist,” Paarthurnax replied. “He as drake and, perhaps, you as jill, two sides of the same force, but where he could only bring suleyksejun – domination – over the warring forces, perhaps you may bring a more subtle mulaag to bear?  Perhaps this is why you are not just jill but a healer as well?”

“… If I defeat Alduin.”

“If you defeat Alduin,” he agreed.

“If absorb Alduin’s soul, is there not the possibility that I will loose myself the way the dragonborn that was Talos did when he became a shezzarian oversoul?”

There was an awkward silence between them.  “It is possible,” the dragon finally acknowledged.  “Though the situation is somewhat different.  Lorkahn had been dead long enough that the Arubis had already compensated for his loss.  While Alduin has been gone from creation, he was never dead.  His place in the cosmic structure remains.  It is possible that destroying a particular manifestation of daan – doom – that is Alduin will not leave the energy of the dinoksetiid free to be absorbed by you but see it transferred to another avatar.”5

“That is why, when a dragonborn reconstituted Lorkahn, the resulting, combined, entity took Trinimac’s place in the Arubis, not Lorkahn’s…6” Alexa whispered, stunned.

Paarthurnax chuckled. “You are a joy to speak with, Iizkaandraal.”

She was quite for several minutes.  “Am I still mortal?” she finally asked.

Paarthurnax cocked his head at her startled.  “Why do you ask this?”

“The dragon souls I have absorbed…” she began quietly.  “I can feel myself changing.  Not just the new knowledge or the increased ability to shout, it is more than that.  And Miraak has been alive a very long time.”

“Hmmm,” Paarthurnax hummed low in his chest as he contemplated her question.  “I suppose it is possible that our immortality would be conferred upon you, as it was with the tsaesci,” he allowed.  “Though, since you and Miraak are the only two examples of dov oversouls, as you would have it, in history, I cannot be certain.  But it seems safe to assume that, should you die of old age, it will be a very long time from now.”

“But absorbing dragon souls is changing me, isn’t it?” Alexa pressed.  “Beyond the simple knowledge and power I’ve acquired.”

“In what way?” Paarthurnax asked curiously.

“I worry that I am becoming a different person,” she confided.  “That, like Talos, I may lose myself to the things I have absorbed.”

“And what makes you think this?” the dragon prodded.

“It is hard to say exactly. I mean, if my personality really were changing, would I really notice?  And yet… I have recently realized that I am less cautious – less secretive – than I once was.  Yet the number of threats to my life have only increased as have the things I might wish to keep secret.”

“You are stronger than you once were,” he pointed out.  “Perhaps you are simply less afraid?”

“But does that loss of fear come from a real change in my circumstances or from becoming increasingly like the dovah I’ve absorbed?  Is their pride leading me to endanger myself?”

Paarthurnax blew thoughtfully through his nose.  “Even if you are jill, as I suspect, you are still dov.  Absorbing other dov, even if they are drake, should not have the same affect upon you as absorbing a god had upon Talos.  Whether it will have a lesser affect… I cannot say.”

She nodded again, to show she had understood, but fell back into silence.  Paarthurnax waited, patiently, for her next question.  “What do you know of Miraak?” she asked eventually.

“Very little,” he replied. “I was otherwise occupied during his rise and fall.  I do know that many dragons were felled, and consumed, by him at the start of the Dragon War.  The power he gained from them allowed him to rival even myself.  But he was lead astray before his path met its conclusion…” he paused, humming again in thought.  “You should know that Miraak’s existence in Nirn, like your own, is tied to Alduin’s.  With Alduin’s return he will not be far behind.”

“He already attempts his return, in Solstheim,” she told him.  “Not sure why he keeps trying to kill me though.”

“Even as two things cannot fill the same physical space, so too they cannot have the same fate,” Paarthurnax told her.  “Your existence, in this plane, prevents his return to it.”

“But we have existed within Apocrypha at the same time,” she disagreed. 

“Physically?”

“No… I guess not.  Even if it feels as though I am there I’m told part of my body remains here…”

Paarthurnax fixed her with one large eye.  “You will have to deal with him before you can face Alduin.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I fear learning the knowledge that lead him astray and the motives of the one who taught him and now offers the same knowledge to me.”

The dragon considered her for a long moment.  “Have you too made a pact with one of the princes?”

“I am a champion of Azura, Sheogorath and Meridia, a Beast Master of Hircine and, divines help me, the wife of Prince Sanguine.”

Paarthurnax made a small coughing noise.  “You married one?”

“He looked human at the time!  Said his name was Sam.  And we were very, very, drunk.”

“In all my years I never thought Sanguine would marry,” Paarthurnax smirked.

“He keeps giving me things,” Alexa groaned.  “First it was the Sanguine Rose, but that seemed fairly typical.  Then the food items in my pack kept getting swapped out for alcohol and sweets.  Then he decided I wasn’t taking care of myself and so assigned a dremora butler to look after me.  I had no idea it was possible for dremora to be both stuffy and pompous.  Oh and, if the contents of my wardrobe are any indication, his highness seems to enjoy procuring outfits for me as if I were some sort of doll!  Then there’s the hair color – it’s actually growing in purple! – I…” she threw her hands in the air.

Paarthurnax snorted and then made a funny little chic-chicing noise that might have been suppressed dragon laughter.  “The trials of the young are endlessly entertaining,” he observed after a moment.

Alexa glared at the dragon out of the corner of one eye.  “On the scale of ridiculously old to mind numbingly ancient, I think Sanguine probably has a few years on even you,” she pointed out.

“True, but while one is only young once he is proof one can stay immature indefinitely,” Paarthurnax told her, grinning as only a dragon could.

Alexa opened her mouth to deny that and then closed it again with a snap.  “Why do I feel the sudden need to defend him?” she asked a little plaintively.  “It’s not like I really wanted to marry a daedric prince.”

“Has he been good to you thus far?”

“You mean in the six months we’ve been married?  Yeah, in a weird way, I guess he has.”

“Good.  You are my sister.  I would be displeased if it were otherwise.”

“He says he likes me the way I am and that he will not allow the others to change me,” she murmured.

“Vahzah, you are lucky to have such an ally.  Perhaps you should speak to him about your fears regarding the intentions of his un-sibling?”

Alexa blinked at the elderly dragon in surprise.  That option had, strangely enough, not occurred to her.  “I believe I will, thank you for the advice.”  She glanced up at the sky.  “It is getting late, I should probably get going.”

“Su’um ahrk morah, briinah,” Paarthurnax rumbled.  “Return when you have time and we will begin the next stage of your training.”

“Su’um ahrk morah, zeymah,” Alexa bowed slightly to the elderly dragon and began her descent from the peak of the mountain.

Notes:

1 The Tsaesci Creation Myth: We Ate It to Become It (link)

2 Mysterious Akavir

3 “Quiet Casting” muffles the sound of Shouts but not their functionality. Also, draugr shout, and their throats are not in good condition.

4 Unahzaal: Unending/Ceaseless/Eternal. Found on the word wall for Kyne’s Peace, “Kaan”.
Unslaad: Unending/Ceaseless/Eternal. Found on the word wall for Battle Fury, “Mid”.

5 Logically Alduin’s black dragon form isn’t any more the real body for the force he represents than Sam Guevenne is Sanguine’s. Alduin is just an avatar that’s been around since the period of Manifest Metaphors, meaning it is really old, and may very well be the first physical manifestation of the "End of Time", but that doesn’t make it the only one. Consider, for instance, the possible 5th Era event of “Landfall” – the return of the Numidium to Real Time – and the resulting destruction of Nirn. (link) Has not the Numidium, in this situation, taken the place of Alduin? And, given the 3rd Walking Way, is not filling something’s place in the Arubic structure the same as being that thing?

6 For clarification on this see my notes on Talos in my Elder Scrolls Lore series (link)

Chapter 14: Vex

Summary:

It’s been a while since the last time Alexa visited the Guild.

Notes:

Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I... I can’t believe it,” Sapphire murmured, reading Glover’s letter.  “All those years on the farm, and my mother never told me about any of this…”  She gave Alexa a slightly watery smile.  “Words can’t even begin to describe how much I appreciate you bringing this to me.  Here,” she fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a particularly beautiful sapphire, “take this.  I used to carry it for good luck, but I...”

Alexa smiled at her. “I’ll have Medessi set it for me. That way I can remember my friend when I wear it.”

Sapphire blushed slightly. “I, uh, need to go talk to Delvin about this,” she muttered and then glanced in the direction of the Guild Master’s desk.  “You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Alexa told her.  “I still remember the way out.”


“It seems the dragonborn graces us with her presence,” Brynjolf noted, as she approached, without looking up from his books.

Alexa stiffened, suddenly uncertain.  She’d thought, after her last visit, that they were past this.

Brynjolf glanced up, met her eyes, and grinned.  “I’m just pulling your chain, lass,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “It’s been a while.”

Alexa let the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding out slowly.  “Don’t do that.  I have enough trouble in my life without my friends being jerks.”

“Well then you may want to rethink who you call friend,” he told her, glancing meaningfully around the room.  “How have you been?  The College of Winterhold treating you well?

“It’s a place to stay that doesn’t care about my status as dragonborn, or what I’m doing with my time, and can handle the occasional dragon attack,” she answered.  “It serves its purpose.”

“That’s not a glowing recommendation, lass,” Brynjolf noted dryly.  “Is being a legend not making you happy?”

Alexa paused, thinking back on the last few times she could remember being happy – not just excited, or interested, but actually relaxed and enjoying herself – and found, to her slight surprise, that Sanguine figured in more than half of them.  “No,” she replied.  “But it was never likely to.  My marriage though hasn’t been so bad.”

“Well that’s good to hear at least.”  He glanced in the direction of the Ragged Flagon.  “Whatever you gave Sapphire seems to have had an impact.  Was there a reason you came all the way down here when you could, just as easily, have met her in the tavern later?”

“Are you suggesting the dragonborn might have business with the Thieves’ Guild?” Alexa enquired archly.  Brynjolf didn’t take the bait.  She smiled.  “I was talking to a mutual friend at the college and noticed that his inventory was looking a little bare…”

Brynjolf nodded.  “Our shipments are having a harder time making it that far north.  With the Stormcloaks holding Fort Kastav we can’t send anything by cart.  Having to move everything by courier has substantially increased the cost of keeping him supplied.”

“There have been Stormcloaks at Fort Kastav for a while now,” Alexa pointed out.  “What’s changed?”

“Rumor has it Ulfric’s pockets are not as deep as they once were.1  Add to that the trouble the East Empire Company is having with pirates…” he shrugged.  “Clan Shatter-Shield can’t make up the difference, even if they’re getting rich trying.”

“So the Stormcloaks that rely on Windhelm for their supplies have turned brigand,” Alexa concluded for him.

“It’s not like it’s the first time,” Brynjolf reminded her.  “You’ll recall they played at banditry in the Reach, for a while, until the Foresworn got things figured out.  I haven’t heard of them intercepting any official shipments meant for the college, yet.”

“Meaning you expect it’s just a matter of time,” Alexa sighed.

“Even Stormcloaks need to eat, lass.”

“So does the College.”

“Then the Arch-Mage had better figure out which he’s more afraid of, politics or starvation,” Brynjolf told her.

“Speaking of which, you have any idea what may have happened to a courier of Enthir’s coming from Morrowind?”

Brynjolf shook his head. “I don’t, but I was out of town for a while.  You might have better luck asking one of the others.”


Passing back through the Ragged Flaggon Alexa was surprised when Vex kicked a chair out for her. “Sit,” the woman commanded.

Suddenly wary Alexa complied.

“I assume you're aware of what Enthir has been giving Karliah?” Vex stated.

“I am.”

“Good, saves time explaining,” the other woman muttered.  “Did you also know that, if the stones were remounted on the crown, it would be of great benefit to the Thieves Guild?”

“I did not,” Alexa replied politely still confused as to where this was going.

“The crown is what the Guild calls a paragon; an object that enhances our thieving abilities,” Vex explained.  “At least, that’s what I’m told it does... there hasn’t been a paragon in this Guild for hundreds of years.”

“… Alright.”

Vex frowned reprovingly at her.  “I have it on good authority that the crown is within Tolvald's Cave; dropped by a Dunmer caravan leaving Morrowind long ago.  If you get it for us, and given that Enthir manages to find the last few stones, the Guild can restore the paragon... and reap its benefits.”

“Why ask me?” Alexa enquired.  “I’m not a guild member.”

“The Guild needs that paragon; without it, we’re just a bunch of petty thieves,” Vex told her.  “And because, if you do, I just might forgive you for leaving.

“What?”  Vex snapped, responding to the startled look on Alexa’s face.  “There aren’t enough tough, smart, chicks around here to lose one simply because sleeping with the new Guild Master didn’t work out.”

“Wow,” Alexa murmured. “Way to oversimplify a rather complicated period of time.”

“Whatever,” Vex grumbled. “It’s not like the Guild saved your life or anything.”

Alexa leaned back in her chair and considered the woman across the table from her.  It had never occurred to her before that Vex might like or respect her (as much as Vex was capable of either feeling).  “Speaking of shipments from Morrowind, and Enthir, you wouldn’t have any idea where a courier of his might have run into trouble?”

The corner of Vex’s mouth lifted in a slight smile as she recognized Alexa’s question for the offer it was.  “Some bandits have moved into Broken Helm Hollow,” Vex answered, still sounding grouchy. “I’d start there.”

“Thank you.  I’ll see what I can do about the crown, next time I’m in the right area.”

“Good.  Now go away.”

Alexa didn’t move. “One last thing, you don’t happen to know how much Enthir’s charging Karliah for the stones, do you?”

Vex gave her a sharp look. “My understanding is that he’s giving them to her for free.”

Alexa blinked in actual surprise.  “Wow. He must like her more than I thought,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I charged him more than two hundred gold a piece for the ones I found,” Alexa replied.

Vex gave her a wide-eyed look of surprise.  Enthir was even more infamous than Tonila when it came to never giving a discount. Alexa smiled and pushed away from the table leaving Vex in contemplative silence. 


Three days later…

“You know, I think we’re being followed,” Marcurio hissed as they exited Bonechill Passage.

“I’d noticed.  I’m actually a little surprised they were willing to follow us into an obvious troll den,” Alexa whispered back.

“You think they’re know about that Dwemer knife?”

Alexa shook her head. “Dragon ahead,” she warned, gesturing for the dogs to stay where they were, just before they rounded the corner.

“It’s sleeping?” Marcurio hissed incredulously.

“It would seem so.  You stay out of its sight with the dogs.  I’m going to see if I can read the word wall without waking it.”

“If it so much as twitches, I’m throwing lightning at it,” he informed her.

“Fair.”

“What do you want me to do if the people tailing us catch up to me while you’re gone?”

“Take the dogs off stay, scream like a little girl, and defend yourself,” she replied, charging an invisibility spell in one hand and a muffle spell in the other.

Marcurio pulled a face at her but, since Alexa was already invisible, she pretended not to notice.


Alexa did manage to make it to the word wall without waking the dragon.  Absorbing the power from the inscription though was a different story. The three Thalmor Justiciars waited until after Alexa had absorbed the dragon’s soul before attacking only to find themselves beset by a troll they’d apparently missed and a handful of frostbite spiders summoned by the dragonborn’s thu’um and the first two words of the Animal Allegiance shout.  It was, Alexa reflected as she knelt beside the bodies with Marcurio, a somewhat less glorious ending to their lives than the Justiciars had probably been expecting.

Marcurio squinted at a piece of paper he’d taken off one of the Justiciars.  “Seems like that trouble you’ve been worried about has finally caught up with you,” he said, holding it out to her.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, after she’d finished reading it.

“I don’t know,” she answered softly.  “Until I’m done here I can’t just disappear again, and this clearly isn’t official… I suppose I could bring it to General Tullius’ attention, but I don’t know if he could do anything about it either.  The Thalmor would, in all likelihood, simply find a scapegoat to blame this on and then hire someone more competent.  There may also be something to be gained by pretending continued ignorance …  I’ll have to think about it.”

Right,” Marcurio returned, snidely.  “Because leveraging the fact that someone’s trying to assassinate you is…” he caught himself.  “Well, no, it’s an extremely Breton thing to do, but what happened to keeping a low-profile, Lexi?” he demanded worriedly.

“I breath fire now,” she replied dismissively, putting the order in her pack.

“That doesn’t do a lot against ranged attacks,” he pointed out.

Alexa chuckled and shook her head.  “I meant it makes it hard to keep a low profile.”  She sighed, turning her attention to looting the other Justiciars. “It may be that I have reached the point that the only way to protect myself is to prove that I am a power to be taken more seriously than this.”

“I don’t think the Thalmor are going to be particularly impressed by some fire breathing,” Marcurio muttered.

“You are right.  They, likely, will respond most favorably to a show of political power,” she agreed.

Marcurio arched an eyebrow at that.  “And how do you intend to do that?”

“I have some thoughts,” she answered, beginning to strip the bodies.  “But I’m not yet ready to share them.”

“And this idea requires Thalmor robes, does it?” Marcurio demanded.

“No,” she replied inspecting the first one for size and battle-damage.  “The robs are just for fun.”

Marcurio gave her a look.  “If you say so.  Who am I to ick your yum?”

Alexa choked hard enough that it was nearly a full minute before she had her breathing back under control.  “Marc!

“Sorry,” he grinned a little ruefully, “I didn’t mean to nearly kill you.”

“Stendaar have mercy,” she gasped, taking deep breaths as Meeko and Krin nosed worriedly at her. “No.  To whatever perversion your dirty Imperial mind just came up with, no.  I have an idea for a prank.  These will help.”

“Because advertising that you killed three Justiciars is such a good idea,” Marcurio grumbled.

I didn’t kill them.  A troll and some frostbite spiders did.”

He rolled his eyes at that and then looked back towards the word wall.  “So, what’s next?”

“Next is delivering an amulet to the cemetery in Falkreath,” Alexa replied closing up her pack.  “After that, retrieving a book from Shriekwind Bastion, then there is plucking a briar seed from a man’s chest, for science, re-forging an ancient amulet, and retrieving a manuscript from a ruin the name of which suggests it will be full of hagravens.”

Marcurio blinked once. “Any briarheart or a particular briarheart?”

“Any should do.  I believe there’s a briarheart still in charge at Red Eagle Redoubt.  I think I can get his heart, without killing anyone else, by approaching the redoubt from Sundered Towers.”

Marcurio sighed and hefted his pack.  “Try not to walk into any spike-filled pits or filthy skeever dens.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Why do you always say that?  I have never, not once, walked you into a spike-filled pit.”

“Because it annoys you,” Marcurio replied smugly.

Notes:

1 Unseating the Silver-Bloods, in Act 1, has had consequences.

Chapter 15: Heart's Day

Summary:

Guess who forgot it was Heart’s Day…

Notes:

16th of Sun’s Dawn (Late Winter), 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Do you have any idea what day it is?” a deep, slightly petulant, voice demanded as Alexa slipped the remade Gauldur amulet around her neck.

She froze and then slumped slightly when she remembered.  “Heart’s Day?” she asked, turning around to face the daedric prince standing behind her.

“Right.  It’s my summoning day and my wife is fighting dead people,” the daedric prince complained. 

“Oops?” Alexa asked hopefully.

“I suppose I should have expected this when I married a champion of Meridia,” he sighed.  Then something occurred to him and his eyes narrowed.  “You weren’t hoping to avoid your husband, or that Altmer of yours, by spending the day in a tomb, were you?”

“No?”

“Good, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us!”

“Um, traveling companion and dogs?” Alexa said, indicating Marcurio – who was standing by the door with his mouth open – Meeko and Krin.

“Don’t worry about us, we’ll just go back to Old Hroldan and wait for you there!” Marcurio announced hurriedly, grabbing the dogs by their armor and made a break for it.

“Coward!” she called after him.

Sanguine smirked after the retreating mage and then turned back to her.  “I thought we’d start with a luncheon party in Anvil,” he informed her affably.  “They’re almost done with the summoning ritual already… You’re not going to wear your armor to the party, are you?”

“You’re wearing your armor,” she pointed out.

Sanguine groaned in annoyance.  There was a spiral of purple light and her dremora butler was standing beside them with a pile of flame red silk in his arms.

“I fear, my lord, that the dress you have chosen simply will not go with the current color of my lady’s hair,” the dremora intoned reprovingly.

“Fine, fine, I’ll fix it!” the daedric prince waved his hands.  “There… mountain flower red goes quite well with the dress, I think.”

“Is the intent for me to die of cold?” Alexa asked, inspecting the dress she was suddenly wearing. It was made of shifting layers of gossamer silk held together by a few – very expensive looking – bits of jewelry.

The dremora butler gave his lord an “I told you so” look.

“You won’t have to worry about that once we get there,” Sanguine assured her, ignoring the dremora.

“Subtle,” Alexa commented, finally noticing that Sanguine had also exchanged his armor for clothing. He was now dressed in a pair of tight, low cut, leather pants of a red that exactly matched his dremora markings. It looked good but was not a particularly restrained display of his inhuman physique.  “Though I’m a little surprised you’re not going naked.”

“I – now we – preside over Heart’s Day.  You know, get things going, instigate a few pranks on people who aren’t in the right mood, that sort of thing,” Sanguine informed her.  “We won’t have the time to take part in the revelries ourselves.  Well, not until we’ve already visited all the parties that summon me… and assuming you don’t run off in the middle of everything to kill something that’s already dead.”

“Is that an option?” she asked, accepting the arm he held out to her.

“Not usually… but, with you around, who can say?”


 It was just past midnight but the party, lit by fire-rafts floating in the waters of the oasis, was still in full swing.  In the darkness, a couple hundred yards away, seated on a spire of rock that protruded about twenty feet above the sand, Alexa removed her sandals and let them drop away, unseen, into the darkness below.  It was odd to realize how used to the brilliant colors of Skyrim’s shifting aurora’s she’d become and how very dark the night was without them.  Just then, as if to remind her exactly how far from the frozen land she was, a dry breeze blew off the desert softly ruffling her skirts. She shivered slightly.  Even this far south it was still winter.

“Heart’s Day’s is over,” Sanguine announced, softly, handing her half of the fruit he’d just peeled.

“Why’d you bring me?” Alexa asked dreamily accepting the fruit.  “Wouldn’t it have been more fun for you without your wife around?”

“Fun?” Sanguine gave her a surprised look and then grinned.  “That’s surprisingly human of you.”

“What is?”

“Thinking that summoning days are the days a daedric prince gets to run around having fun…”

“Are they not?”

He shook his head. “Our summoning days are the one day a year we actually have to work for our worshipers.  Only think what might happen if I didn’t make an appearance at dozens of parties today.  People might begin to wonder, then forget and misconstrue. Fail to show up for long enough and my worshipers would become as confused about me as they are about Akatosh/Auriel/Alkosh etc. etc.”

“Well that certainly wouldn’t do,” she agreed, laughing softly.  “Figuring out which one I was married to would be far too confusing for my poor mortal mind.”

“Having you with me today was good.  We actually made it to every party I’d planned.”

“You’re welcome.  It’s not like had anything to do today.”

“Not even saving the world?” he enquired, grinning.

She shrugged.  “My husband tells me I need to take time off every now and then.”

“Speaking of which,” he turned to more fully face her, “I’m told the dragon memories are preventing you from getting enough sleep.”

“Were you also told how I’ve been attempting to solve that problem?” she enquired, carefully.

“I understand your new traveling companion has been quite helpful.  I approve. Of course, I’d also approve if you two were doing more than just sharing a bed.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Is making life more complicated than necessary considered ‘debauchery’ these days?”

“It’s usually more of an interesting side effect,” Sanguine chuckled.  “But it keeps Mephala aligned with my interests so…” he shrugged.

“Speaking of complicating one’s life, won’t formally acknowledging your wife affect your worshiper’s perception of you?” she asked, quickly moving the conversation away from Mephala. “Isn’t there some chance it could change you?”

“I’ll be fine.  Being married hasn’t stopped me from showing up, in various other guises, on other days, same as always.”  He paused for a moment, looking down at the ongoing revelry a little ways off.  “Their belief is more likely to change you than me,” he admitted.  “And, possibly, create an us. We’ll see what the ones who can still remember anything in the morning decided to believe.”

“An us?”

“All relationships are combinations of the people involved in them,” he answered.

“You’re saying someone might worship our relationship?”

He laughed at that. “More likely worship me, as I am without you around, and – separately – as the person I am when we’re together,” he explained.1 “Which, by extension, is worshiping you.”

“Oh.  Good.  That couldn’t cause me any trouble,” she muttered.

He took her chin between his fingers and looked her over carefully before lightly brushing the shadow under her eyes with a finger.  “As for the sleep thing, I can help you know.”

“I thought granting wishes was more Vile’s sort of thing.”

“My realm of influence is somewhat greater than most realize,” Sanguine admitted.  “If it is a pleasure one will choose over self-preservation it lies within my sphere.”

“And sleep falls into that category?”

“It does.2  Even if I find it to be the least interesting thing one can do in a bed.”


Somewhere in Oblivion Sanguine settled in beside her.  “I thought you found sleep uninteresting,” Alexa remarked.

“I do.  But I enjoy being close to you.  Sleep, my dear.  I promise you the dragon’s memories shall not bother you here.”

“Sanguine?”

“Yes?”

“You were right about Ondolemar.”

“I know.  We can talk about it when you wake, along with all the other questions you’ve been saving up to ask me.”

“Why a dremora?”

“Hmm?”

“A projection of your mind could take any form, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why choose a dremora?”

“High tolerance for alcohol, impressive stamina, striking appearance… also – since most mortals believe all dremora are sworn to Dagon – it annoys Dagon to the point of apoplexy. Would you prefer some other form?”

“No,” she replied sleepily. “I’ve become quite fond of this one.”


“Good morning, my dear,” Sanguine greeted her affably from somewhere on the other side of the rather nebulous space.  He appeared to be wearing nothing but an apron that said something in daedric across the front.  Alexa chose not to translate it.

“I thought you might like some breakfast before returning to Tamriel,” Sanguine explained, gesturing to a table of breakfast adjacent food.

Even from the bed Alexa could smell that the eggs were burned.  It was oddly endearing.  Slipping on the blue robe she found hanging from the bedpost Alexa joined her husband at the table.

“You had questions?” Sanguine asked with an expectant look on his face.

“Am I still mortal, can you tell?” she asked, around her first bite of sweet roll.

“You can still be killed, but you are no longer affected by the passage of time,” he replied.

She blinked a few times at that.  “Oh.”

“Does this upset you?” he enquired, sounding a little surprised.

“It is… unexpected,” she admitted.  “But I’m sure I’ll adjust to the idea, eventually.  How long has Mora been grooming me to take Miraak’s place?”

“I don’t really know,” Sanguine answered.  “But I know that they were already involved in your life when we met.  Has it become a problem?”

“That depends, I think, on how it works out in the end,” she answered carefully.  “I’d rather not end up insane or… like Miraak.  Speaking of whom, what do you think I should do about Mora’s pet dragonborn?”

“Kill Miraak, if you can,” Sanguine advised.  “If not, see if you can’t induce Mora to do so.  As for Mora, know that nothing It can tell you, or show you, or do to you, can drive you insane without Sheogorath’s permission, which he will not give.  And, if it seems to you that Mora is about to try to entrap you in some way, summon your butler.  If you do so while in Apocrypha I will come in his place.  And, for the love of everything, keep my staff with you or, better yet, that Valkynaz it summons, not just in Apocrypha but whenever you travel to a different plane.  I cannot overstate the value your soul has to the denizens of Oblivion.  There are some situations even I might not be able to retrieve you from.”

Alexa thought about that for a moment.  “Will you answer a personal question for me?” she asked.

He gave her a slightly surprised look.

“Why did you choose to become involved in my life?”

“For the same reason as the rest of my un-siblings,” he answered with a slight smirk.  “You are jill and we are the radical critique.”

“Those are Vivec’s words, not yours,” she pointed out.  “And it is not obvious to me how those two things are at all connected.”

Sanguine sobered and leaned back in his chair.  “Originally I went to Riften to recruit someone to kill that necromancer at Morvunskar.3 I approached you because you looked like someone who could get the job done.  It wasn’t until I brought you to the Misty Grove that I first got a hint that you were more than you seemed.  After that it only took a brief trip to the Void to confirm and to realize how very lucky I was to be the first, in all of Mundus, to realize exactly how singular you are.”

“You took me into the realm of Sithis?” she asked feebly.

“I didn’t know about your history with his cult,” Sanguine, confided.  “Though it probably wouldn’t have stopped me.  It was the fastest way to discovering what you really were.”

“I…” she paused, “remember. You were a cloud of colored lights.”4

“Is that how you saw me?” Sanguine asked sounding surprised.  “I had wondered.”

“As fascinating as this is, you haven’t actually answered my question yet,” Alexa pointed out.

Sanguine laughed, took her hand, and drew her to him.  “I enjoy the world.  And I enjoy my time with you.  I’m afraid I didn’t consider much past that.”

Alexa laughed and kissed him softly.  “Good enough.”

Sanguine wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close.  “Shall I send you back, or would you like to spend another day with me?”

“Sadly I have a very full schedule,” she sighed.  “I was intending to retrieve one of Shalidor’s manuscripts from Dead Crone Rock today.”

“Then you should get going,” he informed her.  “A dragon will attack Markarth two days from today.  You should be there if you want that Altmer of yours to survive.”

Alexa narrowed her eyes slightly.  “Is there a reason you do not use his name?” she asked.

“My darling, if I harbored any ill will towards your would-be lover he would already be dead,” Sanguine chuckled before kissing her.

There was a strange pulling sensation and, when Alexa opened her eyes, she found herself in the main room of the Old Hroldan Inn.

“There you are,” Marcurio greeted her.  “I was wondering how long you’d be.”

Alexa sighed.  It seemed Sanguine didn’t want to answer any follow-up questions.  “You ready?” she asked Marcurio.  “It seems we have just enough time to retrieve the manuscript before saving Markarth from a dragon attack.”

Notes:

1 Not uncommon in polytheism. Example: the worship of the Hindu god Shiva and his wife Parvati. Alone Shiva is worshiped as the god of protection, war, and destruction. Parvati is worshiped as the goddess of fertility, beauty, and divine strength. Together they are worshiped as the archetype of marital bliss.

2 Sanguine is known to be allied with Vaermina.

3 See my notes on Sanguine for a fuller explanation. (link)

4 A2:1

Chapter 16: The Emissary

Summary:

Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 1 of 3)

Notes:

Lore/theory heavy chapter
Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The guard’s arrows weren’t doing much damage.  Ondolemar’s spells, he noted, weren’t doing a lot better. There were footsteps on the stairs behind him but he could not spare the time to turn and look.

“KRII-LUN-AUS!” the new presence behind, and to his right, shouted.

The dragon, now covered in a slight blue glow, flinched hard and, with a grunt, whipped its head around to face the new attacker.  “Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar!” it yelled, its voice causing the air to tremble as its eyes focused past Ondolemar.

“Pahlok dova!2”  the person behind him answered, the earth beneath him shivering slightly at the sound of her voice.  “Bovul nu uv hin sille fen nahkip suleyki.3

Ondolemar released another lightning bolt at the dragon, while it was distracted, and noted, in surprise, that this one did a great deal more damage than the previous.  The dragon whipped its head up and screamed fire at him.  He felt the fire impact on his ward and then… a slight figure stepped between him and the dragon withstanding the Shout currently blowing through his Greater Ward as if it were nothing more than a poorly cast flame spell.

“FUS-RO-DAH!” she yelled, and the fire was blown back into the dragon’s face.  The dragon choked hard and moved to lunge, but the woman in front of Ondolemar simply leveled her bow and loosed4 an arrow hitting it in the eye.  The dragon grunted once and went still. 

Ondolemar watched as the dragon’s body began to burn from the inside, its skin flaking away, and a storm of raw energy poured into, and around, Alexa.  And then it was over and all that was left was a dragon’s lifeless skeleton.

For a moment it felt like the entire city held its breath, unable to think of anything to say to the woman who had just, irrefutably, revealed herself to be dragonborn.  She ignored them all walking past Ondolemar, and his guards, and into the keep. 


Returning to the keep Ondolemar found the dragonborn in negotiations with the keep’s smith and a dremora Valkynaz leaning against the wall to one side of the door to the smithy, arms crossed over his chest.

As he approached the dremora gave him a once over and snorted.  “No match at all.”

Ondolemar blinked in surprise.  Normally dremora summons didn’t talk much outside of combat.  Still, the thing was bound and Ondolemar had a dragonborn to interrogate.  The dremora grabbed him by the upper arm – grip tight enough to bruise – as Ondolemar moved to push past him.  He grinned predatorily at Ondolemar.  “Harm her and I will honor my lord by destroying you,” it hissed at him.

“Noted, now unhand me,” Ondolemar snapped.

He rubbed his upper arm and frowned in consideration at the dremora who had gone back to lounging against the wall.  Summons, especially ones as high ranked as a Valkynaz, usually resented their summoner. They certainly did not act proactively to protect them.  I will honor my lord, by destroying you, it had said.  Was it possible the dremora had orders from Mehrunes Dagon to keep the dragonborn safe until she fulfilled her destiny? 

A snort of laughter caught his attention.  He turned to find an imperial mage with two dogs, including Alexa’s, by his feet. “Interesting,” the mage commented. “The Valkynaz usually only reacts that way to Alexa’s suitors.”

“What?” Ondolemar demanded, in surprise, glancing, swiftly, towards his bodyguards.  Their stoic expressions indicated to him that they were intending to pretend that they hadn’t heard what the Imperial had just said and wouldn’t have acknowledged believing it even if they had.  Ondolemar made a mental note to reward their loyalty and discretion in some way.

“Don’t know how he knows,” the mage continued.  “But he always seems to.  Anyway, when she gets done with the smith, tell her I’ve taken the dogs to Taran’s place to avoid any complications with the Jarl’s hounds.”

Ondolemar gave him a flat, expressionless, look.

The mage grinned and, signaling for the dogs to follow him, turned away from Ondolemar and started down the stairs.

A moment later Alexa exited the smithy with a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve in one hand. Seeing him she tossed the dremora the bottle she was holding.  The dremora grinned, saluted her with the bottle, and returned to Oblivion with it in a spiral of purple fire.

“Mead?” Ondolemar asked in surprise.

“He’s one of Sanguine’s dremora.  He likes to drink, fight, drink more, and get into trouble… usually in that order,” she told him wearily.  “Sometimes I facilitate.  Other times I just give him alcohol.  Keeping him happy, or at least not actively resentful, seems like my wisest course of action.  Is there something I can do for you, Commander?”

Sanguine?  He probably should have expected that.  It seemed her husband was actually looking out for her.  “It is possible you saved my life today,” Ondolemar noted casually, shoving his thoughts on the dragonborn, daedric princes, and his own feelings, away for later.  “I thought I might invite you to have tea with me as thanks.”

“Is tea all your life is worth?” she asked with a wry smile.

“It’s a start,” Ondolemar answered, as Cyril5, without being ordered to do so, made his way towards the kitchen. 


“You are well?” Ondolemar asked as he deliberately closed the door on Tantha who had seemed unusually interested in making sure the afternoon tea service was perfect.

Alexa gave him a startled look.

“The energy absorption; you said, previously, that you did not believe it was harmful.  Is that still true?”

“You know, you are the only one who has ever asked me that,” Alexa noted, taking the seat he offered her. “It is not physically harmful,” she answered, closing her eyes for a moment and leaning back in her chair.  “His name was Lokvurkaal: Sky-valor-champion.  When Alduin disappeared he left Skyrim, and, for a time, lived on the island of Kamlesh and hunted fast swimming fish, the size of grown men, in the Sea of Pearls.  From the Sinistral he learned the magics of wind and sand, adapting them to dragon thu’um, but even his voice could not save the islands when Yokuda sank beneath the sea.  So he returned here, to the mountains of Keizaal, and carved out a small lordship for himself… until the Akaviri came.”  Alexa opened her eyes.  “More than that will take some time to sort through…”  When Ondolemar didn’t immediately respond she continued.

“The first dragon I slew, Mirmulnir, he had lived, as he was, his memories uninterrupted by death, from the first moments of the Mythic Era until the day I slew him.”  Her expression turned to one of sorrow and anger. “The things his experience could have taught us all…  It would take me every day for a full century to write out only his most important memories and most useful knowledge.  Such a waste.  But, it seems, experience does not necessarily lead to wisdom.  He believed that Alduin’s return was proof that Akatosh had forgiven the dov.  In his last moments he recognized me for what I am and understood, for the first time, how thoroughly our father has turned his face from his sons.  Even as he died he understood that Alduin’s return was, in fact, a test.  A test he had failed almost before it had begun.”  She smiled sadly and shrugged.

“And you experience them all like that?” Ondolemar asked, a little horrified.

“Yes, and no.  After a few days the new memories will dull to the point that they will cease to feel like they happened to me and start to feel more like something that happened to someone else.  I am told that, eventually, even that will dissipate and it will be more like information gained from reading a book.  The basic plot and useful facts may be retained but the boring, and emotionally charged, day to day will fade until it is only remembered on purpose.  Or so the Greybeards tell me.”

“So, for the moment, you remember the horror of the Dragon Cults, and the fall of Yokuda, as if you had been there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how I’d handle that,” he admitted.

“I stay busy.  There is less time to think and to remember that way. Still it is not always easy to sleep.”

There was a short silence as Ondolemar searched for something to say.  Finally he realized there was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound patronizing so he changed the subject.  “You said the first dragon knew things.  Anything of particular interest?”

She considered him for a moment before nodding ever so slightly.  “Everyone wonders where the Dwemer went,” Alexa began.  “But have you ever wondered where they came from?”

“All mer arrived in Alinor from Aldmeris,” Ondolemar told her.  “All mer races diverge from there.”

“But the Dwemer were already in Morrowind when the Chimer arrived,” she pointed out.6

Ondolemar thought about that for a second.  Now that she mentioned it, that was what the annals suggested, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d been taught…  “Alright, where did the Dwemer come from, if not from Alinor?”

“They were from the future, but not the future of this kalpa, the future of a previous one,”7 she told him.  “It is how their technology was so advanced but without any apparent precursors; how the entire race, not just a few powerful magic users like the Psijics, could communicate telepathically; and why they held such disregard for the sapient beings of this kalpa, including other mer.  To them none of this,” she gestured around her, “was fully real.”

“Interesting, but, if they were so advanced that they could move between kalpa, then what happened to them?” Ondolemar countered.

“Kagrenac believed that by recreating the circumstances of Auriel’s departure from Nirn – during the First Dawn – the Dwemer could follow the god’s example,” Alexa explained.  “So he stabbed the heart of Lorkhan – with a tool called ‘Sunder’ – and used a tool called ‘Keening’ to transmute the power of the agony of defeat, and literally having one’s heart ripped from one’s chest, into the what he believed would be the appropriate Tone, which would then be transmitted to their entire race via ‘the Calling’.  That last part, at least, worked just as he had hoped.  The rest, not so much.”

“So what did happen?  How’d he get it wrong?”

“His theory was based upon a false given,” she answered.  Then, apparently realizing he was going to need more than that, gestured dismissively and began again.  “Dwemer, you see, were never good with the ‘Gray Maybe’ that is the Mundus.  For them things either were or were not. Black or white, yes or no, never gray and maybe.  But this world is tripartite not bipartite.” She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes.  “The Altmer used to know this – used to view duality as an impossibility8 - used to understand that this creation is not black and white, but black, grey, and white.  That it is not beginning and end but beginning middle and end: birth, life, death, over and over again.  It is Lorkhan, Akatosh, and Alduin - creator, preserver, and destroyer – each leading inexorably into the next, each struggling against the others to lengthen the time of their own dominion over the cycle… This your people’s philosophers understood back before dissonance became as loud as it is now.”  Alexa paused for a moment, pulling distractedly at her fingers as she clearly thought carefully about what she was about to tell him.  He waited, having learned better, at this point in their relationship, than to let her out of finishing an explanation by asking follow-up questions before she was done.

Alexa stopped pulling at her fingers and took a sip of the tea he’d put beside her.  “The deep truth,” she began, softly, “is that, to create something one must do things in order: one after another.  Time itself is Change is Creation is Mortality is Death is Ending. If you cannot have Change without Time or Time without Change are they not the same thing?  If Akatosh were to act as a god of change and Lorkahn, or even Alduin, were to act as the god of time, would we be able to tell?  And if you cannot tell the difference between two things, are they different?”  She glanced up at him again, her eyes searching.  “In such circumstances must we not at least attempt to question everything we think we know?”

Ondolemar met her eyes squarely but remained silent.  She looked away.

“Kagrenac failed because he believed something that was not true – that Auriel had left Nirn9– and so he attempted a mythopoeic recreation of an event that never happened. That, under such circumstances, he should fail to achieve his goal is all but inevitable.  We should all be grateful that the results of his failure, while interacting with forces of such magnitude, were as contained as they were.” Alexa fell silent.

From any other source Ondolemar would have found the assertion that Auriel’s ascension – the event upon which all Altmer hope for transcendence was founded – had never happened laughable, but from Alexa...  “Are you truly suggesting Auriel never left Nirn?” he demanded. 

“How could he?” she responded.  “He traveled to Nirn, from Aetherius, in a ship which has become the Adamantine Tower.10 If a ship was required for his travel to Nirn, how did he leave without it?”

“If Auriel didn’t leave, then where is he?” Ondolemar countered. 

“We still experience consecutive time, do we not?  And his planet remains in the heavens, does it not?”  She paused briefly before continuing.  “If I were to separate a blade from it’s hilt and walk away, taking the hilt with me but leaving the blade here, where would the sword be?”

“It would be nowhere,” he answered dully, his mind still trying to process the last few minutes of conversation.

“But neither would it have ceased to exist,” she agreed.  “The Anumidium was constructed under the common misconception that the entity representing the stability point between creation and destruction had left the world.  Its Tones attempted to mimic that leaving, and so tore stable, consecutive, time away from the world.  And that is why activating the Numidium breaks time.”

“The Numidium did a great deal more than simply break time,” Ondolemar stated, icily.

“True.  Zurin Arctus – misunderstanding the Dwemer schematics he’d received from the Tribunal – powered the construct, not with a short burst of creatia produced by striking the Heart of Lorkhan, but with a facsimile of the Heart itself.  This placed Lorkhan’s power of creation within the bubble of un-time created by the Numidium’s tonal field.11 Since un-time is the space in which Lorkhan is at his most powerful, the result was that all possible timelines, all possible creations, flow from the Numidium but are inverted due to the abnegaurbic12 value of the field.  And so the Numidium unmakes not only the world around it but all possibility of other worlds, and other timelines, within its area of influence.”13

Ondolemar stared at her blankly for nearly a full minute.  “Why would anyone ever use something like that?” he whispered, horrified.

He watched her carefully as Alexa worked through the question in her mind.  “Drake do not exist in un-time so I have no memories of the times in which the Numidium was active… but Talos could and did,” she muttered more to herself than to him.  Then she blinked clearly surprised by something.  “Foolish to think that all Tiber Septim’s motivations could be fully deduced from this side of the time/un-time barrier when the man himself moved back and fourth across it.”  She shook her head as if to clear it.  Her gaze returned from the middle distance to include him in the conversation again.  “It was another ‘Real Moment’ the barriers were weak and something, from outside, threatened all of Creation.  That is all the dragon memories know for certain…” she paused again.  “But the record I found in Apocrypha, on the importance of the Towers, referred to an ‘Emperor Actual’…  Talos, he must have needed to be Emperor of all of Tamriel to make full use of his bond with White-Gold14– stabilize creation – so that he could prevent whatever the threat was from coming through.  If so, it must have been bad... The Hoonding had already manifested in an attempt to save its people and Vivec was fully concentrated on Morrowind, what could…” her eyes widened as something else occurred to her, “it was the Hist.”15

“The hist?” Ondolemar repeated, incredulously.  “Tiber Septim used a construct that, according to you, literally un-makes not just this world but all other worlds, to conquered my people, because of a bunch of semi-sentient trees?”

“Saying the Hist is 'a bunch of semi-sentient trees' is like saying that Mehrunes Dagon is a bunch of xivilai,”16 Alexa argued.  “Yes they are fragments of his mind but he is a great deal more than that and his attempt at a full manifestation, in this world, was an unmitigated disaster.”

Ondolemar went still with suppressed anger.  “Do you agree with Septim’s choice?”

“I don’t know enough about the situation to say.  But I think I now understand why the histories present Talos as acting like a man working under significant time constraint.”

Ondolemar watched her carefully for a moment.  He’d always been impressed by the fact that Alexa saw a bigger picture than most.  It had, to his mind, given her an almost mer-like outlook on the world.  But now he found himself wondering if it was possible for the picture to become so big it was no longer useful.17 Not wanting to get into a fight over a past neither of them had been present for, or could do anything about, he changed the subject.  “Alexa, who controls the dragons?” 

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  “Alduin controls them, in as much as it is possible to control dragons.”

“But who is he allied with?” Ondolemar pushed.  “Is it the Blades?  They certainly knew a lot of dragon lore at one point.”

She laughed at that sliding down in her chair as if the strength of her laughter had deprived her of verticality.  “Ondolemar,” she finally began, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, “you may not have noticed, but the number of persons in Skyrim with the knowledge, or ability, to compel a dremora to do their bidding is vanishingly small.  What would possibly make you think anyone here could control a dragon, much less the Manifest Metaphor that is the World-Eater himself?”

He opened his mouth to answer but she shook her head, cutting him off.  “No.  Only another, stronger, dragon can control dragons and most of them see no reason to ally themselves with joor– mortals.  A term that is every bit the insult you might think.”

“You are certain of that?”

“I know it in my bones, in my blood, and with each new soul I absorbed, I grow more confident of it. To control a dragon, bend it to your will, you must speak with the voice of one.  Among the mortal inhabitants of Tamriel only a dragonborn could achieve such a thing.”

He shook his head at that. “Surely someone must have revived Alduin or brought him back from wherever he’s been all this time.  The weakened state of Skyrim, the attack at Helgan, these things are far too well timed to be random.”

“It may be true that Alduin had help in his return,” she allowed slowly.  “Just… not the way you’re thinking.”

“I’m listening.”

She pulled a black book from her pack and dropped it onto the side table between their chairs.

“The Book of the Dragonborn?” he asked, reaching out and picking it up.

“It’s a discussion of what little is known about dragonborn, including the Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn. As you can see from all the pages that have been added to this copy I’ve been keeping my own notes on the subject.  

“The Prophecy of the Last Dragonborn is, mostly, a list of conditions that, when met, will herald the, near-immediate it turns out, return of Alduin.  After the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis the only conditions yet to be satisfied were that Skyrim be kingless and ‘bleeding’.  Both conditions were fulfilled by the death of High King Torygg at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak.  So, if anyone can be said to have helped Alduin return from wherever he was, it was Ulfric Stormcloak.

“As far as the attack on Helgan is concerned that’s probably my fault.  Alduin sensed the presence of an unknown dragon, as he was flying by, and decided to assert his dominance right then and there.  As I had yet to absorb my first dragon soul he probably couldn’t tell which of the feeble ground crawlers was the dragonborn and so decided to just kill everyone.”

“So, in the battle between the dragonborn and the World-Eater, Alduin struck the first blow?” he asked, recalling something Earmiel had once said about Alexa’s propensity for violence being almost entirely self-defense.18

“Yes.”

Ondolemar pondered that for a second.  “If you must fight a thing that can destroy whole cities on a whim, should you not be spending all your time with the Greybeards?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” she smiled a little ruefully.  “But they worry about power gained too quickly and with too much ease. Unfortunately I fear they may be fixated upon the wrong source of power.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the words of power – the theory behind the shouts they make up, the ways in which the magic interacts with the world –are fascinating and as potentially dangerous as any arcane knowledge.  But more worrying, to me at least, is that with each dragon I kill I can feel my dragon blood grow stronger, feel myself becoming… more like them– us? – I’m not sure I even know anymore.”  She sighed. “Perhaps that is what is necessary to defeat Alduin.  But… I wonder what I will be if I survive.”

Ondolemar cleared his throat a little awkwardly, calling her attention away from whatever was happening in her head, and back to him.  “Then, perhaps the Greybeards have good reason to take it slow?” he suggested.

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to fry the poor dragonborn’s tiny human brain with big scary dragon words,” she sneered sarcastically.  “Fill her mind with memories accrued over several immortal lifetimes, sure, why not? Teach her a few dozen rotmulaag – words of power – now that’s just crazy talk!”

“Perhaps they worry they fried Ulfric’s tiny human mind and are attempting to avoid repeating their mistake?” he suggested, with a small smile.  At least she seemed to be maintaining her sense of humor.  “It’s as good an explanation for the man as any.”

“And here I was thinking it was just my fate to be continuously surrounded by older men who are too busy being superior to tell me what I need to know,” Alexa sighed a little wearily.

“That seemed rather pointed,” he observed.  “Is there something I have not been clear about?”

She hesitated a moment. “How legal are Thalmor orders of summary execution?”

“Totally illegal,” he told her, brows arched slightly in surprise. “Why?”

“Another dead Justiciar – this time in Falkreath.  Looked like he and his guards got pulverized by a combo of troll and frostbite spider.  I’d guess spriggen involvement myself.  Anyway, I went through his pockets to see if there was anything to bring back to you. Only thing he had on him was his orders.  Which, if they were illegal, doesn't speak well for his intelligence.”

Ondolemar went very still. “Do you believe I would write such an order?”

“Wasn’t in your handwriting,” she told him, her eyes steady on his face.

“How long ago was this?”

“A week, maybe?”

He frowned at her.  He hadn’t lost a squad in nearly four months. “I’ll look into it,” he promised. “So… what have you been doing in Solstheim?  Ancano’s report was, very odd.”

“No doubt,” Alexa agreed. “The situation is fairly unusual.  The first dragonborn, Miraak, has been stuck in Apocrypha – enslaved by Hermaeus Mora – since the Dragon War.  His escape plan hinges upon my death.  Mora, I think, would rather see me take Miraak’s place than lose access to the abilities of a dragonborn.  So I have returned to Skyrim to speak with some people about how to avoid death at the hands of the first dragonborn or slavery to a daedric prince.”

“Any luck with that?” Ondolemar asked, concerned.

“Some.  It will have to be enough.  Pray that I succeed.  Miraak is extremely powerful and, after all this time, quite insane.”  She rubbed tiredly at her face.  “All of my craziness aside, how is Taran doing?”

“You will have to ask him,” Ondolemar informed her.  “We have agreed not to talk about political matters.”

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows arched in disbelief.  “How very civilized of you.”

There was a knock on the door.  Ondolemar gritted his teeth in annoyance before responding.  “Enter!”

Tantha pushed the door open and stepped into the room.  “Commander, the Jarl believes you might wish to attend the meeting he has called on the topic of protecting the city from future dragon attacks.  It will begin, in the throne room, in about ten minutes.”

Ondolemar inclined his head. “I will be there, you may go.”

As the door closed again Alexa slid from her chair.  “Seems it is time I was going.”

Ondolemar stood as well catching her hand as she turned away from him.  “Before you go, there is one last thing we have yet to address,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers.

She turned back to him with a questioning look on her face.

“I’m guessing the execution order you mentioned was for you?”

“It was.”

“Do you know why?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll look into it.”

“Ondolemar…”

“I promised to protect you, remember?”19

“And I told you not to risk yourself to do so,” she reminded him.

He gave an exasperated little sigh.  “You just told me that someone, who can give orders to Justiciars, authorized the murder of one of my assets.  Even if the asset in question were not you, I would still find it worth looking into.”

That got him a wry little smile.  “I suppose that’s fair,” she allowed, extricating her hand from his to dig through her pack.  She pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and slipped it into The Book of the Dragonborn that was still sitting on the table.  “There.  I’ll get the book back from you the next time I’m in town.  Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“Just to request that you do your best to survive your confrontation with the First Dragonborn,” he replied.

“Is that an order, Commander?” she smiled, her eyes laughing, up at him.

“No,” he answered, taking the single step to close the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her.  “I have been listening well enough to know better than to expect a dragon to follow orders.”

“Wise of you,” Alexa whispered, leaning into him and slipping her arms around his waist.  “I would rather not lie to you.”

Ondolemar snorted softly into her hair.  “Your definition of telling the truth has always been a little suspect, my love. Your ability to twist the meaning of words to suit your needs would impress even Clavicus Vile, I think.”

“Oh?  So I am to blame for the fact that you do not experience the world in the same way I do?” she asked archly, without pulling away.

“You are not to blame for the rest of the world not being dragons,” he chuckled.  “Still, you should know that I have noticed your facility with language means I must pay close attention to what you actually do, and do not, say.”

Her arms tightened around him, briefly, before she let go and stepped away.  As she did so he saw her eyes flick to the book and then back to him.  “You know, in all the time we’ve spent together, you have never asked my name?”

“I believe I mentioned something about that the last time we spoke,” he reminded her.  “I am also aware that, at the time, you failed to even confirm if Alexa is anything more than a pseudonym.”

She held out a hand to him. “Sikendra d’Arthe.  Originally of Camlorn.”

Ondolemar took the offered hand.  “It is a pleasure to finally be introduced,” he whispered before kissing the inside of her wrist.

Notes:

1 Dragonborn, your pride will be humbled!

2 Arrogant dragon.

3 Flee now or your soul will feed my power.

4 That moment when someone is obviously right about your misuse of language: “Arrows are ‘loosed’, cannons and guns are ‘fired’. If you wish to ‘fire’ an arrow you will need to tie oil-soaked rags to it first.” - My father, the historian.
*sigh* Thanks dad… now I have yet another petty linguistic hang-up to live with. And now YOU all can have it too! Mwahahahahah!

5 I gave Ondolemar’s guards the names Cyril (male) and Tantha (female). I’ve actually been considering writing a short something, from their point of view, about every major interaction between Alexa and Ondolemar… Maybe I’ll put it between Act 3 and Act 4.

6 Implied in Before the Ages of Man as well as the Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition: Morrowind

7 See Secret Dwemer Origins, ESO unpublished (link)
Also implied in Michael Kirkbride’s post “The Dwemer’s religion (01/13/10)” (link)

8 …Two lacks vision and attempts to display duality, which we all know is impossible. - Thoughts on the Sacred Numbers, ESO

9 Auri-El led the original Aldmer against the armies of Lorkhan in mythic times, vanquishing that tyrant and establishing the first kingdoms of the Altmer, Altmora and Old Ehlnofey. He then ascended to heaven in full observance of his followers so that they might learn the steps needed to escape the mortal plane… (Varieties of Faith in the Empire, link)

10 Implied in A Pocket Guide to The Empire, First Edition: High Rock, Isle of Balfiera. (link)
Nu-Hatta is somewhat clearer on the subject. Auriel-that-is-Akatosh returned to Mundex Arena from his dominion planet, signaling all Aedra to convene at a static meeting that would last outside of aurbic time. His sleek and silver vessel became a spike into the changing earth… - Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter #4 (link)

11 On a slight side note “nu” (Greek letter υ) is the symbol used for frequency in wave equations aka the variable that dictates the sound (or tone) a particular set of vibrations make. Now consider the number of words in TES Lore that include the syllable “nu-”.

12 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter #8 (link)

13 “It’s not the Brass God that wrecks everything so much as it is all the plane(t)s and timelines that orbit it, singing world-refusals.” (Numidium's siege of Alinor, Michael Kirkbride's undated posts, link)

14 I swear my Lore chapter on the Towers, or at least the aspects of them that are important for this story, is nearly done.

15 Conclusion drawn from Tiber Septim’s Sword-Meeting with Cyrus the Restless (link)

16 If this doesn’t make sense to you, see discussion of “lesser daedra” in Lore chapter on Lycanthropy. (link)

17 In TES? Yes. It’s called achieving CHIM, which Alexa has not done… yet.

18 Ondolemar’s, not necessarily accurate, take away from his conversation with Earmiel in A2:14.

19 See A2:34

Chapter 17: The Expat

Summary:

Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 2 of 3)

Notes:

Alternative Chapter Summary: Alexa attempts to avoid a conversation topic and Eolain is having none of it.
For further context see A2:07 and A2:30.

 

Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“May I have a moment of your time, my dear?” Eolain asked when she caught up with Alexa as she passed through the market on her way to Taran’s. 

“Of course,” Alexa responded politely.  “What can I do for you m’lady?”

“I would like to have an… an inappropriately candid conversation with you that neither of us will ever tell Dolly about.”

Alexa arched an eyebrow. “Well you certainly have my attention. Shall we raid Taran’s wine cellar before finding a place to talk?”

“That… sounds like a grand idea,” Eolain approved. 

 


 

“Which do you think is worse,” Alexa asked, gesturing expressively around the now thoroughly looted home of Nepos the Nose as she used some of the wood beside the hearth to build a small fire, “living in the mouldering ruins of a civilization whose technology you cannot hope to imitate, or living in the moldering remnants of your own civilization the grandeur of which you can no longer achieve?”

“You’re in a cheery mood,” Eolain noted dragging over what was left of a rug before taking a seat on it.

“YOL,” Alexa said to the pile of wood she’d made, ignoring Eolain’s comment.

“Impressive,” the Altmer woman acknowledged as the fire that had briefly enveloped the entire hearth dissipated and the wood began to burn on its own.

“I believe there was something you wished to speak to me about?” Alexa reminded her.

Eolain fiddled with the bottle in her hands.  “How much have you gleaned about my purpose for being here, in Skyrim?”

“Well, the first time we met you told me it was to see if you could convince the Commander to be the father of a pureblood child the Thalmor are requiring you to have.  That was… about five months ago.  Sometime after that you mentioned that you were sticking around because you thought he needed a friend.”

Eolain shook her head slightly.  “It still surprises me how open with you I’ve been.”

“You can blame it on me being dragonborn, if you want,” Alexa told her.  “I’ve noticed people do that…” she shrugged.  “Who knows.  Maybe they’re not wrong.”

“You and Dolly did talk, yes?”

Alexa glanced over at her.

“No, before you say it, I know you talk all the time, but I mean, you finally talked about your relationship right?”

“We did.”

“You turned him down?”

Alexa gestured noncommittally.

“Why?”

“Because I’m married and because there’s no going back to Alinor after being the dragonborn’s lover. Given that he may well live for another two centuries, is a relationship with me – until he is recalled to Alinor in a few years – really worth risking the mess his life would become if that relationship were to be discovered?”

“You should let him make that decision for himself,” Eolain told her.  “Besides, you can’t be certain things in Alinor won’t change.  If there is anything that dragonborn have been good for it’s change… and destroying mer nations.  I admit I’m rather hoping you’ll live up to the stereotype.”

“Thalmor is not a simple political movement, Eolain, it is an idea made manifest.  It is the embodiment, and the outcome, of a web of lies, stretching back to at least the Late Merethic, specifically designed to distort the structure of reality itself.1 Something like that cannot be undone within a single lifetime and it has already survived one dragonborn rampage.”

“I’m sorry, what?  No, don’t answer that.”  Eolain moaned softly and rubbed expressively at her temples. “You’re doing it again.  You’re deflecting; distracting me from what I wanted to talk to you about with fascinating and thought-provoking information.  But, much as I would love to hear more about what you think the Thalmor are up to, I wanted to talk to you about Dolly and I won’t be distracted.  Besides, if the Thalmor really are the embodiment of a web of lies, then that’s all the more reason you should take him away from them. Dolly does not deserve to be used in such a manner.”

“And if I am dead ten months from now?” Alexa asked softly, staring blindly into the fire. 

“Is that likely?” Eolain asked, surprised.

Alexa gave a one-shoulder shrug.  “The purpose for which Akatosh created the Last Dragonborn is to attempt to kill a fallen god.  Not even the Prince of Fate knows which of us will survive our encounter.  As Alduin has quite noticeably returned our confrontation might be said to be imminent.”

Eolain opened her mouth to respond to that, stopped, made a funny little noise of irritation, waved away everything Alexa had just said, and returned to her original topic.  “But you do love him, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Don’t even try to give me that,” Eolain snorted.  “Even if you never publically acknowledge your relationship I know he loves you.  So, do you love him?”

“And to think I had believed not being forced to marry a Breton noble would mean I could avoid being involved in courtly love,”2 Alexa sighed. 

“You could always leave your husband,” Eolain suggested.

“No,” Alexa replied abruptly and with a surprising level of certainty.  “I couldn’t.”

“So the reason you turned Dolly down is that you love your husband?” she asked, before her brain fully took note of the shift her suggestion had caused in Alexa’s body language.  Her golden eyes narrowed as a sudden suspicion took hold.  “You didn’t marry someone you’re afraid of, did you?”

Alexa opened her mouth to answer, blinked in surprise, closed her mouth, buried her face in her hands, and began to laugh.

“I can’t tell if I said something funny or you’re having an hysterical reaction,” Eolain told her, frankly.

Alexa heaved a deep, steading, breath and lifted her head.  “There is simply no good way to answer that question,” she explained, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.  “The perfectly true statement: ‘conceptually my husband, and any possibility of his anger, absolutely terrifies me’, would lead to exactly the wrong conclusion about our relationship.”3

Eolain frowned in confusion. “You’re the dragonborn!  Who, or what, in Oblivion would you be afraid of?  Wait, I think I’m confused.  What do you mean by ‘conceptually’?”

“See, the wrong conclusions, just like I said,” Alexa sighed, leaning back against the wall.  She fidgeted with the band of Mara on her finger clearly considering what to say next.  “It may not have occurred to you but being dragonborn draws a certain amount of attention from the kinds of beings most sane people would rather never interact with.  Being my husband’s wife protects me – to a certain extent – from that kind of interference.  There is also some possibility that having the support of my husband, and his family, may make the difference in my inevitable confrontation with the World-Eater.”

“So you think you need him in order to survive,” Eolain summarized.  “But, if you’re so afraid of your husband’s anger, then why maintain any sort of relationship with Dolly?”

“Fidelity was not part of our marriage contract.  And, oddly enough, my husband has been almost as adamant about taking Ondolemar seriously as Earmiel has been.”  Alexa held up a hand to stop Eolain from interrupting.  “That said my husband has a reputation for capriciousness.  I cannot guarantee that, should I actually take a lover, he would not pose a threat to them.  With that in mind, I’d rather not risk someone I care about as much as I care about Ondolemar.  The last thing the world needs right now is for the dragonborn to leave Nirn in order to express her intense displeasure, with an extra-planar entity, in person.”

Eolain sat in stunned silence, for almost half a breath, before commenting.  “Wow.  That… really is complicated.  But also, I think, not something you can’t work out.”

Alexa gave a slightly annoyed sigh.  “Look, Eolain, if you instigated this conversation because you – for whatever reason – felt you need my permission for your childhood friend to sire your legally required children, then please allow me to clarify my position for you.  I am aware of the situation in which you find yourself.  I also know that even if I were unmarried, not the dragonborn, and actually Ondolemar’s lover – none of which I currently am – the Thalmor would never fully accept me as his wife.  The best we could hope for is to come to the same agreement with them that you have.  This is a simple truth that will not be changed by my feelings on the subject.  So even if Ondolemar and I were to become lovers – in some misty future where, by some miracle, I have successfully defeat Alduin, given up adventuring, and settled down – I wouldn’t hold any of this against you, or him, or any children you might have.” 

“Can you really promise that?” Eolain asked softly, her eyes never leaving Alexa’s face.  “Are you truly that in control of your emotions?”

Alexa met her eyes and Eolain’s breath caught in her throat.  “Best not to make the mistake of thinking of me as human,” the dragonborn stated, her quiet voice causing the stone beneath them to shiver as her presence became a sudden, overwhelming, weight in the air around them.  Foggily, through her rising panic over her inability to breath, Eolain realized Earmiel had actually been right about something: beneath the human exterior Alexa was anything but. Then the dragonborn looked away again and it was over.  “Besides,” Alexa added, more to herself than to Eolain, “prophecy indicates that I’m the last dragonborn.  It… is not a title without implications.”

That Eolain felt like a punch to the gut.  “Alexa…” she whispered too stunned to say anything else.

The Breton woman shrugged slightly, all signs of the power she embodied now gone.  “It’s actually not as clear as one might think.  Since the Elder Scrolls never showed anything after the moment of Alduin’s return the descriptor ‘Last’ may be nothing more than an artifact of the way the Elder Scrolls work rather than an indication of what may, or may not, happen if I survive my confrontation with the World-Eater.”

“I… see,” Eolain began, quietly, her mind still reeling.  She then gave a frustrated little growl as she realized that, once again, Alexa had managed to shove her off-topic.  It would have been impressive if it weren’t so utterly frustrating.  Eolain squared her shoulders and tried again.  “Look, Alexa, I like you.  I like the fact that Dolly likes you.  I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.  And I want you both to be happy.”  She paused searching for a way, in the face of quite a lot of new information, to say what she’d wanted to say when she’d started this conversation.  “I may not be able to help with your side of things – except to point out that you clearly feel a need for greater clarity on the boundaries in your marriage and to suggest you talk with your husband about it – but I can help on Dolly’s end.”

Alexa gave her a surprised look but didn’t interrupt.

“The duty that will recall Dolly to Alinor, in three years time, is not to the Thalmor – who would otherwise simply promote him to a nicer area of Tamriel than Skyrim – but to his family.  That is something I can help with.  But, before I offer to handle Dolly’s familial duty to return to Alinor, I wanted to know if you were serious about him.  Which, you seem to be… even if I’m less than certain of what that actually means.  What I want to know now is what your plans for him are.”

Alexa cocked her head to the side a look of confusion crossing her face.  “As many plans as I have in general, I have no plans for him in specific,” she replied.

Eolain gave her a condescending little smile.  “Sweet pea, you didn’t just wake up one day to discover you’d seduced a Thalmor Emissary.5 If my brother’s reading of your personality is at all accurate you began with political plans that involved him.  What are they?”

“To be exceedingly blunt, Eolain, in the beginning it never occurred to me a human could seduce a Thalmor Emissary.  I did, however, find our friendship useful when it became clear that peace with the Foresworn would require that the Commander look the other way until Taran had fully ingratiated himself with the court,” Alexa answered. “And, before you ask, every plan I had back then, for anyone or anything, went up in smoke the first time I killed a dragon.”

“And, back then, the Foresworn mattered to you?” Eolain asked in surprise.

“I am jill,” Alexa replied softly.  “A female dragon.  Not like all my brothers – the drake – that are currently flying around causing trouble.  The jill, we… fix things.”

“What kind of things?”

“The world, mostly.”

“Is the world broken? I mean, beyond needing a generalized shift away from overly dramatic politics.”

“Broken enough that the Manifest Metaphor of its end has returned prematurely – before his allotted time, before the cycle’s end,” Alexa answered.  “That is why I was created, Eolain, that’s why I’m here; to fix the world enough that this cycle can complete. What else matters when compared to that?”

“And the Forsworn figure into this how?” she asked, confused.

“Practice, I suppose.”

“And Dolly?” Eolain pressed. “How does he figure into any of this?”

“He doesn’t.  What I find myself involved with now is not a conflict between nations, or peoples, but between philosophies of existence. Just because one of those philosophies happens to look like an enormous black dragon does not mean our conflict will be any less a test our understandings of Creation itself.”6

Eolain gave her a sideways glance.  “You know, as much I love you, you’re getting weirder.  None of that made any sense.”

“I know,” Alexa sighed and stood up.  “Do me a favor, Eolain.  Don’t make any decision based upon the expectation that, a year from now, I will be around to have an opinion about them.  That way, if I’m not, you’ll have done the right thing, and, if I am, we can always talk it out over drinks.”  Alexa turned and walked out.

Eolain watched her go and didn’t try to stop her.  Instead she sat staring numbly into the fire long after the hollow banging of the front door had indicated the Dragonborn had truly left.  Had she been younger Eolain might have cried.  Instead stayed where she was, watching the fire die, contemplating what she had learned and what she was going to do about it.

Notes:

1 The Thalmor is easily the most dangerous organization in the Aurbis. More so than Talos. They cannot be understood. They are the Other and they hate everything that even smells like mortality. And they're going to win in the end. (Michael Kirkbride – Reddit AMA, link)
Also for your consideration the “Elven Lie that all Men believe”, mentioned in unofficial lore texts by both Kier-jo and Jobasha. (link)

2 There, I said it.

3 However good to her Sanguine has been, thus far, he’s still a Daedric Prince.

4 See A2:24 for their conversation.

5 Actually, that is kind of what happened.

6 “You must understand, dragon magic – even the stuff we’d classify as Destruction or Illusion magic – is more like tonal architecture or really powerful Alteration magic. All of it, even the least of their spells, works by altering, not the caster or the target, but the world.” – Alexa, A2:20

Chapter 18: The Dissident

Summary:

Three Altmer converse with the dragonborn (Part 3 of 3)

Notes:

Late Winter, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Two days later…

Earmiel looked up with a smile and set his book aside.  “My-my, if it isn’t my favorite lady back from Solstheim.  I like the new hair color, by the way.  The red is sassy!"

"Thanks?"

"Of course."  He sobered slightly.  "What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Actually I was just planning on passing through and then I remembered that I have a present for you.”

“A present?  For me? You shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed holding out a hand.

Alexa smiled and reached into her bag.  “I remembered you were into magical curiosities…” she explained as she drew out a round glowing red stone.  “Here. For you.  A stone pulled from the ashes of Red Mountain, supposedly imbued with power from the Heart of Lorkhan itself!”  She put the stone in his hand.  “Grand Master Neloth calls them ‘heart stones’ and seems to think they can be used much like hagravens use briar seeds.  Though he has also found a way to use them in the enchanting of magical staffs. I think they’re similar to the substance the Dwemer purified to create the power cores for their automatons.  I thought you might find them interesting.”

“I think I love you,” Earmiel breathed, eyes wide, as he inspected the heart stone carefully.  “Totally platonically, of course,” he added.

“Of course,” she laughed.

“It’s warm,” he noted. “And it seems to have… a heartbeat?”

“Kind of creepy if you ask me,” Alexa affirmed.

“And you are certain it is infused with power from the Heart of Lorkhan?” he asked.

She took the stone back from him and put it on his hearth.  Then she pulled her role of tuning forks and a strange knife made of crystal and Dwemer metal from her bag.

“What are you doing?” he inquired suspiciously.

“Testing Neloth’s theory for you,” she answered, humming as she carefully adjusting the weights on four forks.  He watched as she struck each tuning fork before placing them between the fingers of her left hand such that the bases protruded through to the palm side of her fingers.  She then placed the heart stone in her hand balanced on top of the bases of the resonating tuning forks.  To his surprise the stone began to humm.  Alexa, with a look of profound concentration on her face, swept the odd Dwemer dagger through the air above the stone.  The faint sound of the resonating stone split, becoming a distinct series of chords. Alexa quickly put the knife and heart stone down, silencing the music.

“Wow,” Earmiel murmured, impressed.  “I had no idea you were on your way to being a tonal architect.  Still, as impressive as that was, I’m not sure what it proved.”

She held up the Dwemer knife.  “This is Keening.  One of the tools Chief Tonal Architect Kagrenac tuned specifically to the Heart.  I’d say the fact it acted as it just did proves these stones resonate at similar frequencies to the Heart of Lorkhan.”

“Lexi…” Earmiel gasped.  “That was exceedingly dangerous!  You know that, right?” he demanded half angry and half terrified.  “And why do you just happen to have one of Kagrenac’s tools to hand?”

She shrugged, and began putting her tuning forks away.  “Luck mostly. One of the mages at the College is working on a theory of what happened to the Dwemer.  I haven’t the heart to tell him a dragon I killed had a pretty compelling theory…  Besides, his experimental design is fascinating.  I will be interested to see the results.  Anyway, he was the one who arranged to have Keening delivered to the College but bandits waylaid the shipment.  I retrieved the dagger from the bandits and haven’t been back to Winterhold yet.”

That’s what Arniel Gane is working on?” Earmiel blinked in surprise.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.  “You know about Gane’s research?”

Earmiel groaned slightly. “The Thalmor think he’s working on aetherium.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “A certain someone needs to stop going through the journals in my room.  Who knows what I may have left behind with the intention of misleading my fellow academics?  I am in a pranking competition with Onmund after all and I am known for playing a long game.”

“I’ll drop a hint or two…” Earmiel sighed.  He picked up the heart stone and looked it over again.  It really was fascinating.  He looked up at her.  “So, now that the gift-giving portion of this interaction is over, what can I do for you my very well mannered Breton?”

“Who says you must do anything but be yourself?” she enquired with wide-eyed innocence.

“You certainly do know how to make a guy feel special,” he chuckled.  “Thankfully I am partially immune to your wiles.”

She smiled a little secretively at that but said nothing.

“Shall I guess then?” he asked.  “I assume that you, pretty little Lexi, are actually here to learn what’s happened around Skyrim in your absence.”

“You are the biggest gossip I know,” she affirmed.

“And best informed, I hope,” he responded.  “Sadly, in the dead of winter, there hasn’t been much to be informed about.  On the civil war front Ulfric is feeling the pinch after the removal of the Silver-Bloods from Markarth.1 He will have to make a move soon or find a way to replace them as a source of funding. I understand he has already attempted to blackmail Markarth’s Steward over his use of a certain type of potion.2 That attempt failed but, with the Thalmor Justiciars quartered in the city, an attempt of a religious nature may find somewhat better traction.

“The only other news I have is that Thane Erikur of Solitude recently came into possession of an arms shipment from Black Marsh.  I understand its contents were, primarily, of elven manufacture.”3

“And to whom did he sell those arms?” she inquired.

“I haven’t heard.  But I have not seen anyone in the Legion armed with elven blades.”

Alexa smiled a little at that.  “I am sure Falk Firebeard would find that very interesting.”

“I am certain he would,” Earmiel agreed.  “So, where were you headed that you were ‘passing through’ an out of the way place like Morthal?”

“Labyrinthian,” she answered.  “I recently came into possession of an artifact renowned for its auto-mobility.4  I’ll be interested to see if it can get out of the dragon shrine.”

“Oh?”

Alexa dug through her pack again and then tossed Earmiel the Necromancer’s Amulet.

He looked it over carefully before sighing heavily.  “I’m not going to ask how you got Mannimarco’s amulet,” he told her, handing it back.  “I’m certain I don’t want to know.”

“Then you really don't want to know about the other thing I currently have in my bag,” she smirked, wrapping the amulet back up before putting it away.

“What 'other thing'?” Earmiel asked suspiciously.

“The pommel of Mehrunes’ Razor,” she replied.

Earmiel squeezed his eyes shut and swore, creatively, in Aldmeri.  Suddenly he winced and cracked one eye open at her.  “You probably understood all of that, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“You, young lady, are over-educated,” he informed her.

“Dragons have a facility for language,” she told him.  “And most of them actually remember the Aldmer.”

“So you’re really going to stick both of those things in that shrine and hope they remain there for the rest of time?” he asked.

She shrugged.  “I have the only known key.  If Dagon wants his razor he’ll either have to send someone after me or summon its pieces back to Oblivion, fix it, and then find a way to get it back here.5 Either way, I’d say the world is safe from its influence for a while longer.  As for Mannimarco... I’ll be interested to see what happens.”

“Mannimarco,” Earmiel repeated, slowly.  “You think he’s still active in the world?’”

Alexa paused clearly uncertain, though whether it was of what to say or of how to say it he couldn’t tell.  “What do you know about the Necromancer’s Amulet?” she finally asked him.

“A magical wonder, it has four enchantments on it vs. the usual limit of two.  It absorbs spells, heals wounds, bestows resistance against normal weapons and grants the wearer ‘wisdom beyond their years’,” Earmiel intoned, reciting what he’d been taught.  “Why?”

“Because, while the amulet in my bag clearly is the Necromancer’s Amulet, it doesn’t do all of those things anymore,” she answered.6 “Firstly it now appears to have only three effects, not four.  It increases the wearer’s base mangicka pool, and their facility with Conjuration, but sap vitality.  Vitality that – unlike the Equilibrium spell - is not being repurposed into magicka.”

Earmiel frowned at that. “So an artifact that once increased the vitality of its wearer now steals it?  How is that possible?  As far as I know enchantments, once cast, cannot be changed.”

“They can’t,” she replied. “And Mannimarco was never known for his ability as an enchanter.  But just because a thing can do something that can be achieved with an enchantment, doesn’t mean it has that enchantment on it.  Argonians can breath underwater without the aid of a waterbreathing enchantment after all.”

“So you’re saying you think there are, at most, two enchantments out there that, along with whatever the native property of the amulet is, would account for all four effects?” Earmiel murmured, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as he thought. “Even if true, how would that account for two of those effects becoming inverted?”

“One enchantment, actually,” Alexa corrected.  “And not even an ‘enchantment’ in the traditional sense.  I think what the amulet really is, is the physical anchor for a soul-siphon.  As such it connects the wearer’s soul to Mannimarco.  As long as Mannimarco’s soul was the more powerful of the two the effects of the soul-siphon worked in favor of the amulet’s wearer giving the wearer both a lich’s resistant to non-magical weapons and ability to absorb spells as well as some small amount of access to Mannimarco’s own facility with, and knowledge of, Conjuration.”

Earmiel just stared at her open-mouthed for a moment before shaking his head.  “And what would Mannimarco get from such an arrangement? That man never did anything that didn’t increase his own power.”

“I think the connection works both ways,” she answered.  “The wearer may gain a level of insight from Mannimarco but Mannimarco gained access to, and perhaps even influence over, whatever research the person wearing the amulet was doing.”

Earmiel considered that for a moment.  “You said ‘as long as Mannimarco’s soul was the more powerful of the two’... does that mean you believe the reason the amulet now drains vitality is because his soul has become weak?”

“Weaker than that of a dragonborn that had absorbed seven dragons?  Yes.  That I can confirm.  But I have not tested the amulet on another and so I cannot say for certain exactly how weak Mannimarco’s soul – wherever it may be – has become.”

Earmiel drummed his fingers for a moment.  “You know, the Imperial Mages Guild once claimed the Hero of Kvatch slew Mannimarco during the Oblivion Crisis?  Odd as I had been lead to believe Mannimarco achieve godhood during the Warp in the West.”

“He did,” she agreed. “But it didn’t last long.  The so-called ‘Miracle of Peace’ was the result of a Dragon Break caused by activating the Numidium.  Without the effects of the Numidium Mannimarco could not have ascended. Thus, when the jill mended the timeline – and removed the various ‘numiditions7’ that occurred during the Dragon Break – creating the Miracle of Peace, he was returned to what he had been: a lich.”

“Which is what he was when the Hero of Kvatch slew him,” Earmiel finished.

Alexa nodded.  “You’ll note that the Revenant Moon no longer appears in the sky and has not done so since the end of the Oblivion Crisis.”8

“A revenant twice over then. Returning not just from death but also godhood.9  How fitting,” Earmiel smirked before turning serious again.  “But you believe the energy the amulet absorbs is still going to Mannimarco – whatever is left of him – in some way?”

“I think it would be very foolish to assume otherwise,” she replied. “There is also the distinct possibility, given the research subject of the man I obtained the amulet from, that Mannimarco is looking for a way to make a new body.”

“Is that possible?” Earmiel asked, sudden dread causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

“I… don’t know.  There was something written in the man’s journal. He… thought it was an Aldmer text interpreted by the Ayleids but first transcribed by Altmer.”  She closed her eyes, searching for the memory.  “It said:

star-scrying to the edge of the ice-mind
look to the lights where the souls dance
revealing the time when a spark will revive
when the rotted united under most skillful hands10

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Earmiel admitted.

“Me neither,” Alexa sighed. “But… something itches in my mind. There’s a sort of resonance to the images I can’t explain.”  She lapsed into silence.

“I assume that you’ve already attempted to destroy the amulet?” Earmiel prompted when it seemed Alexa was not going to continue.

“If it could be easily destroyed something would have happened to it by now,” she pointed out. “Speaking of which, the dragon shrine, did you ever come to any conclusions on the temporal distortion vs. demiplane mystery?” she asked.

“You mean is your dragon hoard, and whatever else you’re planning to abandon there, still safe?” he smirked.  “Yes, I believe it is, in so far as I believe the shrine to be a pocket-plane not a time anomaly.  I have further determined that the effect that increased the decomposition rate of the scholar’s corpse is present throughout Labyrinthian.  The only things I cannot yet explain are where the effect is coming from and why the Breton scholar’s Altmer associate would still be working on their project two years later.  Refresh my memory, if you would, how did you run into him again?”

“The Altmer was at Forelhost where I killed my first dragon priest…” Alexa paused and then buried her face in her hands.  “Mother-fucker…”

Earmiel arched both eyebrows at that.  “Ye-es?”

“I have recently come to the realization that Hermaeus Mora has been taking a very active interest in my doings for some time now.”

“You think a daedric prince may have forced this Altmer to keep a note, detailing his plans, on his person for two years?” Earmiel asked, skeptically.

“Is it more likely that a Breton scholar, knowingly, came into possession of the only key to a dragon made pocket-plane, in Skyrim, at approximately the same time the Last Dragonborn took up residence in Riften and that this scholar’s Altmer associate should continue to attempt to acquire a single artifact, unsuccessfully, for two years, or that the prince of Knowledge and Fate is attempting to orchestrate the dragonborn’s retrieval of the Konahrik mask?” Alexa asked.

“To what end?” Earmiel enquired.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged dismissively.  “Maybe It just wants to know what will happen when a dragonborn takes the mask for themselves?”

“Shouldn’t It already know that?”

She shook her head.  “The mask has never been worn.”

“There has to be more to this than wondering what enchantments the dragons placed upon it,” Earmiel pointed out.

“Oh, I’m fairly certain of that, I just don’t know what, exactly, that ‘more’ is likely to include.”

“Explain?”

Alexa considered him for a moment, her eyes wary.  Then she shrugged.  “The mask was part of a mythopoeic recreation that embraced all of Skyrim near the end of the Mythic Era.  I had thought the pattern completed with the dismemberment of Pelinal Whitestrake and Alessia taking the ruby throne.”  She paused for a moment head cocked slightly to one side.  “I suppose Talos might have been a variation on the same theme, which would suggest that the pattern was still strong enough, in the last years of the second era, to influence the events of a Real Moment.  Either way, I have no idea how much of the pattern is still viable.  I suppose it is possible Mora doesn’t know either.”

“And the mask plays into this how?” Earmiel asked patiently.

“Konahrik was created, and set aside, for the myth-echo of Shor the Dragon Cult needed to complete their recreation,” Alexa explained briefly.

“Is it possible Mora believes you will need such an artifact if you are to defeat Alduin?” Earmiel asked.

“I am not Lorkhan,” she told him with surprising vehemence.  “Talos was Lorkhan and,” she paused, eyes widening slightly in surprise, “… Alduin was trying to be Akatosh.”

“Clearly that means something to you,” Earmiel noted dryly.

“It means Miraak was, is, Alduin,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands again.  “No wonder he refused to help save the world.”

“You’re suggesting that dragonborn are avatars of the dragon gods?”

“Avatars?” she asked, dropping her hands to give him a surprised look.  “No.  Echoes of the Time God I will accept, but even as Talos was not born a Shezarrine our choices likely dictate which aspect of our source we take after… Though clearly not the results of those choices, as the world saw when Talos became Trinimac.

“Talos became Trinimac?” Earmiel blinked a few times incredulously.  “Are you certain you’re not insane?”

“The warrior god of strength, honor, and unity, with a history of poor personal decision making?” Alexa asked with a small smile.  “Sounds a little like Tiber Septim, doesn’t it?”

Earmiel frowned at her. “Ironic then that one of his worshipers started a civil war,” he noted dryly.

“The only things Ulfric worships are ego and power,” she responded.

Earmiel couldn’t argue with that.  “So you have come to believe that Lorkhan, Akatosh, and Alduin are three aspects of a single Time God?”

“Yes.”

“I never took you for the radical religious type.”

“It’s more of a philosophical standing than a religious one,” she countered.

“So the dead and missing god is no longer either dead or missing?”

Alexa made a face. “Not exactly.  Lorkhan, as the aspect of Time at its strongest within the Dawn, straddles the line between one kalpa and the next.  As such, only part of him was ever within the cycle.11

Earmiel drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he thought.  “So if Talos was Lorkhan, and he became Trinimac, does that mean Lorkhan no longer exists?” he asked.

“Within this kalpa cycle… quite possibly.  Though I would be willing to bet he still exists outside of it.”

“And if you kill Alduin – remove a second aspect of your proposed, singular, time god from this kalpa – what will that mean for the world?”

She shook her head. “Killing an avatar isn’t the same as absorbing a god’s essence and transmuting it into someone else.  But, to answer your question, I suppose it is possible that it is Akatosh’s goal to become the only Time God left within this cycle.”

“And what, from a functional perspective, would that mean?” Earmiel prodded.

“I don’t know.  I suppose it might mean that this cycle could last long enough to result in a new Amaranth.”

“A what?” he asked before he had time to note the look of surprise on Alexa’s face.

She shook her head looking as mystified by what she had said as he was.  “The worlding of the words is AMARANTH, Vivec, Sermon 37,” she whispered.  “That’s… all I know.”12

“All you know?” he objected. “But you just said…”

“I know,” Alexa snapped her voice causing the air between them to tremble.  She shrank away at that, leaning back into her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand.  “I know,” she repeated quietly the fingers of her other hand gripping the arm of her chair with white knuckles.

“Dragon memory?” he asked gently.

“No,” she answered with a bitter little snort of laughter.  “As far as I can tell the dragons don’t know anything more about it than I do. I… need to meditate on it.”

“Is this happening a lot now?” Earmiel inquired, suddenly concerned.

“No.  Usually I know where the information in my head is coming from.  That one though… if it was a deduction I made on my own then I wasn’t aware of the thought process that preceded it.”  She took a deep, slow, breath.  “I was going to return to Winterhold, to drop off Keening, before heading to High Hrothgar,” she admitted.  “Now I think I’ll go do my time with the monks before returning to the College.”

“I wholeheartedly support that decision,” Earmiel told her.  Not wanting to let the evening end on that kind of note he went on, “I was right about Snowhawk’s arena games, by the way.”

Alexa blinked at him, confused by his sudden change in topic.

“I thought I’d inform you of my brilliance since you’d very rudely failed to ask,” he sniffed.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  It seems they summoned all sorts of nasty things from Oblivion to fight in the games.”

“Was their choice to do so cause, or effect, of the local instability?” Alexa inquired, suddenly interested.13

“I’m glad you asked!” Earmiel beamed.

“Oh dear,” Alexa sighed. “It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” he replied cheerfully.  “I am a genius after all!”

Notes:

1 About eight months ago now. (A1:35)

2 Reference to the quest “The Steward’s Potion” given by Bothela at The Hag’s Cure. Given that Raerek pays you for for your discretion, upon delivery, it’s pretty clear this particular type of stamina potion is Elder Scrolls Viagra.

3 Reference to a conversation you can overhear him having with Melaran.

4 The Necromancer’s Amulet: It is the one flaw of the Amulet that it is unstable in this world forever doomed to fade in and out of existence, reappearing at locations distant from that of its disappearance. - In-game description, TES I: Arena, and TES II: Daggerfall.

5 “You have followed my guidance through the veils of Twilight and rescued my Star from Malyn Varen. But his soul still resides within, protected by enchantments. Until he is purged, my artifact is useless to you. Eventually, the Star will fade into my realm in Oblivion, but I doubt you have the hundred or so years it would take to wait.” – Azura, TES V: Skyrim

6 Over the life of TES there have been two basic stat-blocks for this item. See table (link).

7 For original use of term see (link).
It is, I think, a portmanteau word combining “Numidium” and English word ending “-dition” which, itself, comes from Latin root dare ‘give’ and Latin participial stems ending –t+ion indicating action. So a “numidition” would be a timeline, or event, made possible only by use of the Numidium. As such, the jill would likely work to completely undo it as opposed to finding a way to integrate it into the timeline.

8 There is no mention of the moon, anywhere, in TES V: Skyrim.

9 “Revenant”: early 19th century French, literally ‘coming back’, present participle (used as a noun) of revenir.

10 Butcher Journal 2

11 “This is how the Greedy Man became trapped both in and outside of kalpas.” - The Seven Fights of The Aldudagga: Fight One, "The Eating-Birth of Dagon"

12 The term “Amaranth” also appears in Loveletter From the Fifth Era, The True Purpose of Tamriel (link) and Michael Kirkbride’s post “Clarifying the nature of CHIM (01/15/10)” (link) the first of which Alexa will, very definitely, gain access to at some point.

13 Ref. to A1:23.

Chapter 19: A Disquieting Revelation

Summary:

Saarthal is stranger, and worse, than Alexa first thought.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

After ten days of meditation…
Alexa decided to visit Saarthal on her way back to the College. 

Upon arriving she was a little surprised to find the dig site completely deserted.  Not wanting to look a gift-horse in the mouth – the questions she had about the site would be easier to investigate if she didn’t have to justify what she was doing – Alexa took the shortcut, past the word wall, back to the room in which the orb had been found only to discover that the orb had been removed… which probably explained why no one from the College was at the site.  It was, however, a little surprising, and somewhat worrying, that the circle beneath it had been left behind.  Still, she reasoned as she cleared the table Jyrik Gauldurson had been sitting at for use as a desk, it would give her the chance to study the circle on its own without the power of the Orb overwhelming any lesser, or more subtle, enchantments the circle’s makers had worked into it.  She took out her journal and began to sketch.

There was something oddly Dwemer about the construction of the circle.  And though the substance it was made from looked much like aetherium glass, it was subtly different.  Like an early version of aetherium glass maybe?  But the Dwemer had never worked in these sorts of curves and etched circles… except they had.  The ebony Dwemer bow she’d found in Kagrumez, the absorb enchantment on which required no recharging, had similar circles etched into its surface.1  Perhaps such etchings were what was required to enchant a substance infused with the magically inert, but tonally volatile, aetherium?  Or, perhaps, the etchings were not a form of Dwemer magic at all but a type of magic that belonged to the Snow Elves?  Both Saarthal and Solstheim claimed a history with the ancient Falmer and the magics of the sun-obsessed elves might well have found cultural expression in mystical overlapping circles.  But there was no evidence of the Falmer ever working with aetherium.  A collaboration between the two, then?  Possibly.  But the writing, though familiar, wasn’t in a character set she recognized.  None of which even addressed how such a thing had ended up in the first city of the Nords in Tamriel.

Alexa gave an annoyed little sigh.  Well, if the Dwemer had had a hand in making the aetherium-glass circle Tones would have been involved in its creation…  She walked over to the circle, lay down in its center, closed her eyes, and listened.  Listened until she began to hear a single tone resonating through her.  An E so low she almost tasted rather than even felt it. There were other tones as well... vibrating in the shades of softly plucked cobwebs.  This place felt like a gap in the Pattern where, somehow, warp had become weft.

“What is this?” she asked softly.

Before the birth of Anui-El, a dragon’s memory supplied. There was no sound in the Void because Anu and Padomay resonated in antiphase to one another.  The birth of Anui-El created the first sound because Sithis rejected acting in antiphase to Anui-El.  Instead, Sithis simply refused to hear preferring the silence of deafness2 to that of cancelation.  In this way Anui-El’s Tone became the Warp of Creation.

“So this is an antiphase prison.  And that deep E is a true Warp Tone…” Alexa whispered, quickly rolling out of the circle of glass and onto the stone floor.  “What in Oblivion was someone doing that required the use of a true Warp Tone?” she asked the memories but didn’t expect an answer.  Most of the dragons had been gone long before the tonal architects had gotten good enough for that sort of thing… if they ever had.  Which only made the questions as to whom exactly had made this prison and why a tonal artifact was buried in an ancient Nord city more pressing.

A thing out of place, Paarthurnax had said. 

“Out of place, or out of time?” she wondered aloud.  “And would a dragon know the difference?”  Suddenly she remembered where she had seen writing like this before: on the Oblivion side of the Black Books.

Where the Black Books actually came from... no one really knows, she practically heard Neloth’s distinctive voice as if he were standing over her shoulder.  Some appear to have been written in the past, others might be from the future.

If a Black Book could be from the future, maybe something that utilized true Warp tones could too or, like the Dwemer, across kalpa?  As long as Ada-Mantia stood the Warp would remain.  Would something trapped within an antiphase True Warp Tone prison be preserved from one kalpa into the next just as the Towers were?  That was a terrifying thought.

She took out her tuning forks. 


The next morning, Alexa re-visited the room with the coffin ceiling.  Taking a seat on the center of the bridge, Alexa began to sketch.

A round room with twelve, evenly spaced, coffins lining the walls, seemed uncomfortably astral in nature. Furthermore a bridge over a pool of water, that was already covered by a grating, that wasn’t a trap, seemed pointless from an architectural standpoint and, therefore, important from a symbolic one.3  Still, her attempt to think of a bridge, of symbolic significance to Nords, had returned only one: the whalebone bridge of Sovenguard.  Whatever the explanation for the bridge was, she very much doubted it was that.

Alexa looked up.  Huh.  What she’d assumed, at first glance, was a domed ceiling might not be.  She threw a mage light as high as she could.  Not a dome but the inside of a shaft.  An underground tower?  What would be the purpose of that?

She looked down at the grating beneath her and saw... diamond patters, cut by a straight line, over an abyss of water.  Like stars through the Void?4  If so… then the Path of Magnus5 ran at a right angle from the bridge she was sitting on.  Were the people who passed through this room symbolically walking the path of the moons?6  Alexa glanced back up at the ceiling.  Certainly Lorkhan, as Shor, was the god of the dead... but that wouldn’t explain the coffins on the ceiling.

Her first impression of the room had been one of the inversion of a single concept – immortal-death in place of immortal-life.  An odd choice for necromancers, who usually sought to use the dead to their advantage in life, but – given the existence of liches – not an improbably conceptual leap. But, if the grate below her symbolized the stars, then this room represented not the corruption of a single concept but the inversion of the entire cosmos: materiality and death above with the stars and void below. 

This room, unlike the orb, was clearly of Nord construction, but of what era?  Jyrik Gauldurson hadn’t been a wizard much less a necromancer and had ended up as a draugr not a lich.  He had also, rather obviously, come to Saarthal for the Orb, not whatever this was… 

Was it possible this room, and the orb, were connected in some way?

After another hour or so of documenting the room Alexa had found no answers to any of her questions. Clearly she was missing something. Something this room alone could not tell her.  Perhaps knowing the exact location of the room – if the shaft ever broke the surface – would be worthwhile?  She pulled out a compass and began to trace her way back to the door.

At the table overlooking the dig site Alexa calculated the combined distance she’d traveled underground, marked it on her map, and frowned at the results.7  The area indicated was unremarkable for the north shore of Skyrim except that it lay almost equidistant between two shrines of Talos and… the Tower Stone.

Cold fear settled over her.

“No,” she told the empty air around her.  “The Towers built by mer are constructed to mimic the shape of the cosmos.  There is no evidence of the planets here, just the stars.”  And the ones built by men? she asked herself.  Alexa stood still for a moment, eyes unfocused, as the chill wind bit through her Skaal clothing.

Meeko whined, calling her back to herself.

You are overthinking this, Alexa told herself sternly as she packed away her map, journal, and compass. Every Tower has a Stone8 – a focus for the power of the Tower...  Just then an image of the Orb, rotating within its magical prison, came suddenly to mind.  She shook her head.  Impossible. The Dwemer built Walking Brass and the Snow Elves lived in the shadow of Snow Throat.  Neither needed a Tower Stone nor would have constructed one for the Nords who built Saarthal… unless they’d constructed the orb, and its prison, for some other reason and the Nords had simply repurposed it?

Alexa shouldered her pack and began walking briskly in the direction of the College.  It was time to take a look at this orb.

Notes:

1 Image (link)

2 Michael Kirkbride - IRC Q&A Sessions, October 17th
Q: In musical terms, would you say that the Void is subgradiated noise, pure silence, or something else entirely?
A: I would say it's deafness. Which is why people that travel there get sensorily unraveled.

3 Images of room (link)

4 The stars are holes torn in the fabric of the barrier between the Void and Aetherius by the Magna-ge fleeing Mundus. “Cosmology” (link) and “Mysteries of the Mundus Stones” (link)

5 See image. (link)

6 See image. (link)

7 My best guess. (link)

8 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letter 7 (link)

Chapter 20: A Return to Academic Life

Summary:

Alexa is reminded of what it means to be a grad student.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“A moment,” Faralda began, stopping Alexa on the bridge. 

“Is something wrong?” Alexa asked her.

“I just wanted to let you know that Ancano’s been asking about you,” she informed the Breton student turned master in a conspiratorially low tone.  “I think he’s looking for you.”

“Why would Ancano be looking for me?” Alexa asked, shaken out of her now thoroughly congealed dread by the improbability that the Advisor would lower himself to ask after her.

“I’m not sure,” the master of destruction magic replied.  “Just… Well, mind what you tell him, all right?”

“Is something wrong?” Alexa asked, suddenly concerned.

“No, no,” Faralda swiftly reassured her.  “Well, I don’t think so.  Between the two of us, there are rumors about him.  That this advisor position he has is a sham, an excuse.  That what he’s really doing here is spying for the Thalmor, trying to feed them information.  Whether it’s true, I can’t say.  But it never hurts to be a little suspicious, does it?”

Alexa nodded.  Either Faralda was being a lot more circumspect than Alexa would have been in her place or the Advisor had been a great deal more careful about not letting his mask slip around her than he’d been around Alexa.  “Thanks for the warning.”

“Your welcome,” Faralda replied with a slight smile.  “It is good you’re back,” she added, taking a step back to allow Alexa past.  “It will give Tolfdir someone new to bounce ideas off of.”  


After dropping her stuff in her room Alexa climbed the stairs to the second floor of the Hall of Attainment and knocked on the archway into Arniel’s room.

“What?” Arniel’s demanded before glancing up from his desk.  He visibly brightened upon seeing her.  “Oh, hello again.”

She stepped into the room.  “I have the object from Morrowind you’ve been waiting for.”

“The dagger...?” he gasped, jumping to his feet in surprise and practically grabbing it from her hands. “By Akatosh, they didn’t even wrap it correctly!”  He glanced up at her, worry evident on his face.  “You didn’t touch it did you?  Well no, of course, you must have!  And you’re not dead?  Gods, it’s a wonder it’s in one piece!”

“How goes the rest of your preparations?” Alexa asked patiently, actually a little touched that he had taken even the briefest of moments to be concerned for her wellbeing.

“Terrible, just terrible,” Arniel groaned.  “I vastly underestimated the heat transfer necessary, and have destroyed my only working model.  I’m at a loss.”

“So the soul gem didn’t work?” she guessed.

“Well, yes. I mean, no. That is, it might, but I’m not completely sure.  I’m no tonal architect, I’ve only read their writings.  Scraps, really.  The soul gem by itself isn’t enough, you see.  It needs to be altered, purified.  The dwarves had machines for this sort of thing.  I attempted to build my own, based on designs and using parts you helped to provide.  My very own Dwarven Convector.  It worked, but not fully.  And the uhh...  The device was destroyed in the process.”

“I see.  That is unfortunate,” Alexa agreed.

“Well, yes.  The designs for my convector were based on real dwarven machines, so there may still be some in existence…”

“And you would like me to go see if I can find one,” Alexa concluded for him.

Arniel looked a little embarrassed at that.  “I’d go looking myself, but uhh...  Yes, there are calculations to double- and triple-check.  Many calculations.  Perhaps you could seek out these Convectors in Skyrim ruins?  I can even teach you the spell to heat them.  It’s very particular and very important.”

“Do you have a drawing or description of these ‘convectors’ that will help me identify them?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, of course. Here.”  He handed her a blueprint off his desk.

Alexa considered the blueprint for a moment.  She had seen several similar machines in her exploration of Skyrim’s ruins.  She glanced at Arniel’s worktable.  Pieces of his device were clearly strewn across it. None of them appeared to contain Aetherium… which probably accounted for its failure.1  While she had no doubt of her ability to find the Convectors… “It may be several weeks before I have time to devote to this endeavor,” she gently informed Arniel.

“Weeks?” he repeated, dismayed. 

“I’m intending to return to Solstheim in the next few days,” Alexa explained.

“Oh,” he sighed, looking a little crestfallen.  “Well, I suppose it will have to do.  You are the only one I would trust with this task.”

“Give me the gem then and I’ll take it with me just in case I find one of these convectors on Solstheim.”

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” Arniel exclaimed, handing it over.  “I knew I could count on you!  And take care,” he continued beginning to hustle her out of his room.  “Wouldn’t want you to not make it back!”  The moment she was back in the central space Arniel turned his back on her and went back to what he’d been doing.

Alexa shook her head in bemused wonder and headed back down the stairs.  The other students, she noticed, upon reaching the first floor, were all busy elsewhere.  Tolfdir, however, was in.

“Can I get a moment of your time?” she asked, standing in the doorframe.

“You’re back,” Tolfdir smiled, looking up from the book he was writing in.  “Did you come across anything interesting while out on your adventures?”

“I went back to Saarthal,” she offered.  “I noticed the orb has been moved.”

“We put it in the Hall of the Elements for ease of study,” Tolfdir told her.  “I’ll be heading back there myself in just a moment.  If you’re interested in the research we’ve already done on it you should talk to Phinis Gestor.  He gave a lecture on our progress with the Eye only a few days ago. You should find him in the Arcanaeum at this time of day.”

Alexa nodded.  “Thank you for your time.”

The old man smiled at her. “I am always ready to talk with a fellow master.  If you would, however, accept a word of wisdom from someone with more experience of the College than yourself?”

“Of course,” she answered politely.

“The other members of the College are not going anywhere, and I do not believe the world will end if you take a moment for yourself before going to speak with them,” he informed her with a knowing smile.

Alexa glanced down at her muddy armor and smiled at that.  “I shall take it into consideration.”  


An hour later, having eaten, bathed, and changed into her robes, Alexa was sorting through the contents of her pack when Mirabelle Ervine cornered her.

“You should know,” the Master Wizard began, “that both the Synod and the College of Whispers have recently made inquiries of the College here in Winterhold.”

Alexa cocked her head to one side, questioningly, but said nothing.

“Aren,” Mirabelle continued, “believed that their initial communications were politically motivated. The College has – until recently – managed to avoid any direct meetings with either group.  Have either attempted to contact you?”

“No.  When I left Cyrodiil I made certain they believed me dead. Neither group is likely to connect their dead student with the new dragonborn.”

“Well, if either group does contact you directly, please let me know. And, should you run into them in person, please do what you can to avoid compromising the College’s neutrality.”

“Is that likely?” Alexa asked.

“A few months back a few mages from the Synod showed up here looking for powerful artifacts and demanding to know what we had to hand,” Mirabelle admitted.  “We sent them away, of course, but I do not believe they returned to Cyrodiil.”

“Any idea where they went?” Alexa asked, a suspicion beginning to form in her mind.

“They inquired about the ruins of Mzulft, but that’s all I remember.  At the time it sounded like they were heading there, though they were rather secretive about why.”

Alexa nodded slowly. “Well, with the ‘Eye of Magnus’ here, their presence in Skyrim might be something to keep in mind.”

“The ‘Eye of Magnus’?” Mirabelle objected.  “I can appreciate that this... thing you found, this orb...  It’s very impressive.  Very unique, and definitely worth studying.  But let’s not jump to any conclusions, or assign it importance beyond what we’re certain of.”

“Oh, I agree.  It’s just what Tolfdir indicated the College was calling it.  If he was wrong, or I misunderstood what he said, I apologize.  Still, if mages from the Synod have gone to Mzulft, you should be prepared for them to come knocking again.”

Mirabelle frowned. “Why?”

“Because the Dwemer built Mzulft to study varliance.  Part of that study included mapping its sources.  It would not take much – if one had the resources – to modify the system to map ground-based sources of magicka instead.”

“And you know this how?”

“I wrote the preliminary study on Mzulft for the Synod.”

Mirabelle’s frown deepened. “I will inform the Arch-Mage.”

Alexa held up the book she’d been intending to take to Urag.  “Is there anything else I can do for the Master Wizard?”

“How long will you be staying this time?”

“Two, three days at most. Why?”

“I believe the Arch-Mage assigned you a task before you left the College the last time.”

“Has no one else been able to speak with Urag about the orb?” Alexa asked in surprise.

“Urag indicates the books we need were stolen by a previous student and gifted to a particularly dangerous group of Summoners.  Given your skills, it seems to me you are the member of the College most likely to be successful in retrieving them.  I understand that you have been busy with being dragonborn but that does not negate your responsibilities as a member of the College.  If the Arch-Mage has asked you to do something, you should do it.”

Alexa gave her an amused look.  “I understand.”

“Good,” Mirabelle said, stepping aside for her.  “Now please go speak with Urag, as the Arch-Mage asked.”


After handing in the second of Shalidor’s manuscripts, trading the book from the Dwemer airship for a note with the location of another book, and information on where to find the Summoners who had the books the former student had stolen, Alexa discovered that Phinis Gestor was, indeed, in the Arcanaeum. 

“The people of Skyim have no appreciation for what we do here,” Phinis muttered at her approach, without looking up from his book.  “Not that I care."

“Not particularly surprising given that the College has spent no time at all informing them of what it is we do,” she pointed out, taking a seat on the other side of the table from his. 

Phinis glanced up in irritation, saw who was addressing him, started in genuine surprise and swallowed nervously.  “Can I help you, dragonborn?”

“What can you tell me about the orb from Saarthal?” Alexa asked, getting straight to the point.

“I already covered that in my lecture five days ago,” he stuttered.

“I was at High Hrothgar five days ago,” she told him.  “Could you recap it for me?”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” He cleared his throat.  “Several projects are currently underway to discern the origin and nature of the orb.  Any and all theories are currently being considered.  If you have any ideas I am certain Mirabelle would be interested in hearing about them.”

“Why is it being called ‘the Eye of Magnus’?” she inquired.

Phinis shook his head. “The orb practically radiates magicka of a type outside the experience of the faculty.”2

“Practically radiates?” Alexa cut in.  “Meaning it doesn’t actually radiate it?”

Phinis gave her a quick sideways glance.  “If one is attuned enough one can feel the presence of magicka within the orb – at a distance of several meters3 – even though the magicka itself is contained and so unavailable for use.  But, be that as it may, at this time there is no indication that the object is, in fact, a physical part of Magnus, the god of magic.”

“Then where is the rumor coming from?”

Phinis looked a little uncomfortable at that.  “Well, it has been suggested that one explanation for the amount of magicka the orb appears to contain would be that the object is a gateway to the realm of Aetherius,” he explained, without actually answering her question.  “But nothing has proven that idea one way or the other,” he added hurriedly. 

“That seems like something of a logical leap,” Alexa noted.

“It has also been proposed that the orb is, in fact, the entirety of Aurbis in one physical space,” Phinis went on, his tone becoming surprisingly animated.  “This would, of course, mean that Tamriel, indeed all of Mundus, is actually contained within the sphere!  It further suggests that we are somehow outside our own existence while looking in at it…” he paused, suddenly appearing to register the look of surprise on her face.  He cleared his throat.  “While the idea seems dubious at best, it has not, at present, been entirely ruled out.”

Alexa considered him for a moment as she tried to imagine what, in all the realms of Oblivion, would have lead to that particular assertion.  “And what gave someone that impression?” she asked him.

“Tolfdir says that, while alone with it in the ruins, the panels of the orb, very briefly, opened up and he saw inside it,” Phinis answered, sounding a little defensive.  “Perhaps you should talk to him about it.”

“Of course,” Alexa whispered.  An image of all of Mundis within the orb… Was this further inversion: a Tower where the Stone was the cosminach and the tower was merely the focus for the energy of the Stone?4  What would it indicate about the Tower’s purpose or the way in which it functioned? Alexa rose to her feet. 

“Thank you for your time,” she murmured to Phinis with a nod before taking the stairs down to the Hall of the Elements and the waiting Eye. 


The dragonborn hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor, in front of the “Eye of Magnus”, in several hours. Ancano knew because he’d been there, watching her draw, for most of it.  It was late now and all the others who sought to gain knowledge of this thing had gone to bed.

Her sketches followed the same pattern as her Dwemer ones had.  The object from all sides came first followed by an exploded-view diagram to indicate how the pieces might, in this case, fit together and, lastly, individual drawings of each piece in minute detail.  Hard to do as the thing never stopped spinning.

“Your rendering of the script is very precise,” he remarked, standing behind her and peering down at her journal.  “Like you’re writing it rather than drawing it,” he noted casually.

“I’ve seen the alphabet before,” she told him without looking up.

“You have?  And where might that have been?”

“In Apocrypha.”5

“You’ve been to Apocrypha?”

“I needed to know how a dragon priest, dead for several millennia, could have living followers, much less order them to kill me,” she reminded him.  “Mora offered to tell me.”

“And did It?”

“In a manner of speaking. As is, apparently, typical, Its answer only left me with more questions and a headache.”

Ancano sneered slightly in irritation.  While that did seem fairly normal for interactions with Hermaeus Mora it didn’t really answer his question.  “Can you read this writing, dragonborn?”

“No,” she answered.

“Any thoughts on this object you think you should share?”

“Are you asking me to speculate, Advisor?”

“I am lead to believe you have absorbed the knowledge of several dragons,” he told her condescendingly. “Surely that is good for something?”

“I have two, equally stupid, theories,” she informed him.  “I hadn’t thought either of them worth making myself sound like an idiot over.”

“I promise not to think any less of you,” Ancano told her dryly.

She grimaced slightly at that and then shrugged in apparent acceptance.  “Each of the early languages, as I’m sure you know, embodied a concept and their use was an expression of that concept.  As with so many things in this world they seem to have come in pairs the combination of which is descriptive of our world.  For example, Aedric is the language of Creation while Daedric the language of Destruction.  Similarly, the oldest of all languages, that of the Elder Scrolls, is the language of Potential – an expression of the Void before creation when all things were still possible.  Since it comprises an infinite number of possibilities the language itself is unknowable which is why the contents of an unwritten Elder Scroll imprints itself upon the mind as visions, not words.  Dovahzul, the language of the dragons, on the other hand, while commonly believed to be the language of Domination is actually the language of…” she paused briefly, as if searching for a word, “uth, meaning something like ‘order’ or ‘command’, but also indicating the moment a choice has been made – a limiting of possibilities.  As such it provides the counterpoint to the language of the Elder Scrolls.”

“And this script?” Ancano demanded wearily.  “You think it is an otherwise unknown early language?”

“Possibly.  Since the only other place I have seen this alphabet used is within Apocrypha my first theory is that this,” she gestured toward the Eye, “could be the language of Knowledge.  I’m afraid though I cannot tell you what it is called, where it comes from, if it has ever been spoken, or even if it truly exists outside of the realm of Knowledge and Fate.  I can tell you that, in the case of the artifacts of Hermaeus Mora written in it, reading them is dangerous in much the same way reading an Elder Scroll is.  Whether that is due to the script, or the contents of an artifact of the daedric prince of knowledge, I can’t say.”

“And you have dismissed this theory?”

“If there were a language, from the period of Manifest Metaphors, which embodied the concept of Knowledge, its counterpoint would also exist.  A language for Ignorance seems… improbable.  Also, if a language of Knowledge existed, surely Shalidor would have used it in his work.  But the manuscripts of his I have retrieved for the College are not written in their own language but use a cipher script that was not uncommon to magic texts of his time.”

“And your second theory?” Ancano asked, managing to sound unimpressed.

“That it’s a language from outside time and that thing got here via a dragon break.”  She shrugged.  “Equally stupid, I know.  I did warn you.”

He cocked his head at that and considered her for a moment.  “I assume you have some reason for thinking that is even a possibility?”

She glanced up at him in surprise.  “Can’t you hear the Tones?  I mean, I know the humans can’t, but I’ve been watching J’zargo’s fur stand on end every time he walks by and Brelyna’s just avoiding the place.”

“And if I were a tonal architect I’m certain I would know exactly what they mean and be able to miraculously intuit why they would make a human, who can’t hear them, think the artifact creating them was from the Dawn.”

“Some of the residual sub-harmonics taste like Time,” she told him flatly.  “Surprising as it appears to be made of aetherium glass – but not Dwemer metal – and Dwemer work tends to taste a little like a lack of time, since they tuned everything to experience time at a slower rate than the rest of the world.”

“And what is it that Time tastes of?” he demanded imperiously.

“Snozzberries,” she replied with a slight eye roll.  “Time tastes like Time, what else would it taste of?”

“Does the Second Emissary accept this sort of lip from you?” Ancano asked halfway between disdain and anger.

“I think he believes it is to be expected when dealing with a champion of Sheogorath,” she replied unaffected by his clear irritation.

There was silence as she added the finishing touches to the last of her drawings.  “I’m told you were looking for me earlier.  Was there something you wished to discuss other than requesting I explain the inexplicable?”

“I merely wanted to enquire as to when you were going to get around to that research assignment the Archmage set you.”

“There are three other students, and any number of other college members, capable of talking to Urag. Including you,” she pointed out. “Besides I was intending to leave for Solstheim in the next day or two.  I’ve have already been away longer than I intended.”

“Surely this is more interesting?”

“More interesting but less pressing.  That thing is not currently trying to kill me.”  She stood up, dusting herself off.  “You know, there’s a rumor going around that you’re not here as an advisor but as a spy.”

“Preposterous, and just the sort of thing I would expect from mages who have nothing better to do with their time.  I have made it quite clear that my only role here is as an advisor to the Arch-Mage. I would suggest that you not further spread this rumor.”

“Maybe if you loomed a bit less, or did any research of your own, people wouldn’t be quite so suspicious?”

He snorted.  “I suppose the irony that they chose to confide their suspicions to the true Thalmor spy in their midst is lost on you.”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “But I fear my lack of knowledge about what the Thalmor would find interesting renders me somewhat less effective than a person like yourself.  Though I suppose the irony that the Second Emissary managed to subvert the dragonborn right out from under your nose is lost on you?”

“The Second Emissary is not my concern,” Ancano hissed, leaning in threateningly.  “The College of Winterhold is.  You may report anything you discover outside the College to the Second Emissary but you will report anything of interest from within the College itself to me.  Is that clear?”

“Such hostility, Advisor,” she murmured.  “And here I had thought I’d shown myself perfectly willing to give you my opinion on any question you wish to ask.”

“Have the Psijics made contact again?”

“No.”

“Good.  What is Arniel Gane working on?”

“The disappearance of the Dwemer.”

That surprised him.  “Not aetherium?”

“Ohh, you have been snooping through my things, haven’t you?” she laughed.  “But no and, before you ask, I still have not located a key to Blackreach and Arniel is not interested in practical things like enchantments that do not require recharging. Enchantment’s really more Sergius Turrianus’ thing anyway.”

“I suppose it is,” Ancano not quite snarled.  “Now, would you please go speak with the Orc in the library?”

“It should please you to know that I have already done so,” she said, bowing slightly, before turning towards the door.  “Oh, and, Advisor,” she paused, looking back at him over her shoulder.  “It is usually best be at least a little suspicious of research notes academics leave in places their fellows might have access to.”

Watching her walk away, as sudden doubt mixed with chagrin coiled uncomfortably in his belly, Ancano realized, for the first time, exactly how much he truly hated the Second Emissary and his dragonborn pet.


Outside, in the cold, Alexa took a deep, slow, breath to re-center herself.  In Saarthal she had wondered if the creators of the orb had used Tones in its construction.  Her examination of the glass circle that still remained in Saarthal had indicated that they had.  Her time spent with the orb, however, indicated that the reason the various members of the College could not identify the type of magicka it contained was because the magicka was thu’umanic in nature.  A Tonal artifact infused with thu’umanic energy… what the exact implications were would require some thought.

Notes:

1 Convector image (link).

2 Reference to Tolfdir’s description of the orb in the quest “Good Intentions”.

3 TES has referred to both meters and yards as units of measurement. Meters seems to be slightly more common.

4 Nu-Mantia Intercept, Letters #7 and #8

5 Image (link)

 

** Author’s Note:
Much of this chapter is in-game dialogue that I have filled out a bit in an attempt to clarify some things the game hinted at but never outright addressed.

Chapter 21: Ancano Has a Bad Morning

Summary:

Alexa indulges in some comic relief.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

4:00 AM (precisely): Ancano woke just the same as he did every morning.

4:01 – 4:05 AM: Ancano made his bed.

4:06 – 4:20 AM: Ancano washed his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

4:21 AM: Ancano removed a clean set of robes from his wardrobe.

4:25 AM: Ancano stared in horror and disbelief at the front of his robe.  It wouldn’t close properly!  And the leggings, he had to admit now, were uncomfortably tight!  No, no-no, NO!  This couldn’t be happening to him.  No well-bred mer would allow himself to lose his perfect, stately, figure in this way!

Ancano closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose to calm himself.  No.  It was impossible he’d gained weight literally overnight.  Maybe something had happened to his robe?

He pulled his second clean robe out of the wardrobe.  It didn’t fit properly either!  He’d suspect one of the students if any of them were capable of this much fineness with magic.  They were not.  Not that he’d ever heard of a spell to shrink clothing, but there was no saying what perversities students were capable of.  There had been that event with the apples, after all.  He removed his dirty robes from the basket in the corner, from which the College’s one cleaning lady would have taken it, around noon, for washing.1 He glared at the small wine stain on its collar with loathing. 

It didn’t fit right either! He was panicking enough now that he failed to notice that the first had smelt slightly of dwarven oil and his current robe smelled faintly singed.2  At least his boots and gloves still fit.

4:45 AM Ancano walked, stiffly, out of the Hall of Attainment, across the bridge, picked up his horse from the tavern, and headed for Solitude.  There was no way he would ever let Elenwen know about this and, with any luck, the ladies at Radiant Raiment could be paid for their silence.


“What was that all about?” Brelyna asked blearily from her bed after Ancano stormed out, stride hampered by restrictive leggings.

“From what this one observed, this one believes the Advisor’s clothing did not fit him as he felt it should,” J’zargo commented.

“I’m surprised he didn’t just assume the launderer had spoiled them,” Onmund grumbled, his tone as bleary as Brelyna’s.

“Maybe he has gone to complain to her now?” J’zargo suggested.

“He would have taken them with him if that were true,” Brelyna pointed out.  “And Thalmor robes are leather.  You can’t shrink leather the way you would wool.”

There was a short silence and then the sound of three students getting out of bed and crossing the central space to stand in Alexa’s room.

“I’m asleep,” she told them without opening her eyes.

“Khajiit would like to know how you accomplished this,” J’zargo purred.

“He’s not the only one,” Onmund muttered.

“What makes you think I did it?” Alexa demanded, opening one eye.

“You’re the only one crazy enough to outright prank a Thalmor?” Brelyna offered.

“Enthir,” Alexa countered before rolling over and pulling her vale-cat fur blanket over her head.

“Oh no, no-no,” J’zargo chuckled.  “This one is not going away so easily.  Not after you got so far ahead in the count by publishing my story.”

She lifted her blanket slightly to peer out from under it.  “Then I hope you like that chair because I’m not admitting to this one.  No matter how epic it was.” 


"This one has accepted your invitation to retrieve library books stolen by a naive – former – student, and a rare text from some Silverdrift place,” J’zargo grumbled as they made their way out of Winterhold later the same day.  “But wishes, in exchange, for you to explain how you shrank the Advisor’s clothing.”

“I didn’t,” she replied. “I switched them out while he slept.”

“That does not explain where you got smaller robes,” the khajiit pointed out.

“It does not,” she agreed.

J’zargo hissed in frustration and was silent for a while. 

“This one believes it would be difficult to purchase Thalmor robes,” he announced, suddenly, a few miles later.  “And so has concluded that there may now be two Thalmor without clothes in Skyrim.”

“Just two?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

J’zargo’s eyes narrowed and his tail twitched.  “This one is now wondering how it is you got them out of their clothing in the first place,” he informed her.

Alexa just laughed and kept walking.

Notes:

1 Someone in Skyrim must do the laundry and I very much doubt that person is Ancano.

2 "Faintly singed", see A3:14, 3.
Where, in the last few weeks, might Alexa have procured a Thalmor robe - to complete the number of sets she needed - that smells “slightly of dwarven oil”, I wonder?

Chapter 22: Favor for a Friend

Summary:

Ondolemar is not above using Earmiel for his connections.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Ondolemar burst into Earmiel’s house in Morthal and slammed a book down on the table in front of him.

“Something wrong?” Earmiel asked mildly.

“You mean aside from the fact a Thalmor asset may have been purposefully provoked, by his handler, into bringing about the literal end of the world, no, everything’s fine, why do you ask?”

Earmiel gave his friend a particularly skeptical look.

Ondolemar flipped the book open and pointed to a portion of text.

“Hmm,” Earmiel murmured taking the book from Ondolemar.  “Prophecy of the Dragonborn; interesting and topical.  Let's see… Line one, probably the Imperial Simulacrum.  Line two, the Warp in the West.  Line three, clearly the fall of the Tribunal and the eruption of Red Mountain. Line four, the Oblivion Crisis, obviously.  Line five… I suppose ‘Snow Tower’ might have something to do with Skyrim - ‘sundered, kingless, bleeding,’does sound about right.  Line six… World-Eater.  That sounds pretty bad and we certainly have a dragonborn even if there’s no telling if she’s the last or not.”  He locked eyes with Ondolemar.  “Alright, Dolly, you have my attention.”

“That black dragon that attacked Helgan, Alexa says he’s this World-Eater, the first child of Auri-El meant to bring an end to this kalpa.”

“The Wheel turns indeed,” Earmiel murmured in surprise.  “The Nords are such a strange race,” he reflected, leaning back in his chair.  “Even their prophecies are ridiculously literal.”

“You’re missing the point,” Ondolemar snapped, as Earmiel picked the book up and began to flip through its pages.

“There’s a point here besides: the end is nigh, everyone panic?” Earmiel asked him examining a few of Alexa’s marginal notes.

“The point is that Elenwen actively goaded Ulfric into killing Torygg.”

“Did she now…  And how well known is this little prophecy?” he asked, unfolding a piece of paper that had been stuck between two pages.

“Apparently quite,” Ondolemar responded, clearly feeling Earmiel wasn’t paying enough attention to what he was saying.

Earmiel tapped one finger rhythmically on the table in front of him while he thought.  The note appeared to be in one of the older Thalmor ciphers.  It would probably take him some time to remember how the cipher worked and decode it.  “If Ulfric feels responsible for the return of the dragons that might explain why he’s even more ‘generally uncooperative’ these days,” he offered finally.

“I’m not going to ask how you know about that,” Ondolemar told his friend.

“Yes.  It’s really best you don’t.  I have the most disreputable sources.  I suppose this means you want to know if Elenwen’s decision to have Ulfric kill Torygg came from higher up or was her own terribly ill-informed notion?”

“If the Thalmor are involved in a deliberate plot to end the world…”

“That would look very bad indeed…” Earmiel agreed, holding up the note he’d been examining.  “Do you know what this says?”

“No.  It’s written in a cipher of some sort.  I assumed you could figure it out.  You used to be good at that sort of thing.”

“Dolly, this is a Thalmor cipher from the late Second Dominion,”2 Earmiel informed him.  “Where did you get this?”

“The book is Alexa’s,” Ondolemar replied.

“Tell me you haven’t been reduced to going through her things!” he gasped to hide his surprise.

“Don’t be absurd,” Ondolemar sniffed.  “I simply asked her what it meant to be dragonborn and she gave me the book. Said she’d get it back from me the next time she’s in Markarth as it’s where she keeps all her own notes on the subject.”

“And a Thalmor piece from long before any of us were born belongs in that category?” Earmiel muttered and then sighed dramatically.  “Sometimes I wonder where she even finds these things.  Give me a few days to go through everything.”  He gave the book, and it’s many extra pages of inserted notes, a look of consideration.  “I hope those aren’t all in code.”

“I also need you to find out about this for me,” Ondolemar, announced, holding out a single page note to Earmiel.

“And who is this Sikendra d’Arthe that she warrants either your attention or an order of execution?” Earmiel asked, glancing at the note’s contents.  Then it hit him.  “Wait, don’t tell me.  It’s Alexa isn’t it?” 

Ondolemar arched an eyebrow and Earmiel rolled his eyes.  His friend definitely needed to broaden his interests, or at least his area of knowledge.  “Sikendra is, originally, an Aldmer name.  The Breton form is Alexandra.  Alexa for short.”  He looked back down at the order in his hands, examining it carefully.  “However did they come to a decision on her, much less dig up her real name, so quickly?” Earmiel wondered aloud.  And why did it sound familiar?

“Even more quickly than you think.  She claims she pulled that off a dead Justiciar more than a month ago.  The most interesting part is that I haven’t lost a man in more than four months.”

Earmiel quirked an eyebrow.  “Internal politics, or something she did before coming to Skyrim?” he asked abruptly.

“That is the question, yes,” Ondolemar replied snidely. 

“No need to be touchy,” he remarked, going back to looking over the order in minute detail.  “We both know your average Justiciar doesn’t stand a chance against pretty little Lexi.”

“Earmiel, if that order were above board, the Commander of whatever jurisdiction it originated in should have contacted me when his people crossed into my territory.  They didn’t. I’d like to know why.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that.  Truthfully I am a bit surprised she gave this to you,” Earmiel noted.

“There were – extenuating – circumstances,” Ondolemar replied shortly.

“Do tell.”

“She may have felt the need to explain why keeping me at arms length is doing me a favor.”

“Ouch,” Earmiel commented without so much as sparing a glance for his friend.  “I’d offer my sympathies but you don’t appear to want them. Instead, I will just say that there are other reasons you may wish to let her walk away.”

“Like what?”

Earmiel folded the execution order carefully before placing it inside the Book of the Dragonborn.  “Like who her husband is.”

“If you’re about to tell me she married a daedric prince, I already know.”

Earmiel looked up at him in surprise.  “And you still went for it?  I’m impressed.”

Ondolemar grimaced at him but said nothing.

“Where are you heading that you could use it as an excuse to come here?” Earmiel asked, changing the subject.

“The launderer has misplaced one of my robes,” Ondolemar replied, irritation clear in his tone.

Earmiel arched an eyebrow. That sounded fairly contrived. “Really?”

“Really,” Ondolemar confirmed.  “While I doubt the woman in question means any harm – and she claims she returned all my clothes and so my robe must have been stolen from my rooms rather than from her – it is still necessary that I inform the Embassy that someone with designs against the Dominion may now have access to an official Emissary uniform.”

“Intriguing…” Earmiel commented.  “Though there are not that many in Skyrim who could take full advantage of such apparel,” he pointed out.3

“True,” Ondolemar allowed with a sigh.  “I fear that I will never fully understand, or be able to anticipate, these people.”

 


 

It was nearly two in the morning when the person Earmiel had contacted arrived.  An Altmer in his late middle age he wore his white hair very long and tied near the ends with a complicated set of knots.  Though simple, due to the length of his hair, it was not a style that could be achieved without help.  The older mer also dressed with a simplicity that anyone not conversant with either the intricacies of certain types of apparel, or value of particular Summerset fabrics, might have been deceived into believing indicated either personal modesty or a lack of status.  Earmiel, however, knew better.4

“You know it’s not particularly safe to meet in places like this without partaking in the festivities,” Earmiel’s contact remarked with such a complete lack of censure in his tone that Earmiel was certain his every move was being cataloged for future, critical, analysis.

“Something tells me that Sanguine will let it go, this time,” Earmiel replied, handing over the execution order.

The older mer glanced quickly at the order, and actually blinked in surprise, before returning his attention to Earmiel.  “Sikendra d’Arthe is in Skyrim?”

“The dragonborn?” Earmiel asked, confused by the other mer’s uncharacteristically strong reaction. “Where else would she be?”

“Sikendra is the dragonborn?”

Earmiel hesitated briefly. Something here was off.  “You know her?” he inquired carefully.

“In passing,” the older mer admitted, folding up the orders and slipping them into a pocket.  “She was a notable magical prodigy in High Rock while I was stationed there.”

“That sounds like her,” Earmiel admitted, his eyes searching the other mer’s face just in case his expression let something else slip.  It didn’t.

“What is your purpose for bringing this situation to my attention?”

“Ondolemar was not informed when the Justiciars tasked with carrying out this order entered Skyrim. He has questions I will need answers to and…” Earmiel hesitated, uncertain of exactly how much he could ask for.

“You want it dealt with,” the older mer finished for him.

“This is clearly off book,” Earmiel pointed out.  “If the person who wrote this order were to die…”

“All their authorized off-book operations would be suspended, pending review, and anything truly unauthorized would simply disappear,” the other mer nodded.  “I’ll see what can be done.  As for Ondolemar…” he paused infinitesimally.  “This order’s probably been following Sikendra around for some time.  Keeping him busy with it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Information likely to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation would also be of value,” Earmiel added.

“You think he is not taking it seriously?”

“I think it likely he has made some inaccurate assumptions about the origin of this order,” he clarified.

“Do you know what is going on?” the older mer inquired with the faintest hint of skepticism in his voice.

“No,” Earmiel admitted, biting back a sour retort.  “But I doubt it has anything to do with Ondolemar.”

“I will keep that in mind,” the older mer said, taking a step away from Earmiel, indicating their conversation was at an end.

“Yurian,” Earmial interjected before the older mer could turn away.  “You understand that he’s in love with her, right?”

The expression that ghosted over Yurian face seemed, to Earmiel’s experienced eye, almost sad.  “Ondolemar always did have excellent instincts about people.”

“So you have met her,” Earmiel pressed.

“I will do what I can about this,” Yurian told him, in a tone of indisputable finality, before turning and walking back in the direction from which he had come.

Earmiel watched him go with a slight frown.  Yurian’s responses to both the execution order and to Ondolemar’s relationship with the dragonborn were unexpected.  He wasn’t sure what to make of either.

“Well, that was interesting,” a deep, slightly resonant, voice commented from behind Earmiel.

Earmiel turned to find a dremora, in daedric armor, leaning against a tree.

“You know… if you’re plotting to overthrow the Dominion that’s more Boethiah’s thing than mine,” the dremora commented, his tone mild.

“I assumed protecting your wife would be your thing,” Earmiel replied, a little shakily.  For all the time he’d spent in the Realms of Revelry over the years he’d never, to his knowledge, met their ruler before.

“It is,” Sanguine acknowledged.  Then his eyes narrowed.  “It has been a while since you last visited one of my realms.”

“Keeping up with your wife doesn’t leave a lot of time for much else.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You, ah, know about Ondolemar I take it?”

“I do.”

“And?”

“My wife is free to do as she pleases.  But, if he becomes a liability, he may find himself in Coldharbor… or someplace worse.”

Earmiel swallowed hard. “… Right.  I’ll, uh, be leaving then?”

The daedra nodded. “The same goes for you too, boy.”

“I understand,” Earmiel croaked around a very dry throat.

“Good.  Now get going,” the daedra ordered.  There was a spiral of purple fire and Earmiel found himself back in the cellar of his home in Morthal. He managed fully three steps towards the stairs before his knees gave out and he collapsed, heavily, onto the cold floor, shaking.

Notes:

1 I believe the “sundered” in this actually indicates the presence of the Time Wound that renders the peak of Snow Throat slightly out of phase with the rest of Tamriel. The jill should get on that the moment it's not needed anymore.

2 Further explanation coming in a later chapter.

3 During the quest “Diplomatic Immunity”, if the dragonborn is an Altmer, wearing hooded Thalmor Robes allows you to walk past all the Thalmor guards without them turning hostile.

4 This guy has servants who dress him.

 

**Author’s Note
And now a word from my “writing supervisor” on the status of the next chapter: link.

Chapter 23: Hogithum

Summary:

Who was that masked man?

Notes:

Happy New Years everyone!

21st of First Seed, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

On Azura’s summoning day, for the first time in more years than he cared to consider, Teldryn Sero had decided to pay his observances.  His room, in the Dragonborn’s home on Solstheim, might not have been the most sacred of locations but, with the Dragonborn still away, it afforded him the level of privacy he preferred.

“It has been some time, my champion,” Azura, acknowledged him, her voice filling his mind.

“You told me I was free,” he stated, his tone a little more accusing than he’d intended.

“You are free,” she replied mildly.  “Your prophecy is complete.  Your life has been your own for more than two centuries.”

“The Dragonborn has your blessing as well, does she not?” he countered.

“I guard over the threads of her fate1,” the daedra acknowledged.  “It is only right as the outcome of her final encounter with the World-Eater will determine whether the Twilight of this kalpa has truly begun.”

Teldryn grimaced slightly.  “I had assumed my otherwise inexplicable2 decision to come to Raven Rock was due to the appearance of Sleepers3 on the island.  Now I wonder if you knew the Dragonborn’s fate would bring her to Solstheim and so put me in her path.”

“Your soul has always been drawn to those with a destiny,” the daedra pointed out.

“That was often your doing,” he reminded her.

“Perhaps… But the choice to approach the Dragonborn, and to remain beside her, continue to be yours.”

“And her resemblance to Almalexia… simple co-incidence?” he demanded.

Azura was silent for a moment.  “Almalexia’s ascendant nature was, indeed, proof such a being could exist within the logic of the Convention.”

“You are saying that Almalexia was the anticipation of the Last Dragonborn?”

The daedra gave a delicate snort.  “The Dunmer concept of ‘anticipations’ was always a ruse to justify replacing the worship of the daedra with that of the Tribunal.  Only your people’s combined belief in it gave it relevance.  No.  Almalexia was proof that the position – the need – for such a being existed within the Aurbis.  A niche that could be filled, properly, when the time came.”

Teldryn considered that for a moment.  “If the position existed why didn’t Almalexia reach full apotheosis?  Why did she continue to need the Heart to maintain her godhood?”

“Intentions matter.  The motivations of the Snake-Faced queen, her care and concern for her people, were selfish in nature – which she proved when she chose personal power over Nerevar’s life or what might happen to her people as a result,” the daedra told him.  “The position she claimed should never have been held by one whose true concern was for themself rather than the world.4  Only Lorkhan’s power could have bent creation enough for her to pretend to be what she was not.”

Teldryn gritted his teeth against an instinctive urge to defend the long dead god-queen of Morrowind.  “The Dragonborn has been gone longer than she planned,” he remarked, after a moment, changing the subject slightly. 

“Events at the College of Winterhold have delayed her,” Azura told him.  “But she already makes her way back.”  The daedra paused infinitesimally.  “It will be some time yet before her prophecy is fulfilled.”

Meaning the breakneck pace of events surrounding Alexa would continue.  “I had forgotten how exhausting the life of a hero is,” Teldryn sighed heavily in grudging acceptance.  “Is she immortal now, as she fears?” he asked.

“She has become like you, though by different means,” the daedra replied.

“I see.  I believe I will continue to choose to watch her back… at least until her prophecy is fulfilled.”

“Then I shall continue to watch over you both, from the Twilight,” Azura replied, ending their conversation.

Teldryn stood, stretched, and grimaced slightly in discomfort.  One positive thing could be said for the situation the Dragonborn currently found herself in, she’d stopped ageing somewhat earlier in life than he had.

Notes:

1 Upon completing “The Black Star” quest Azura tells the Dragonborn: “Farewell, mortal. Know that Azura will be guarding over the threads of your fate in the Twilight.”

2 “I don't know why I decided to make my way to Solstheim to seek my fortune. I should have stayed home.” - Teldryn Sero

3 Reference to TES III: Morrowind, in which “Sleepers” are Dunmer who have fallen under control of Dagoth Ur.

4 As with a fair number of nouns in TES, Almalexia’s name was probably constructed as a portmanteau of two RW words the combination of which, I believe, were meant to indicate something about her character.  It’s component parts are:
Alma has several possible meanings:

  1. Spanish: “the soul”,
  2. Hebrew: “young woman”,
  3. Latin: “nourishing”

Alexia – from Greek: alexo “to defend, to help”.

Durillis the Theologian (The Living Gods, ESO) says that “Almalexia… is the patron of healers and teachers.  She is… the source of compassion and sympathy, the protector of the poor and the weak.”  He described Almalexia’s place in society as encompassing not just one of the possible meanings of her name but all of them.  
However, what we learned about her in TES III: Tribunal, indicates her place in society was not a reflection of the true personality but a pretense she maintained as long as her divinity was secure.  Once she lost access to the Heart, however, her true self – the person who chose to betray her husband, and her people, for personal power - became apparent. 

 

** Author’s Note
I ran into this theory on a lore thread about a year ago. While I do not believe Bethesda would ever put a canonical face on a previous player character, there is nothing I could find in any of the extended cannon, or lore, that directly disproves the theory. I also kind of love everything about it.
So, as Not Drake, but Jill is, at its core, an exploration of Elder Scrolls lore, and this theory presents the opportunity to branch out of Skyrim a bit and and into Morrowind, I’ve decided to run with it. Lets see where it takes us!

Chapter 24: The Book of the Dragonborn

Summary:

Earmiel reads Alexa’s thoughts on what it means to be dragonborn.

Notes:

Lore/theory heavy chapter.

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alexa's book, which Ondolemar had left with him, had been pulled apart and re-bound to add space for copious notes in addition to the notes he could see in the margins.  Not having read the book before Earmiel began with the text and Alexa’s marginal notes.

Dragonborn Page 1
Dragonborn Page 2

Earmiel smirked at that.  Alexa was an intellectual snob, even if she hid it rather well… most of the time.

Dragonborn Page 3

Earmiel smirked again and flipped to Alexa’s appended notes.



Earmiel paused for a moment at this.  Effect on time?  He made a quick note to take a deeper look at this claim...  Though, given the statement’s rather nebulous nature, he might have to find a way to get Alexa to clarify it for him before he’d be able to give it any real thought.  Could he just ask her, he wondered?  It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that would be easily slipped into conversation.  And she’d definitely notice if he went fishing for it… he gave a slightly agitated sigh and went back to reading.


Earmiel smirked at that.  If the Amulet of Kings had been capable of being bound, simultaneously, to more than one person it would almost certainly have lead to a much more interesting history of civil war within the Empire.

Well, that would certainly go a long way towards explaining the eclectic collection of artifacts currently residing in a pocket plane in Labyrinthian, Earmiel noted to himself as he turned to the next page.  Though it didn’t explain why Alexa had been looking for any of those things in the first place.

He frowned to himself as something occurred to him.  Alexa must trust Dolly quite a bit to be willing to hand over a document, to a Thalmor Emissary, in which she admitted to such an easily exploitable ability.  He was quite certain that, in her place, he would not have done so.


Earmiel leaned back in his chair.  Was it possible the dragonborn was right, that someone was actively working to alter the vary fabric of creation?  Several events over the past few centuries, he decided after some thought, might be seen in that light.  What, after all, had the Void Nights been if not an attempt to remove what little remained of Lorkhan from the world?  It was, he decided, a theory that warranted further consideration.

Notes:

1 "Alessia didn't have the power to absorb dragon souls. Hers was a much more nuanced power: to dream of liberty and give it a name and on her deathbed make Covenant with the Aka-Tusk." (Bethsoft.com, Michael Kirkbride, Nov 5th 2012, link)

2 “[Akatosh] gathered the tangled skeins of Oblivion, and knit them fast with the bloody sinews of his Heart, and gave them to Alessia… Akatosh drew from his breast a burning handful of his Heart's blood, and he gave it into Alessia's hand…” (Trials of St. Alessia)

3 Sancre Tor: lit. sacred mountain. Lets not try to innumerate the number of RW gods born in/from caves on sacred mountains.

4 It is possible, in my mind, that King Hrol was, himself, a wandering Ehlnofey as he is said to have been from "the lands beyond lost Twil[ight]" and that, at Sancre Tor, he mated with an Ehlonfey who had become "earthbone". Which would go a long way towards explaining Reman’s title "Worldly God" (since he was literally born of, and from, the world by "gods" who had become the world) as well as Michael Kirkbride's two comments on Reman (link).  Still, even if Reman were the child of two Ehlonfey, he would not have been dragon-blooded.

5 Or became earth-bone himself.

6 Varieties of Faith in the Empire

7 “There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.” (Paarthurnax, during “Alduin’s Bane”)

Chapter 25: Talos

Summary:

Earmiel continues his reading.

Notes:

Lore/theory heavy chapter.
Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was getting late but there were still more of Alexa’s notes to read.  The promise of an examination of the current Dragonborn’s opinions on her most famous predecessor was… intriguing.  Given what Earmiel had already heard of those opinions it was a near certainty that what followed would be scandalously heretical.  And so, even though it was past midnight, morbid curiosity had Earmiel skipping ahead to the section of Alexa’s notes on Talos.

Earmiel drummed his fingers on the table.  So when Alexa had suggested that Talos had been Lorkhan she’d meant it incredibly literally.  In her opinion Tiber Septim hadn’t been just an “echo” of Lorkhan he had become a Shezarrine.  Still, several Shezarrine had been attested over the ages…  He glanced down at the next journal heading… now that was an interesting question.

Earmiel frowned.  There was a lot to unpack in what he’d just read.  As far as he knew the race of Zurin Arctus had been lost to history.  Odd, now that he thought about it, since there were still mer in Alinor who should be able to remember him.  Perhaps it had been lost on purpose?  Perhaps Arctus had been Altmer?  An Altmer helping the hated Tiber Septim conquer Alinor would certainly have gotten him struck from history as taught in the Isles, at least as far as was possible…

Could a Shezarrine be born as a mer?  It seemed unlikely.  Lorkhan, and Shezarrine generally, didn’t seem to like mer much.  Unless proximity to the Heart…

Could Zurin Arctus have been Dunmer?  Certainly it would make better sense of why the Tribunal had been willing to hand over the Numidum in the first place…

Earmiel made a note to have someone back home look a few things up for him and kept reading.

Earmiel got up, removed the heart stone Alexa had given him from the shelf in his workspace, and took it down to the cellar, where he stuffed it into an empty safe, which he then locked.  He then spent several minutes moving anything that might once have been alive to the other side of the room.

With a heavy sigh, and a slight eye-roll in recognition of the strangeness that being Alexa’s friend imparted to one’s life, he went back upstairs, picked up Alexa’s book, and returned to his reading.

Evgiir Unslaad.  It was quite the assertion… but, if she was right, it was possible, even likely, that the ban on Talos worship was even more strategic than he’d first thought.  Earmiel glanced at a few of the loose pieces of paper that had fallen out of the book while he read.  He picked up the one that was in a Thalmor cypher from the late Second Dominion.  If she was right then these might be even more illuminating than he’d first hoped.

It would have to wait until morning though.  He was far too tired, at this point, to try to remember how the cypher worked.

Notes:

1 Pocket Guide to the Empire: 1st Edition, Cyrodiil, The Song of Tiber Septim.

2 “The second to see the Brass God was the Enantiomorph. You may know them individually as Zurin Arctus and Talos. The Oversoul was known to the world as Tiber Septim. They gave birth to their Mantella, this time an embodiment of the healing of the Man/Mer schism...” - Skeleton Man's Interview with Denizens of Tamriel (link)

3 Vehk's Book of the Last Hour, (link)

4 Yes, I believe the Skeleton Man interview does imply that Zurin Arctus was a mer.

5 Lorkhan and his avatars, from a thread on the Six Walking Ways (02/14/04)
1. Wulfharth L
2. Hjalti O
3. Ysmir R
4. Talos K
5. Arctus H
6. Septim A
N
Michael Kirkbride's Posts (link)

6 The interview with Skeleton Man tells us that “Talos” only became “Tiber Septim” after absorbing Zurin Arctus.
“You may know them individually as Zurin Arctus and Talos. The Oversoul was known to the world as Tiber Septim.”

7 “You in the Fourth Era have already witnessed many of the attempts at reaching the final subgradient of all AE, that state that exists beyond mortal death. The Numidium. The Endeavor. The Prolix Tower. CHIM. The Enantiomorph. The Scarab that Transforms into the New Man.” (Loveletter From the Fifth Era, The True Purpose of Tamriel, link)

8 Hearts are a strange concept in TES. For my thoughts on the matter see my Elder Scrolls Lore Notes, chapter 7. (link)

Chapter 26: Return to Solstheim

Summary:

Alexa returns to Solstheim

Notes:

Solstheim 2, Day 1 (Early Spring, 4E 202)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Teldryn knew, when he heard barking dogs and soft footfalls on the stairs, that the dragonborn was back.  Stepping out of his room he was surprised to see her hair was no longer purple but mountain flower red.

“Bath’s ready,” he told her, deciding against asking how she’d dyed her hair red or why she’d chosen that color, as striking as it was.

She looked a little surprised at that.  “You were expecting me?”

“Every time the Northern Maiden was due in port, for a few weeks now.”

“Right,” she sighed.  “Things didn’t go as planned.”

“They never do,” he told her and was pleased when she smiled in response.

“So where have you been for the past few weeks?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe to the bathing room as Alexa stripped and slipped into the pool.

“Ran that errand in the Reach for Neloth,” she told him after surfacing from her initial submersion.  “Visited the College in Winterhold.  Added five1 new rotmulaag to my vocabulary.  Picked up a dragon priest mask, and staff, in the process.  The staff is yours, if you want it…” she paused looking around her.  “Teldryn, if you’re going to watch like the dirty old man that you are, could you make yourself useful and hand me the shampoo and soap I left here?  They should be in the basket on the shelf.”

Teldryn retrieved the basket and a pile of towels and placed them on the edge of the bathing pool.  “What is that from?” he asked, indicating the silvery pockmark beneath her collarbone.

“I got mad at Hircine.  He got mad back and shot me,” she told him.

“And He shot you… how many times?” Teldryn asked, eyes quickly looking her over.

“Four.  The one below my collarbone he drove in by hand.  I suppose that’s what I get for yelling at a daedric prince.”

“You learn anything from the experience s’wit?” he grumbled turning away and going to take a seat on the bench beside the door.

“Yep.  The next time a daedra tried to talk to me I just ignored him.  A feat made somewhat easier by the fact that, unlike Hircine, he hadn’t bothered with an avatar.  It did result in him throwing two very aggressive dremora at me though.  Still, I’ll take dealing with two angry dremora over an angry avatar any day.”

“I suppose remarking on the abnormality of your life is a waste of time.”

“If you have some suggestions on how to make it more normal, I’d be happy to hear you out.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Get up to anything else while you were away?”

“Spent time with the Greybeards trying to clear my head.  Not sure how well I did with that but I feel like I might be ready to talk to Neloth about the Black Books now.”

“I can’t believe anyone would read those things on purpose,” Teldryn admitted.

“It has been impressed upon me that I have a distinct lack of options when it comes to my fate.”

“But not when it comes to your companions, I think.  Was there some reason you left me behind?”

“I left you here because I assumed you would not wish to spend a week doing nothing in Winterhold while I did student-like-things and another ten or so days doing nothing in a monastery with no one to talk to while I meditated on the meaning of words.  If I was wrong, I apologize.”

“I believe I would rather be bored following you around than bored waiting for you to come back,” he told her dryly.

“Understood.  Your preference will be taken into consideration in the future.”

Teldryn shook his head, smiling ruefully.  “It’s not going to change your mind though, is it?”

“I received a letter from Ralis Sedarys a few days ago,” she told him, changing the subject.

“Who?”

“The Dunmer excavating that ancient Nord tomb just outside of town.”

“Oh,” Teldryn sniffed with disapproval.  Some things were just asking for trouble.

“I was thinking we’d see what he wanted in the morning.  There are also, I have been told, a few more word walls on the island.  I’d like to get them out of the way before going to speak with Neloth,”

“You’re the boss,” Teldryn responded.

Notes:

1 Saarthal, Arcwind Point, Shriekwind Bastion, Silverdrift Lair, and Dead Crone Rock.

Chapter 27: The Sallow Regent

Summary:

White Ridge Barrow

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 3)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

(Enter Filemina,1 with broken sceptre)

     Filemina-
         Woe betide my fate-wrecked heart
         Which gives no tender shine to he
         Who gave his favors up to gods
         And brought his blood-struck mind to me.

It seems Hermaus Mora prefers followers of a henotheistic2 bent, Alexa thought, even as the world darkened and the book before her was replaced by the landscape of Apocrypha.  That’s something in my favor at least.  I’m already very much the property of a number of other gods and daedra.

 


 

Tome after tome, damaged, ruined… 

All the knowledge that had ever existed might once have been horded in this place but clearly some of it had been lost. 

She stood in a pool of light, surrounded by searing darkness, and considered the architecture she could make out faintly in the distance.  The only explanation was that something had happened, or was happening, to Apocrypha. 

If something was changing the plane then was Hermaeus Mora in danger?  What, other than a conclave of multiple daedric princes, could threaten the realm of a daedric prince?  Was there something other than a perversion of its ruler – as had happened to both Malacath and Jyggalag – that could so radically alter an Oblivion plane?

Certainly whatever this was did not appear to be upsetting either of the other Oblivion realms she’d visited…  At least, not yet. 

Miraak then? 

Perhaps.  Though he was attempting to return to Mundus, which shouldn’t be affecting Apocrypha more than it was affecting Mundus… unless, in his time here, Miraak had, somehow, become integral to the plane’s function.  It seemed unlikely.

No, this level of alteration to a plane of Oblivion would require something as drastic as someone new mantling Hermaeus Mora and Miraak certainly wasn’t trying that.  It seemed unlikely his attempt to leave Apocrypha could so disorder the realm.  Though, maybe, he was using the disorder to ease his escape.  Also, if Miraak had caused this – to help his escape – then, surely, Mora would have done something about it Itself.

She picked up a ruined book and flipped through its illegible pages.  No, whatever was causing this had to be outside of Mora’s control.

Could it be just an internal function of the realm akin to the Greymarch in the Shivering Isles?  A sort of natural reordering which eliminated knowledge that…  She frowned.  What kind of knowledge would be removed from Hermaeus Mora’s library?

Knowledge having been forgotten in Mundus was certainly not a reason, given that she was here seeking exactly that sort of “hidden” knowledge. 

If something had once been believed to be true would discovering it was not change its value to Apocrypha?  Did the factuality of information matter to Hermaeus Mora or would the fact that something had once been passed off as true be enough to garner it a place in the library?

She considered the question for a moment.  No, clearly Mora would retain records of even false beliefs as the knowledge would still pertain to the history of the group that had believed it. 

So what would cause a book in Apocrypha to become a desiccated empty shell?  What did she actually know about the books in this place?

Almost nothing.  None of the dragons whose souls she’d absorbed, thus far, had spent any time here.  But Neloth had said some of the Black Books might be from the future…  She picked one of the loose pages up off the ground.  Alexa frowned.  The writing really was in the same character set as the orb from Saarthal. 

Could it be that all these ruined books had been written in a future that would no longer come to pass?  She turned and looked out at the islands in the distance surrounded by inky black water.  Perhaps the current semi-optionality of fate might render the realm of fate little more than islands of fixed events in a sea of chaos?

If this is what the realm of fate looks like during a Real Moment what would it look like during a Dragon Break? Alexa wondered.  She put a few of the ruined tomes in her pack – it would be interesting to see if they remained ruined once the Real Moment had come to an end – and then opened the Black Book.

 


 

“And?” Teldryn asked, as she returned to herself and shut the book.

“Tips for channeling magicka,”3 she replied, putting the Black Book in her pack.

“Useful, but not what you were looking for.”

She nodded.  “Though dark, the trip was… oddly illuminating.”

“Oh?”

“I am now wondering whether there is such a thing as Fate in un-time… and, if not, what the Realm of Fate was like during the Dawn Era.”

“… Right,” Teldryn replied without inflection.  “How many of these things have you read?”

“This makes three,” she replied, looking around them just to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

“What were the other two about?”

The Winds of Change is a history written by the person who discovered that Jarl Elgryr, the Unminded, of Windhelm was sacrificing his people – in bloody and disturbing ways – for wealth while his city starved.  Contained within it was information on how to exempt one’s comrades from the affects of your spells.”

“Useful,” Teldryn acknowledged.

Waking Dreams, which we found in the Temple of Miraak, is a Vivec style polemic on CHIM4 and the possibility of a singular godhead.  I think it may be where I picked up information about something called ‘Amaranth’.5  It is hard to tell though as I have yet to find a way past a dead end about halfway through the part of Apocrypha that lies on the other side of its pages.”

Teldryn cocked his head at that.

She shrugged.  “I assume Hermaeus Mora is playing games with me.  As he likely would with anyone who entered his realm.”

Teldryn pushed away from the wall he was leaning against.  “Well then, shall we finish slaughtering spiders and divesting this place of its wealth of gem stones?”

 


 

“You know, I don’t mind spiders in general, it’s the exploding I find difficult to handle,” Alexa informed him, a little later as they inspected the Imbuing Chamber.

“Sure, because frostbite spiders are adorable,” he snarked back.

“As gruesome as this is, it’s actually quite inventive,” Alexa continued, ignoring him.  “I should find a way to take it back to the College.”

“Right, because what student mages need is more ways to blow themselves up,” Teldryn grumbled.

“You know, Sero, I’m beginning to think you’re no fun at all,” Alexa sniffed.  “Unless, of course, your current mood has some other explanation?”

“You mean aside from being harassed by exploding spiders, attacked by people who have been brainwashed by spiders, and my employer sticking her face in a book full of daedric tentacles?  What’s not to love about all of that?”

“You life is full of suffering, isn’t it?” Alexa noted with obviously false sympathy. 

Notes:

1 Filemina: From Ancient Greek philos “friend, lover” and menos “mind, strength, force”. That Filemine means “lover of mind(s)” sheds some light on the rest of the passage.

2 Henotheism: to acknowledge the existence of many gods but worship only one of them.

3 Seeker of Sorcery: All spells cost 10% less magicka. Enchantments are 10% more powerful.

4 CHIM is a concept we’ll be touching on a few time from here on out. Briefly it is a state that allows those who have achieved it to ignore all the laws creation, including those that constrain the gods and daedra. For more on CHIM check your favorite TES wiki or, you know, hope (along with me) that my discussions of various things related to CHIM will make things clear as we go along (hopefully).

5 At the end of A3:18.

Chapter 28: Backstory?

Summary:

Alexa attempts to get Teldryn's backstory.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 2)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was nearly dark by the time Alexa and Teldryn returned to the barrow’s entrance.

Alexa paused in the doorway, watching the wind blow small flecks of ice, that couldn’t really be called snow, through the air.

“Having second thoughts?” Teldryn asked.

“Just thinking it’s a long walk to anywhere safe and camping outside sounds…”

“Cold?”

She didn’t respond.

“Well,” he turned to look around the room, “we’ve killed all the spider-people, and the interior door can still be bared shut.  We could clear the bodies and set up here for the night.”

 


 

“I don’t suppose you have anything worth drinking in your pack?” Teldryn asked, a few hours later, as he finished up the dishes.

“I emptied my pack of miscellaneous items before we started out this morning, so I doubt it,” Alexa replied, without looking up from cleaning the spider gore from the dog’s coats; a process requiring repeated use of the Calm spell.

“You know, it occurs to me I’ve never seen you drink anything but water,” he noted, a moment later, as he struggled to retrieve a wine bottle someone had lost under the stone table in the corner.  It was empty.  He sighed and came back to the fire.  “Is there a reason for that?  I mean,” he gestured towards the Sanguine Rose, “aside from the run in with Sanguine?”

“Given current circumstances impaired reflexes seems like a good way for me to end up dead,” Alexa replied, taking the empty wine bottle from him.  “But, if discovering exploding spiders require a drink, I completely understand.”  She filled the bottle with water from the kettle of melting snow beside the fire.  “I learned how to do this a while ago but this is my first time trying it so… here goes nothing.”  Alexa concentrated on one of the powers gifted to her by her marriage1 and flicked the bottle with the middle finger of her left hand.  The bottle glowed briefly.  She took a sip and then handed it over to Teldryn.

He took a sip and choked in surprise.  “The College of Winterhold has a spell for turning water into wine?” he demanded, still coughing slightly.

“No, just me.  It came with the purple hair,” she explained.

“Sanguine gave you the ability to make alcohol.  That’s not one I’ve heard before,” he drawled, giving her a shrewd look.  “I’m jealous.”

She shrugged.  “The Dunmer don’t worship him, do they?”

“He’s not one of the Reclamations,” Teldryn agreed, “but he’s also not one of the House of Troubles… unlike your other friend, Sheogorath.”

“The Dunmer have a problem with inspiration but not murder?” Alexa enquired.  “That’s… actually fascinating.”

“I have a hard time believing that you could have a problem with daedra worship,” Teldryn remarked dryly.

“That really depends on which one, but, generally speaking, I support the Dunmer people’s choice to embrace this world on its terms,” she replied with a dismissive shrug.  “Unlike the Altmer or even the Ayleids.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” Teldryn returned, sarcastically.  “My whole race will be much relieved by the news.”

Alexa cocked her head at that.  “Tell me about yourself, Teldryn, beyond your last patron being a true Nord.”

He glanced up at her.  “That’s usually something people who cares about such things asks before they start living with someone.”

“Champion of Sheogorath,” she smirked, pointing to herself, and then sighed dramatically, when it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer, and tried again.  “Fine, we’ll start small.  Why do you only take your helmet off when we’re alone, and only wear helmets that completely cover your face?”

“Obviously because I’d rather not be recognized.”

“Obviously,” she agreed affably.  “And why is that?”

“I… had a reputation, once,” he answered, evasively.

“… And?”

“And it earned me a place in a Great House.  A place I no longer hold.”

She blinked once in mild surprise.  “What happened?”

“Being part of a Great House is like living in a pit of snakes.  Not having been born into it I… realized I was better off without it and walked away.”

“And that’s socially problematic enough to warrant hiding out in Skyirm?”

“It can be.  And Solstheim isn’t Skyrim anymore.”

“Either way the Great Houses don’t have that much power here.  Why worry?”

“You have experience hiding from powerful people,” he pointed out, “what do you think?”

“I think I have been nothing but forthcoming with you, sir,” she replied primly.

That almost made him smile.  “I suppose that’s true.”  He paused, poking at the fire for a moment.  “I grew up in an orphanage in Cyrodiil.  I don’t remember my parents.  As with so many who grow up that way I eventually found myself in an imperial prison.  After I got out I decided to see Morrowind.  Once there I joined the Fighter’s Guild and impressed a few people.  The rest, as they say, is history.”

“When was this?”

“3E 426 or 27, I think,” he answered.  It really was getting to be a while ago now.

“Really?  Did you know the Nerevarine?” she asked.

Teldryn froze for just a moment.  “We were never introduced,” he answered carefully.2  Something must have showed on his face or in his voice because Alexa’s eyes narrowed.

“Where are we headed next?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I’d like to go back to that stalhrim source from the Skaal map,” she replied, pulling out her journal.  “I’d like to know how fast the stuff grows.  Then there is another word-wall somewhere between Saering’s Watch and the headwaters of the Harstrad.”

“Spend the night at the Skaal village afterwards?”

She nodded.

“You’re the boss.”

Notes:

1 “My wedding present to you, along with the usual powers and concessions, marriage between gods requires, blah, blah-blah.” – Sanguine, A2:01

For RW example of what “powers and concessions” in a marriage between gods can mean consider Hades’ gift of a large portion of his own tīmai in his marriage to Persephone. (Homeric Hymn to Demeter, lines 363-369, link)
tīmē/tīmai (pl) - “honor(s)” - indicating both the responsibilities of a social station and that which is due a person of that station. 
In essence Hades’ wedding gift catapulted Persephone from the role of a lesser goddess of spring, worshiped only as an adjunct of her mother Demeter, to a goddess on par with the Twelve Olympian Gods.  As a result Hades, himself, is reduced to taking a secondary role even within his own realm.  Yes, the Ancient Greeks worshiped Persephone as their god of the dead, not Hades.

For the ancient Greeks, Hades was yet another god who was acknowledged as existing but had no organized religion.  The general rule of thumb with gods that have no organized cult is that they are usually perceived as not needing one either because they can take their own sacrifices, like various war gods for whom every battlefield is a temple and every battle a sacrifice, or because, like the furies, they cannot be propitiated and drawing their attention is always bad.  Hades fell into both categories.  Therefor talking with his wife, about not letting your sick child die, seems to have been seen as the better option.

 

2 People so rarely introduce you to yourself.

Chapter 29: Cat-alyzed Revelations

Summary:

Earmiel reads some things Alexa acquired in Apocrypha.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Earmiel had begun his day by looking through the four loose pieces of paper stuck between the pages of Alexa’s book.  He’d started with the most recent looking piece noting with interest that, while the language was clearly Tamrielic1, both the type of paper, and the style of the lettering, were unfamiliar to him.2

Given the reported size of the dragon that had attacked Helgen – assuming that it really was this same Alduin as Alexa had, supposedly, told Ondolemar – this assertion seamed not just unlikely but physically impossible.  Earmiel put it aside without much thought.

The second loose note was written on the strange brown, fungus based, paper made in Morrowind,3 and was brittle with age. 4

5

Earmiel wondered if a Psijic really would say any of that.  Certainly there were a fair few Altmer that would.  The rest though… he rubbed distractedly at a temple.  The khajiit, and their cryptic way of referring to things, had never been his strong suite.  He always felt like he was missing the reference object of any statement they made.  But Alexa had found something about this important…  He picked up the last note and grimaced when he realized it too had been written by a khajiit.6

A frisson of apprehension crawled up Earmiel’s spine and settled somewhere deep in his mind.  What had Alexa said about that Ayleid necromantic piece she’d found8; that the images had ‘resonance’?  This, this resonated.  He read it over again carefully noting how each paragraph seemed to hint at something greater… like he was hearing only part of a conversation.  What he wouldn’t give to know what this piece was in response to or to whom it had been addressed. 

After another read through Earmiel sighed and set it aside as well.  He had a cypher to crack and there were people in the Resistance who were much more knowledgeable about the khajiit than he.  He would pass a copy of this piece on and see what they could make of it. 

 


 

“First spirits,” Earmiel breathed, a few hours later.  He had expected the Thalmor piece to be interesting.  He had not expected it to be a confession.9

“What are you doing?” an inquisitive voice asked, startling him. 

Earmiel looked up, to see Joric standing on the other side of the table from him.  He’d been so absorbed he hadn’t even heard the boy come in.  “Looking over some things a friend left me,” he answered, a little evasively.

Joric picked up one of the khajiiti pieces and frowned at it.

“What do you think of that one?” Earmiel asked, suddenly intrigued by what the realm-traveling boy might make of it.

“Jobasha says don’t you fall for the Elven Lie,” the boy read aloud. “The Tower is older than the elves, as old as music.  For it is the Word and the start of words and the end (and the end of ALMSIVI as Vivec may say or not say).”

Joric wrinkled his nose, “What’s the ‘Elven lie’?”

Earmiel smiled a little ruefully at that.  “There are so many lies in this world it is hard to say which one might be consider the elven lie.”

Joric nodded distractedly his eyes already skimming ahead.  “It might be something about the Tower…” he offered.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s in the next line,” Joric pointed out.  “The Tower of today is not The Tower of yesterday.”  He paused again, “What tower?  How can a tower change?”

“It is probably a reference to either the path to achieve CHIM or the Adamantine Tower in High Rock,” Earmiel answered.  “As to how it may change it is said that the sigil CHIM constantly distorts itself10 and a building can always have parts added onto it or torn down.”

Joric gave him a skeptical look but continued with his reading.  “Jobasha’s heresy lies in knowing even Ahnurr changes, as do all stars when they can walk.”  He looked up again.  “Stars can walk?”

“The Kahjiit have a peculiar relationship with time,” Earmiel told him.  “They seem to be the only species innately aware of when a transition into un-time has occurred.”

“How?” Joric asked.

“As the piece says, they are bound to the moons.  The moons are the remains of Lorkhan and…” Earmiel’s eyes widened slightly as things fell into place, “and Lorkhan is a god that exists on both sides of the time/un-time barrier,” he finished.

“Sooo, the stars don’t really walk, they’re just different in un-time,”11 Joric concluded, putting the piece of paper down without reading the rest of it.

Earmiel nodded thoughtfully.  “Does it mean anything to you?” he asked.

Joric thought about it for a moment.  “Does this have something to do with the ‘non-cardinal’ points you sometimes talk with Falion about?”

Earmiel blinked at that.  Did it?  The argument might be made that White-Gold had, over the centuries, played a role in maintaining the barrier between Nirn and Oblivion… was it possible the other Towers had similar properties?12  Could the destruction of the Towers, as described in the Dragonborn Prophecy, not simply have heralded the return of the dragons but have, in some way, been necessary for their return?13  He would have to ask Alexa.  “I don’t know,” he answered.

Joric pouted slightly.  He may have traveled to Lyg, Earmiel reflected, leaning back from the table slightly, but Joric was still just a boy.  “It’s not currently snowing,” he noted.  “Why don’t we skip our lesson for the day so you can play with your friends in the relative sunshine?”

“Really?” Joric exclaimed, in surprise and sudden excitement.

“Really,” Earmiel replied, picking up the piece of paper Joric had been reading to put it back with the others.

“… don’t you fall for the Elven Lie…  The Tower is older than the elves, as old as music.  For it is the Word and the start of words and the end (and the end of ALMSIVI as Vivec may say or not say),” Earmiel read, again, as he put the four piece of paper back between the pages of Alexa’s book.

In truth it didn’t really matter if this Jobasha had meant the Tower constellation, the Adamantine Tower, or the Tower of the Psijiic Endeavor.  If any of those Towers were older than the elves then the elves could not be fallen star-beings.  And if the end of the Tower would spell the end for even the god-kings of Morrowind…

“You won’t find what you’re looking for,” Joric said.  “They can’t be stopped.”

Startled Earmiel looked up to find the boy had paused with one hand already on the door.  “Who can’t be?” he asked, confused by the sudden, unconnected, comment.

“The Thalmor,” the boy answered simply.  “They are going to win.  In the end.”14

Earmiel met Joric’s eyes squarely and saw in them a level of acceptance – of fatalism – that was chillingly out of place in a ten year old.  “If they cannot be stopped, perhaps they can be delayed?” he offered.

The boy’s eyes went unfocused for a moment.  “Perhaps,” he responded, noncommittally, upon returning to himself.  “It won’t be easy though.”

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Earmiel told him softly.  “Now go, before you loose the sunshine.”

Notes:

1 The Wild Elves indicates that this is the term for the common language of Tamriel. (link)

2 My way of indicating developer content not attributed to an in-lore character. The piece is by Michael Kirkbride and is his answer to the question of “How does one eat the world”? It was posted 01/18/11. (link)

3 Paper image comparison Morrowind vs. Skyrim (link)

4 This undated developer piece contains past tense references to Tiber Septim, the Warp in the West, and the Middle Dawn (unhelpfully in that order). Meaning the piece could not have been written before the end of TES II: Daggerfall. “The darkness is reborn, crowned and conquering, and you pull the covers tighter and sleep,” appears to me to be a reference to Dagoth Ur and his Sleepers. If true, the fact it is in present tense would indicate that this piece was written for TES III: Morrowind. The use of the word “Wake”, in the last line, is also indicative of TESIII, which was heavily laden with waking/dream/sleeping metaphors.

5 Elder-Way warder: A descriptive term for a Psijic monk.
“what happened to the Dwarves”: They were destroyed because they believed a lie – that Akatosh had left Mundus.

6 Jobasha is a rare bookseller in Vivec City during TES III: Morrowind. Given the reference to the Tribunal in the first stanza I feel it fair to assume this Jobasha and that one are the same. (link)

7 “we carry the sugar of a star or a bone or a watery king”: Different explanations for the origin of Moon Sugar. So called because it helps you climb the Lunar Lattice to reach the moon.
Ja-Kha’jay = the Lunar Lattice. Since sugar is worthy of Ja-Kha’jay it is also worthy of the walker.

8 A3:18,
star-scrying to the edge of the ice-mind
look to the lights where the souls dance
revealing the time when a spark will revive
when the rotted united under most skillful hands

(Butcher Journal 2)

9 Don’t worry you’ll get the text of this later when Earmiel tells Dolly about it. But you can find it here (link) titled: What appears to be an Altmeri commentary on Talos.

10 Vehk’s Teaching, More on the Psijic Endeavor (link)

11 The stars are different in un-time but they also move around between kalpa.

12 For more on the Towers see my Elder Scrolls Notes chapters 9-11 (link)

13 In order for Alduin to return from un-time, perhaps?

14 “The Thalmor is easily the most dangerous organization in the Aurbis. More-so than Talos. They cannot be understood. They are the Other and they hate everything that even smells like mortality. And they’re going to win in the end.” – Michael Kirkbride’s reply to gaiden_ninja’s question, here (link)

Chapter 30: Metempsychosis

Summary:

The Dragonborn and the Nerevarine discuss the transmigration of souls.

Notes:

Author's Note:
Transmigration of souls – indicates the concept of the rebirth of a soul, into a new body, after death, without, necessarily, implying a culturally specific theory of how the process works.
Metempsychosis – from Greek metempsukhōsis, from meta- (expressing change), en ‘in’ and psukhē ‘soul’ – indicates the Platonic/Neoplatonic version of the concept.1

 

Early Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 3)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

At the now familiar sound of daedric tentacles, retreating back into the book from which they’d come, Teldryn closed the copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid, vol. 2 he’d found, dropped it heavily onto the floor, and regarded the dragonborn with palpable disapproval.

“Yes?” Alexa asked, putting the Black Book into in her pack.

“I’m trying to remember if I was ever as young and recklessly self-destructive as you are,” he informed her calmly, “and I find that I cannot recall.”

“I’ve never been imprisoned,” she pointed out.

“Prisons are safer than most of the things I’ve seen you do,” he replied, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning on.  “Are we done here?”

“Well we’ve found both the word wall and a Black Book, so I’d say we are more than done here,” she answered.

“Good, the way out is over there,” he pointed.

 


 

“You’re being remarkably quiet,” Teldryn noted after the first half hour of walking in silence.  “Did you run into something interesting during your latest tentacle-ing?”

Alexa made a slightly disgusted noise, from behind her mask, at his choice of description but didn’t argue.  “The book is called Untold Legends: the Other Lives of Ysgramor,” she told him.  It said: “As the great ships of men crawled the waves to their destinies, there were, after long years, a number of tales lost in the mists of morning.  Even after the forgetting though, wisps of story find ways to receptive ears as even the deepest of secrets never truly dies.”

“Makes sense that not all stories would get written down but that that failure wouldn’t completely remove them from the oral tradition,” Teldryn noted, giving her a sideways glance.  “But that’s not what it meant to you, is it?”

She shook her head.  “I think we are reborn in every kalpa.1  Those that transcend escape rebirth, while those that zero sum are lost forever, but, sometimes, the space their absence creates can still be felt because the pattern requires certain actions be taken and that which brought the pattern into being remains to enforce its continued existence.  This is how each kalpa is different from the last but also the same.”

“And the implications of that are?” he prodded.

“These ‘wisps of story’ remind us of what is possible allowing another to fill the important roles in each successive cycle.  But, I think, also make each individual, with each passing kalpa, responsible for more, and more, of the pattern.  Is it becoming too much, I wonder?  Is the strain of filling too many positions – or of too many positions left unfilled – what is fracturing this kalpa?”

Teldryn had no answer for that and so, instead, chose to focus on something a little closer to home.  “We are reborn into the next kalpa, not again into this one?” he asked carefully.

“No, or, I don’t think so.  At least, not usually,” she replied, sounding confused.  “The Nerevarine being the notable exception, I suppose...” her voice quieted as she clearly went from talking to him to thinking aloud.  “Was he already too close to godhood to pass on but not enough of a god to ascend?  No… we are told the Nerevarine was not born with the memory of being Indoril Nerevar, so his soul must have passed through the dreamsleeve… But Dagoth Ur was also killed and returned.  Similar time, similar place, different form of return, and he did remember himself.  …Clearly there must be more to Nerevar’s experience than peripheral contact with the Heart… unless Azura or...” her voice died completely away.

“Or?” he prodded again after she’d been silent for a full minute.

She gestured as if to wave away a thought.  “It just suddenly occurred to me that fragments of Lorkhan have been born into this kalpa more than once.  Each Shezarrine is different.  They do not appear to retain the memories of other Shezarrine, or even of Lorkhan, but they embody the same drive and focus as the god.  It further occurred to me that their situation sounded not un-like the tales I’ve heard about the Nerevarine who – like Nerevar before him – became Hortator of multiple great houses and fought his way to the heart of Red Mountain to face a threat to his people, but did not remember any detail of Indoril Nerevar’s life.”

“And the connection between the two that triggered that thought?” Teldryn enquired, confused.

Varieties of Faith in the Empire says that Nerevar killed the Last Dwarven King and ‘feasted on his heart’.  But the Secret Song of Wulfharth Ash-King claims that Nerevar cut out, not the heart of Dumac Dwarfking, but the heart of the Shezarrine oversoul Ysmir Wulfharth.  Both of which could be true since the event occurred during a Dragon Break.”

“With you so far,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly against the idea of eating someone’s still bleeding heart.

“Well, what if, even in only one of the possible Dragon Break timelines, Nerevar consumed the heart of Ysmir Wulfharth - a Shezarrine actively in contact with the heart of Lorkhan at the time it happened?”

Teldryn stopped in his tracks, stunned.  “I have no idea what that would mean.”

“Neither do I.  But I think that, even if the jill were to reorder the timeline such that Ysmir Wulfharth retained his heart after the Battle of Red Mountain, which we know he did since Zurin Arctus later killed him in order to obtain if for use in the Mantella, Nerevar’s soul being – even briefly – that directly connected to the power of Lorkhan would not have been something the jill could fully undo.”

“And, you think, it would have bound Nerevar’s soul to this world… but not the Heart itself?”

“I don’t know.  I… would need more information about Nerevar himself before I could say anything about it in less purely theoretical terms.  Unless, of course, I’m completely wrong and, like when mantling a god, merely successfully filling the position of Nerevarine was enough to become him.”  She shook her head, dismissing the thought.  “But that would run counter to the whole concept of incarnation, which is, supposedly, what has set the Nerevarine apart from other mortals who have risen to god-like status.”

“And you are certain Nerevar’s incarnation required more than that Azura shove his soul into a new body?” Teldryn asked.  “He was her champion.  She would have had access to his soul upon his death.”

Mantling and incarnation are separate roads; do not mistake this.  The latter is built from the cobbles of drawn-bone destiny,2” she responded, sounding like she was quoting someone.  “While Azura may ease a person’s progression along fate’s path she cannot create or change it.”  Her voice faded away again. 

Teldryn waited patiently.

“No, the only way the jill might have allowed such a return, without having been overpowered by Lorkhan, would have been to complete Nerevar’s destiny.  And, even then, only if that destiny were critically important.”

“Like destroying the Heart of Lorkhan?” Teldryn suggested.

She stopped walking for a moment, tilting her head at him.  “Perhaps,” she allowed, her tone clearly indicating that she was reassessing something as she looked at him.  “Though, I think, ‘forcing it out of time’, is likely to be more accurate.”3

Teldryn grimaced behind his helmet and mentally reduced the number of slipups he thought he could get away with before the perniciously observant dragonborn figured him out.  He had no doubt – knowing her has he had come to – that she would figure him out eventually.  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hoping it would be later rather than sooner.  “Village ahead,” he noted, tipping his chin in the direction they were walking.  “You have any plans for our time here that I should know about?”

“I have some things4 I’d like Baldor to make for me,” she replied.

“For you or for that – what was his name – Thalmor?”

She shrugged.  “As I said, I owe Mephala a new toy.”5

“Azura preserve us,” he muttered, following her into the village.

Notes:

1 For a short discussion of the influence of Virgil’s Æneid on TES’ soul-cycle, please see my Elder Scrolls Lore Notes on the subject. (link)

2 Nu-Hatta of the Sphinxmoth Inquiry Tree (link)

3 “…we of all the Aurbis live on… [the] whim that he [Aka] begat by saying ‘I AM’... is it any wonder that the Time God would hate the same-twin on the other end of the aurbrilical cord, the Space God? That any Creation would become so utterly dangerous because of that singular fear of a singular word’s addition: ‘I AM NOT’?” - et'Ada, Eight Aedra, Eat the Dreamer (link)
Or any surprise that the Time God, and his jill, would seek to force the Space God out of Time in order to avoid the addition of that word?

4 Stalhrim staff blank (A3:10, A3:34, A3:35) and some special arrowheads (used in A4:29).

5 A2:05, Alexa to Mephala, via the Ebony Blade:
“I’ll play with you, but we are setting some ground rules first. You break them and your sword goes in the nearest time anomaly I can find. Also, you will be removing your influence from the children of the Jarl of Whiterun without harming them in the process.”
Alexa told Teldryn she owed Mephala a “new toy” after their encounter with Ancarion in A3:10.

Chapter 31: Avoidance and Distractibility

Summary:

Teldryn is frustrated by the Dragonborn’s continuing inability to stay on task.

Notes:

Early Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 5)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Two days later…

“There’s a cave over there,” Alexa noted, pointing east.

“You’re practicing avoidance,” Teldryn commented, kicking dirt into the Haknir’s Shoal bandit camp’s fire pit.

“You think I’m avoiding returning to the village?” Alexa asked a little surprised.

“I think that cave has nothing to do with,” he began ticking off his fingers, “killing bandits for the Skaal, finding word walls, or even the locations of those armor pieces I assume we’ll be digging up, not to mention stopping Miraak.”  Finished with the fire pit he crossed his arms over his chest.  “You are still planning on that last one, right?”

She shrugged.  “We’ve still got a day or so before Baldor said he’d be done making a staff-blank from stalhrim.  And yesterdays detour1 provided not one, but three, Words of Power.  And those floating bridges definitely deserve some study.  Perhaps the college of Winterhold will be interested…” Alexa’s voice trailed off as she turned her attention back to the cave.  “You’re not even a little curious about what might be in it?” she asked him.

“Sometimes a cave is just a cave,” he told her.

“And sometimes it’s a hidden Dwemer ruin!” she pointed out.

“I believe the only thing you’ll find in Frossel is Rieklings,” he said.

“Frossel?  Didn’t that reaver we ran into near the water stone says something about this place?”2

“He did.  But only a fool takes a camp from the Rieklings and doesn’t expect them to come back.”3

She thought about it for a moment.  “Alright, we’ll leave the dogs out here, sneak in, and see what we find.  Have you been in before?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve explored the island,” he reminded her.

“What’s the inside like?”

“It used to be a pretty straight shot to the main chamber.”

Used to be?” she prodded.

“It’s been a while.”

 


 

“A very long while, apparently,”4 Alexa commented when they reemerged about an hour later.

“Where would those little blighters have come across horses?” Teldryn wondered, mystified.  “There haven’t been horses on Solstheim since the early Imperial days.”

Alexa cocked her head at that.

“The Empire’s attempts to introduce Horses to Morrowind failed horribly,” he informed her.  “The attempt here was similarly ill-fated.”

“Raven Rock was first settled by the East Empire Company, was it not?” she asked.

“It was.”

“It seems Fethis isn’t the only person hoping the East Empire Company will return to Solstheim,” Alexa snickered.  “Though I doubt their prayers are going to be any more effective than his.”5

There was nothing to say to that, so Teldryn didn’t try.  “Well, what’s next?”

“I still have that briarheart for Neloth,” she said.  “We could make it to Tel Mithryn before dark.”

“Are you finally going to ask him about the Black Books?” Teldryn enquired, not believing it for a moment.

“Maybe?” she answered.  “We’ll see when we get there.”

 


 

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, Sero,” Alexa remarked as they left Tel Mithryn the next morning.

“Is hunting down Neloth’s un-dead apprentice part of a plan to defeat Miraak that I am unaware of?” he asked, without inflection.

“Not directly, no.  But I got the distinct impression that asking Master Neloth to concentrate on anything else, with this going on, would have been futile.  If we fix this problem for him I may get the information out of him when I ask about the books.”

“Doubtful,” Teldryn muttered.  “At least not without something in it for him.”

“Oh?  I take it you’ve done work for him before?”

“It… was a while ago.”

“How long ago, exactly?”

“He was still living in Morrowind at the time,” Teldryn replied, evasively.  “But I don’t think his time here is likely to have changed him much.”

There was a brief moment in which Teldryn thought she might ask something more but, to his relief, she just shrugged and let the topic drop.

 


 

“What a waste,” Alexa muttered as Teldryn crouched down and closed Ildari’s eyes. 

“The search for immortality has claim a great many lives over the years,” he told her emotionlessly.  “At least this is less grotesque than corprus6.”  He looked up at Alexa.  It seemed the dragonborn was still young enough to be both angry and appalled by what they’d found.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Alexa began in an indignant tone.  “Neloth really thought that implanting something, infused with the pain of a god’s disembodied heart, in his apprentice’s chest wasn’t going to cause problems?  And she agreed?”

“What?” he demanded, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.

“Sunder, keening, and wraithguard,” Alexa told him.  “The names of Kagranac’s tools are not without meaning.  The power of Lorkhan – its Tone – is the keening agony of a body and heart sundered, one from the other.  A sound from which we must all be guarded lest our souls be subsumed within it like the flame of a candle in a house fire.”

“No wonder Nerevar didn’t want them to use it,” Teldryn muttered.  The only one of the Tribunal with the capacity to adequately handle their emotions, against such an assault, would, likely, have been Vivec.  In hindsight even that was questionable.

“You alright?” she asked, suddenly sounding concerned.  “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” he told her, standing abruptly.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Alexa gave him a worried look.  “Lets not go back to Tel Mithryn just yet,” she suggested.

“Very well.”

“Instead, lets go see how the guy excavating the barrow outside town is doing.  We can spend the night in Raven Rock afterwards, in our own beds.”

Teldryn acknowledged the suggestion with a single nod.  Own beds, he thought, as he waited for her to precede him across the bridge to the other side of the room.  Had he just been permanently uninvited from nightmare duty?  It seemed likely.  To be fair, since her return from Skyrim, the dragonborn hadn’t had a single nightmare that had required his intervention.  That was – unquestionably – good.  Though they also hadn’t killed a dragon since her return so it was impossible to say if, upon doing so, things would revert to their previous state. 

He watched her climb the stairs and open the hidden door back to the tower’s entrance.  He had allowed their relationship, during her first visit to the island, to become… complicated, Teldryn reflected.  Since her return the growing uncertainty in their relationship, partially due to that complication and partial due to his worry – especially over the last few days – that she seemed to be catching on to him, was adding unfortunate friction to their partnership.  Mostly, he had to admit, on his end.  Either way it would need to be addressed if they were going to continue to work together.

If only Alexa would stop avoiding the next step on her fated path to facing Miraak, Teldryn thought grumpily, he might be able to avoid having their inevitable talk until afterwards.  That way, if their conversation went badly, he wouldn’t feel quitting was tantamount to abandoning her to her fate… as much.  Unfortunately the dragonborn seemed to be afraid of taking that next step.  “I’ll pretend that I didn’t notice that two of those armor pieces are on the west coast of the island,” he said, as they started towards Raven Rock.

“Please do,” she sniffed.  “I’d love to see you pretend not to be putout with me.”

“I predict more draugr at the dig site,” he said, ignoring that last comment.

“Even Ralis can’t be that unlucky, can he?”

“What is your continuing interest in such an ill-fated venture?”

“There’s a Word Wall in the second room, somewhere.  I could hear it the first time we entered the barrow.”

Teldryn nodded once in understanding.  The silence between them lasted nearly three minutes.

“Hey,” Alexa began, “Was corprus really an attempt at immortality?”

“So Dagoth Ur, and the Sixth House, claimed.”

“Wasn’t it deadly?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Huh.  That sounds like failure to me.  Any idea how it was supposed to work?”

“That seems more your specialty than mine, dragonborn,” he answered.  “I don’t know that anyone ever thought to ask Dagoth Ur for an explanation of his divine theory.”

She was silent for a while.

“What do you know of him?” Teldryn asked, curiously.

“The dragons did not wish to know him or be near him,” she answered.  “So I do not have their memories to draw upon.”

“Anything from Apocrypha?”

“Dagoth Ur,” she replied, sounding like she was reciting something again, “Sharmat.  Dream-sleeved inversion, where the Biters live, he brought them here, pawn of the Aggregate.”7  She paused.  “A dead dream, dreaming it lived, unable to distinguish between realities.  Dreamsleeve inversion, it remembered in death what it had forgotten in life – knew only those timelines that had not come to pass or had been mended away.  Pawn of the Aggregate, shackled to realizing the fantasies of the dreamers it enslaved to bring it into the world.”8

“Dagoth Ur was an embodiment of the Dunmer’s collective id?”

“More than that, but possibly, yes,” she answered.  “Possibly also a reflection of Lorkhan’s own failure to transcend; a negative example of the Way.”  She tipped her head to one side, scrutinizing him.  “You are more interested in this than in most of the crazy things I say, why?”

“He killed a lot of people, destroyed a lot of lives, threatened to destroy the country he claimed he was saving...  I have never understood.”

Alexa nodded slightly.  “It is clear that Dagoth Ur was delusional but have wondered if he was truly as insane as Sermon Fifteen paints him.”

“If you had ever seen corprus you would not question.”

“I suppose.”  She fell silent again.

“Which one is Fifteen?”9 he asked, breaking several minutes of silence.

“I am the sharmat / I am older than music…” she answered. 

“If memory serves that piece is fairly strange.  But that is not the strangest line in it, is it?”

“Perhaps, but dragon blood tells me it is the most disturbing,” she answered.  “Such a thing is impossible.  To even make the claim…”10 she shook her head.  “To do so as a god – someone who should know how impossible it is – actually terrifying, if true.”

“If true?  You do not trust Vivec’s portrayal?”

“Trust a being that self-describes as the ‘thief of the world?” she returned, archly.11

Teldryn gave a dry chuckle.  “Hard to argue with, when put it like that.”

Notes:

1 Quest: Lost Legacy

2 The Elder Scrolls Wiki, Frossell, Trivia: “The Dragonborn can encounter a Reaver in the wilderness who will mention a Riekling invasion of Frossel, who took their treasure, at which point the Reaver will become hostile and attack.”

3 Frossell, it seems, is a common site of contention between various raiders/thieves and the Rieklings who also took the cave back from some thieves in TES III: Bloodmoon.

4 Frossel Bloodmoon vs. Dragonborn map comparison (link)

5 That Bethesda made the Rieklings cargo cultists who worship East Empire Company Santa Clause makes me endlessly happy. Frossel Picture:(link)
Wikipedia on Cargo Cults (link)

6 A quick overview of Corprus Disease (link)

7 Nu-Hatta of the Sphinxmoth Inquiry Tree (link)

8 House Dagoth believe corprus to be the evolution of the Dunmer race, bringing them unity, immortality, and cultural purity, while protecting them from external threats (like the Empire).

9 The Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec: Sermon Fifteen (link)

10 “He’s ego-trippin’ and balls-trippin’ at the same time. Remember, that quote is from the Sermons. Consider the source.” Michael Kirkbride - IRC Q&A Sessions, October 17th (link)

11 Vehk’s Book of the Last Hour (link)

Chapter 32: Revealed

Summary:

An unusually high health regeneration rate can be hard to hide.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 8)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Gyldenhul Barrow…

“You understand that, if we go in there, we’re going to be fighting ghosts, right?”

“Are you asking a dragon to be happy with an incomplete set of artifacts?” she asked him, notching a glowing arrow to Ariel’s bow.

“Right, how foolish of me to think one might be put off by robing the tomb of the ‘king of ghosts’,” he grumbled.

 


 

Alexa eyed the bloody holes that a frankly ridiculous number of ghost arrows had left in Teldryn’s armor.  “Even with my help, one those really should have dropped you,” she noted clinically.  “And this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed.”  She looked up at him in a way that would have indicated direct eye contact if they had not both been wearing things that covered their faces.  “Your unusual ability to bounce back from near death wouldn’t have anything to do with your uncharacteristically intense reaction to the results of Neloth’s heartstone experiments, would it?” she asked.

Teldryn took a seat, on the stairs leading up to the altar table, and pulled off his helmet with a heavy sigh.  “What shook me about that situation was not Neloth’s experiments, their purpose, or their failure, but your description of the power of the Heart,” he told her, running a hand, nervously, through his mohawk.

She pulled her mask off and settled beside him.  “Why?”

“It was… frighteningly accurate.”

She frowned at him her eyes searching his face.

“I was not joking when I introduced myself as the best swordsman in all Morrowind,” he told her with the ghost of a wry grin.  “I am also relatively good with magic… though, obviously, not in comparison to you.  I am also immune to disease, heal with – unusual – speed3, as you have noticed, and am no longer affected by the passage of time.”

She thought about that for a moment, her head tipped to one side.  “So, you’re the Nerevarine?”

He nodded, just once, acknowledging her statement.  “I suppose you have some thoughts on that,” he noted dryly. 

“Nerevarine: ‘Pantheon by incarnation, as all alive now know,’1”Alexa recited before pausing for thought.  “How does that work exactly?” she asked, suddenly.  “How connected to Indoril Nerevar do you feel?  Do you have memories from his life?”

“No,” Teldryn blinked, trying to adjust to the conversation’s sudden shift in tone.  “Or very few.  Mostly it’s the occasional feeling of déjà vu and some otherwise inexplicable emotional reactions but rarely anything solid.”

“Interesting,” she leaned in slightly as if to inspect him in some way.  “I wonder how Azura did it.  As I said a few days ago, it seems unlikely you could have passed, untimely2, through the dreamsleeve and still be Nerevar out the other side. Perhaps she captured those parts of Nerevar’s soul that she could within her star, reducing the portion of his soul, available to pass on, to the level of Grand rather than Black?  It might explain the loss of direct memory, I think.  Though use of the term “incarnation” suggests that the contents of the Star must have then been passed onto an unborn child.  Meaning that, perhaps, the Nerevarine – you – were born with the vitality – the varliance – of two souls?”  She paused, frowning slightly.  “Is two really enough to obtain godhood?”

“Perhaps enough to survive the ‘cure’ for corprus,” he answered with a shrug.

“So, in a manner of speaking, Dagoth Ur was successful,” she murmured.

“That’s a horrifying thought,” he said.  She didn’t respond, clearly still pondering something.

“I don’t suppose one of the dragons you’ve killed knew how Nerevar actually died?” he asked, before she could barrage him with a whole new list of questions.  “I’ve always wondered.”

“No,” she answered softly, leaning away from him a little as her eyes became unfocused.  “Drake do not exist within un-time, and the Battle of Red Mountain – the Red Moment – was a dragon break: the first numidition of this kalpa.  But…” she snapped back to the reality around her, “I feel it safe to say that the rise of the Tribunal – Lorkhan’s power in the hands of mortals – was not something the jill would have sought.  Given a choice they would have mended the timeline in such a way that Nerevar survived to prevent the use of Kagranac’s tools.  That they did not indicates that they could not because he died in every timeline.”

“So they all killed him,” Teldryn sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” Alexa told him with a small, slightly rueful, smile.  When Teldryn failed to say anything in response she changed the subject.  “You were a member of the Blades?”

“And you are Dragonborn.  The implications are not lost on me.”

“I am not the Emperor,” she pointed out.

“Yet,” he responded with a dry chuckle at her immediate, and obvious, discomfort.  “It doesn’t really matter, I suppose,” he continued.  “I may have never formally quit but I can’t really be said to have been particularly involved with them for well over a century now.”

“What rank did you achieve?”

“Operative,” he answered easily.  “Why?”

“I was contacted by a member of the Blades a few months ago.  I’m almost certain she’s going to end up being a problem.  I was wondering if there was any chance you might outrank her.”

He raised both eyebrows at that.

“When we last spoke she seems to think I should deal with both the dragons and the Thalmor simultaneously.  And by ‘deal with’ I’m pretty sure she means kill all of them permanently.”

“Does she understand what a burden dragon souls are on you?” he asked.

“I get the distinct impression she would see that as a problem for me to overcome not a reason to try something other than... holocaust4.”

“A surprisingly appropriate term,” Teldryn remarked. 

Alexa pulled a slight face at that but moved on.  “You told me that you are here in hiding… doesn’t working with the dragonborn endanger your cover?” she asked.

Teldryn gave a slight shrug.  “I played no obvious part in the Oblivion Crisis, though, without my help, I doubt House Redoran could have closed enough gates to claim it saved Morrowind.  At that time my skills were necessary, not the title of Nerevarine, and Morrowind still had Vivec watching over it.”

“You think the world may need the Nerevarine now?” she asked.

“No,” he answered with a slightly fond smile.  “The world already has its savior.  And I have complete faith in her abilities.  Sikendra d’Arthe, on the other hand, seems like she benefits from having someone around who understands better than most.”

“That’s… thank you,” Alexa whispered, around a suddenly tight throat.  “I really do appreciate it.”

“Destiny is a difficult thing, in my experience,” Teldryn said.  “And I was considerably older than you are when mine caught up with me.”

“Both times,”5 she smiled.

“True,” he acknowledged.  He watched her intently as she fuss with a tear in her armor.  The tomb of a previously undead pirate king probably wasn’t the right time or place but Teldryn had lived long enough to know that there would never be a “right time” for what he was about to say.  “Sometimes, I think, you remind me of her, or, more likely, the person he thought she was.”  There, it was out in the open now. 

He’d expected Alexa to deflect in some way but, instead, she met his eyes.  “Too bad he was so wrong about them all,” she said without looking away.  

Her unexpected response left Teldryn staring down into her ice blue eyes, too stunned to say anything, as the tension in the air between them built.

“Can I ask you something?” he finally said, breaking the growing tension.

“What more about the dragonborn could you possibly wish to know, Nerevarine?” Alexa returned, looking away.

“From the way you talk about him I assume your husband isn’t just any Sanguine cultist,” he told her.  “Have you been intentionally avoiding telling me who he is?”

“Why?  Do you want to meet him?” she asked.

Notes:

1 Nu-Hatta of the Sphinxmoth Inquiry Tree (link)

2 before the end of a kalpa.

3 Since, in TES III, character’s health affects their ability to resist diseases, logically, becoming immune to disease would also affect health. Equally it seems to me that much of the physical symptoms of corprus indicate over-active cell growth – in game terms regenerating health past the point of being fully healed.

4Lets talk definitions before anyone gets upset at me for using this word in this way.

Holocaust: from Greek holokauston, from holos ‘whole’ + kaustos ‘burnt’.  
Before the 20th century the term indicated a form of animal sacrifice (and still does in academic circles).  A holocaust sacrifice was one in which the entire animal was thrown into the fire for the gods (rather than the more common burning of only certain parts of the animal, and eating the rest in a ritual feast).  After the fire was out, the ashes, and any bones still left, had to be buried and could not be used for any industrial purpose like the making lye etc.  Holocaust sacrifices were performed, primarily, in rites related to the dead, the gods of the dead, or other chthonic entities.

In TESV, when the dragonborn kills a dragon, the dragon burns away completely and so the event is, literally, a holocaust.
But is it also a sacrifice and, if so, to whom?
RW Side Note: dragons in Europe and the Near East are usually consider chthonic entities.

5 According to the 36 Lessons, Almalexia was already a ruler of the Chimer when she met Nerevar, indicating she was likely already an adult at the time. The 36 Lessons also indicate that Nerevar was of a different, older, generation than his wife. Taken together it seems likely Nerevar was middle aged by the time he became Hortator of the Chimer.
The Nerevarine – upon receiving the cure for corprus – can no longer be harmed by “blight nor age”. Meaning that, until that moment, he had aged normally (for a Dunmer). It seems narratively appropriate that the Nerevarine’s age, at the time he began to walk the path to becoming Hortator, be similar to that of Indoril Nerevar during his own assentation to the position of Hortator.
It is rather lucky, then, that Teldryn strikes me as being – at least physically – in his early forties (human terms).

Chapter 33: The Path of Knowledge?

Summary:

Uuhg. The hangover is real.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 9)

Chapter Text

Teldryn groaned awake to find himself sandwiched between a naked, male, dremora – quite possibly Alexa’s summon, from the looks of him – and an equally naked Talvas.  On the other side of the room, sitting on a bear pelt on the floor, carrying on an animated conversation with Neloth, was a naked daedric prince.  Alexa, wearing a blue robe that was somewhat too long for her, was seated in the prince’s lap with his arms wrapped securely, possibly even possessively, around her.

“Sithis take you, Sanguine,” Teldryn moaned as he sat up.  “Tell me I haven’t been exiled this time.”

The daedric prince grinned at him.  “It’s been a while… Teldryn.”

“They still won’t let me back into Blacklight you know,” he remarked, with a warning glare at the prince.

“Nothing so exciting this time, I assure you,” the prince laughed acknowledging the look with a slight arch of one brow.  “Haven’t you heard?” he continued.  “My marriage has had a sobering effect on me!”

“Has not,” Alexa muttered.  “I just told you I needed him functional.”

“Marriage?” Teldryn blinked, stunned.  “Wait, does that mean he’s your mysterious husband?” he demanded, addressing Alexa.  “As in you’re married to a daedric prince?”

“I told you he’s not like most men,” Alexa reminded him mildly.  “I’m just astonished that anything about my life can still surprise you.”

“I’m more surprised he’d get married.  I mean…” Teldryn’s voice trailed off as Sanguine gave him a bemused look.  Thankfully, since Neloth was looking him over with a puzzled frown, Drovas appeared beside him offering a hooded robe, a cure poison potion, and a tankard of tea.

“So, do you know where I can find the Black Book I’m looking for?” Alexa asked Neloth, effectively taking the Telvanni wizard’s attention off him as Teldryn struggled into the robe and pulled the hood over he head to shade his eyes and hide his face.

“Oh yes,” Neloth replied, turning back to her.  “They’re not hard to locate once you know how to look for them.  I have one here that I have been using to locate more.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I haven’t been idle while this fascinating madness engulfed Solstheim.  But my book isn’t what you’re looking for.  I’m quite sure it is unconnected with this Miraak.  But I do know where to find a Black Book that can help you.  I haven’t been able to get it, though...  But maybe together we can unlock the secrets the Dwemer left behind.”

“The Dwemer?” Alexa asked, as Teldryn joined the conversation circle, tea in hand.

“Forbidden knowledge was somewhat a specialty of the dwarves, eh?  You don’t think they would just leave it alone, do you?  It seems the ancient Dwemer discovered this book and took it to study.  I have found their “reading room” in the ruins of Nchardak.  The book is there, but it’s sealed in a protective case, which I wasn’t able to open…”

Teldryn jumped, and nearly spilled his tea, when the dremora he’d woken up next to gave his butt a good squeeze as it walked past him.  “My lord,” the dremora greeted his prince with a low bow before leaning in and kissing Alexa on the mouth.

“Hey!  None of that!” Sanguine objected, smacking the dremora lightly across the horns.  “What happens during a party and what happens the next morning are two entirely different things!  Be off with you!”  There was a flash of purple light and the dremora vanished.

Teldryn took a large swallow of his tea and gave Alexa a bleary look.  “Did we have sex last night?” he asked his favorite patron, current best friend, possible romantic interest (though, given recent revelations, that last one deserved some more thought) and – it appeared – beloved wife of the daedric prince of debauchery.

Alexa gave him a cool, slightly bemused, look.  “What answer would make you happier?” she asked as Sanguine snickered into her hair.

“An honest one.”

“Then, honestly, I think the only person in the room you didn’t have sex with last night is Drovas.”

Teldryn choked on his tea and looked over at Neloth.

“Sex is not only for the young you know,” Neloth sniffed at him.  “It does wonders for clearing the mind to make way for new thoughts.”  He frowned at Talvas still asleep on the floor.  “We will see if Talvas’ performance around here is improved.  If so, I may want you to keep him company on a more regular basis.  You will be paid of course.”

“You did not seriously just try to hire my man-at-arms away from me, did you?” Alexa asked Neloth.

“No-no, of course not, of course not,” Neloth assured her disingenuously before turning back to Teldryn.  “Your duties to the dragonborn would, of course, take precedence.”

“Neloth!” Alexa snapped throwing a piece of the sweet roll she was eating at the Telvanni wizard-lord.  “As one Grand Master to another, no poaching the members of my household!”

“Fine-fine, not that Restoration is as impressive a discipline as Enchanting.  But you have married rather well, haven’t you?”  He eyed the smiling daedric prince currently wrapped around the small Breton.  “I suppose Talvas will just have to do without… unless that dremora?”

“If you want to start summoning randy dremora to keep Talvas ‘company’ I’m sure you and Sanguine can work something out,” Alexa sighed.  “Still, I’m not certain how appreciative Talvas will actually be.  I’d hate to think of the destruction that could be caused around here if he resisted”

“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” Neloth agreed after a slight pause to consider the issue.

“Maybe just summon one for yourself and get your productivity boost that way?” Teldryn suggested, unable to help himself in the face of such a ridiculously bad idea.

“Hmm… yes, I see your point.  Wouldn’t want my efforts to go to waste just because Talvas is a prude.  It’s settled then!  I will help you locate that book of arcane knowledge you seek in return for a spell that summons one of Sanguine’s dremora to see to my needs.”

“I know just the one,” Teldryn heard Sanguine murmur in Alexa’s ear.

“Shall we be off then?” Neloth asked.

“Let me get dressed,” Alexa replied, snapping her fingers.

“Ah, my lady, I have brought your things,” the stuffy dremora announced.  “My lord, I believe your presence would be appreciated more elsewhere.”

“I don’t know,” Alexa smiled, tilting her head back to look up at Sanguine.  “I rather appreciate him right where he is.”

“Yes well, the two of you appreciated each other quite enough last night,” the dremora informed her primly, pulling Alexa to her feet and beginning to dress her.  “You’re lucky the Valkynaz had that friend of yours to play with or there might have been trouble.”

“And how do you know that?” Alexa asked.

The dremora sniffed.  “I wouldn’t make a very good servant if I didn’t know what you were up to.”

“We are going to need Teldryn’s things as well,” Alexa informed him, her tone strangely even.  “All of them.”

“At once, my lady,” the butler bowed and warped out.

“A voyeur?” Alexa demanded, turning on her husband.  “My butler is a voyeur and my bodyguard’s what?

“I told you weeks ago the Rose dremora has a thing for you,” Sanguine pointed out, leaning back to lounge, provocatively, on the bearskin he was sitting on.  “But, while I don’t mind sharing, in general, it seems I’d rather not share you while actually present.”

The dremora butler warped back in with Teldryn’s things.  He noted, as he struggled into his armor, that it had been fully, and seamlessly, repaired.  Perhaps Sanguine was more interested in his wife’s welfare then was readily apparent, he thought, as he adjusted his helmet.  The darkened glass over the eyes was a godsend given his current condition.

“Talvas, you lazy oaf!” Neloth called out, raising his voice and making Teldryn flinch.  “I am going out and need you to watch the experiments while I’m gone.  No, don’t thank me.  Everything you need to know is in my journal over there.  Remember to take notes!  I will be especially interested to know if it changes color or makes any sort of noise.”  He turned back to Alexa as Teldryn came up beside her.  “To Nchardak, then!  Follow me.”

Alexa leaned over and quickly kissed her husband goodbye.

“Let me know when you learn the third word for that dragon form shout,” Sanguine whisper to her in a heated undertone.  “It has potential.”  Then the daedric prince, and his bearskin, disappeared in a swirl of purple light.

“I’m not sure I needed to hear that,” Teldryn complained.

“Hear it, or imagine it?” Alexa asked wickedly.

“I may never sleep again,” he countered, dryly.

“I’m waiting!” Neloth called, imperiously, from the bottom of the elevation glyph.

Chapter 34: Epistolary Acumen

Summary:

Strange times, stranger bedfellows

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202 (2nd Visit to Solstheim, Day 9)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

1

“Oh good,” Neloth comment, even as the tentacles wrapped around the dragonborn’s head.  “Be sure to say hello to Hermaeus Mora for me, if you see him.”

Teldryn leaned against the wall and watched as Neloth, incapable of standing still for any length of time, began to inspect the semi-translucent tentacles coming from the book.

“What was Akavir like?” Neloth suddenly inquired, without looking in Teldryn’s direction.

“Never been,” Teldryn replied with complete honesty. 

One of Neloth’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance.  The wizard-lord tried again.  “It seems you’ve found yourself a second, much younger, woman to put too much faith in,” he noted, with a condescending sniff.2  “One would hope you’d have learned something from your previous life.”

We’ve both already obtained immortality, old man.  What’s taking you so long?” Teldryn countered calmly.

That got a brief glare in his direction.  “Some of us have to work for our achievements.”

“If I were you, I think I would avoid suggesting to the dragonborn that she is not working hard – and at great personal risk – to achieve the ends the gods have set for her," Teldryn advised him solemnly.

“Fate is fate,” Neloth countered.  “When failure isn’t possible effort is unnecessary.”

“Real Moment.”

Neloth raised both eyebrows at that.  “I see.”  He paused, his foot tapping rapidly on the floor as he thought.  “The Princes seem unusually aligned in their actions, for the moment.  Miraak cannot be the cause.”

“Alduin,” Teldryn answered.

That, finally, caused Neloth to fully turn to face him.  “That explains a few things.  But not why the dragonborn has taken so long to deal with Miraak.”  His eyes narrowed slightly.

“She fears Hermaeus Mora, and Its plans,” Teldryn respond.

“Then she is smarter than she seems,” Neloth noted, returning to his examination of the unresponsive dragonborn.  “Perhaps her husband will be able to help her when Mora, inevitably, attempts to put her in Miraak’s place...  You certainly wont be of any use.”

Teldryn gritted his teeth at that but refused to be baited into further conversation.

 


 

Apocrypha…

“All seekers of knowledge come to me, sooner or later,” the sucking voice of Hermaeus Mora announced even as disembodied goat-eyes began to bubble into the sky above her.

Alexa sighed softly and prepared herself for some daedric monologuing.

“You have entered my realm six3 times now, and have finally found your way here, following in my servant Miraak’s footsteps.  You have sought out the forbidden knowledge that only one other has obtained...”  The voice paused infinitesimally.  “You are, like Miraak before you, a seeker of knowledge and power.  You too are Dragonborn.  Like him you come here seeking the power that is your birthright.”

Alexa rolled her eyes at that but didn’t interrupt.

“I know what you want,” Mora whispered, “to use your power as Dragonborn to bend the world to your will…”  When Alexa failed to respond he continued, “Here then is the knowledge you need, although you did not know you needed it. The second Word of Power.  Use it to bend the will of mortals to your purpose!”

“What’s the catch?” she asked, wincing as the knowledge of the new word seared into her mind.

“It is not enough,” Mora snickered softly.  “Miraak knows the final Word of Power.  Without it, you cannot hope to surpass him…  I can grant you the same power as he wields, but all knowledge has its price.”

“Isn’t Miraak your ally?” she asked.

“He has served me long and well.  But he grows restless under my guidance.  His desire to return to your world would spread my influence more widely.  But it will also set him free from my direct control.  It may be time to replace him with a more loyal servant.  One who still appreciates the gifts that I have to offer.”

“I fear that my time is already spoken for.”

“You will serve me, willing or not,” Mora hissed ominously.  “All who seek after the secrets of the world are my servants.”

That, Alexa felt, seemed like something of an over reach on Mora’s part.  Just because someone inadvertently did something beneficial for you didn’t give you the right to treat them like a servant.  It also seemed unwise to ignore the possibility that they may have had other motivations than helping you.  “Why do I need this Word of Power to defeat Miraak?” she asked, shoving her thoughts on the dangers of a purely egocentric worldview aside for later consideration.

“Even dragons submit to Miraak’s Voice,” Mora told her.  “Without that power, you cannot face him.  So say I, Hermaeus Mora, master of the tides of Fate!”

Alexa looked expressively around her at the moldering books and the other islands off in the distance and then turned back to the Daedric Prince floating above her.  “Right.  And what is your price for the final Word of Power?”

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Mora answered.  “The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years.  The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library.  Send the Skaal shaman to me.  He holds the secrets that will be mine.”

A surprisingly simple request, Alexa reflected.  Though, given Hermaus Mora’s claims about the importance of the third word, there was, doubtless, more to this price than the stated value…  Still, failing to accept the offer might leave her stuck here.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

 


 

“Well?” Neloth demanded as Alexa returned to herself.  “What happened?  What did you see?  Different people have very different experiences when reading these books.”

“I talked with Hermaeus Mora,” she answered, tiredly.

“You’re still surprisingly sane, too,” Neloth observed critically.  “What did he have to say?  He must have wanted something from you.”

“He wants the ‘secrets of the Skaal’,” she answered, putting the Black Book in her pack.

“What secrets could they have worth keeping from old Mora?” Neloth huffed, unimpressed.  “Sounds like a bargain to me.  Hermaeus Mora learns some fascinating new ways to skin a horker, and you become the second most powerful Dragonborn that ever lived!  Well, that gives me a lot to think about...  I need to get back to Tel Mithryn.  I have some ideas about how to locate more of these Black Books...

“You still owe me that staff enchantment!” she called after him.

“Yes, yes, I’ll get it done...” he called back over his shoulder as he pushed open the door.  “By Malacath’s toenails, where did that come from?”

“Miraak has commanded your death!” the dragon, that had been circling above, proclaimed, as it settled on the tower across from the door.  “Soon he will return to resume his rightful junaar4 over Solstheim.”

“You can explain your failure to him when he consumes your soul,” Alexa replied, stepping out, into the sunlight, and drawing her bow.

 


 

Alexa didn’t bother to watch Mirrak absorbed the dragon’s soul, or listen to whatever he would have said, simply turning her back on the spectral dragonborn and walking away. 

“We’re not going to the Skaal Village?” Teldryn enquired, as they turned to follow Neloth, who’s apparent interest in returning to his experiments meant he was already thirty feet ahead and continuing to outpace them.

“I need to rest and think first,” she answered, a note of exhaustion creeping into her voice.

He nodded and followed her silently down the coast.

“What’s on your mind, Teldryn?” she finally asked as they passed into the mushroom grove.

“I know I’m going to hate myself for asking this but, are there any redeeming features in being married to Sanguine?”

“Surprisingly enough it’s been… remarkably freeing,” she answered with a slight laugh.  “And before you smirk and say something about how unsurprising that is, I don’t mean it like that.  Well, not just like that.”

“Then how do you mean it?”

“I’ve spent the last eleven years running from the Thalmor.  Knowing that there's a daedric prince out there with a more than passing interest in my wellbeing has been… reassuring.  Also the back rubs.”

“The what now?”

“No, seriously.  His hands are amazing.  I haven’t popped a rib or thrown out my back in months.  His foot rubs are also pretty spectacular.”

Teldryn stared at her, dumb struck.  Then he laughed.  Not his usual dry chuckle but an actual laugh.  “You really are a delight,” he told her with an almost embarrassing level of sincerity.

 


 

“Did the letter the courier delivered have something important in it?” Teldryn asked as they exited Tel Mithryn the next morning.

“Ralis has finally gotten around to upsetting more draugr,” she told him.

“How surprising,” he drawled. 

“Afterwards I think I’ll be returning to Skyrim for a bit.”

“You don’t think you should deal with Miraak first?”

“I think that, now that I know what Mora wants, I want to talk to some people about what that might mean.”

“I see.”

“Do you wish to join me?” she asked.

“No.  I have some errands to take care of in Morrowind.  Don’t worry, I’ll probably be back long before you are.”

“Suite yourself,” she replied, in a near perfect imitation of him.

Notes:

1 In ESO Epistolary Acumen, by The Transparent One, is listed in The Library of Dusk’s catalogue of the rare books contained in vault twelve (on page 3).  The catalogue entry indicates that the book contains: "Forbidden invocations of inimical Daedra." (link)

2 Nerevar was considerably older than his wife.
“Dagoth Ur is the former Lord High Councilor of House Dagoth. He was of Lord Nerevar’s generation, older than we, and a mighty sorcerer...” – Vivec, TESII: Morrowind.

3 The Winds of Change – A3:01
   Waking Dreams – A3:05, A3:06
   The Sallow Regent – A3:27
   Untold Legends – A3:30
   Epistolary Acumen – A3:34

4 "kingship"

Chapter 35: The Center Cannot Hold

Summary:

Alexa spends fewer than 48hrs in Winterhold

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Brelyna, I’m a member of house Telvanni now!” Alexa called out as she burst into the Hall of Attainment during the mid-afternoon study period.

“You’re what?” Brelyna asked, stepping out of her room, obviously perplexed.

“Yes, um, ever heard of a Telvanni wizard named Neloth?” Alexa asked, shrugging out of her pack and dropping it at the foot of her bed.

Brelyna’s face took on a pained expression.  “Great-uncle Neloth, yes.”

“I see you know him,” Alexa laughed.  “I ran a few errands for him and he decided to make me a member of his household!  He tells me it’s a great honor.”

“I’m sure he told you that, yes.  That would be just like him.”

“More like slavery I take it?” Alexa asked.

“Very honorable slavery,” Brelyna confirmed.

“That’s what I thought,” Alexa sighed, settling on the floor to begin unpacking.  “Ah well, and I had wondered what it might be like to live in a mushroom.  Oh and Neloth also says that he would be happy to accept Savos Aren as his apprentice!”

Brelyna moaned and covered her face.  “You didn’t mention I was here, did you?”

“It never came up,” Alexa reassured her.

“Thank you for that,” Brelyna sighed with relief.

 


 

It took Ancano several hours to track down the name “Neloth”.  When he finally found the entry his blood boiled.  To say the man was a “person of interest” to the Thalmor would be sorely understating the matter.  He went immediately to find the Breton girl.

“I want to know where you found Grand Master Neloth,” Ancano declared stepping into Alexa’s room.

“Solstheim,” she replied simply.  “South eastern corner of the island.  Giant mushroom.  You can’t miss it.”

Ancano noted that, not only had she managed to bathe and change into her robes, but the girl was already making additions to her various journals.

“Know that he is a dangerous and untrustworthy individual,” Ancano informed her.  “I suggest you stay away from him.”

“Oh, I figured that out on my own,” she replied with a smile.  “My thanks for the advice though.  On another matter, while I have you here… Do you, perchance, have a way of contacting Thalmor agents outside of Skyrim?”

“Of course,” he blinked, thrown by the sudden, and very unexpected, question.

“Then could you see that this gets to Agent Ancarion?” she asked, picking a long object, wrapped in sackcloth, up off her bed.  “I encountered him in Solstheim.  Please tell him that I apologize but that this was the best I could do.”  She gave him a somewhat uncertain smile as she handed it over.

“Of course,” he answered, mechanically accepting the object from her, while searching her face for some hidden motive.  Finding only that annoyingly ‘simple and well-meaning’ expression she often wore he scowled, turned on his heal, and went back to his own room.

Ancano waited until the students had left the hall, to have dinner together at the inn, before unwrapping the package.  Inside he found a destruction staff made of a beautiful opalescent material he’d never seen before.  It was a combined staff of Frost and Storm Wall, if he was reading the enchantment correctly, and an extremely powerful one at that.1  He sighed and wrapped it back up.  He didn’t know what this agent Ancarion’s last venture had been but he doubted it was the retrieval of a single staff, no matter how unusual.  Suddenly he smiled.  It was good to know that there were others fairing no better than he.  Even better, forwarding the staff would let Ancarion know that Ancano too was aware of his failure.  Which reminded him.  He had something else he needed to send home as well.

 


 

The next morning Alexa returned from exchanging the book she’d retrieved on Solstheim for Urag’s translation of the third of Shalidor’s Manuscripts, the location of a fourth manuscript, and the location of yet another book, to find Enthir sitting on her bed.  “We have a problem,” the Bosmer told her in an undertone.

“We can’t have a crisis,” Alexa hissed back, depositing everything she was holding on her desk.   “My schedule is already full!”

“You do stay rather busy,” he conceded.  “But this is important.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, turning the desk chair to face him and taking a seat.  “Tell me.”

“The faculty aren’t about to admit it but the College has received less than half the regular shipments of goods – including food – in the last month.   I’m doing my best to compensate but my shipments have actually been hit harder than theirs.”

“Dragons?” she asked, wearily.

“Stormcloaks,” he answered.  “Though if you ask the people in charge they’ll blame bandits.”

“Right,” she sighed.  “You’d better tell me what’s happening.”

 


 

Mirabelle looked in on Alexa later in the evening as she was reading the translation of Shalidor’s Insights on Alteration.  “I hear you passed the test for Master of Illusion this afternoon,” the Master Wizard commented, “congratulations.”

“Thank you?” Alexa replied, certain her second – acknowledged – mastery couldn’t be what had brought Mirabelle to speak with her.

“There are some Argonians down on the coast,” Mirabelle told her.  “They say they’re working for you?”

Alexa nodded.  “They’re mapping the waters off the coast.”

“Why?”

“Because without a port the city dies.”

“What makes that your problem, dragonborn?” the Master Wizard asked, crossing her arms.

“I kind of live here,” Alexa replied.

“Have you informed the Jarl?”

Alexa shrugged slightly.  “No reason to without knowing if a viable shipping lane will be found.”

“If a shipping lane is found, you’ll let me know?” Mirabelle said.  It wasn’t quite a question.

“Of course,” Alexa replied putting the manuscript aside and lacing her fingers together in front of her.  “Does the College have a policy regarding the khajiit caravans that wander Skyrim?”

“We do not prevent our students from purchasing goods from them,” Mirabelle answered, with a scrutinizing look.  “But we’ve not had to, particularly, as they do not stop in Winterhold.”

“If that were to change?” Alexa asked noting the slight pucker to Mirabelle’s lips in response.

“Birna may not appreciate the competition.”

Alexa nodded.  “An excellent point.  I will speak with her about the current flow of goods in the city.  Thank you.”

“That is very thoughtful of you…”

Alexa met the Master Wizard’s eyes.  “I have spent a great deal more time in the outside world, of late, than anyone else at the College.  If the College’s existence is threatened by external circumstances perhaps I am the best suited, currently, to make arrangements?”

Mirabelle nodded once in understanding.  “If your work on our behalf requires anything from me, or the College, please let me know.”  She turned to go and then paused briefly.  “As the situation currently stands our reserves should last through the end of the month,” she told Alexa quietly.

“Then I will leave in the morning,” Alexa replied.

Notes:

1 But how strong is the staff? Lets find out.
Neloth is a Grand Master of Enchanting (meaning 100 skill points, all perks). Having all the “Enchanter” perks adds +100% damage to frost enchantments. The addition of “Frost Enchanter” adds another +25% while being at skill level 100 adds an additional +10%. Enchantment Skill Tree total: +135% of base.
Neloth (according to the wiki) has Destruction: Augmented Frost, both perks, which adds another 50%, and frost enchantments on Stalhrim are 25% stronger. Combined Total: +210% of base. (If done in the correct order this bonus can also be applied to the Shock spell.)
Assuming that Neloth would take the chance to show off an additional +25% can be added by consuming a standard “Enchanter’s Elixir” for a Grand Total: +235%.
Wall of Frost has a base dps of 50. Staff frost damage total: -167.5 health/sec, -84stamina/sec.
Wall of Storms also has a base dps of 50.
Total staff damage: -335 health/sec, -84 stamina/sec, -84 magicka/sec.
In comparison Hevnoraak’s Staff only does 50pts/sec.
Neloth isn’t wrong about the progress the school of Enchantment has made over the years. (Mentioned during the quest “Azra’s Staffs”.)

Chapter 36: Friends in Low Places

Summary:

Brynjolf has some concerns.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alexa pulled the warped soul gem from the convector she’d found, in a small ruin between Shor’s Stone and Riften, and held it up to the light of the early afternoon sun.  Now, after the second convector she’d destroyed in this process, the gem did appear subtlety different.  Specifically its color had shifted.  Another treatment, she decided, and it might become entirely clear.

 


 

Alexa placed the Crown of Barenziah on the table in front of Vex.  “Here you are.  You have no idea the trouble this was to get.”

“I never doubted you could do it,” Vex informed her.  “I’ll take this back to the Guild Master and see what can be done about finding the last few gems.”

“Before you go, does the Guild have any contact with the Khajiit Caravans?” Alexa asked.

“Not the Guild, no,” Vex replied, pushing away from the table.  “But you might speak with Tonilia.”

Alexa glanced in the direction of the Redguard woman.  Tonilia was… prickly.  Still, the Guild had changed since it had come under new management, people seemed more open, almost friendly

“It’s an odd choice of color,” Galathil commented, indicating Alexa’s red hair with a critical glance, as the dragonborn stepped up onto the deck over the water.

“Not my choice,” Alexa informed her dismissively, intent upon talking with Tonilia.  “And it’s growing in this way now.”

“Really?” Galathil demanded, sounding surprised.  “Who’d you see for that?  You certainly didn’t come to me.”

Alexa stopped, turning slightly to give Galathil her full attention.  “Could you change it back?” she asked.

The woman’s eyes narrowed as if sensing something off in the tone of Alexa’s question.  “That depends.  You’re not a vampire, are you?”1

“No.”

“And yet you believe I would have trouble with such an apparently trivial task?”

“The color is of daedric origin,” Alexa explained. 

“A gift from the Realms of Revelry I presume?” Galathil guessed.  “Sit,” she pointed to the floor in front of her.  “Let me take a look at it.”

Alexa sat and allowed the Bosmer to unpin and inspect her hair.

“Yes,” Galathil murmured after a moment.  “I believe I can help you with this, for one thousand gold.”

Alexa rolled her eyes.  “You know I’m good for it.”

“You wish to return to your natural color?” Galathil asked.  “Black, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Had an unusual bluish tinge too, rather than the more normal brown or red, if I recall.”  There was a strange burning tingle and then Galathil presented the end of one of Alexa’s braids for consideration.  “I believe this is right.”

Alexa cast Candlelight to get a better look.  “Perfect,” she answered, beginning to pin her braids back into place.  “You are a master of your craft.”

“Of course,” Galathil sniffed.  “That was a thousand gold.”

Alexa took two sapphires and a ruby from her pack and handed them over. 

“Let me know if you want to do something about your ears,” Galathil said as she pocketed the gems.  “They could use slightly more point to them.”

“I think I’m happy with my relatively human ears,” Alexa laughed.  “But thank you for the offer.”

“Suite yourself,” Galathil replied disapprovingly, before returning to the book she had been reading.

Alexa shook her head slightly and walked over to Tonilia.

“Good,” Tonilia noted curtly, glancing at Alexa’s hair.  “Much better for blending into a crowd.  And, before you ask, I heard you talking with Vex and I actually have something I want delivered to the caravan leader, Ri’saad.  Perhaps we can work something out.”

“Oh?”

“Well, as you can see, things are looking up around here,” Tonilia said, gesturing to the two craftsmen that had taken up residence on the far side of the cistern.  “But we’re lacking a reliable way to transport our merchandise across Skyrim.”

“I see.”

“Good.  Here.”  She pulled a small satchel out of the chest beside her.  “Present Ri’saad with this Moon Sugar and I bet my last septim he’ll make a deal with you.  Tell him the Guild’s got more if he’s interested.”

“Living up to some negative stereotypes aren’t we?” Alexa asked, accepting the satchel.

“If you don’t want it…” Tonilia responded sourly.

Alexa took a step back.  “Thank you Tonilia.  I shall deliver it, and your offer, without – much – delay.”

The Redguard woman nodded once.  “Good.”

 


 

Brynjolf caught up with her as Alexa passed through the already deserted market.

“Can I get a moment of your time, lass?” he asked.  “By the shrine of Talos perhaps?”

“Something on your mind?” she asked, following him down the path between the keep and Black-Briar Manor.

“Rumor has it you spent the last few weeks on Solstheim,” he informed her, coming to a stop between the shrine and the cemetery entrance to the Guild.

“And?”

“And, while you’ve been gone, the dragon issue is getting worse.”

She considered that for a moment.  “Just tell me what’s bothering you, Brynjolf.”

“Well, lass, while the high and mighty fuss over this business between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, the common folk are beginning to wonder what the purpose of having a dragonborn is if she’s not going to resolve the political situation or protect them from dragons.”

“And if I don’t want to be Empress of Cyrodiil or High Queen of Skyrim?” Alexa asked him.

“Then it’s time to get your head in the game, lass.  Because both situations need fixing and the common people are looking to the Dragonborn to fix them.  If you want to get out of this alive, and without a crown on your head, you’re going to need a plan.” 

“I’m already working on the dragon thing.  As for the political thing…” Alexa let her voice die away as she stared, unseeing, at the shrine of Talos.  “The Moot must decide,” she decided finally.  “It’s the only way I see to avoid having to directly intercede.”

“And how, exactly, do you intend to convene the Moot?” Brynjolf asked.  “Ulfric’s been refusing to respond to the Jarl’s requests for more than half a year now.”

Alexa began to pace.  Brynjolf crossed his arms and waited.

Alexa stopped.  “A display of military power,” she told him.  “That’s what Ulfric is planning.  At the least he plans to use it to intimidate the other Jarls before accepting the Moot.  At most, he will simply take what he wants.”

“If his display is successful,” Brynjolf countered.  “But if he fails…”

“He becomes vulnerable,” Alexa finished.  She looked around her at the snow that still lingered in the shadows of the buildings.  “He can’t move an army through all this spring mud.  Skyrim’s roads simply aren’t good enough for that.  He’ll have to wait until at least the middle of Second Seed.”

“That only a month from now, lass,” Brynjolf reminded her.

“I should be back from Solstheim, for good, before then,” she told him.

He shrugged slightly.  “I’m not judging, lass.  Just telling you what is being said.”

There was silence between them again.  “If I ask, will you help me?” Alexa whispered.

“The Trinity stands ready to assist the dragonborn,” he told her.  “Though I believe Karliah will insist on a devious and intricate plan.”

Alexa smiled at that.  “Then I shall try not to disappoint.”

 


 

“Well look what the horker dragged in!” Marcurio exclaimed as she entered the Bee and Barb.  “I did not expect to see you again so soon!”

“It’s been almost two months,” Alexa pointed out mildly.

“True, true,” Marc acknowledged looking a little embarrassed.  “Thing is though, I just got back from a job this morning.  So I – uh – won’t be joining you and your hounds this time.  I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Alexa assured him.  “I wasn’t going to ask you anyway.  And only one of my dogs is a hound.”

“You, you weren’t?” he demanded sounding offended.

“After meeting my husband, last time, I assumed you wouldn’t want to join me again.  It’s fine.”

“I, what?  No!  That’s not it at all!” he hissed, grabbing her arm in case she was about to leave.  “I really did just get back from an utter disaster of a job.”

“Oh?”

“Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you about it?” he suggested.

Notes:

1 “What have you done to yourself? I can’t work with you in this state, night-walker.” – Galathil, the Face Sculptor, TESV:Skyrim

Chapter 37: Legate Fasendil

Summary:

Caution and neutrality are not the same thing.

Notes:

**Author’s Note: While I have taken the liberty of reworking Legate Fasendil’s dialogue, somewhat, all the information about him, conveyed in this chapter, is true to the game.
Interesting side note: Fasendil is – I believe – the only Civil War camp commander, on either side, with individualized conversation options.
His UESP page contains his dialogue, if you’ve never bothered to talk with him and want to check it out. (link)

 

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Is there something I can do for you, citizen?” the Altmer Legate, in the Rift Imperial camp, asked without looking up from his map.

“I was hoping I might be allowed to spend the night in your camp,” Alexa replied.  “It is growing late and it’s a fair way to Ivarstead.”

The Legate looked up and considered her, deeply, for a moment.  “I have heard stories about a Breton woman with eyes like yours,” he told her.

“Have you?”

“They say that she counts Foresworn and Thalmor agents amongst her friends.”

“The Dawnguard, Thieves Guild, and Companions as well,” Alexa smiled slightly.  “I have heard these tales.”

“Are any of them true?”

“Some.  Though I find the details, in even the more accurate stories, tend to… lack nuance.”

A sour expression ghosted over the Legate’s face.  “Not surprising.  The Nords are a very direct people.”  He stifled a sigh.  “You may stay the night.  Please try not to bother the soldiers on duty, there are Stormcloaks about.”

Alexa inclined her head politely.  “I am happy to keep to myself.  Thank you.”

 


 

When Alexa finished her evening meditation she opened her eyes to find the Legate standing just outside the small camp she’d setup against the rocky ridge that ran along one side of the larger Imperial camp.

“Fasendil,” he said, placing his hand over his heart by way of introduction.  “May I join you?”

“Alexa,” she replied with a gesture of invitation.  “It is not often one sees an Altmer of your rank in the Imperial Legion,” she noted, pouring him him a tankard of mead as he settled onto the ground.  “You must be both skilled and extremely motivated to have risen as far as you have.”

Fasendil snorted lightly, accepting the tankard from her.  “Or a great deal older than my compatriots.”

“You must be quite committed to the cause then.”

The Legate looked her over carefully.  “Are you fishing for something specific, my lady?”

“Perhaps,” she smiled quietly at him.  “Are you?  Not many people seek me out just to pass the time.”

“So you asked me a personal question, at the outset of our conversation, in the hope of avoiding whatever question I came to ask?”

“Partially,” she allowed, “but you do not seem the type to be so easily distracted.  Either way I have learned to ask what I want to know before answering any questions myself, as the questions people tend to ask me rarely lend themselves to short, declarative, answers that do not then lead to further questions.”

“And so you want to know why it is that a middle-aged1 Altmer remains in the Legion long after he could have retired?”

“Given the events of the last century?  Yes, I find that I am curious.”

He paused for a moment clearly considering his answer.  “Have you ever looked upon the face of evil?”

Several images flashed though Alexa’s mind: Hermaeus Mora, Alduin, and – startlingly – the Eye of Magnus floating above the focal point in the Hall of Elements.  “I suppose that depends upon how you feel about Daedric Princes and fallen gods.”

He blinked at that and then gave a snorted half-chuckle.  “Further questions…”  He took a sip of his mead, his eyes transfixed on the flames before him.  “My parents were traveling merchants who eventually settling in Cyrodiil.  I inherited their wanderlust and joined the Legion to see the world.  It wasn’t long before I saw more of the world than I bargained for...  Don’t get me wrong, every country has its dark corners, even Cyrodiil, but, in my experience, the hardest thing is seeing good people warped by evil.”  He paused, his hands tightening around the tankard.  When he began again his voice was husky with suppressed emotion.  “I have seen true evil.  It was in the air above Sentinel on the Night of Green Fire.”

“The Night of Green Fire?” Alexa asked him softly.

The Legate grimaced, and then turned his head to look directly at her.  “Back in 42 I was stationed in Hammerfell, on leave in Sentinel, trying to track down some refugee relatives who had fled persecution in Alinor.2  I remember a sudden explosion of magic in the refugee quarter – Thalmor mages were attacking the Altmer dissidents who were resisting with magic of their own – I ran to the scene with the Legionaries who where stationed there but the entire quarter was a smoking ruin by the time we arrived.  Everyone was dead.  Wholesale slaughter.”  His eyes met hers.  “The Dominion, not content with killing dissidents at home, came to Hammerfell to finish the job.”

“So that is your cause – defending the world from the Thalmor?”

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.  “We’re supposedly at peace now but… I put in to be stationed here to keep an eye on them.  I’ve a feeling they’re behind this unrest in Skyrim.”  He glanced back at her, “A feeling I’ve heard you share.  Strange, give the rumors I mentioned earlier.”

“Mmm,” Alexa agreed.  “As you say, it is hard to see people warped by evil.  As for our shared suspicions, before you ask, I have no solid proof.  But I also have no doubt that proof will surface, eventually.”  She paused for a moment.  “Local politics aside, I fear that simply proving that Thalmor doctrine is not only evil but also fatally flawed will not be enough to end them.” 

The Legate gave her a startled look.  “I admit I had not thought seriously about anything beyond countering their influence within the Empire.  I would be interested to hear your perspective on them, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Alexa leaned forward and added a branch to the fire.  “I imagine that, before Talos of Atmora became Tiber Septim, the Aldmeri Council had long-term plans to conquer Tamriel and recreate Aldmeris.  It seems likely they believed the Ayleid had failed in their attempt to do so due to moral – or even racial – degeneracy rather than because the greater powers of our world do not support such an endeavor.”  She paused, rocking back from the fire and drawing her knees to her chest.  “Being conquered by a dragonborn – a literal son of Akatosh, whether or not they admit as much outside of the Council itself – likely disabused them of this conviction.  Worse, I think, they have come to believe that the laws of the Convention – not just the will of a particular et’Ada – work against their wish to return to the state they consider the birthright of the Altmer.”  Alexa inhaled slowly and let the breath out in a soft sigh.  “It is dangerous to believe something simply because it stokes your ego.  Those who choose such fantasies over reality are a threat to us all.”

Fasendil nodded slightly his brow still furrowed.  “You believe that Talos was, truly, the son of Akatosh?”

“I do.”  She winced slightly as she said it.  “Though that answer lacks both the precision and nuance someone like a Moth Pries might demand of me.”

The Legate chuckled at that.  “Well I am no master of philosophy, so I thank you for answering plainly.”  He grew serious again.  “Does that mean you also believe yourself to be the daughter of Akatosh?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

“If you find that prospect disquieting then I share in your discomfort,” Alexa told him, meeting his eyes squarely.

“You seem very… human.”

“I am pleased you think so.”

Fasendil smiled and shook his head slightly breaking eye contact.  “Understood.  So what is it that has brought the Dragonborn to my camp?”

Alexa let go of her knees and returned to the cross-legged position she’d been sitting in when he arrived.  “I was attending to an errand, for the College of Winterhold, in the Ruins of Bthalft.  The bandits there took a little longer to clear out than I’d expected.”

“Are errands for the Wizard’s College really what the Dragonborn does with her time?” he asked, sounding startled.

“No, but I feel it is only polite to, upon occasion, do something for the institution that allows me to remain even after my presence there caused a dragon to descend upon them.”

He nodded in understanding.  “So what is it that the Dragonborn is supposed to be doing?”

“Learning what it means to be a dragon,” Alexa answered. 

“And then?”

“I do as the Elder Scrolls have foretold and faces Alduin the World-Eater in an attempt to keep him from living up to his title.”

Fasendil thought about that for a second.  “How literal is that title?”

“Hermaeus Mora seems to think it quite literal,” she answered.

“Well that’s several different types of disturbing,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it just,” Alexa agreed.

Fasendil sighed.  “Given all of that, I think I will not ask you, as I had initially intended, why it is the dragonborn has not yet taken sides in the civil war,” he told her with a small, rueful, smile.

She gave him a bemused look.  “I have accepted the rank of thane in Whiterun, Haafingar, and Hjaalmarch.  If General Tullius requires a clearer statement of where the Dragonborn stands then he is not as astute as his reputation paints him.”

The Legate gave her a penetrating look.  “If you stand with the Empire…  Surely your position as dragonborn…”

Alexa held up a hand, cutting him off before he could finish.  “At this point dragons, not the civil war or even the Thalmor, must be my priority.”

“And if the civil war should worsen before you are finished with the dragons?” he demanded.

“Then I will defend those holds I have sworn to protect,” she said, meeting his eyes again.  “But, if we wish to avoid civil war beyond the boarders of Skyrim, I believe it best the new dragonborn avoid any potential comparison to Talos of Atmora and his path to the Dragon Throne.  Joining the Legion, or partaking in military action to unify Skyrim, seems similar enough to create… speculation.  Both in Cyrodiil and in Alinor.”

The Legate blinked at her in surprise for a moment before collecting himself. “You have given this a great deal of thought,” he admitted.  “Clearly more than I.”  He put his tankard on the ground and stood up.  “It seems I have nothing left to say, my lady, but to wish you safe a journey in the morning.”

Alexa stood as well and inclined her head politely.  “Be well, Legate.  I am certain we will meet again.”

Notes:

1 You decide how old he looks. (image)

2 If Legate Fasendil was a legionary in 4E 42, then he is at least 172 years old. UESP's stat block for him indicates that he not a mage thereby making longevity magic an unlikely explanation for him still being in good enough physical condition to remain on active duty. A combination of facts that, once again, throws the whole – supposedly canonical – “Elder Scrolls mer have a natural lifespan of 150-200 years” thing (or Bathesda’s ability to adhere to its own lore) into serious question.

Chapter 38: Dragon Mentor

Summary:

Paarthurnax reminds the dragonborn of several things she should not have lost sight of.

Notes:

** Hey everyone!  Sorry it’s been a while.  As I’m sure you know, we’ve got a major event coming up: confronting Miraak.  Preparing for dealing with the hot mess that is the First Dragonborn resulted in me disappearing down a series of TES lore rabbit holes in an attempt to shore up my understanding of the concept of CHIM. 
What does CHIM have to do with Hermaeus Mora, Apocrypha, and Miraak (besides Alexa’s theory on the topic of Waking Dreams), you ask? 
Well, you can be patient and wait for me to get there or click the following link for my thoughts on the subject. (link)

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The dragonborn stood, leaning against the back side of the word wall beneath the dragon’s perch, staring out over the world below.  “You seem troubled,” Paarthurnax observed, in dovahzuul, after several minutes of silence followed their initial greeting.  They spoke, almost exclusively, in the dragon tongue these days.

“I feel...” Alexa paused, closing her eyes, “fate pressing against the boundaries of reality like the heavy stillness of a building storm.  Miraak, the civil war, whatever that orb at the College of Winterhold is... I fear that any one of these situations resolving will – somehow – trigger my confrontation with Alduin before I’m ready... if one can ever, truly, be ready for such a thing.”

Paarthurnax hummed, thoughtfully, but said nothing.

“I’d feel better if there were a plan beyond ‘learn all the Shouts the ancient Nords left behind’,” Alexa continued, with a sidelong glance up at the dragon.  “Especially given that their use, the first time around, doesn’t appear to have been as effective as one might wish.”

Paarthurnax remained silent for a while longer.  “What about the civil war, or the situation at the college, requires your intervention?” he finally asked.

“The Psijics think I should do something about the orb, though they have been less than clear on what, exactly, I should do.  As for the civil war…” she sighed and rubbed tiredly at her face.  “I am told that the people of Skyrim simply expect that a dragonborn will deal with all of Skyrim’s problems.  A potentially dangerous situation for me as I cannot become involved.”

“Cannot, or will not?” he rumbled.

“Unite Skyrim by force, in another’s name, and I will be following in Talos’ footsteps,” she replied.  “Once done I would have no choice but to lead an army of men against the Thalmor – against elves.  Do so and I will have become an echo of Shor and that, we both know, I cannot risk.”

“Hmmm,” the dragon hummed again, looking out over the world beneath them.  “The dov are genderless,” he said.  “At their core the jill are distinguished from drake by their actions.  Approach these situations as a jill would and you will not become an echo of the drake who have come before you, or of the forces they championed.”

“Is it truly so simple?” Alexa asked skeptically. 

Paarthurnax cocked his head down at her.  “You should not dismiss so easily the possibility that the time has come for you to begin addressing the problems of the world, dragonborn.  Your thu’um is already as strong as Talos’ ever was.”

Alexa looked up at him, startled.  “It is?”

“His voice was lost before it reached its full potential,” Paarthurnax explained.

“Do you think the civil war is something I should engage with?” she asked, confused.  “I had thought the Way of the Voice would frown upon such a use of power.”

“The Way of the Voice prohibits using the thu’um for personal power,” Paarthurnax agreed.  “But the war was necessary for Alduin’s return and so is likely not something that can be separated from your fate to face him, Iizkaandraal.”

“The eruption of Red Mountain and the lack of a dragonborn ruler in Cyrodiil were also requirements for Alduin’s return,” Alexa pointed out.  “Am I also supposed to deal with those situations as well?  Because I have no idea how I could deal further with the Numidium.”

“The jill have, traditionally, been responsible for mending numiditions,” Paarthurnax reminded her.  “If you truly are jill, dragonborn, then your duty is to the world, not yourself, joor, or even the dov.  Your only allegiance must be to our father and his plans for the world.”

Alexa blinked at that and was silent for a long moment.  “Should the same not be true for the drake?”

“Recent events are more easily influenced than older ones,” the dragon told her, almost as an afterthought, ignoring her question.

“So your advice is to begin with ‘Snow Tower… sundered, kingless, bleeding’?” Alexa asked, glancing around the wall at the Time Wound.

“Kingless and bleeding, certainly,” the dragon agreed, also looking at the shifting space in the air.

“But not the time distortion affecting the functioning of the Snow Tower?” Alexa glanced up at him.  “After what you told me about waiting here for Alduin I assume it was created by his return.”

“It was his leaving, not his return, that created that tear,” Paarthurnax told her.

“And it’s been stable since then?” she asked, awed by the implications.

Paarthurnax simply hummed in ascent.

Alexa chewed her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment.  “I have no idea where I’d even start on fixing something like that.  Unless, of course, its existence is – somehow – connected with Alduin’s…”  She sighed.  “Either way, it is by far the earliest - fulfilled - condition for Alduin’s return.  So, if one is working backwards, then it is a problem for future me.”

Paarthurnax snorted through his nose at that.  “As you say, Iizkaandraal.”

Alexa turned back to the view of northern Skyrim.  “Big picture, there are three factors that must be addressed in order to achieve a lasting peace in Skyrim,” she told the dragon.  “The lack of a High King, the Foresworn, and the Thalmor.”

She could feel Paarthurnax shift his weight on the wall behind her as he too returned to looking out over the world rather than the time wound.

“The Forsworn issue is complicated by a lack of clarity over who their king is.  I expect, however, that issue will be resolved on the 5th of Midyear1 which is only...” she paused, counting, “six weeks from now…”  She winced slightly.  Paarthurnax was right.  She’d let time slip away from her.  It was past time she checked in with Taran.

“As I see it, if I am to avoid acting like a drake, the Moot, not the dragonborn, must be seen to appoint the new High King.  Getting certain parties to agree to the Moot though… may require proving, to both parties, that Skyrim cannot be taken by force, even from within.”

“As for the Thalmor… The goal there must be to find a way to renegotiate the terms of their presence in Skyrim, without igniting a second war between the Dominion and the Empire.” 

“When the Dominion declared war against the Empire they sought to beat men at their own game.  Perhaps you should return the favor.”

“You suggest that I wage politics, not war, on them?”

“I am suggesting that you act as jill,” Paarthurnax replied.

She considered the problem for a moment.  “Traditionally dismissal of an ambassador, for a cause great enough to result in a legitimate claim for reparations, could trigger a renegotiation of terms, but...” she threw up a hand in frustration, “Skyrim would need a High King to negotiate on behalf of the country.”

“Timing will be essential in any plan,” the dragon observed.  “But, as long as you remain true to Fate’s path, your way should become clear.”

“It seems I have a few things to do before I return to Solstheim to face whatever it is Mora has planned for me,” Alexa sighed.

 “The Daedra require their prey to trap themselves, dovahkiin.  Remember that Mora cannot force your hand.  Even in Oblivion,”

“If true, what offer could possibly have enticed the first dragonborn to ensnare himself?” Alexa demanded, looking up at her mentor.

“Surely he has already told you?” the dragon noted, arching his neck to look down at her with one great eye.  “Such a thing would be hard to hide.”

“Power?  Miraak is obsessed with power…” Alexa wondered aloud, thinking.  “Did he believe he would fail?  And, if so, what greater power than the at least eighteen dragon souls Miraak had already consumed was Mora offering?”

“Perhaps Miraak feared he was fated to fail and complete the pattern that Alduin had laid out for the world,” Paarthurnax suggested.

Alexa frowned at that.  “The one thing we can be certain of is that Miraak was not freed from his fate, whatever Mora promised him, or he would be able to return to Mundus without my death.”  She looked up at Paarthurnax. “What kind of ‘Master of the Tides of Fate’ can’t change fate?” she demanded.

“If one could not fully control one’s own realm of influence certainly discovering how would become an obsession,” Paarthurnax remarked.  “What has Mora asked you for in return for access to Miraak?”

“The knowledge of the Skaal,” Alexa replied.

The dragon huffed in annoyance.  “Hard to gauge the purpose – or danger – of such a request.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Alexa admitted.  “It seems to me that the Skaal differ from the Nord, most crucially, in that they believe in the All-Maker but also in a sort of oneness of everything.  If they have secrets, that the Nords do not share, those secrets are likely related to those beliefs.”

“The oneness of creation,” Paarthurnax murmured, sounding a little surprised.  “There is much such knowledge could reveal.”

Alexa had nothing to say to that.  “What happens if I slay Alduin?” she asked after the protracted silence between them had allowed her mind to wander through a rather long list of nagging fears.  “What part is he supposed to play in the Convention that he won’t be able to play if I win?  How necessary is his existence?”

“I do not know, Iizkaandraal,” Paarthurnax replied, sounding sad.  “I cannot remember a time when Alduin was not.”  He paused, shifting his weight on the word wall.  “Trust in our father, little one.  It is he who is the god here, not we.”

“Blind trust isn’t something I’m particularly good at,” Alexa noted.

“Mmm,” Paarthurnax rumbled thoughtfully.  “Perhaps the dov – who have always know our place in creation – are more prone to it than those who must search for their place.  It is something to consider.”

Alexa shivered and pushed away from the wall.  It was growing late and she had much more to do than she’d thought.

“Where do the Greybeards have you going next?” Paarthurnax inquired.

“Ragnvald,” she answered.  “But I have a task to complete in Markarth first.”

Notes:

1 Hircine’s summoning day.

Chapter 39: Earmiel Pushes Too Hard

Summary:

Earmiel and Ondolemar, stunningly, do not see eye to eye.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Earmiel,” Ondolemar said, coming to a stop, as he crested the stairs.  “I was not expecting you.”

“Yes, well, now that my sister has returned home it’s safe for me to leave the marsh.”  He looked around them with exaggerated suspicion.  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to divulge your secret for getting rid of her.”

Ondolemar rolled his eyes.  “Was there a particular purpose to your visit?” he enquired, politely, as he led the way back to his rooms.

“I brought a bottle of ice-wine with me so that we could have a proper book club meeting.”

“Our mothers would be so proud,” Ondolemar smirked, shaking his head as he pushed open the door.

Earmiel winced slightly, as he handed the wine over to Ondolemar.  “They weren’t ever in the same book club, were they?”

“I certainly hope not,” Ondolemar said.  “Those two never agreed on anything.”

“Except on what a disappointment I have always been,” Earmiel laughed, taking a seat.

“Where did you come by ice-wine?” Ondolemar asked, hurriedly changing the subject.

“The inventory of the khajiit caravan, just outside of town, is remarkably eclectic,” Earmiel informed him.

Ondolemar held out a glass of wine out to Earmiel, “There’s a khajiit caravan outside of town?”

“You don’t get out much, do you,” Earmiel observed, taking the glass from his hand.

“I suppose not,” Ondolemar admitted, taking a seat.  “Alright Earmiel, what was your opinion of this month’s reading?”

Earmiel handed Alexa’s book to Ondolemar.  “I’ve added a translation of the Thalmor piece to the back of the book.  I suggest you do not make a copy.  I would also suggest that you hand that thing back to Alexa the very next chance you get. You cannot be found with it.”

Ondolemar raised both eyebrows at that.  “Worse than I thought?” he asked.

“Much,” Earmiel confirmed, even as Ondolemar flipped to the last written page in the book and noticed, without much surprise, that Earmiel’s handwriting was considerably more flowery than Alexa’s.1

“Earmiel, what is this?” Ondolemar asked, careful to keep his tone flat.

“Drivel, obviously,” Earmiel responded flippantly.  “Don’t blame me, I didn’t write it.”

“And you truly believe the cypher was Thalmor in origin?” Ondolemar asked, inspecting the original piece of paper.

“From before the Great Anguish,” Earmiel confirmed.

“And you are also of the opinion that this particular cypher was secret enough that no one else has ever used it?”

“Are you about to tell me that ‘erasing Talos from the mythic’ isn’t the logical extension of your current job description?” Earmiel enquired, arching both eyebrows at his friend.

“You really wish me to understand that some portion of the Thalmor believe that Auriel is bound?”2 Ondolemar countered, completely sidestepping Earmiel’s question.

“The dragon is bound with noble sighs,” Earmiel responded dryly.3

Ondolemar opened his mouth to respond, double blinked, closed his mouth, and then opened it again.  “You don’t think…”

“That strange khajiiti piece meant the thu’um?” Earmiel finished for him.  “I very much think that’s what it means.  It also claimed that ‘The Serpent is bound with shifting tones,’ which, to my mind, indicates that Lorkhan was bound by Dwemer Tonal architecture.  A claim that was obviously true, right up until the Nerevarine destroyed the Heart.”

“We have no way of knowing how many people ever believed this,” Ondolemar reminded him, gesturing with the book.  “Or even if anyone still does.”

“Are you willing to bet Alexa’s life on that?” Earmiel asked him gently.  “She wouldn’t be the first dragonborn to be assassinated… and they’re already trying, aren’t they?”

Ondolemar was silent. 

“Either way, the piece clearly indicates at a philosophical connection between the Thalmor and the Mythic Dawn,” Earmiel continued, swirling the wine in his glass thoughtfully.

“Which is, unequivocally, bad,” Ondolemar sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“Worse, it might even make your father right,” Earmiel added, glancing over at him.

“Not everyone feels about my father the way you do,” Ondolemar muttered.

“Yes well, not everyone has my fondness for older men either,” Earmiel replied smugly.  “Though Lexi seems to.”

Ondolemar winced.  “I really didn’t need that mental image,” he complained, finally looking at Earmiel again.

“It’s a good thing you’re fun to tease, my friend, because you take life far, far, too seriously,” Earmiel smirked.

“Alright Earmiel,” Ondolemar sighed.  “Aside from this intensely disturbing piece, do you have anything else for me?”

“You will be interested to know that the order on Alexa’s life is at least ten years old,” Earmiel said.

Ondolemar gave him a startled look.  “Family issue?”

“The fact that the rest of her family has gone ‘missing’ would support that conclusion.  And by ‘rest’ I mean all of it out to at least three degrees of consanguinity.”

“That’s… unusual,” Ondolemar murmured, clearly thinking carefully.  “You’re certain it was the Thalmor?”

“Unfortunately my investigation has not yet managed to shed light on the subjects of exactly who or why,” Earmiel admitted.  “But don’t worry,” he added hurriedly upon noticing Ondolemar’s quick sideways glance, “I haven’t given up.”

“Well that’s considerably more headway than my own inquiry has made,” Ondolemar admitted.  He held the book back out to Earmiel.  “I believe I will have you return the book to Alexa.  Elenwen is showing even more paranoia than usual and this is... more than I was expecting.”

“A circumstance I’m rapidly becoming accustomed to,” Earmiel grumbled, accepting the book.

“Anything else?”

“Only one, last thing, you might find interesting...” Earmiel admitted.  “Though I don’t know how relevant it is.”

Ondolemar simply leaned back in his chair and waited.

“Alexa was born on the same day the Elder Scrolls disappeared from the White-Gold Tower.”

“I take it you don’t think that is a coincidence?”

“Did you know that no Elder Scrolls has ever shown a vision of the future past the middle of Last Seed 201?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar replied calmly.

“You did?”

“If you were about to give me a lecture on Real Moments, I’ve already heard it.  If you want to add that the silence of the Elder Scrolls coinciding with the return of this, so called, ‘World-Eater’ is deeply troubling, I fully agree.”

Earmiel nodded slowly, his eyes searching Ondolemar’s face.  “Then, perhaps, you will understand when I say we need to have a conversation about the Towers.”

“What about them?” Ondolemar asked, suddenly on edge.

“You appreciate that, if this Jobasha is correct and the Tower is ‘as old as music’, there are some pretty fundamental implications of that?”

“Alexa once said that the Towers can survive from one kalpa into the next,” Ondolemar told him.  “She also indicated that the Towers affect people such that those within their influence come to reflect the philosophies of the Tower’s creators.”

Earmiel blinked.  “So you already knew?”

“Knew what, Earmiel?” Ondolemar sighed tiredly.

“What it means that the last era, or so, has seen a concerted effort to destroy them.”

Ondolemar gave him a cold, hard, look.  “I’m not sure I’ve caught your meaning.”

“That someone in Alinor is actually trying to destroy the world.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Then why hasn’t Crystal-Like-Law been repaired?” Earmiel demanded.

“Because the creation, or repair, of a Tower requires Dawn Magic,” Ondolemar snapped.  “Everyone knows that.”

“If the Thalmor are incapable of using Dawn Magic then how did they end the Void Nights?”4

“You are not such an ill-informed arcane practitioner as to believe the rituals required to achieve those two ends would be, in any way, related to one another,” Ondolemar told him.  “If anything their work to return the moons is proof the Thalmor are not trying to destroy the world.”

“Assuming the Thalmor have learned to use Dawn Magics at all,” Earmiel snapped.  “A claim there is remarkably little evidence to support.”

“The moons have returned to the sky, what else do you need?” Ondolemar demanded, annoyance evident in his tone.

“Do you have any idea how large a Dragon Break would have to be to allow magic cast in Alinor to affect the moons?  Someone else – especially the khajiit – would have noticed!”

“What’s your point, Earmiel?” Ondolemar asked through gritted teeth. 

Earmiel hesitated for just a moment.  “The Convention and the Towers are connected.” he said softly.  “Destroy the Towers, destroy the Convention, destroy the ‘Material Prison’.  Those same Towers are mentioned over and over in the prophecy of the dragons’ return – the return of this World-Eater…”

“Right… you are suggesting that the greatest of our people – the protectors of our culture – have spent more than an era attempting to instigate the return of the mythical Dragon-God that no one but the Nords believe in.”  Ondolemar stood and, turning away from Earmiel, walked to his desk.  “I think it is time you returned to the marsh, Earmiel.”

“And this is why we didn’t talk for over a decade,” Earmiel sighed, standing to obey the request to leave.  He paused, hand on the door, “Can you really afford to be blind to what is right in front of you?”

Ondolemar refused to answer, or even look in his direction.5

Notes:

1 Look, we all know Earmiel’s handwriting is purposefully ridiculous.

2 Ondolemar, as an Altmer and a Thalmor agent, would likely assume that “The Dragon” mentioned above is Akatosh/Auriel.

3 The Dragon is bound with noble sighs.
The Serpent is bound with shifting tones.
The Sun is bound with metal flames.
The Earth is bound with secret knots.

- The Soft Doctrines of Magnus Invisible

4 "In 4E 98, the two moons, Masser and Secunda vanished.  Within most of the Empire, this was viewed with trepidation and fear.  In Elsweyr it was far worse.  Culturally the moons are much more influential to the Khajiit.  After two years of the Void Nights, the moons returned.  The Thalmor announced that they had restored the moons using previously unknown Dawn Magicks, but it is unclear if they truly restored the moons or just took advantage of foreknowledge that they would return." – The Great War  (link)

5 The sunk cost fallacy can be a bitch to think your way out of.

Chapter 40: Falkreath Camp

Summary:

The Warrior’s men

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It was early afternoon by the time Alexa came upon the supposedly hidden Stormcoak camp near Orphan Rock.

“I think you might be in the wrong place, friend,” the lookout, standing, rather uselessly, just on the edge of the camp, rather than somewhere where he could see the road, noted casually.

“I was hoping someone here might be able to tell me about the current situation in Helgen,” Alexa explained, with a swift glance around her.  “Though, from the number of wounded in your camp, I think I can take a guess at the answer.”1

“The bandits have settled in good,” he acknowledged, with a glance in the direction of the wounded.  “But it was bears, not bandits, that did that.”

Right, Alexa thought, glancing through the open flap of the designated medical tent.  Bears with bows.  “Any thoughts on how best to reach Falkreath from here?” she asked the lookout.

“There’s a footpath now, hugging the north side of Helgen…” he offered.

“Take it at night unless you want to be spotted by the bandit’s archers,” the woman at the grindstone muttered.

“North of here a tunnel runs under the mountain to a tower on the west side of the ridge,2” the quartermaster suggested.

“There’s bandits in it,” the woman added.

The lookout rolled his eyes.  “Alright Silda, how’d you get to Falkreath?”

“Take the west fork of the road to Fort Neugrad,” she answered, testing the edge of her blade.  “You’ll have to bushwhack your way across the ridge for a bit, but it should be clear sailing once you hit the trail from the road to Bonechill Passage.”3

“Avoid the east fork of the road though,” the lookout warned.  “The bandits at the fort are even more aggressive than the one’s in Helgen.”

Alexa looked them over.  “That’s a lot of bandits very close to your camp,” Alexa noted. 

The lookout shrugged.  “Nothing for us to worry about.  Bandits are cowards.”

“Seems like something of a missed opportunity to rid the countryside of several threats to Skyrim’s people,” Alexa noted. 

“We’re just a forward camp, meant to keep an eye on the region,” the quartermaster told her.  “There’s not nearly enough of us for that sort of thing.”

“Besides,” the lookout added, “the bandits are proof these Empire loving jarls can’t protect their own people or control their own lands.”

Alexa nodded understandingly.  Though, in her experience, bandits weren’t noticeably fewer in Stormcloak holds than in Imperial ones.

“Thank you for your advice,” she nodded to all three of them.  “And, um…” she dug through her pack and pulled out a cure disease potion she’d picked up somewhere.  “Here,” she held it out to the woman at the grindstone.  “In case one of the injured has caught rock joint or bone break fever from the bear.”

The woman gave her a wry look but accepted the potion anyway.  “Good luck.  You’re going to need it if you want to make Falkreath before nightfall.”

Just then the scout cleared his throat and drew himself up to attention.  Alexa looked in the same direction he was to find the camp’s commander had decided to join them.

“Think you might be in the wrong place, Breton,” Thorygg Sun-Killer5 said, walking towards them.

“With all do respect, sir, she was just asking for directions,” Silda deadpanned.

“And was just leaving,” Alexa added.

Thorygg crossed his arms over his chest.  “And where do you stand on the war?” he demanded.

“It seems to me that men killing men does nothing to strengthen our position in the world,” she replied, meeting his eyes stolidly.

“It was foolish of me to think a Breton might understand,” Thorygg scoffed.  “Skyrim is the birthplace of humanity.  The birthplace of honor,” he continued.  “And those snowbacked Imperials renounced both when they laid down before the Thalmor.  Worse still, to pay for the privilege to keep his throne, the Emperor sells Skyrim and our very gods – Talos, no less! – to the damn elves.  And what did Torygg do?  He and the Jarls that supported him?  They took the Emperor’s gold.  Sold out their people for a slave master’s ‘peace treaty’.”  He paused, briefly, to see what effect his speech had had upon her and his men.

“Nords must define the word ‘slavery’ rather differently from the rest of Tamriel,” Alexa remarked casually.  She saw Silda wince slightly as the woman returned to sharpening her blade.

Thorygg closed the distance between them to tower over her.  “Ulfric did right killing Torygg,” he growled.  “Soon we’ll rid Skyrim of elves, their bloody Justiciars, and the Jarls in their pockets.  The whole damn lot of them.  And we’ll cleave through the Legion to get to them.”  He turned and stamped back to the command tent.

“Right,” Alexa sighed.  “I’ll take that as my que to leave.”  She glanced over at the three soldiers she’d been talking to.  “Thank you for your advice.”

“Talos guide you,” the lookout replied a little stiffly.

Alexa blinked at him, momentarily stunned.  “Kyne watch over you,” she answered reflexively as she turned away. 

It was an interesting idea Alexa thought.  Her attempt to seek guidance from Akatosh had proved useless but it had never occurred to her to reach out to her fellow dragonborn.  Though, perhaps, Miraak was somewhat to blame for that.  The man was, frankly, awful and, given what she knew about Tiber Septim, it was not impossible that Talos wouldn’t be much better. 

And if he did respond, what then?  She had been created to fulfill the will of Akatosh, not Talos.  Would her now deified brother be able to tell her anything more about their father’s plans than Paarthurnax already had?  Would he, a manifestation of unending war, be capable of advising her in anything but the most lefthanded of ways?

Season unending.  Would there be any end to it if the Stormcloaks won?  Or would their veneration of the Warrior5 lead them to find new enemies, new wars, until they over extended, destroyed themselves, and created a power vacuum someone like the Dominion could easily fill? 

The Stormcloaks believed that they served Talos, fought as he would wish them to – against elves.  An odd way of looking at it.  Tiber Septim had not hated non-humans.  His initial struggles had been against men.  It was not until he’d become Emperor, and sought to extend his reach to the entire continent, that he’d appeared to care about the other races at all.  In fact it seemed likely that, if it hadn’t been for the Hist…6

Now that was something she could ask Talos about.  If there was anyone who might have insight on the Towers, it would be the dragonborn who’d lived in one, worn its Stone around his neck, and whose heart had become the Stone of a second.7

She paused beside the burned down cabin and took in the view.  The sun was already sinking low in the sky.  It was something to think about. 

Maybe after dealing with Miraak, she decided.  One legendary dragonborn at a time seemed like more than enough.

Notes:

1 There are six Stormcloak soldiers stationed at the Falkreath camp, in addition to the commander and quartermaster, three of whom are injured or sick.

2 Skybound Watch.

3 Map of suggested routes (link)

4 Since when is killing the sun a good idea? Is he a vampire? Or a werewolf whose name is a reference to the Norse sun-eating wolves Skoll/Hati and Fenrir?

5 The constellation. Vivec refers to Tiber Septim as such.
I am sure that when I meet the Warrior and Arctus again, they will have brought similar burdens [as the Tower which Vivec claims is his burden as ‘the Thief of the World’]. My guesses are the Lord and Ritual, but I do not know and would be delighted to be wrong. – Vehk’s book of the Last Hour (link)

6 Refer to A3:16 for clarification on this.

7 “Stone of a second” the Numidium. The Mantella was created to replicate the Heart of Lorkhan and contained within it the souls of multiple Shezarrine.

Chapter 41: Rorikstead

Summary:

A town composed (almost) entirely of quests that didn’t make it out of development.

Notes:

**Here is the best in-depth analysis of everything Rorikstead, that I’ve come across, as of June 2020: (link)
While I agree with Camelworks’ analysis regarding daedric influence, and the lack of adult women, in Rorikstead I’ve put the pieces together, regarding Rorik, a little differently than he has.

 

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alexa turned away from Nahagliiv1, now a skeleton lying on the road outside Rorikstead, just as the courier ran up to her.  “I’ve been looking for you,” he announced, displaying an impressive lack of concern for what had just happened.  “Got something I’m supposed to deliver - your hands only.  Let’s see here…  A letter, from an Altmer woman in Solitude.  Eolain, I think she said her name was.  Looks like that’s it.  Got to go.”

Alexa considered the single sheet of folded paper the courier handed her.  It was suspiciously short for letter from Eolain.

“I had a dream that there was a good dragon,” a small voice murmured, causing Alexa to look away from the letter in her hand and down at the girl standing beside her, eyes fixed on the skeleton.  “He was old and gray, but he wasn’t scary.”2

“You dream of dragons?” Alexa asked, folding up Eolain’s letter and putting it away for later.

“Just the one, but…” the girl – Sissel, if Alexa was remembering correctly – looked a little lost, “I wish there were more like him.”

“Me too,” Alexa sighed, going to sit on a nearby bolder.  “Do you want to know a secret?”

The girl followed, watching her with bright, hopeful, eyes.

“I… would rather not fight them,” Alexa said, gesturing towards the skeleton.  “I even try to avoid them when I can.”

Sissel frowned in confusion, “But you’re the dragonborn.”

“I know.  But that, sort of, makes them my family.  I wish they’d stop trying to kill me.”

Understanding suddenly brightened Sissel’s face.  “Most days, I do all I can to stay away from my sister and my father,” she informed Alexa.  “The beating’s the same from either one.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexa replied, frowning.  Why was the rest of the village allowing that?

“Someday soon I’ll stop being afraid,” Sissel told her with a proud smile.  “Jouane is teaching me magic.  He says I’m real good.”

That seemed… strangely ominous.  “I see,” Alexa paused for a moment, thinking hard.

“I wish I could be an adventurer like you,” Sissel continued, a little wistfully, “and go wherever I want.”

“Would you?” Alexa asked her in slight surprise.  “Would you actually leave here, if you could?”

“Oh yes, anywhere has got to be better than this, right?”

“I suppose,” Alexa allowed, standing up.  “The dogs could use some dinner,” she explained, with a look towards the inn.  “Would you take care of it for me?” 

“Can I?” Sissel gasped.  “I’d love to!”

Alexa handed her some gold.  “Why don’t you run ahead to the inn and tell Mralki I’d like a room for the evening and then go ahead and order food, and,” she pulled the dog’s food bowls from her pack, “take these with you.”  She turned to the dogs.  “Go on.  She’ll get you dinner.  And if you’re very good, she may even brush you,” Alexa added, handing Sissel a drawstring bag with the dog brushes in it.  “If your sister shows up, order some food for her too, and let her help.”

“Alright,” Sissel nodded, taking the things Alexa was holding out to her, and looking only a little disappointed at the mention of her sister.

As Alexa watched Sissel, and the dogs, run towards the inn it was hard not to notice Rorik standing at the edge of town, by the footpath that led up the hill, apparently waiting to speak with her.  She swallowed a tired sigh.  Even riding Arvak, traveling to Rorikstead from Falkreath was a long day, especially when it ended with killing a dragon.  But a girl who dreamed of Paarthurnax was something that needed looking into and, if Alexa wanted to poke around Rorikstead, she was going to have to talk to the landowner himself, sooner or later.

 


 

Rorik, looking deeply uncomfortable at her approach, started speaking almost before she’d reached him. “Dragonborn,” he began with a slight nod.  “If you’ve got some business in Rorikstead, you should start by speaking to Jouane.”

“Oh?” Alexa asked, surprised.  Given the way Rorik dressed she had assumed he would be more interested in his station.  Passing the dragonborn off to someone else, as quickly as possible, seemed… odd.

“Sorry,” Rorik backpaddled, recognizing her surprise.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but Jouane’s the one who deals with people.  I’m afraid I lost my charm years ago,” he then turned and walked, quickly, away.

Alexa watched him go.  Was he afraid of her or of something else, she wondered, glancing back down the road?  Right, the dragon skeleton… Fair enough.  That was, however, the second time Jouane had been mentioned in as many minutes. 

She looked around her.  To her surprise the only town in habitant still out of doors, who hadn’t run over to look at the dead dragon, was the twin’s father.  He was working his fields as if nothing of interest was going on.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t have children,” Lemkil3, grumbled as she approached the fence.  “They’re good for nothing at all.  My wife was twice the woman they’ll ever grow to be.”

“And what happened to her?” Alexa asked, a little taken aback by the man’s tone.  At least while her parents had been alive, they’d been loving, if somewhat overbearing parents.  This man however…  

“She gave her life birthing them,” he told her, angrily tossing some weeds over the fence not quite in her direction.  “What a waste.”

Wait…  Hadn’t Erik, the innkeeper’s son, once said something similar about his own mother? 

“I spend every day tending the fields,” Lemkil continued, gesturing around him.  “And what do my daughters do?  Nothing!  Complain and caterwaul!  Sleep and eat!  Useless!”

“I uh… see,” Alexa murmured, too stunned to say much else. 

“I got enough troubles,” Lemkil huffed, with a sideways glance in her direction, “so don’t go adding to them.”

“Right, I’ll just leave you alone then,” Alexa murmured, already moving away, already lost in thought.  Wasn’t Jouane supposed to be a healer4?  If he could save Rorik from a sword in the gut, why couldn’t he save the women of Rorikstead from the aftereffects of childbirth?  Or, at the very least, recognize when a pregnancy would need more help than he was capable of providing?  Strange. 

And it wasn’t just Lemkil and Mralki’s wives either, now that she thought about it.  Hadn’t Lund, the man living just up the road from Rorikstead proper, lost his wife recently?  Maybe she should go see if he had anything to say on the subject.

 


 

Skeevers.  There were skeevers everywhere at Lund’s hut.  Outside, inside…

Alexa cast Harmony.  “Look at that,” she said to one that was still giving her side-eye.  “I’d call that personal growth on my part, wouldn’t you?”

The skeever didn’t say anything.  But it did return to snuffling at an empty bowl on the floor.  Lund, it seemed, had been keeping them as pets.  Someone needed to introduce the lonely people of Skyrim to housecats, Alexa decided as she began to look around the room.

Poison on the table, dead man on the bed, his body unmolested by the hungry rodents.  Lund had clearly been poisoned, or poisoned himself, with something even the skeevers knew not to ingest.  Besides that, the inside of the hut looked pretty normal, under the circumstances…

Except the bookcase.

Everything on the shelves, even on those above skeever reach, had fallen over.  Several books had even fallen on the floor, in some cases several feet away from where the bookcase currently stood, and the basket beside it was lying on its side. 

Alexa pulled the bookcase out a bit to look behind it and was actually surprised to find… nothing.  No trap door beneath it, no hiding spot in the wall, no…  She ran a hand over the rought stone just to make sure she wasn’t missing something invisible.  Conjuration magic discharged, in a purple ripple, along her skin and she started back in surprise.5

Alexa stood there, a moment, without moving before pushing the bookcase back into position.  She then put some meat from her pack in the bowls by the fireplace and left the door to the hut wedged open so that the skeevers wouldn’t be trapped inside. 

It was fully dark now, but the sky overhead was lit by a brilliant green aurora.  Alexa, found herself a rock to sit on and think.  After a while she cast Candlelight and pulled out Eolain’s letter.

Alexa’s eyes narrowed.  “What did you do, Eolain?”

“Right,” Alexa sighed, summoning flame to the hand holding the letter and burning it to ash.  “There’s no way this isn’t going to lead to trouble.”  Damn.

 


 

“Ah, there you are, dragonborn,” Jouane greeted her as she entered the Frostfruits Inn a little before 9:00 PM.  “Rorik mentioned he’d told you to come see me.  Perhaps you can tell me what should be done with the dragon on the road?”

“Put him back in his mound,” she answered, glancing around the room and noting that they were, for the moment, alone.  “He won’t bother you again.”

“And the black one that brought him back?” Jouane enquired with a worried look.

“Is my problem,” she told him.  “But, with Nahagliiv slain, I doubt he will return to this place.”

“Understood,” Jouane nodded.  “And thank you for your timely rescue, dragonborn.” 

“Of course,” she answered.

Jouane looked a little surprised when she didn’t immediately move on.  “Was there something you needed?” he asked.

“Sissel says you are teaching her magic,” Alexa replied, getting straight to the point.

Jouane stiffened.  “And what interest is it of yours, dragonborn?” he enquired, archly.

“She dreams of dragons.”

He blinked and then, immediately, began to dissemble.  “She mentioned something about that, but it’s not surprising to have a nightmare or two things being as they are.”

“She’s dreaming of a real dragon,” Alexa clarified. 

“I…” he took a seat, eyes staring into the middle distance.  “I see.” 

“Can you tell me about her particular gift?” Alexa asked him, gently. 

She saw his jaw clench before he answered.  “Her interest in destruction magic is – worrying – though understandable.  I have been focusing on alteration magic, for which she has a talent.”

“Sounds like you have the makings of a battle-mage on your hands,” Alexa noted.

“I thought I had made this place a haven from such things,” he whispered before shaking himself slightly.  “Will you be taking her from here, dragonborn?”

Alexa looked him over carefully.  Rorikstead had rubbed her the wrong way for years now.  But her brief conversations today, along with what she’d discovered in Lund’s hut, had shed more light on the town than several years of simply passing through it had.  She was beginning to get an uncomfortable picture of what might be going on.  “I think we both know that, in the long run, she and her sister will not be safe here,” Alexa told him.

Jouane flinched hard, but Alexa continued before he could respond.

“I’m not going to ask you exactly how much – or to whom – you’ve sacrificed for Rorikstead’s prosperity,” she assured him.  “But I know a bad deal, in its final stages, when I see it.”

“You are cruel, dragonborn.”

“It is the world, and its indifference towards the living, that is cruel,” she told him.  “But the daedra can only make it worse if people let them.  You made your choice.  I could not save you from what comes as a result, even if I wanted to.”

“But you will save the children,” it wasn’t quite a question.

“I will send a cart from Markarth to have Eric take Britt to the Companions in Whiterun.  I expect he will stay there as well.  Sissel will leave with me in the morning.”

“And what becomes of her?”

“I will take her first to the court wizard in Morthal and later to the College of Winterhold.  Perhaps, one day, I will introduce her to the dragon she dreams of.”

He nodded.  “Perhaps there really is no way out – no matter how much I look for one...”  He sighed heavily and then straightened in his chair.  You should take all three of them with you when you go,” he told her, softly but firmly, “before anyone finds out.”

She cocked her head at him but said nothing.

“Rorikstead – the deal struck in this spot – existed long before I came here,” he told her.

A few more pieces fell into place.  “Exactly how long has Rorik been here?” Alexa asked him.

“I… don’t know.  And, by the time I thought to ask, it was already too late,” Jouane answered.  “He was my friend,” he added sadly.

“I know it doesn’t matter but, I am – sorry – Jouane.”

The older Breton nodded glumly and got to his feet.  “Then I will bid you good luck and farewell, Dragonborn.”

Notes:

1 Meaning: Fury-burn-wither. He is buried in the mound above Rorikstead. In-game he is resurrected after the end of A Cornered Rat (according to UESP) or before Elder Knowledge (according to elderscrolls.fandom).

2 Sissel really says this in-game but you can’t ask her about it or follow up on the comment in any way.
While there is quite a bit of online speculation about what dreaming of dragons means for Sissel there is little way to extrapolate what the developers intended. Oneiromancy (prophetic dreaming) is not actually uncommon in Tamriel. Kodlak, for instance, also experienced prophetic dreams.

3 Side Note: Lemkil is an anagram for “kill me”.

4 Jouane is actually classified as CombatMageElemental meaning his stats are: Alt:2, Con:2, Des:3, Res:3. Given that Breton racial traits are in Conjuration, Alchemy, Alteration, Illusion, Restoration, and Speech, he has clearly spent far more time training in destruction magic than in restoration.

5 What you find if you clip through the wall behind the bookshelf: (link)

Chapter 42: Markarth

Summary:

Making new friends.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Serpent’s Bluff…

Alexa shot the Briarheart in the back, killing him instantly, before looking around his tent.  She found the book she was looking for on a table.  A slip of paper, that had fallen to the floor, caught her eye.  She picked it up.

Really?  Why did things always come up?  Alexa stuffed the note in her pocket, cast muffle and invisibility, and slipped out of the camp and back to where she’d left Erik, now calling himself “the Slayer”, the girls, and the dogs.  It seemed she had yet another reason to visit Markarth.

 


 

Next day…1

Predictably Taran was not home.  She was going to have to work harder if she wanted to let him know about this “Matriarch” problem.  Luckily Argis was willing to let them spend the night at Vlindrel Hall, even though he clearly felt that Erik’s company was a step down from Lydia’s.  Alexa could not have agreed more.

The sun was only barely over the horizon when, leaving Sissel with Argis for the day (an inconvenience for which she paid him handsomely), Alexa ushered Britt and Erik back out of Markarth and into a cart bound for Whiterun.  “Here,” she said, handing Erik a letter of introduction to the Companions.  “Give this to Aela in Whiterun.  She’ll help both of you get settled in.”

“I don’t need help,” Britte announced.  “I want to go home.”

“You want to be a farmer?” Alexa asked her.

“No,” Britte pouted.

“Do you want to learn how to fight?” Alexa asked.

“…Yes,” Britte grumbled, refusing to make eye contact.

“Then you want to go to Whiterun,” Alexa told her.  “Don’t make trouble for Erik along the way.  If he tells me you were good, I’ll have a gift for you the next time we meet.”

“And when will that be?” Britte demanded. 

“A week, maybe ten days,” Alexa answered, handing money to the driver.  “I’ll see you both then.”

“Keep safe on your own journey,” Erik responded, waving, as the cart pulled away.

“Not a lot of chance of that,” Alexa muttered.  Having walked by Ragnvald before she was fairly certain her day was going to contain a dragon priest.  First though…

 


 

“My bones ache for the Moonsugar,” a female khajiit was saying as Alexa approached the caravan camp.  “It has been too long since I tasted it.”

“You know that our supply is limited, Atahbah,” Ri’saad told her.  “It could be a season or more before we get a new shipment from the south.”

“My ears hear the truth in your words,” Atahbah whined softly, “and yet my body shakes with the need.”

“Control yourself!” Ri’saad commanded.  “Do not frighten our customers away with your fits.”

Alexa pulled a small wax-paper envelope from her pack and tossed it to Atahbah before settling, cross-legged, in front of Ri’saad.

“That was kind of you, friend,” Ri’saad noted.  “Do you require payment?”

“No,” she replied, placing her pack in front of her.  “But I would ask for your consideration on not one but two different matters.” 

“I am listening,” Ri’saad informed her, settling himself more comfortably.

“The first,” Alex said, drawing Tonilia’s bag of Moon Sugar from her pack and placing it between them on the ground. 

“Ah, more Moon Sugar.  I could smell it on you,” Ri’saad commented, lifting up the bag and opening it to inspect its contents.  His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the Guild insignia on the inside of the bag.

“A gift from the Thieves Guild,” Alexa explained.  “It is their hope to formalize an alliance.  They have more of the same, in Riften, if you are interested.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the Guild is rising back to power,” Ri’saad purred, placing the bag behind him.  “An alliance would be most beneficial to both parties.”  He paused, looking her over carefully.  “But I do not believe one, such as yourself, runs the Guild’s errands for fun.  What is this second matter you wish to discuss?”

“What must be done to extend a caravan route to include the College of Winterhold,” Alexa answered.

Ri’saad tipped his head slightly at her.  “It could be done.  But why now?”

“The College is having trouble maintaining trade relations with the outside world.”

“I see.  If this trouble has a political side it may be dangerous for my people to become involved.  Especially as we are forced to camp in the wilderness without the protection of city walls.”

“The College can make arrangements,” Alexa assured him.  “Though I should tell you that such arrangements would best be worked out between yourself and Mirabelle Ervine.”

Ri’saad quirked an eyebrow at that.  “Not the Arch-mage?”

“Master Wizard Ervine handles the day-to-day business of the College.  The Arch-Mage, like great scholars the world over, cannot be counted upon to acknowledge such mundane issues as a lack of food or clothing much less engage in remedying the problem.”

Ri’saad smiled at that.  “Understood.  You may tell them both that I shall reach out to them soon.”

“Thank you,” Alexa said, standing.  She glanced meaningfully at Atahbah.  “If the time comes when dependence becomes addiction, I know how to detoxify the blood.  As long as she has not progressed to skooma.”

Ri’saad cocked his head at her again.  “It is this one’s understanding that such treatment requires a very powerful healer.”

“I offer the service, to you, freely.  When the time comes, what will you have to lose?”

He smiled at that.  “I will keep it in mind.  I look forward to doing business again, in the near future.”

Alexa bowed, ever so slightly, “May the sun keep you warm in this land of snow and ice.”

Notes:

1 Spent the night at the Old Hroldan Inn. Girls got to ride Arvak along the way. Still would have arrived in Markarth pretty late in the evening.

Chapter 43: Placing Stones

Summary:

Earmiel and Alexa reach a new understanding.

Notes:

**Note re. chapter title: the drake may play chess, but the jill play go.

 

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Welcome back,” Earmiel smiled, gesturing for a somewhat drawn looking Alexa to take a seat beside the fire.  He noted that, though travel weary, her college robes were clean and dry, meaning she must have taken a moment at the inn before coming to see him.1  “What brings you to Morthal this time, my dear?”

“I thought I’d gift you, and Falion, with another apprentice,” she told him, flopping, exhaustedly, into the chair he’d indicated.

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued.  “And what about this one caught the Dragonborn’s attention?”

“She dreams of dragons,” Alexa answered.  “Real ones.”

“An oneiromancer?” Earmiel enquired, surprised.  “Is Vaermina involved?”

“Not as far as I could tell.  But there may be other daedric involvement,” Alexa admitted.  “Not entirely certain what was going on in her home village, but it wasn’t good.”

Earmiel nodded in understanding and decided not to press for details Alexa clearly didn’t wish to give.  “You know, I’m beginning to think my fellow scholars may focus too much on the casting of spells and not enough on understanding the diversity of inborn magical abilities, especially in humans.”

“I do not doubt you are right,” Alexa sighed.

“Hmmm… it is something to consider,” Earmiel murmured, rising to his feet.  “On another note, I understand you were whispering in Dolly’s ear before you left,” he smirked, pulling a black bound book from a shelf.

She arched an eyebrow at that.  “I don’t recall doing anything quite so provocative.

“No… you’re careful with him, aren’t you?” Earmiel laughed.  “All that dragonborn charisma and you're so careful not to actually enthrall people.  Not that being careful necessarily prevents it from happening anyway but I guess the thought counts for something, right?”

“You know you’re an ass?”

“I know,” he admitted, holding the book out to her, “but I’m a charming ass.  I do have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“…Alright,” Alexa sighed, accepting her book back from him.

“What makes you think a dragonborn could absorb the soul of a god?” he asked, taking his seat again.

“The soul of a dragon god?” she returned.

“Lorkhan is a dragon?”

“Akatosh is a dragon.  Alduin is a dragon.  So, logically, ‘serpent’ is just a pejorative for ‘dragon’.”

“So it wouldn’t have worked with some other god?” Earmiel asked.

She shrugged.  “I lack data on the subject and so cannot say.”

“Alright, next question.  Could the destruction of the Towers, as described in the Dragonborn Prophecy, not simply have heralded the return of this Alduin but have, in some way, been necessary?”

“I have been wondering that myself,” she admitted.  “I think it probable.  The Towers are, in some way, connected to the Convention and Alduin is the physical embodiment of the Convention’s end or, at least, its hiatus.”

Alexa glanced down at the book in her hands.  “What part of my book did Ondolemar think you should read?”

“I believe he was most interested in seeing if I could decrypt that one piece.”

“Could you?” she asked.

“Yes.  You’ll find it on the last page of your notes,” he answered.

She, flipped the book open, read the piece over, and then closed it again.  “Interesting.”

“You do not seem surprised,” he noted.

“I think I’m too tired to be surprised,” Alexa admitted.  “I assume, since Ondolemar gave you the book, you’re also now aware of the situation that led me to cultivate a friendship with the Commander?” she enquired, her tone completely neutral.

“I am,” he told her slowly.  Had she just indicated that her situation, in regards to the Thalmor, had led to her relationship with Ondolemar?

“How mad is Ondolemar?” she asked having the grace to look a little worried.

“With you?  Not as angry as you’d think,” Earmiel informed her, anger settling into the pit of his stomach.  All this time she had been using Ondolemar and Earmiel had basically encouraged it!  “How long have you known about this little problem?”

“It’s why I left Cyrodiil,” she replied carefully.  “It may also be why my parents sent me to Cyrodiil in the first place.”

“Any idea what you did?” Earmiel demanded.

“I was thirteen when I left High Rock and fifteen the first time I found that order in the pocket of someone who’d just tried to kill me.”

Earmiel blinked, thrown out of his budding anger by surprise.  “Thirteen?”  What could a thirteen-year-old, in High Rock, have done to garner Thalmor attention much less a termination order?  “And your parents never indicated to you if they knew what’s going on?” he asked, after a moment’s thought, his anger cooling as incredulity, and fascination with a new puzzle, took over.

“They, and my three younger siblings, ‘mysteriously’ vanished from our estate in Camlorn a few months after they sent me away.  The rest of the extended family, in High Rock, soon followed.  By the end of the decade the entire family had… ‘disappeared’.”

Earmiel had known that last part.  Still…  He got up and grabbed a bottle of ale – a newly acquired taste2 – from the kitchen.  “Sorry,” he sighed, coming back to his chair.  “At this point I should know you better than to assume you’ve been stringing Dolly along so you could use him.”

“String him along,” she replied slowly, “no.  Befriend him in the hope that he’d let me know when it was time for me to move on, yes.  I’ve never had any wish to hurt him… well, aside from the impulse to punch him when he’s being particularly condescending.  I admit that, until quite recently, I had assumed being human made the possibility of a romantic relationship a nonissue.”

“I can see how you’d get that impression, Thalmor rhetoric being what it is,” Earmiel allowed.  He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “What a mess.  Anyway, you should know that Dolly’s enquiries into the order against your life have hit a wall, for the moment.  I, however, managed to trace it back to a minor functionary in Alinor.”

“By which you mean someone important is covering their tracks.”

“Whatever threat your family posed… to still be hunting you, who were little more than a child at the time, and after so long.  It sounds personal.  I suppose, given how young you were, you have no idea why?”

“No, I’m fairly certain I do know.  I just don’t understand why it’s worth everything that’s happened.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

Alexa stood up, turned her back to him, and pulled her robe up to expose her back.

“Those are nice,” Earmile remarked noncommittally. 

“Touch them.”

“Why?”

“Just do it so I can put my clothes back on.”

“Alright…”  He reached out and poked her back with one finger.  The petals swirled away from his finger as if blown away on the wind.  “Oh.  Well, damn.  That does explain… everything, I suppose.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “I had heard something about a human Grand Master, but everyone just assumed it was a stupid rumor since no one’s ever managed to make Grand Master before the end of their first century before.  Well, except, apparently, the dragonborn…”

She gave him a slightly sour look as she straightened her robe.

“Right, no, you’re right.  Officially dragonborn don’t exist and we can’t have some lousy human wandering around being better at magic than we are.  That’s probably exactly why they’re after you.  Am I rambling?  I feel like I’m rambling.  Is this ale?  I need brandy.  I’d offer you some, but I doubt you’re still capable of getting drunk… unless you’d like some anyway?”

“True,” she answered as she took the bottle from his shaking hand.  “Here... let me do that.  You go sit down.”

He complied, and watched, mystified, as she added some herbs to an empty wine bottle before filling it with hot water from the kettle over the fire.  “What are you making?” he asked.

“I assume you know to whom I’m married.”

“I do.”

“Would you be surprised to hear that my marriage came with a strange array of concessions?”

“What, like titles, land, income, horses?” he asked, suddenly interested.

“Much like that,” she smiled and flicked bottle with the middle finger of her left hand.  The bottle glowed briefly so faintly he almost didn’t see it.  “Not only am I now virtually immune to alcohols brewed on Nirn I have been gifted with a few, lesser versions, of my husband’s particular talents.”  She poured the contents of the wine bottle into two cups and then added a dash of the brandy from his shelf.  “Here, my dunmer traveling companion says this is fairly potable.”

He took a sip.  “Your traveling companion has understated the situation,” he told her.  “This is very good.”

He was silent for a while, lost in thought, as he sipped his drink.  Alexa let him think, remaining silent, and uncannily still, in her chair.  Finally Earmiel turned back to her.  “Thing is, if Thalmor interest in you was about something you’d done, there might be a way to resolve the issue.  But, if you’re right, it’s about what you are.  There’s no resolving that.  I need to think some more about this, but given the new dragon problem, the Thalmor may be amenable, if the issue is presented properly, to turning a blind eye to your status, as long as you don’t rub it in their face.  There are some people who I will need to discuss it with.  In the meantime though, you and Dolly need to have a good long talk about… everything.”

“You really want me to tell him that the Thalmor murdered my entire family?” she asked, in a skeptical tone.

“Yes.”

Alexa sighed heavily.  “Earmiel, Ondolemar may lie, with every breath he takes, about his unwavering dedication to the Thalmor cause in Skyrim, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the same thing as being ready to hear that the Thalmor aren’t the least bit interested in the greater good and may, in fact, be trying to end the world.”

“You’re not wrong,” Earmiel grimaced, remember his own attempt to discuss the topic with Ondolemar, “but he’s already figured out the second part is a possibility all by himself.  You can’t seriously have expected he wouldn’t after you left that book with him.  Your marginal notes were quite…” Earmiel paused.  “Oh you conniving little wretch,” he gasped. “You set him, you set me, up!”

Alexa lifted an eyebrow in delicate incredulity but said nothing.

“You totally did!” Earmiel insisted.  “You had no actual proof that Ulfric is a Thalmor asset and you just… I just… confirmed it!”

“You know, when you tell Ondolemar about this conversation, I suggest you leave that part out,” she advised placidly.

“Why, you…” Earmiel sank back into his chair with a pout.

“How are those front row seats treating you?” she enquired.3

“Are all Breton women this devious?” he asked, managing to glare and pout at the same time.

“I have no idea,” she told him.  “Never having spent any time there as an adult.”

“Alright, well, now you know.  So now what?”

“My curiosity on the subject is satisfied?” she suggested.

“Meaning you haven’t decided how to leverage the information yet,” he translated.

“You did just confirm my suspicion,” she pointed out.  “You can’t really expect me to immediately know how it fits into the larger picture.  Besides, knowing something, and being able to prove it are two entirely different things.”

“Well, while you consider your options, there is something else I would like to know,” Earmiel admitted.

“Yes?”

“Why Ondolemar?”

“He’s the local head of the Justiciars?”

“But why continue to engage with him?”

“Have you ever had a pet cat?” she asked.

“Mother had dozens of them,” he informed her.

“You know that look they give you when you do something like tickle the bottoms of their feet when they’re asleep or pet them backwards after they’ve just groomed?”

“Intimately.”

“Well, arguing with Ondolemar is much like petting a self-satisfied housecat the wrong direction.  Utterly irresistible once you discover forgiveness can be purchased with bits of roast chicken or, in Ondolemar’s case, baked goods and candy.”

“So, from your point of view, your continuing relationship with Ondolemar was based on your complete inability to not poke at things just to see what happens and the ease with which his good temper can be returned with an opportune influx of sugar?”

“Yes?”

“And you’ve been putting this into practice?”

“Sort of?”

“Lexi, did you bringing him candy?”

“From time to time,” she admitted.  “I needed to stay on his good side after all.”

“…Lexi,” Earmiel sighed, burring his head in his hands.  “How much do you know about Altmer courtship?”

“Now, or three years ago?” she asked.

Right.  That handbook he’d helped Viarmo write.  “So you really knew nothing about that facet of Altmer culture?”

“Let’s just say that had known then, what I know now, I might not have started off our second conversation with a gift – is it called a gift if you leave something behind because you don’t want it? – of a bottle of brandy and a pair of ancient Dwemer cups.”3

Earmiel stared at her, mouth agape.

“What?” she demanded a little defensively.  “I had found a dead Justiciar and needed to report it.  It seemed like a good time to troll for information.”

“So you did him a favor, brought him alcohol, and left a set of Dwemer artifacts behind when you left?”

“Cheep Dwemer artifacts, and not quite in that order, but yes.  The order was alcohol, stupid conversation, heads up about dead Justiciars, abandoned brandy and Dwemer cups.”

“You know in Alinor that would be considered practically throwing yourself at him?”

“I don’t think our topics of conversation would have pleased a match maker.  For one thing they included me suggesting that, if the Thalmor truly had Skyrim’s best interests at heart, their time would be best spent teaching Nords the virtues of soap.”

“You discussed Nord bathing habits?” Earmiel whispered, not quite sure what he was hearing could possibly be real.

Specifically, I suggested the use of Justiciars to enforce bathing in Nords,” Alexa smirked.  “It was a fantastic mental image by the time I was done.”

Earmiel managed to swallow the laughter building up in his chest.  “I really don’t know what to say,” he said, voice a little tight from the control he was exerting over himself.  “I mean, poor Dolly probably spent most of the conversation waiting for the second shoe to drop and trying to figure out if forced bathing was some sort of odd kink you have.  He must have been very confused.  What did he say?”

“That I delight in being ridiculous, which is true, and that he could use some help with something if I wouldn’t mind doing him a favor.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Earmiel groaned.  “He really was lost if he decided you needed prompting on the next step so he could get around to turning you down and remind you of your place all at once.  So what did you do?”

“I told him his men were dead and that I was certain his long life had familiarized him with the concept of disappointment.  Then I left.”

That was finally too much and Earmiel dissolved into breathless laughter.

“Still,” she continued when he’d finally stopped.  “I hope the Commander knows enough about Breton culture to realize I was simply being polite.”

“Poor Lexi,” Earmiel commiserated.  “Ever the polite young lady and always so confused when the men around her get the wrong idea.”

“The next time we conversed for an extended period of time he got drunk and propositioned me,”5 she told him.

“At which point you decided to learn something about altmer relationships?” Earmiel enquired.

“I can see how you might think that, but no.  I simply assumed he was completely drunk, because he was, and didn’t know what he was saying.  And, since he didn’t say anything about it the next time we met, I assumed he didn’t remember any of it.”

Earmiel winced slightly.  “I know for a fact he remembers quite a lot about that evening.”

Alexa nodded.  “So I’ve learned.”6

“What’s your endgame Lexi?  What is it you hope for out of all of this?”

“I need local hostilities to resolve, for a short time at least, so that I can turn my full attention towards figuring out how I defeat Alduin, preferably without everyone dying in the process, without running the risk of being blindsided by something that might get in my way.  When it’s all over I want to retire someplace nice and just be, me.  Maybe write a few papers on the lost magics the dragons inside my head remember.  Travel a bit without being forced to hike down to the bottom of every tomb I pass by.  Do you think I’ll manage it?”

“No.  If you succeed at ending the civil war, and slaying Alduin, someone will try to make you Empress for certain.”

“Maybe, if I breathe fire all over the Elder Council, they’ll leave me alone.”

“I would pay vast sums of money to see that,” he admitted.

“What about you, Earmiel?” she asked softly, her gaze penetrating.  “What’s your story, since we’re being overly truthful with each other?”

Earmiel was silent for a moment.  Perhaps it was the alcohol but… there were worse ideas than letting Alexa in on the truth.  There was even some possibility she could help him, though that would make Eolain at least partially correct; an eventuality that should cause one to simply dismiss any course of action likely to result in such a thing.  He took another sip of his drink. 

“My full name is Earmiel Larethaire, as you know.  My twin sister Eolain and I were born in 4E 1377.  My mother was a powerful mage and my father a so-called ‘living treasure’ – an artist whose methods and works show no sign of non-Aldmeri influence.  They had been chosen for each other one the basis of their bloodlines though, unlike Ondolemar’s parents, they have maintained a relatively friendly, if not loving, relationship.  Our parent’s property shared a boundary line with Ondolemar’s parents, which was quite convenient for us as children.  Also convenient for our parents, as it turns out my father was Ondolemar’s mother’s lover.

“I don’t know when I first began to get the sneaking suspicion that there was something fundamentally wrong with the Thalmor view of the world, but I was already a member of the Resistance by the time Eolain had to elope to Morrowind to marry Mirlen.  That was… about fourty years ago now. 

“In the beginning my participation in the Resistance – an anti-Thalmor organization dedicated to peace and relative equality between sapient species – was all very intellectual, the opposition of political parties, nothing more… until I was assigned to investigate the Void Nights and the Thalmor’s claims regarding ending them.

“Dawn magicks,” Earmiel snorted.  “Anyone who knows anything knows that dawn magick is only possible during a dragon break.  For the magicks to affect the moons the dragon break would have had to encompass the entire world, as the one during the Middle Dawn did.  I personally spent over a decade looking and found no evidence a dragon break occurred either directly before or after the Void Nights.  Whatever caused the Void Nights, and whatever ended them, it was not‘dawn magick’.

“But, with the damn Psijics gone, I couldn’t even petition them for second opinion.  About the time I was ready to give up the University sent me to Cyrodiil.  In the Imperial city I saw the dragon statue and heard, for the first time, the Imperial story of how the Oblivion Crisis ended.  It took less than a year to verify the Imperial story and to realized how thoroughly the Thalmor have lied to us all.

“Since then my role in the Resistance has been to verify claims the Thalmor make, document the truth, and provide my fellows with the evidence they need to disprove Thalmor lies wherever, and whenever, possible.”

“Does Ondolemar know?” Alexa asked, sounding intrigued.

“I think he suspects.  But I’m certain he doesn’t understand how deeply I am involved or why it matters so much.  Even after you handed him proof that a Thalmor agent, knowingly or not, has aided in bringing about the possible end of the world, he hopes it is just that Elenwen was ignorant of the prophecy and overly clever in her method of following orders.”

“What do you believe?” Alexa asked softly.

“I believe they’re working towards something.  I don’t know what.  But I think the Void Nights were a failed attempt.8  Whether the return of the dragons was intended or not, I don’t know, but I don’t think they’re done with Skyrim and they’re certainly not done with Cyrodiil.”

Alexa nodded.  “And what brings you to Skyrim?”

I am here, rather than one of my University colleagues, because Ondolemar requested me,” Earmiel explained.  “I hadbelieved he did so in the hope that some time away from Summerset would help me get my head on straight – remind me of how superior the Altmer really are...”  He gave Alexa a rueful smile.  “Imagine my surprise when I arrived to discover my very proper childhood friend wanted me to keep an eye on the extremely dangerous human he was having trouble handling because, not only was she impressively persuasive and difficult to anticipate, but he’d fallen in love with her.  Which, excellent friend that I am, I went right out and told her.9

“As to why I decided to accept Ondolemar’s ‘invitation’,” he continued before Alexa could respond to his last statement, “I thought Skyrim might prove fertile soil for the Resistance.  This, after all, should have been an easy assignment.  I was here to be a glorified babysitter.10  There should have been lots of time to get the Resistance started.  Even the addition of keeping track of a Breton mercenary shouldn’t have been too taxing… just make friends with the girl, make friends with her friends, and network my way through her life.  Nothing to it.  Only it turns out my day job is far more fascinating and complicated than expected, the girl is a world class political manipulator – which it turns out Ondolemar already knew – she’s never in one place long enough to actually catch up to and, oh right, she’s the dragonborn.”

“Tell me you’re not still sleeping with Farkas as a way to integrate yourself into my life?” Alexa enquired when Earmiel stopped for breath.

Earmiel blushed.  “Ah, no, ummm, that never had anything to do with you.11  Though it did feel like a lucky coincidence.”

“Glad to hear it.  And, going back a bit, why did you tell me about Ondolemar’s request?  It seems like an immediate breach of his trust in you.”

“Honestly?  At that time Dolly was still claiming his interest in you was ‘purely intellectual’, so telling you about my take on the situation didn’t seem like a breach of trust, and I was hoping that falling in love with a human might cause him to reevaluate the things he has been taught to believe.  I wasn’t wrong about that, by the way,” he added, meeting her eyes.  “You’ve made more progress with him in two years than I have in as many decades.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Have you done something, Earmiel?”

Earmiel sighed.  He really did need to watch himself more closely around Alexa.  “I… may have pushed too hard,” he admitted.  “I went to talk with him about your notes and that strange Thalmor piece and…” he gave a little, helpless, shrug.

“I see.”  She was silent for a bit.  “And how is setting up a Skyrim faction of the Resistance going?”

“It’s not.  As I’ve said, you’re keeping me exceedingly busy.  And adding the needs of another apprentice to my schedule isn’t going to help.”

“I apologize,” Alexa smirked.

“Yeah well, explaining the delay to Yurian hasn’t been fun,” Earmiel grumped.

“Yurian?” Alexa asked, brows drawing together.

“Ondolemar’s father, Yurian12, is the member of the Resistance with the highest Thalmor rank that I know of,” Earmiel explained.  “I’ve been reporting to him, directly, since I arrived here.”

“Ondolemar’s father is in the resistance?” Alexa asked, actually sounding surprised.

Earmiel nodded.  “Yurian was always fairly moderate while we were growing up.  Then, about a decade ago, he told me something had happened to convince him that the Thalmor doctrine of racial supremacy wasn’t just morally reprehensible but factually wrong.”

“Did he say what?” Alexa inquired.

“No,” Earmiel shook his head.  “But, if I had to guess, I’d say it was learning about a child, human, Grand Master.”

Alexa appeared to think about that for a moment.  “Since you’re not making any headway in regard to the Resistance, on your own, would you be interested in helping me with the civil war?” she inquired.  “If you’re right about Ulfric then doing so might reveal something of interest to the Resistance.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Earmiel grinned.

 

Notes:

1 Had to get Sissel and the dogs settled at the inn.

2 *cough* Farkas *cough-cough*

3 Reference to conversation in A2:17.
She looked him over, searchingly, her face serine. “Just because someone else sent you here doesn’t mean I won’t use you, you know that, right?”
He smirked slightly. “A Breton with only a quarter of a century under her belt thinks she can use a man she claims is a trained Altmer spy? That should be interesting to watch.”
“Lucky for you then that you’ve got front row seats at that particular show.”
“So what does the prologue of this production look like?” he asked, leaning in excitedly.
“Prologue?” she asked archly. “What makes you think we’re not already well into the first act?”

4 Conversation can be found in A1:08.

5 The night with the Wabbajack. A1:16.

6 In A2:34. (About four months ago.)

7 Earmiel is 65.

8 Michael Kirkbride’s posts from 2012: 03/02/12
Q: What were the Void Nights?
A: Eugenics experiment. With a side dish of “don't [censored] with us”. (link)

9 At the end of A1:40.

10 Only a man without children of his own would think that being a babysitter would leave him with time on his hands for other things.

11 Farkas and Earmiel’s first night together (A1:33) really did come before Ondolemar asked Earmiel to keep an eye on Alexa (A1:39).

12 If this name sounds familiar, you are not losing your mind.  I introduced Yurian, by name, in A2:36 (link) and we actually met him, briefly, in A3:22 (link).

Chapter 44: General Tullius

Summary:

Not joining the legion.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Taran was also not in Solitude.  Luckily, since it looked like Alexa was going to have to deal with this Matriarch issue on her own, the guard at the gate had come up with several possible hagraven nest between Solitude and Markarth.  The largest, most impressive of which, was Hag’s End, which the guard was further able to tell her could only be accessed via Deepwood Redoubt. 

Maybe she shouldn’t try it entirely on her own, Alexa thought, considering her map.  She could spend the night at Mor Khazgur and ask Borgakh to join her.  That decided on, Alexa took a long slow breath to settle herself, she still had a few things to do before leaving Solitude and she wasn’t certain how the first one would go.


“You people and your damn Jarls!” a male voice, the Imperial general if memory served, growled.  Frankly, Alexa had been far too distracted by Alduin’s approach to be absolutely certain she actually remembered Tullius’ voice even though he’d spent a fair amount of time lecturing Ulfric within her hearing. 

“You can’t force a Nord to accept help he hasn’t asked for,” the female Legate Alexa had met at Korvanjund,1responded in a mollifying tone as Alexa stopped, still unnoticed, in the doorway.

“If Ulfric makes a move for Whiterun, then we need to be there to stop him,” Tullius told the Legate, frustration clear in both his tone and stance.  Then he sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, and leaned heavily on the map table.  “Draft another letter with the usual platitudes,” he told her, his voice tired.  “This time, share some of your intelligence regarding Ulfric’s plans.  Embellish if you have to.  We’ll let it seem like it’s his idea.”

“Yes, sir,” the Legate nodded, her body language clearly indicating relief.

“You Nords and your bloody sense of honor,” Tullius grumbled, straightening.

“Sir,” Rikka responded, with a sideways glance towards the door.

He turned, his eyes falling on Alexa.  “Are my men now giving free reign to anyone who wanders into the castle?” he asked her.  “Do you have some reason to be here citizen?”

“I believe we’ve already met, though I was not given the chance to introduce myself at the time,” Alexa replied, stepping into the room before acknowledging Rika with a slight nod.  “Legate.”

“Riiight, you were at Helgen!” Tullius replied, sounding singularly unimpressed.

“Dragonborn,” the Legate murmured with a return nod, garnering a quick, sideways, glance from Tullius.

“I see your legend does not misrepresent your abilities, General,” Alexa smiled at him.  “To remember the face of a single prisoner, in the wake of a dragon attack, is impressive.”

“To remember the face of the Stormcloak spy we were lucky enough to catch making her report?” he asked.  “Hardly. Though your actions since then seem to invalidate that initial assessment.”

“Is the Legion keeping an eye on me, General?” Alexa inquired.

“We would be fools not too,” Tullius informed her.  “I try not to be a fool.  Was there something you needed, citizen?”

“You are having trouble with Winterhold and the Pale, are you not?” she asked, approaching the map table.

“We are,” he answered, clearly uncertain of where this line of questioning was going.

“The College of Winterhold is also having some trouble,” she informed him.  “It seems bandits have taken to raiding wagons of supplies meant for the College.  Everything from food to alchemy and enchanting equipment has been taken.  The Jarl claims he cannot spare the guards to patrol the roads or to deal with these brigands.  Unfortunately, he has also indicated that he would consider any attempt, by the College, to secure the roads a breach of the College’s neutrality.”  Alexa met and held Tullius’ gaze.  “It has occurred to me that, while the Jarl has been very specific about the roads within his hold, he said nothing about the local forts…”  She reached out and touched the blue markers on Fort Kastav and Fort Dunstad.  “Taking the forts is easy enough but the College lacks the resources to make certain the bandits do not return and has no doubt that the Jarl would amend his oversight if given the chance that repeated action on our part would afford him.”

Tullius nodded slowly.  “I understand and, once Whiterun is secure, I am certain, Legate,” he glanced in Rikke’s direction, “that the Legion could spare a few men to garrison the forts against the return of these bandits?”

“Of course, General,” Rikke responded.  “It will take some time to move enough men into the area, but I will see what can be done.”

“And if Ulfric’s attack on Whiterun does not come until midsummer?” Alexa asked.

Tullius met her eyes levelly but said nothing.

“Understood,” Alexa sighed.  “It seems I will need to speak to Vittoria about finding a shipping lane.”

The General grimaced at that and relented slightly.  “The East Empire Company has trouble of its own, at the moment.  If, however, they can be convinced to supply the ship and the sailors the Legion might lend a few soldiers to secure your deliveries, on the understanding that we will have help when the time comes to take Fort Kastav and Fort Dunstad.”

“Of course,” Alexa replied with a slight nod.

“The coast east of Dawnstar is dangerous and unmapped,” Rikke informed them both.

“A problem the College is already working to rectify,” Alexa told her.

Tullius’ eyes narrowed slightly at that.  “It seems like you have thought of everything,” he noted dryly.

“I am certain something unforeseen will occur,” Alexa told him with a slightly bitter smile.  “But I do like to be prepared.”

“Was there anything else you needed?” Tullius asked, his tone clearly indicating his intention to end their conversation.

“Not at the moment,” Alexa answered, stepping back from the table.  “The College will be in touch.”


The East Empire Company was indeed experiencing trouble of its own.  Vittoria was only too happy to point Alexa in the direction of the Company offices in Windhelm with the promise that, should the piracy problem be dealt with, the Company would be only too happy to make deliveries to any location the College required, at a reasonable price, as long as said location was safely accessible by boat.

And so it was that, before leaving Solitude for Mor Khazgur, Alexa found herself writing Mirabelle Ervine a rather long letter.

 

Notes:

1 They spoke briefly, in A2:32, when Alexa beat the Legate to the Jagged Crown (about six months ago in story terms).

Chapter 45: Nord Tongues

Summary:

Volunruud leaves Alexa with something to ponder.

Notes:

Note: Much of the speculation in this chapter hinges upon information found in the obscure text Shor Son of Shor.  As usual Michael Kirkbride’s writing style makes the piece more impenetrable than is strictly necessary.  If you are interested, you can find the original piece here (link) and my summary of it here (link).
Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hag’s End had been a bloodbath.  Still, the two letters1 Alexa had found, along with the word wall for the Slow Time shout, had gone a fair way towards convincing her that going there, without waiting to consult with Taran, had been for the best.  It had also helped that Borgakh, and presumably Malacath, had been completely unphased by the slaughter.

Retrieving another of Shalidor’s manuscripts from Volunruud, a few days later, had been intriguing.  Not only had the ruin’s structure been unique, but it was the first time Alexa had encountered draugr she knew for certain had been Nord Tongues2 in life.  The strength of their shouts had certainly been impressive, even with their life force diminished, as it obviously would be, by undeath.3

Kvenel, and his warrior Tongues, if memory served, dated to the Second Era.  A fact that indicated that Hjalti Early Beard’s use of the thu’um, late in the same era, was not as singular as it might seem from a distance of more than six centuries, and that, at the time, some group, other than the Greybeards, had still been capable of teaching the thu’um to those who were neither dragonborn nor Shezarrine. 

More and more the information on the plaques along the seven thousand steps seemed curated to the point of near falsehood.  Was Paarthrunax’s continued existence the only thing they were attempting to obscure or was there more to it than that? Alexa wondered as she turned Arvak onto the road headed for Whiterun.  Would the current Greybeards even know, or had the truth of the plaques, and their skewed view of history, been lost to time?  Or was it simply that someone had chosen to immortalize a certain, very specific, set of facts and the author hadn’t cared what would happen if those facts were taken out of context so long as they were remembered? 

After some consideration it occurred to her that it was also possible that the plaques had been written at different times and so the motives of each author might have been different.  That, actually, seemed likely.  The text on Emblems one through five, which covered everything up to the Dragon War, could very well be older than High Hrothgar itself and might, originally, have been created to mark the path to where the battle against Alduin had been fought.  Six through eight, covering the life and purpose of Jurgen Windcaller, along with Ten (the philosophy of the Greybeards), could have been installed at about the same time as the building of High Hrothgar.  Leaving the addition of emblem nine to after the advent of Tiber Septim.

Would there, one day, be a deeply suspect emblem, along the Seven Thousand Steps, covering the events of her life? Alexa wondered.  And why was Talos considered important enough for a plaque but not any of the other “dragonborn” of history? 

Was it because, unlike Miraak and the Dragonborn Emperors, Tiber Septim had become an avatar of Kyne’s husband Shor?  If so his place on her sacred mountain… should have been in a cave.  Shouldn’t it?  Yet Alexa had never seen a cave on the mountain itself4.  Though, now that she thought about it, one of the texts she’d retrieved from Apocrypha indicated such a cave had, or would, exist5

Must exist, she concluded after some more thought.

Though its summit was sundered by the time-wound, Alexa was fairly certain that the Snow Tower was still at least semi-functional.  Frankly, if it hadn’t been, Skyrim wouldn’t be so cold, she reflected with a slight grimace.  Which meant the Tower Stone, usually housed within the Tower itself, must still be intact.  Given that Snow Throat was a mountain, a cave seemed like the only possible location for the Stone, meaning a cave had to exist.  But where was it?  If she, the dragonborn, had never noticed it, or any likely entrance to it, then the cave had to be extraordinarily well hidden… or well-guarded?

Paarthurnax guarded the Time Wound and High Hrothgar guarded Paarthurnax by blocking the only path to the summit…

Unless that wasn’t all the monks of Kyne were guarding?

The Emblems asserted that Jurgen Windcaller had spent seven years in meditation upon the mountain… likely before any building had been built high upon its slopes…  Had he come to his understanding of the dangers inherent in using the thu’um – a power that could alter the very fabric of reality – from within the heart of the Snow Tower itself?

Legend indicated that Windcaller had descended the mountain capable of withstanding the combined shouts of seventeen Tongues.  Withstanding the voice of four had been enough for Arngeir to be certain of Alexa’s dragon blood…  Extended contact with a Tower Stone might account for such a thing.

How altered had Jergan been by those seven years?  Not enough to be given the title Ysmir, or Kyne related equivalent, apparently, but still a prophet of some sort. 

A Nord prophet of peace?  Not a traditional Nord cultural virtue that was for certain…

But, if the legends were to be believed, Windcaller’s formative moment had been the destruction of the Nord armies at the Battle of Red Mountain… 

A man who had survived the Red Moment - even if he had likely not been present when Wulfharth, Nerevar, and Dumac fought - might have had a singular perspective on what he later found, on the Throat of the World, in a cave of mirrored ice.  And of what the wraiths within the mirrors had to say, perhaps?

Alexa halted Arvak, just in front of the Western Watchtower, and looked up at the mountain, and the monastery visible upon its shoulder.  Had Jurgen Windcaller taken to heart the “Forefather’s6” advice that Shor, inevitably, refused in every kalpa?  Was his “Way of the Voice” actually their message?

She considered what she could see of the monastery.  High Hrothgar had clearly been built not just across the path to the summit but across a fair amount of cliff face as well…

After a moment’s more consideration Alex shrugged and urged Arvak into a gentle jog.  Just as well, really.  Even the Thalmor would think twice about attempting to enter the heart of the mountain if they had to go through the Greybeards to get there.  And history indicated that the world was better off when such places were completely inaccessible rather than risk being accessed by the wrong sort of person.

Notes:

1 “Forsworn Note 2” (second image): link
“Forsworn Missive”: link
Has it occurred to anyone else how incredibly literate everyone in Skyrim is, especially as there appears to be no formal schooling below the college level?  Also, a remarkable number of people appear to have absolutely crippling hypergraphia (choosing to journal rather than, say, trying to escape a deadly situations).

2 The floor journal, found on site, called “Heddic’s Volunruud Notes” indicates Volunruud is the tomb of “The Tongue Chieftain Kvenel”.

3 While, in game, barrow inhabitants level up until many of them are draugr deathlords, armed with ebony and capable of shouting the player through a wall. In non-game terms it is likely only those who were Tongues in life would be draugr deathlords, or death overlords, in death. Interestingly draugr death overlords are, according to the wiki, the only draugr whose shouts are at full strength. Perhaps these few individuals were considered dov-ah-kiin in life?

4 Pinepeak Cavern is the only cave on the Throat of the World and clearly too low on the mountain to be the cave we are looking for.

5 Shor Son of Shor:
“Kyne's shout brought our tribe back to the mountaintop of Hrothgar…
“And then Shor walked away… to enter the cave that led to the Underworld.  He needed to take counsel with his father yet again…
“Shor found the alcove at the core of the world and spoke to his dead father.  He said a prayer to remove any trickery of mirrors and the ghost of Shor father of Shor appeared…”
Shor Son of Shor (link)
Context indicates that Shor’s “father” is Shor from the previous kalpa.  My summary of the text: (link)

Also of interest:
Michael Kirkbride - IRC Q&A Sessions (October 15th)
Q: What are the stones of Snow-Throat, Crystal-Like-Law, Falinesti, and Orichalc?
A: The cave, a person, a fruit, and a sword.  (link)

Alexa is currently assuming the Tower Stone is something in the cave (like with Red Mountain and the Heart), not the cave itself.

6 All the previous Shors.

Chapter 46: Whiterun

Summary:

Visiting friends.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alexa found Aela in the Underforge.  “Shield-sister,” Aela greeted her with a hug.  “What brings you to Whiterun?”

“Passing through on my way back to Winterhold,” Alexa replied her eyes falling upon a small drum set upon one of the stone platforms that circled the room. 

“The Totem of Brotherhood,” Aela told her, sounding a little sheepish.  “Vilkas found it for me.”

“That was nice of him,” Alexa smiled.  

Aela’s expression soured slightly.  “He said it reminded him that wolves have been known to accept non-wolves into their packs; that family is about more than the form we take.”

“That seems a rather roundabout way of asking that you not feel as though you are alone,” Alexa noted.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Aela sighed.  “I don’t, you know.  As much as I grieve for Skjor, I do not race to join him.  And, lately, I have begun to think that even wolves must move on with their lives – find a new mate – if their mate is killed.”1

“Oh?” Alexa asked, arching an eyebrow at the huntress. 

Aela suddenly looked uncomfortable… odd for someone so prone to over sharing.  Alexa acknowledged the emotional shift by changing the subject.  “I have a present for you,” she said, holding out a glass bow.  “The Bow of the Stag Prince.  The more you hunt with it, the more powerful the enchantment becomes.”

Aela took the bow from her hand looking it over appreciatively.  “I must say, I like this present rather better than the last one you sent me.”

“You mean the children2?” Alexa asked with the ghost of a knowing smile.

Aela rolled her eyes.  “It is amazing that anyone could reach adulthood, in this day and age, and still be so young.  The girl though… I believe, given time to adjust, she will do well here.  Tilma has already taken her in hand.”

“Thank you,” Alexa said.

“It is odd,” Aela noted, with a penetrating glance for Alexa, “for you to have taken an interest them.  Children don’t really strike me as your thing.”

“Under most circumstances,” Alexa agreed.  “But I have reason to believe that Britte and her twin were being groomed by daedra worshipers.”

“Oh?” Aela asked.

Alexa shook her head.  “I did not feel it worth risking them to spend the time to find out which one or for what purpose.”

“Understood,” Aela nodded and then changed the subject.  “Speaking of princes, a certain Forsworn prince is currently up at Dragonreach.  He stopped by Jorrvaskr when he first arrived, last night, and asked after you.”

Alexa repressed an inquisitive eyebrow twitch.  While she had not found Taran in Markarth his housecarl had dropped one interesting piece of information: Aela had lately become a regular visitor to Vlindrel Hall.  “What’s he doing so far from the Reach?” Alexa enquired.

“I, uh,” Aela cleared her throat slightly, “hear that his people intercepted a Stormcloak arms shipment a few days ago and he thought its destination would be of interest to the Jarl of Whiterun.”

Alexa cocked her head slightly to one side.  “I see...  Well I’m sure the city guard will have let him, and the Jarl, know that I’ve arrived.”

“Do you need to present yourself to the jarl, now that you’re a thane and all?” Aela asked.

Alexa gave her a flat look. 

“Forget I said anything,” Aela laughed.

Alexa frowned her attention suddenly drawn northward.  Something very odd had just happened.  Almost like an extremely powerful summoning…

“Something wrong?” Aela demanded, turning in the same direction.

“Dragon,” Alexa announced just as the sound of its challenge shook the Underforge.

 


 

The soul-energy faded.  Alexa took a single step towards the skeleton before her vision grayed, her breath catching in her throat as the first flood of dragon memories tore through her with a ferocity unlike any she’d previously experienced.  Her hand, reaching blindly for something to brace herself against, met leather armor. 

Aela wrapped her arms around her.  “Don’t worry, we’ve got you,” she whispered, steadying Alexa, as the Companions closing ranks around them, ordering the rest of the citizens of Whiterun back to their homes.

“This is sweet and all,” Njada sneered, “but what in Shor’s name is happening?”

“Our shield-sister is adjusting to the soul she absorbed,” Aela snapped at the woman. 

“Is it always like this?” Athis asked, his worried voice adding a twinge of guilt to the slowly receding confusion in Alexa’s head.

“No.  Clearly that was no normal dragon,” Taran’s voice cut in, his tone steady and unafraid, his trust in her ability to handle this evident in every syllable.  She was with it enough to wonder vaguely when during the fight he’d arrived.

“What makes a dragon ‘normal’ or not?” Alexa heard Farkas wonder aloud.

“This one doesn’t have horns,” Tovar pointed out with surprising clarity.  “Aren’t they supposed to have horns?”

“After the Dragon War,” Alexa began quietly, her forehead still pressed to Aela’s shoulder, “and again during the Akaviri Invasion, many dragons sought to evade the mortal armies that hunted them.  Some found their way to Oblivion.  The time they have spent there has altered them, much as it would alter anything else.”

“So that dragon was from Oblivion?” Vilkas asked, walking over from where he’d been inspecting the skeleton.

“Specifically, I believe, from Apocrypha,” she answered, taking a step back from Aela and turning to face the rest of her shield siblings.

“Does this mean that Hermaeus Mora has formed an alliance with Alduin?” Vilkas asked her.

“No.  I believe this,” she gestured both to the dragon skeleton and to the destruction of the market around them, “was orchestrated by Hermaeus Mora as proof that I cannot escape Its machinations…”  She had received yet another letter from Ralis almost a week ago and was beginning to suspect that Mora might have expected her to respond more rapidly to the Dunmer’s request.  “And that It does not require my consent to fill my head with dangerous and forbidden knowledge,” she added with a weary sigh.

“What are you going to do?” Farkas asked, in a low, worried, tone.

“Continue my training,” she answered simply.

 


 

Later that evening Taran found Alexa taking a moment alone on Jorrvaskr’s back porch. 

“It seems your relationship with the Princes has not become any less contentious in the few months since we last spoke,”3 he offered, taking a seat.

“Did you expect it to?” she asked.

“No.  In fact I would have been disappointed if it had,” he smiled.  “How much more training do you have left?”

“I don’t know, and they won’t tell me,” Alexa answered.  “They seem to think being vague will foster patience and acceptance in their pupil.”

“Has it?”

“Not so as you’d notice,” Alexa admitted before changing the subject.  “What are you doing this far East?”

“My people at Dragon’s Bridge Overlook intercepted a shipment of Elven arms and armor headed for the Stormcloak camps east of Whiterun and South of Orphan Rock.  I thought the jarls of Whiterun and Falkreath might find that interesting.”

“Mmm,” Alexa hummed thoughtfully.  “I understand that Thane Erikur of Solitude recently received such a shipment.  You might let Falk Firebeard know.  Also,” she dug through her pockets and pulled out the three letters.  “You need to see these.  I’ve noted where I found them on the back.”

Taran’s frown deepened as he looked them over.  “Thanks, for this,” he finally sighed, putting them into his own pockets.  “I assume, since you’ve already been to these places that these three locations have been dealt with.” 

“Deepwood Redoubt and Hag’s End have been pretty thoroughly cleared.  The briarheart at Serpent’s Bluff has gone the way of all things, but the rest of the camp was intact when I left it.”

He nodded in understanding and silence stretched between them for a moment.  “It seems an odd thing to ask,” Taran began, “given what you just said about your training with the Greybeards, but I was wondering if you have any plans for the fifth of Mid Year?”

“Hircine’s summoning day?” Alexa asked, turning fully towards him.  “Well, if I am not, literally, in the middle of fighting Alduin that day, I cannot say that I have any plans at this point.”

Taran couldn’t quite stifle his sigh of relief.  “I would like for you to be there when I, officially, challenge my grandfather.”

“My presence may not be as helpful as you hope,” Alexa warned him.  “Hircine and I are not on the best of terms currently.”

“Has he revoked your standing as a Beast Master?”

Alexa blinked in surprise.  “No.  He has not.”

“Then I would appreciate you being there to back my claim, Beast Master.” 

“Of course,” she answered.

He moved to stand up.

“Taran?”

He remained seated.  “Yes?”

“There is something that, as your sister, I need to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“Aela?”

Taran went very still.  “Do you disapprove, my sister?” he asked her quietly.

“You know that she is moon-born?” Alexa pressed, ignoring the low warning in his voice.

“I know.”

“And you are aware of the losses her pack has suffered in the last year?”

“That… she has mentioned.  But I have not pressed her for details.  If she is not yet ready to talk about it, I can wait.”

“Then I am happy for you both.”

The tension went out of Taran and he gave a shaky laugh.  “I never expected this to be the moment you first played the older sister.”

“First?” Alexa enquired archly, pretending mild offense.  “Did I not I pulled your dumb butt out of prison not quite a year ago?4  A rescue that was not inexpensive to pull off, by the way.”

Taran rolled his eyes at that.  “A venture that was also extremely revealing to one who knows you both well enough to understand what they were seeing...  How is that going by the way?”

Alexa gave him a blank, level, stare.

“So my personal life is an appropriate topic of conversation, but yours in not?” he smirked.

I was making sure you couldn’t blame me for not letting you know what you were getting yourself into,” she told him.  “You are being nosy.”

“Isn’t that the way little brothers are supposed to be?” he asked, getting to his feet.

Alexa just made a shooing motion at him.

He laughed and sauntered back into the hall.

Notes:

1 Skjor died in the Summer of 201. It’s been about seven months.

2 Britte and Eric.

3 Taran is referring to previous comments he has made on the subject: A1:02, A1:25, and A1:36,2.

4 A1:35

Chapter 47: Rise in the East

Summary:

Even for the Dragonborn the East Empire Company’s help is not free.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Orthus Endario, Mannager, and currently the only employee, of the East Empire Company’s Windhelm office, was surprised when a Breton woman, in royal blue and black armor, waltzed though the door.  “Pardon the mess, m’lady,” he began politely, his merchant’s eye telling him that the value of her equipment was considerably in excess of his, not inconsiderable, yearly salary.  “Is there something I can do for you?”

The woman gave the all but empty room around her a scathing once over.  “It appears Vittoria’s worry, regarding piracy, is not overstated,”1 she remarked without any apparent criticism to her tone.

He nodded, relief flooding through him.  Finally, it appeared that someone at headquarters was taking the situation seriously enough to send an operative his way.  “Sad, isn’t it?” he offered tentatively, just in case he’d misread the situation.  “We can’t afford to keep the place running since these attacks started.  The company won’t even dock ships here anymore.  Only the Shatter-Shields appear safe.”

“Really?” the woman asked, lifting an eyebrow.  “And that doesn’t seem – odd – to you?”

“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were in league with the pirates, somehow,” he admitted, feeling more comfortable in his inference regarding the purpose of her visit.  “But… I don’t have any proof.”

“Any thoughts on how you might get proof?” she asked.

“Well, they have a dark elf who oversees their operations.  Suvaris Atheron.  She’s meticulous to a fault, and keeps a logbook with every transaction she makes.  If it were to somehow end up in my hands, I wouldn’t argue.”  He paused to give the Breton woman a hopeful glance.  “Perhaps an intrepid person, such as yourself, would be willing to help with that?”

“Given the Shatter-Shields position in Windhelm, and Ulfric’s feelings regarding the Empire, I very much doubt proof of their involvement with pirates would result in action against them,” she pointed out.  “It would, likely, be more effective, and much quicker, to go after the pirates themselves.”

“Our own security forces are limited,” Orthus told her, a little surprised that she didn’t already know that, “especially this far from Cyrodiil,” he added, attempting to indicate that calling up forces from Cyrodiil was not something he could do and so, if deemed necessary, would fall to her – the official operative – to requisition.  “And all the local mercenaries are tied up in this ridiculous war,” he continued, just in case she didn’t know enough about the local situation to understand that either.  

“What do you know about these pirates?” she asked him, leaning back against one fastidiously clean wall – he had nothing else to do with his time these days - and crossing her arms.

“They call themselves the ‘Blood Horkers’,” he answered.  “They’ve been around as long as I can remember, raiding all along the coast, from Hammerfell to Vvardenfell.  A dastardly group, no doubt, but they’re more than simple brigands.  Shrewd.  Clever.  Not to be trifled with.  It’s only recently that they’ve focused on our ships to the exclusion of others.”

“I see,” she murmured.  “Anything else?”

He shook his head.  “We don’t even know their base of operations and attacking single ships won’t really solve the problem.  Maybe the logbook…” he pushed again.  At the very least it would serve as proof to his superiors of what was going on here.  “If the Shatter-Shield’s are working with the pirates maybe it can tell us how they communicate?”

“Dawnstar,” she said thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Smugglers move through there all the time.2  If pirates are making port in Skyrim, that’s where they’ll be.  If not, the other, less than reputable, captains there might know something.”

“Oh, um, well,” Orthus cleared his throat and decided against asking how she knew something like that.  A wise man, he told himself, didn’t ask well-armed women those sorts of questions.  “If you were to go there, and happened find out where their fortress is, I’d certainly compensate you,” he offered, trying to indicate that whatever he paid her would be in addition to whatever the company had already promised.

 


 

Luck was with her.  A ship, not flying any official colors, was currently moored at the Dawnstar docks.

“You beasts are the worst!”  Alexa heard as she pushed open the door to the Windpeak Inn to be greeted by the sight of two men harassing the Innkeeper’s daughter.

“Come now, dearie,” a man in a red shirt chuckled.  “Surely we aren’t all that bad.”

“Just... leave me alone!” Karita snapped, trying to back away from them.  “I’ve brought your mead, now drink it and shut your filthy mouths.”

“Oh, we’ve got other things in mind for our mouths, sweetie,”3 the other man told her, moving to block her escape.

“Karita,” Alexa interrupted, suppressing a sudden surge of anger, as she stepped up to the table.  “Be a dear and get me a round of drinks for everyone.”

“And who are you?” the man in the red shirt, who appeared to be in charge, demanded.

“Just a bard,” Alexa answered, taking the seat across the table from where he as standing, “wondering if you fine gentlemen might have any insights about how common pirates are on this coast?”

He shrugged.  “Not much to worry about… if y’aint on a ship.”

“And if I wanted to write a stirring ballad on the subject?”

He eyed her uncertainly.

“I’ll pay you of course,” she added, dropping a purse of gold on the table.

“Oh, well that’s different then, ain’t it?” he said, scooping up the gold and taking a seat.  “Name’s Stig Salt-Plank, I’ve been captaining a crew for the Blood Horkers well on nine years now.”

“Nine years?” Alexa asked, drawing out her journal to pretend to take notes.  “Current events must have made things easier of late.”

“Aye, the war’s been keeping the Empire and the locals too busy to worry about us,” Stig agreed.  “Haldyn calls it ‘our golden age’.”

“Haldyn?” she interrupted before he could continue.

“Our secret ingredient, if you will,” the second man explained.  

“A Redguard battlemage of fearsome cunning,” Stig added, with a sideways glare for his man.  “Runs the Blood Horkers and makes sure the battles end right-side up.”

“I can imagine how useful that would be,” Alexa acknowledged with an encouraging smile.  “But if he’s a mage he must have a tower somewhere, right?  Every powerful mage has a tower,” she joked.

That actually caused Stig to burst out laughing.  “Ay, that he does.  Took over that crumbling ruin on Japhet’s Folly.  We draw council there.”

“Japhet’s Folly?  Isn’t that island haunted or cursed or something?” Alexa asked him.

Stig snorted, but his eyes were considering.  “May well be.  Haven’t spent enough time there, myself, to find out.  All I know is the fools in Windhelm won’t go near it, which suites us just fine.”  He paused, giving her an obvious once over. “Now that I’ve answered enough of your questions… what do you say we…” he jerked his head in the direction of the inn’s bedrooms.

“No,” Alexa told him, her tone turning cold, as her anger from earlier resurfaced in a rush.

Stig stood, leaning forward, hands flat on the table in front of her, threatening.  “Then I think it’s time you gave me everything...”

“You do realize that you’re not wearing armor?” Alexa interrupted him incredulously.

He glanced over at his man, who grinned back at him before also rising to his feet.  “It seems to me I’ve still got the advantage, bard.  And my crew deserves a little more than one little purse of gold, if we’re going to give up everything we’ve got here and run all the way to Hammerfell.”

"IIZ-SLEN-NUS,” Alexa hissed4, frost issuing from her mouth to coat the pirate captain in ice. 

“What… what have you done!” the other pirate exclaimed, drawing his sword, his eyes wide with terror.

Alexa held up one finger, wordlessly commanding him to silence, her eyes remaining locked on Stig Salt-Plank, watching him transition from flesh into ice.  Fifteen seconds later the pirate captain was nothing more than an ice sculpture wearing his clothing.5

She turned her head and looked his shaking man over.  “Well, I found that educational,” she remarked, calmly.  “You?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide with terror. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.  Now, run away,” Alexa ordered, her voice filling with the rumble of the thu’um.

The pirate was out the door almost before the tremors, her voice had caused, faded.

Alexa sighed.  “Now what is to be done with you?” she asked the statue casually.  “You’re melting all over the floor.”

“My lady,” Thoring, the innkeeper, began, cringing slightly as he spoke.  “If you would please…”

“Leave?” Alexa offered, closing her journal and putting it back in her pack.

Thoring nodded.  “Our other guests…” he offered by way of explanation.

“Of course,” Alexa replied, leaving a few extra septims on the table.  “Please excuse the inconvenience.”

Karita held the door open for her.  “Thank you,” Alexa heard the young woman whisper before the door closed behind her.

 


 

Thankfully Gort6 was still waiting for her at Harlaug’s camp.

“Back already?” he asked.

“Seems that pirates are more welcome at the inn than I am,” she answered him with a soft smile.

“Figures,” Gort grumbled, getting to his feet.  “Shall we be off then?”

“You don’t mind going at night?” she asked.  Twilight was already falling.

Gort glanced meaningfully at the heavens.  “Masser’s full tonight,” he told her.  “It’ll be bright and the tide will be high enough to get us over any rough spots.”

“If you say so,” Alexa agreed, stepping into his boat.

“Something wrong, m’lady?” Gort asked, after nearly twenty minutes had passed in complete silence.

“Not really,” Alexa replied, leaning back in the prow, her face to the sky.  He was right, the moon was full, and she could see the beginning signs of an aurora on the horizon.  “It’s just been a while since I let my temper get away from me.”

“Nothing to do with me, I hope?”

“Not unless you’ve been threatening people with sexual assault,” she answered.

“Anger seems warranted in those circumstances,” Gort told her.

Alexa didn’t respond.

“I hope you taught him a lesson,” Gort offered after the silence had, again, stretched to the point where even a Nord might become uncomfortable.

“I killed him,” she whispered.

Gort frowned at that.  “You’re not worried the Jarl will put a bounty on your head?”

“In Dawnstar?” she sighed.  “I very much doubt that Skald the Elder is inclined to care about the death of a ship captain who made no secret of his membership in the Blood Horkers.”

“The pirates might though,” Gort pointed out.

“That’s true,” Alexa agreed.  “I suppose I’ll just have to deal with them too.”

 

Notes:

1 At the end of A3:44 Vittoria promised Alexa that the East Empire Company would be willing to organize shipments to the College upon two conditions: 1. the piracy problems were dealt with, and 2. a safe place for ships to drop the supplies could be found.

2 The quest Salty Sea-Dogs has you retrieving some Fine-Cut Void Salts. Given that such a thing is not purchasable, at any of the in-game vendors, I’m going to suggest Captain Wayfinder shipping operation isn’t entirely above board.

3 Yikes Bethesda. Uncomfortable choice of how to indicate that no one will care if you kill a set of NPCs.
*pulls out soap box, climbs onto it, and clears throat* Hear ye, hear ye: the use of sexual assault/aggression to indicate that a character is an antagonist is, in my opinion, about as nuanced and interesting a characterization as putting them in a black cowboy hat. It’s sloppy, half assed, and rarely, if ever, leads to worthwhile line of plot development that could not have been reached by more interesting, character/motivation revealing, means.
And that is all I will say about that for fear of this footnote turning into a diatribe on creepy, and downright lazy, writing tropes. Thank you for your time. *steps off soap box*
All that said, “sexually aggressive asshole” is the only characterization Bethesda has provided me, so I’m stuck with it.

4 The quiet casting perk also affects Shouts in-game. I like to think that, these days, Alexa only needs to yell for massive area of effect shouts and, for the rest, can tailor her vocalizations to the shout in question and her distance from target.

5 I feel this should have been the result of using all three words of the Ice Form shout.

6 Ferryman in Windehlm.

Chapter 48: Ahzidal

Summary:

So many dragon priests, so little time.

Notes:

Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You’re back,” Teldryn noted, looking up from his book.  “Shall I draw you a bath or do you want to eat first?”

“You’re not my house servant, Teldryn,” Alexa answered, dropping her pack as both dogs pushed past her to greet him enthusiastically.  “I can draw my own bath.”

He gave her a once over as she settled, tiredly, in the chair across from him.  Something was off.  “Looks like you’ve been in a fight,” he noted casually.

“Came here straight from helping the East Empire Company take out a bunch of pirates in return for their help getting supplies to the College of Winterhold.  The trade was fair.”

Teldryn gave her a penetrating look.  “If the trade was fair, what’s troubling you?”

Alexa pulled off her gauntlets with a grimace.  “It’s time – past time – to be done with this Miraak thing.”

“True,” he agreed, still watching her closely.

She fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze and then sighed when he didn’t relent.  “A week ago Hermaeus Mora provided an excellent example of exactly why I need to learn how to choose what I absorb: a dragon altered by time in Apocrypha.  His memories, his knowledge – it was different.  Or maybe fourteen dragon souls is just some sort of threshold, or maybe I’m just too tired, but…” she waved the rest of the thought away with a gesture of helpless frustration.  “I’ve felt a little off ever since.” She fell silent.

“In what way?” Teldryn pushed.

“I’m… on edge.  I’ve never liked losing my temper.  This time… it was worse, different, cold.  I scared more people than just myself.”

Teldryn continued to regard her silently.

“I… I killed someone,” she admitted softly.  “Like it was nothing.  It was nothing.  Simple.  Three words and he was ice.  It wasn’t necessary.  It was expedient, it was final, and I was… angry.”

“You turned him into ice,” Teldryn repeated.

“The words of the Ice Form shout are ‘ice’, ‘flesh’, and ‘statue’1,” Alexa elaborated.  “The results are exactly as it sounds.”

“Let’s not tell anyone in Morrowind about that one,” Teldryn sighed.

“What?” Alexa blinked; thrown out of the haze of self-recrimination she’d sunk into.

“You think Neloth wouldn’t pay for the chance to serve up pieces of his enemies in fancy drinks?” Teldryn asked.

Alexa’s eyes narrowed.  “Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

“No,” he answered, with a slight smirk.  “But, perhaps, to offer some perspective on why one might choose to bow out of Morrowind politics.”

“Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion,” Alexa muttered, more to herself than to him.  “It’s not like I haven’t killed people before... and since.”

Teldryn thought about that for a moment before answering.  “The time you have spent on the run, I think, has taught you to be more self-aware, or, at least, more prone to analyzing your own behavior, than most.  If you think you are at risk of becoming something you are uncomfortable with, I will believe you, but I will also ask you what you intend to do about it.  So, my friend, I will ask you now, who is Sikendra d’Arthe at this moment, who should she be in the future, and how do you intend to span the difference?”

“Currently she is a woman tired to the point of mental and emotional exhaustion,” Alexa answered.  “She cannot see the forest for the trees and worrying over the monsters that lurk within is taking up far too much of her time to remedy that.  She needs to trust in herself and in those who walk with her, face the monsters, get out of the damn forest, and then sleep for three days before even attempting to answer the rest of that question.”

“I will hold you to that.”

“I think I may need you to,” she sighed.

“Good.  Well then, since you are so tired, why don’t I deliver your armor to Glover while you settle in.”

“So many fasteners,” Alexa complained, gratefully accepting his change of topic, as she started fussing with a boot.  “Maybe, when I’m done with this Miraak thing I’ll spend some time rounding out my knowledge of mage armor spells.”2

“And here I had thought your choice to wear armor, rather than robes, was an esthetic one,” Teldryn teased.

Alexa growled and, half-heartedly, threw a boot at him.

He caught it.  “That’s one.  How about this?” he asked, picking up the rather ugly green mask she always wore, from where she’d set it on the table when she sat down.  “Does it also need repair?”

“No,” she answered, pulling off her other boot.  “The dragon-priest masks seem impervious to such trifling things as weapon damage.”

Teldryn gave her a surprised look as she began on the snaps over her left shoulder.  “You wear a dragon-priest mask?”

“Krosis,” she answered, moving over to the fasteners along her right shoulder.  “His name meant ‘sorrow’.  His dragon sort of gifted it to me.3

Teldryn’s eyes narrowed.  “Gifted in what way?”

“He said I might find the enchantments on it useful.  He wasn’t wrong.”

“And you’re not worried that this dragon is trying to pull a fast one on you; claim you as its new high priest?”

“No.  It takes more than a mask to knot together the life force of two beings.”

“I suppose.”  He leaned back in his chair to fully enjoy the ludicrous process of peeling out of skintight armor.  He wasn’t going to claim that getting in, or out, of his armor was any easier, but there was far less bouncing and wriggling involved in it...

“So what does our timetable look like?” he asked.

“Well, tomorrow, I thought we’d check on Ralis, since I got another letter from him about ten days ago, and then head over to the Skaal Village.  I expect you’ll advise that we spend the night somewhere along the coast so that we can talk to Storn fairly early the next morning, in case he decides to set us yet another task to prove ourselves, and so I’ll be relatively fresh in case he doesn’t.”

“So, you’re expecting to be done with this whole Miraak business two, possibly three, days from today,” Teldryn stated.

“Hopefully,” Alexa sighed, dropping her armor on the table.  “If you’re quite done interrogating me, while watching me struggle, I’m off to wash the salt, and blood, out of my hair.”  She didn’t wait for him to reply before heading down the stairs.

“You’re prepared for something going wrong, right?” he called after her.

“That’s why I’m allotting a full day to Ralis and a walk that shouldn’t take more than four hours,” she called back.

Teldryn sighed and gathered up her armor.  It seemed downtime was over.

 


 

In the end Teldryn killed Ralis.  There were some things that even being mind-controlled didn’t absolve you of.  Failing to ask for help with the voices in your head was one of them.  He was a little surprised that the dragonborn seemed annoyed with his decision.

“I would have liked to have known who his patron was,” Alexa told him, pulling off her mask, before going to look through the dragon priest’s ashes.

“I’m sorry.  If you had wanted to talk with him you should have said something.”

“Green,” Alexa stated, a moment later, knocking ash from a redish mask.

“What?” Teldryn demanded, confused.

“Green robes,” Alexa explained.  “Alduin’s cult wore purple.  No claw door in this place either.  And this circle…”  She walked back to the door and drew out her journal.

“Wait, did you know this thing was down here?” Teldryn demanded.

“Did you not?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised, as she began to sketch the circle.  “Where would Ahzidal be but in the subterranean city he built to do his research in surrounded by his most important artifacts?” she continued with a pointed gesture at the ring of arcana Teldryn was currently wearing.

“Not everyone knows as much ancient Nord history as you do,” he reminded her.  “Why the interest in Ralis’ patron?”

“Because I’ve lost count of the number of locations, with word walls in them, that have been conveniently in the middle of being excavated just in time for my arrival.”

You’ve lost count?” Teldryn drawled, propping himself against a wall.  The floor was far too disgusting to sit on.

Alexa rolled her eyes.  “It’s more an issue of how you classify events than whether or not I can count them,” she explained.  “Do bandits that have cleared the first room of a ruin to use as their hideout count, if they didn’t have to dig it out… probably not.  Do persons who plan to delve into a relatively open ruin in search of riches count?  Again, probably not.  What if what they’re looking for is something so lacking in historic importance that it’s amazing they’d have any idea where to look?  Or, even more intriguing, what if what they seek is a ‘mysterious ancient power’ they know exists but can’t tell you anything about?”

“Does that last one happen often?” he asked, suddenly intrigued.

“A few times now,” she admitted.

“And have you been able to track down the people funding those excavators or strangely uninformed explorers?”

“No… now that you mention it, very few of them survive the experience… and, most of the time, it’s not even my fault.”

“So you wished to know who Ralis’ backer was to see if there’s some sort of grand conspiracy behind it all?” he enquired, not quite believing it.

She looked swiftly over at him.  “No.  I want to know if there even was a backer.”

“You think Hermaeus Mora brough him here?”

“If there’s a Black Book in there,” she gestured towards the door on the far side of the room, “I will certainly wonder about that possibility.”

There was silence between them for a while, only broken by the sound of charcoal on paper.

“Speaking as the Naravarine,” Teldryn began, breaking the silence.  “It can be difficult to distinguish between fate and daedric involvement.”

“Did you deal with that sort of thing in your time?” she asked without looking away from what she was doing.

“Azura can be… insistent.”

This time she did look over at him.  “Oh?”

“Insistent enough it occurred to me that she might be the reason I was on Solstheim when the dragonborn was drawn to the island.  I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I don’t know why I decided to come here.”4

“Oh… good,” Alexa said, faintly, returning to her sketching.  “Is it weird that knowing you’ve experienced the same sort of thing – and that it may not have stopped even after you fulfilled your fate - doesn’t make me feel better?”

“No.  I’m not entirely pleased with the idea myself.  Is there something particularly interesting about the summoning circle that is worth the smell in here?”

“It’s not a summoning circle,” she told him. “It’s a magic seal.  Ahzidal was bound here, sealed away beneath it.”

“Which explains why he needed Ralis’ help but not why we’re still standing here,” Teldryn responded grumpily.

“If I wanted to break something like this – and didn’t want to use a shout - I’d need a fair few filled soul gems to power the ritual...”

“But Ralis used people,” Teldryn said, finishing her sentence when she didn’t.

“He used blood,” she emphasized, “as a conduit for the soul energy.  That’s… actually more common than one might think since vampiric feeding relies on the same principle…” she waved away the tangent before returning to the original topic.  “But it’s very uncommon in ritual magic.  I wonder if the choice has something to do with the seal or if it was just more expedient to kill the miners than get and fill soul gems.”

“Didn’t Ralis’ journal say that Ahzidal was instructing him?”

She rolled her eyes at him.  “The point is that the histories clearly weren’t wrong when they claim that Ahzidal learned Ayleid magic.  Though they may have misconstrued, or even lied, about the type of magic he learned from them.”

Now they were getting somewhere.  “And?”

From the Ayleids, [Ahzidal learned] the ancient runes and dawn-magic even the elves had begun to forget,”5 she quoted.  “But this,” she gestured at the dead bodies and the pools of blood, “is not Dawn Magic.  This is blood magic, fleshmagic.  A school of magic that has only ever been practiced, at its highest levels – at these levels - by the Ayleids.  The Ayleids though…” she paused thinking about it for a moment.  “I suppose the Ayleids may have believed it to be a type of Dawn Magic – as in magic from before the time of the Convention – though the term is normally meant to indicate magic that can only be used during a dragon break and that is, rather obviously, not true here.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of flesh magic,” Teldryn admitted.

Alexa nodded.  “The Mages’ Guild was quite effective at discouraging research into the subject6 and destroying any Ayleid texts about it they found.”

“So how’d you come to know of it?”

“About four months ago I killed a man who was getting his research supplies by killing the young women of Windhelm.  I’ve had enough time since then to dredge through the dragon memories for some information on the subject.”

“I see.”

She looked up at him again as she put her journal away.  “I can’t say for certain, not having had the chance to study a victim of the disease, but it seems likely that the magic used to create the Ash Blight would fall under flesh magic.  I can, however, tell you, for certain, that Mannimarco has at least dabbled in the subject.”  She stood up and dusted herself off.  “Odds on there being a Black Book in the next room?” she asked.

“Near certain,” he answered sourly.  “You intending to read it?”

“No.  I have concluded that Hermaeus Mora likely does not have the information I require on how to defeat Alduin and that I’d be better off figuring other things out on my own than accruing more debt to Mora or spending more time in Apocrypha.”

“I’m pleased you’ve finally come to your senses,” Teldryn snarked, following after her.

 

Notes:

1 True.

2 Currently Alexa has all the Magic Resistance perks but none of the Mage Armor perks.

3 Paarthurnax told her where to find it in A2:25.

4 "I don't know why I decided to make my way to Solstheim to seek my fortune.  I should have stayed home."– Teldryn Sero, in game dialogue, TESV:Skyrim

5 Ahzidal’s Descent (link)

6 See story of Relmyna Verenim in the TESIV:Shivering Isles DLC.

Chapter 49: Summit of Apocrypha

Summary:

After all this time facing Miraak is almost anticlimactic… almost.

Notes:

Late Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The morning was deceptively bright, the sky above them absolutely clear, the last of the snow was melting from the village roofs but still lay deep upon the ground.

“What are the secrets of the Skaal?” Alexa asked Storn softly, suddenly afraid to know the answer, as she held out the Black Book they’d found in Miraak’s temple.

“Ancient lore,” he answered, “handed down from shaman to shaman since the All-Maker first gave Solstheim to the Skaal.  How to talk to the wind, how to listen to the earth – these are our secrets.  Nothing of power or mastery.”

Alexa frowned at that but said nothing as he walked past her, the Black Book under his arm.

His death would have made any Nord proud.

Alexa took the book from his body, Frea’s crying, and the exclamations of the rest of the village, fading to a dull roar.  Every moment she’d spent on this island had led to this moment…  she opened the book.

Wrong, Alexa thought, as darkness took her vision.  The godhead does care, just not about things that matter to us…

And then the darkness was replaced by the green sky of Apocrypha.  It was time to finish this.

 


 

About to touch the book that would take her to the next chapter Alexa suddenly paused caught, for the first time, by the image on the page before her: a crowned tower.1  She had told Teldryn that she thought that Waking Dreams was a polemic on CHIM but she had failed to consider the further implications of the statement: that Mora had provided Miraak with insight regarding CHIM… a state that Miraak had clearly failed to obtain.  Perhaps Mora was still missing something…?

Like how to talk to the wind and listen to the earth? her inner voice enquired snidely. 

Shit.

If Miraak had truly sought freedom from his fate, would achieving CHIM have been a solution? Alexa wondered, placing her hand on the book.  Would he have thought it was?  If so, why did all the portal pages, in each of the Black Books she’d read, contain a representation of the sigil of CHIM, not just the ones in Waking Dreams?  She remembered the madman who had told her, and Teldryn, about the book in White Ridge Barrow.2  Was that what made the knowledge within a Black Book special?  Was it categorized as “information the Prince of Fate believes is integral to achieving CHIM”?  Or was all knowledge a step on the path and the knowledge contained within these books was made special simply by its hidden, or lost, status?  Was madness a common outcome of such endeavors or was it simply a side effect of contact with Hermaeus Mora himself?  Did every mortal used by the Prince of Fate die when it was done with them, or just the ones it had driven insane along the way?3

Reaching the area with the word wall Alexa stopped.  There, framed by the arched doorway, visible over the wall, the place she’d first met Miraak: a tower.

The familiarity of a dragon’s roar of challenge was almost a relief when it came, pulling her mind back to the present.

 


 

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak announced as she dismounted Sahrotaar4.  “No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.  He is a fickle master, you know,” he added conversationally.  “But now I will be free of him.  My time in Apocrypha is over.”  He gave her a once over.  “You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Alexa simply cast ebonyflesh before joining him near the pool at the tower’s center.

“You will die,” Miraak informed her, as she approached, the slight smirk in his voice telling her he knew the spell she’d used.  “And, with the power of your soul, I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate once again.”

Alexa shook her head sadly.  “You are dragonborn,” she said, speaking to him for the first time.  “A tool created by the god of Time to serve a single purpose.  You were never, and can never be, the ‘master of your own fate’.  Not until you have fulfilled the purpose for which you were created: to slay Alduin.  It has been your attempt to avoid that fate which has left you enslaved in perpetuity.”

Miraak snorted.  “Tell your lies to those who will believe them, Dragonborn.  I am beyond them.”  He readied his staff.

Alexa hefted Auriel’s Bow and saw him stiffen slightly in recognition.  “I do not believe I am mistaken, brother.  And, at least thus far, our father seems to favor me.”

“This is Oblivion,” Miraak snarled at her.  “Akatosh has no power here.  MUL-QAH-DIIV!”5

“Mul-Qah-Diiv,” she growled back, noting, with interest, the difference in results a single Shout could have depending upon its caster.  Miraak wore his dragon power like armor, separate from himself.  In contrast she knew from previous experience that her skin had turned to brilliant white dragon scale.  She, it seemed, had internalized – possible even accepted - her dragon blood in a way Miraak, clearly, never had.  He wielded his dragon soul like a weapon, a tool…  Perhaps this was why he had never earned his full name.6

“So, you attempt to use my own Shout against me,” Miraak chuckled as if her lack of a glowing, rainbow aura indicated failure.  There was no way for him to know better.  Between Krosis covering her face and her Black Brotherhood style armor, none of her skin was visible.  “Kruziikrel!  Relonikiv!” Miraak called to the two other dragons perched upon the tower, “Now!” and then he attacked with lightning.

Alexa chose to absorb the spell attack7 and use the time it took Miraak to change tactics, to burry not one, but two, daedric arrows into his flesh.8

Miraak grunted in pain, becoming ethereal to all appearances without Shouting.9  “Wuld-Nah-Kest!” he yelled, sprinting away from her only to disappear beneath the dark water that filled the top of the tower.  The tower shook.  “Kruziikrel,” she heard Miraak’s voice come from behind her.  He had reappeared, still aethereal, in the center pool of the tower.  “Ziil los dii du!”

Your soul is mine? Alexa wondered, only for the question to be immediately answered when Kruziikrel’s soul was torn from his still living body.

Returning to full physicality, Miraak pulled her arrows from his flesh and tossed them aside, as he completed his absorption of the dragon soul.  “You fight valiantly against fate,” he acknowledged, grudgingly, “but I am stronger here.”  He drew his sword and came at her.

Again Alexa chose to risk injury, taking the time to sink an arrow into Miraak’s chest, staggering him slightly, before dodging out of the way.  The break in his charge meant that his blow, when it came, was a glancing one.  She gritted her teeth against the pain, and sensation of a stamina depleting enchantment, and loosed again at his back.  She missed and swore under her breath.

“I am done being Hermaeus Mora’s pawn,” he announced, turning to face her.

“So you’ve said,” she muttered moving to put the pool between them until she could cast fast healing to recover her stamina enough to draw her bow again.

“They wanted me to deal with Alduin - Hakon and the rest,” he told her, circling the pool as she continued to move away from him.  “They wanted to use me, like everyone else, but I chose otherwise.”  He rushed for her again.

This time Alexa dodged out of the way before taking aim at his back when the force of his missed strike left him over extended.  The arrow struck with a satisfying thunk.

“You are strong,” Miraak admitted, between gritted teeth.  “Stronger than I had believed possible,” he added even as he became ethereal again.

This time she was ready for him to appeare at the tower’s center and so took the chance to heal herself, recast Ebonyflesh, and put some distance between them.

“The Greybeards have taught you well,” he smirked as the second dragon’s soul poured into him.  “But I know things they will never teach you.”

“One would hope you’d learn something after four thousand years in Apocrypha,” Alexa replied readying an arrow for the moment he became corporeal again.  While the shout he was using was impressive from a technical standpoint, using an entire dragon soul to heal a few wounds seemed… wasteful10; a feat of brute strength rather than finesse.  Had Miraak’s natural ability and strength meant he had never had to learn proper technique?

“Fate decreed that you had to die so that I could win my freedom,” Miraak declared, turning towards her, raising his sword again.

“This is a Real Moment,” she told him, loosing her held arrow.  “Things are somewhat more fluid than you seem to think.”

“Be that as it may,” he snarled, ignoring the arrow sprouting from his chest, in favor of closing the distance between them in a rush.  “This is the only way, Dragonborn.  The only way I can be free.”  This time he hit squarely, knocking her to the ground.

She rolled away from him using the become ethereal shout herself, to protect her while she got to her feet again.  “I am sorry Miraak,” she gasped, bring up her bow and loosed again, even as her Shout faded.  “Hermaeus Mora has not truly brought me to Apocrypha.  My death here will only return me to Mundus.  You cannot win.”

“Liar!” he shrieked, even as he used whirlwind sprint to get out of range of her arrows for a third time.

She watched him more carefully this time as he took Sahrotaar’s soul.  It seemed that though he was healing himself he found the act tiering.  She leveled her bow again and waited.

This time he chose to attack with both sword and lightning.  Her ability to absorb magic expended the spell did an impressive amount of damage, but it also reduced the speed he could close with her.  She ignored the pain, loosing two arrows in quick succession.  Her second arrow staggered him, driving him to his knees.

He looked up at her, anger written in every line of his body.  “Beware.  Hermaeus Mora will betray you as he has me.”

“Only someone you trust can betray you,” Alexa told him, solemnly.  “I am not so foolish.”

“Insolent,” he snarled, disengaging from her as he had before.  Again the ooze sucked him under spitting him back out in the pool at the tower’s center.  This time, however, an unseen force dragged him several feet into the air before a tentacle rose from the pool and impaled Miraak through the back.

“Did you think to escape me, Miraak?” Hermaeus Mora demanded, eyes bubbling into being above them.  “You can hide nothing from me here!  No matter.  I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

“May she be rewarded for her service as I am!” Miraak choked even as his body burned away.

Alexa collapsed, gasping, to the ground, unable to stand against the sudden, massive, influx of soul-energy.

“Miraak harbored fantasies of rebellion against me,” Mora casually informed her as she struggled to simply breath.  “Learn from his example.  Serve me faithfully, and you will continue to be richly rewarded.”  And then the tower was wreathed in ghostly images of the constellations.  Alexa’s eye widened.  The Tower… was crowned with starlight…11

She struggled to her feet, inspecting the knowledge Hermaeus Mora was offering and, even through the haze of pain and confusion, recognized the star signs as her own.  This was wrong.  CHIM made those who achieved it immutable, unchanging – so immutable, in fact, that the world was forced to change instead of them.  This, on the other hand, made a person infinitely mutable. 

Alexa snapped her fingers.

The small sound was followed, not by the whirr of a single summoning spell, but the concussive opening of an oblivion gate.  And then a second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, each shaking the tower beneath her with the force of their opening.

Alexa sank, dizzily, to her knees, nausea, from the shaking, mixing with pain of lightning chard flesh and the exhaustion of an overtaxed mind.  Her sight darkened...  

Arms wrapped around her from behind.  She could hear several voices arguing but could not make out the words.  “Do not worry, Dragonborn,” a feminine voice she didn’t quite recognize whispered in her ear.  “I have you.”

Blessed darkness.

Notes:

1 "From the Ehlnofex: an ancient sigil connoting 'royalty', 'starlight', and 'high splendor'. As with most characters of that dangerous language, the sigil CHIM constantly distorts itself. Those scholars that can perceive its shape regard it as a Crowned Tower that threatens to break apart at the slightest break in concentration." (Vehk’s Teaching, More on the Psijic Endeavor, link)

2 A tool of Hermaeus Mora, now dead.

3 Short answer seems to be yes. More on this later.

4 His name/title, “Phantom-Words–Servant”, seems to indicate that he has become nothing more than a servant to anyone who can use the Bend Will shout.

5 Miraak does not have the Quiet Casting perk.

6 See A3:11 for speculation on why the name Miraak only has two syllables instead of three.

7 Breton racial ability: Dragonskin.

8 Given the perks Alexa has, equipment she's using, and a fully upgraded Auriel’s bow, using a daedric arrows, Alexa does about 470 pts of damage/arrow.
Miraak’s HP upper limit is 1220 pts. Meaning she can kill him in 3 shots if he doesn’t heal.

9 Possibly "Secret of Protection" from the Black Book Filament and Filigree? Miraak would have had to have found the secret within Apocrypha as the book buried with Ahzidal, likely before Miraak was born.

10 Surely a dragon soul is worth more than one or two castings of Grand Healing.

11 CHIM: From the Ehlnofex: an ancient sigil connoting 'royalty', 'starlight', and 'high splendor'.  (Vehk’s Teaching, More on the Psijic Endeavor, link)

Chapter 50: Leaving Solstheim

Summary:

In the end, there aren’t that many loose ends to tie up.

Notes:

Late Spring, 4E 202

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Cold was seeping through the back of her armor…  Snow.  Wet snow...  
It was painfully bright, even through her eyelids...  
Someone was shaking her...

“She’s never passed out before,” Alexa heard Teldryn say to someone.

“Stop,” she whispered.  “I hurt enough without you shaking me.”

“You alright?” he asked, pulling her into a sitting position and shoving one of Elynea Mothren’s potions of Well-Being into her hand.

“Too early to tell,” she groaned, struggling to keep her stomach from rolling over at the smell of the concoction.  It took every ounce of willpower Alexa had left to drink it.  “It was a lot of soul energy all at once and the return trip was... sudden,” she explained, already feeling somewhat better.  “How long was I gone?”

“About twenty minutes, I think,” Teldryn answered.

So time did pass differently in Apocrypha.  She had wondered but her previous trips hadn’t been long enough to be certain.

“Then Miraak is dead?” Frea asked.

“Dead as Hermaeus Mora can make him,” she replied before meeting Frea’s eyes.  “Storn didn’t die for nothing,” she told the other woman sadly, accepting Teldryn’s offer to pull her to her feet.  “Miraak will never threaten Solstheim again.”  

“Thank you,” Frea whispered, her voice edged with bitterness.  “Whatever your other reasons for acting, you have done the Skaal a great service.  We will not forget what you’ve done.”

Alexa nodded mutely and turned to leave.

“One more thing, Skaal-friend, if you will,” Frea called out.

Alexa turned back to her.

“I know it is not my place, but... may I offer a word of advice... of warning?”

“Of course,” Alexa replied, too tired to say no.

“As shaman of the Skaal, I am charged with the spiritual well-being of my people.  While you are not of the Skaal, you are Skaal-friend, and so I give you this warning: Herma-Mora forced you to serve him in order to defeat Miraak.  Do not let him lure you further down that path.  The All-Maker made you Dragonborn for a higher purpose.  Do not forget that.”

The All-Maker.  “I suppose he did,” Alexa sighed.  “Goodbye, Frea.”

“Walk with the All-Maker, Skaal-friend,” she called after them.

“It amazes me that anyone who has met you could think you might forget the purpose for which you were made,” Teldryn grumbled as they walked away from the Skaal Village one last time.

“And yet that was exactly Mora’s offer,” Alexa told him, softly.  “Change your stars, change who you are, cast off the duties of your birth.”

“What?”

“Do you remember when I said the book we found in the temple was on CHIM?”

“Yes.”

“I think the Summit of Apocrypha offers a sort of failed version of CHIM: the ability to change one’s stars.”

“Did you accept it?”

“No,” she replied emphatically.  “I would never accept such a thing from Mora.  Especially after seeing the results of Miraak’s example.  Still, with the knowledge Mora has gained from the Skaal…” she shook her head.  Whatever the repercussions they were a problem for the future. 

“If you didn’t accept Mora’s offer, how’d you leave Apocrypha?” Teldryn enquired.

“I’m not entirely clear on that,” Alexa admitted.  “I know that I did as my husband requested and summoned my dremora butler,1 and then, I think, I heard six Oblivion gates open, and possibly Nocturnal’s voice, before I passed out.”

“You think six daedric princes may have breached the realm of another to come to your aid?” Teldryn asked.

“I think it possible that six princes weren’t willing to let the Prince of Fate monopolize the Last Dragonborn the way it had the First.”

Teldryn nodded, apparently accepting that answer.  “Where now?”

Alexa glanced upwards at the blindingly blue sky.  “It’s what, about midday now?”

“Just about,” he answered.

“We’ll stop by Tel Mithryn on the way back to Raven Rock, inform Neloth of Miraak’s death, and pick up some potions.”

“You going to be alright walking all the way back to town?”

“I just absorbed the greatly enhanced soul of the first dragonborn along with six dragon souls – three of which had spent a great deal of time in Apocrypha - which Miraak had not yet fully integrated into his own soul.  Frankly I think sleeping is going to be a bigger problem than staying awake.”

Silence stretched between them as they walked south along the coast.

“I suppose the depressing part,” Alexa remarked, as they entered the mushroom grove, “is that, in merging with me, Miraak’s soul will finally achieve its destiny by facing Alduin when I do.  Even after four thousand years of fighting it the soul of the First Dragonborn will fulfill its fate.”

“You’re mastery of understatement continues to astound, dragonborn,” the Nerevarine grumbled.

 


 

As they arrived on the main level Talvas grabbed her by the arm pulling her off to one side, grinning.

“Where’s master Neloth?” Alexa asked looking around them.

Talvas began to giggle.

“Um, Talvas?” Alexa asked, a little worried.

“He used that spell the daedric prince gave him,” Talvas whispered.  “It summoned a female dremora.  She’s got him gaged and chained to one of the cages in the room that had his test subject in it.  I say ‘had’ because they escaped twenty minutes ago.  This is, without a doubt, the best day of my life!”

“So much for his ‘productivity boost’,” Teldryn murmured.

“I suppose it was to be expected, really,” Alexa noted, repressing a smirk.  “Expecting the prince of debauchery to help with one’s productivity seems a little short sighted.  Shall we go through all his things before freeing him?”

“No need to free me,” Neloth announced, stepping through the doorframe.  “Even you should be aware that summons – and their equipment – have a time limit on this plane.”

“An excellent point,” Alexa acknowledged.  “Miraak is dead, by the way.”

“Who?  Oh him.  Well, I assume as much.  Did something interesting happen?”

“No, nothing interesting,” Alexa responded, mentally sidestepping the unusual method of her return to Mundus and the events that had immediately preceded it.

“Good,” Neloth sniffed.  “I wasn’t expecting anything less,” he continued, coming up to her.  “Hold still,” he commanded, taking ahold of her chin.  “Let me get a good look at you.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked, as the Telvani wizard lord wrenched her head back and forth.

“Incipient madness,” Neloth answered, continuing his inspection.  “Loss of self-awareness.  Black spots in the whites of the eyes.  Any of the documented indications of Hermaeus Mora’s permanent influence.  Hm, no, you look fine.  At least no different than when I first saw you.”  He let go of her.

“Were you worried about me?” Alexa asked, surprised.

“Not worried,” he responded turning away and wandering over to one of the many journals he had strewn about the room.  “Just interested.  I don’t get to observe, first-hand, many people who’ve spoken to Hermaeus Mora.”

“Well, I am pleased to have finally been of interest.”

Neloth glanced back at her at that.  “You have been an object of interest since you first arrived.  I would not have spoken to you, or let you come and go from my tower, had it been otherwise.  Anything else?”

“I’ll be leaving Solstheim in the next few days,” Alexa answered.  “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Neloth gave a disinterested shrug.  “I will send a courier, if I should need you for anything.”

Alexa nodded tiredly, knowing a dismissal when she heard it.

 


 

It was well past midnight when they made it back to Raven Rock.  Teldryn decided not to bother retrieving the dogs from Geldis.  He could pay the mer for the added inconvenience in the morning and, given everything, the night would, undoubtedly, be a rough one.  Adding two inquisitive, and easily worried, hounds to it wouldn’t be helpful.

After changing, and making sure Alexa had made it into the bath, Teldryn went back upstairs to collect their packs and was only slightly surprised to find Sanguine seated at the kitchen table.

“She okay?” the prince asked.

“Too early to tell,” Teldryn answered, accepting the flask the prince held out to him.

Sanguine nodded.  “I think I’ll take her to one of my realms for the night.  I’ll be able to help with the dreams there.”

“Good,” the Nerevarine said, meeting the Prince of Revelry’s gaze, unflinching.  “She needs rest,” he informed the dragonborn’s husband.

“She does,” Sanguine agreed.

“Do me a favor, if you can, and keep her for a few days while I pack up the house, find a caretaker for it, and deal with whatever paperwork the second councilor throws at me.”

“I will keep her for as long as she will let me,” Sanguine promised.

 


 

Two and a half days later, aboard the Northern Maiden…

“Here,” Teldryn said, handing Alexa a long object wrapped in sackcloth.  “I’ve noticed you can use a blade, even though you don’t usually choose to.  You should carry one, just in case.”

She smiled slightly at that.  “Careful or you’ll start sounding like my ex.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.  “Who’d you kill to get it?”

“Almalexia,” he answered.

She glanced swiftly up at him.  “This is Hopesfire2?”

He shrugged slightly.  “It seemed appropriate.  You, dragonborn, are this kalpa’s hope, are you not?”

“I suppose,” she replied, not looking fully convinced.  “Is that Trueflame2?” she asked, indicating his sword with a slight tilt of her head.

“It is.  I retrieved them both the last time you returned to Skyrim.”

“You coming out of hiding?”

He snorted at that.  “Hardly.  Rather I intend to indicate that your dragon instincts are to blame for our acquiring them.”

“Surprisingly believable,” she admitted.  “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.  You can pay me back by killing a god and saving the world.”

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

Coming Next: (link)

 

 

Author’s End Note

So, there it is, the end of Act 3!  Thank you everyone for sticking with me :)

As before, the series will be going on a short hiatus while I pull together the next act. 

Thank you for your support, and companionship, on this extended journey through the events of Skyrim. 
My love to all of you and I hope to see you again in an a few weeks!

 

Notes:

1 “If it seems to you that Mora is about to try to entrap you in some way, summon your butler. If you do so while in Apocrypha I will come in his place.” – Sanguine, A3:15

2 For those who have not played Morrowind, or do not remember these two blades, here’s what they look like and a quick lore refresher: (link)

Series this work belongs to: