User:Minor Edits/Skyrim: In My Time of Need

In My Time of Need

by Agni Falion & Calcelmo of Markarth
In collaboration with the Bard's College, the College of Winterhold, the Companions, and the Imperial Geographical Society

A tale of the Last Dragonborn

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Note: This is a work of transformative fan fiction based on the copyrighted works of a really cool video game development company that shall remain nameless. Feel free to correct typos.

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Morndas, evening, 23rd of Last Seed

ydia was livid. Her Thane had returned to Whiterun two days before, but try as she might, she could not find "Dovah," as he'd taken to calling himself. The Companions at Jorrvaskr refused to tell her anything, and wouldn't let her through the front door without Dovah accompanying her. He had not taken a room at the Bannered Mare. The merchants kept on telling her that she had just missed him. The beggars, the eyes and ears of the city, refused to tell her anything, as the man had been very generous to them. One seemed willing, but he was drunk out of his mind and cradling a bottle of Argonian Ale like a baby. Many of the guards were training with Uthgerd and Irileth, and the few patrols in the city were too busy dealing with refugees from the war to help her.

As the sun began to set, she resolved to stake out the city gate, figuring he would eventually try to leave. She gathered food and a few books, trudged to the guard barracks by the gate, and ascended the outer staircase to the roof.

Much to her surprise and anger, there he was. The Dragonborn was dressed in the pants and shirt of a commoner, and was leaning a chair back to put his feet up on the railing. A pile of leather was to his left, a pile of bracers was on his right, and his satchel hung on the back of the chair. She could see the haft of the Axe of Whiterun sticking out of it; he seemed to have traded up for a sword now sheathed at his waist. The roof was otherwise bare, except for a couple piles of hay.

"Hello, Lydia," Dovah called, his back to her.

She marched forward and kicked his legs up. His chair fell forward with a thud. "Who in Oblivion do you think you are?!" she hissed.

"Dovah Kiin," he stated matter-of-factly, putting his feet back up. She saw that he was tightening the straps on another bracer. "I thought word would have spread by now."

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you," he responded absent-mindedly, studying the bracer. "What do you think of this one?"

She slapped the bracer out of his hands. "I can't protect you if I don't know where you are!"

"I already told you, I don't need a housecarl," he responded, miffed. "And Farengar knows what I'm doing; did you bother to ask him? Rest assured, there's no need to spy on me at the moment."

"I am not a spy," Lydia retorted forcefully. "Just what are you doing, anyways?"

"Making bracers," he replied patronizingly.

"Making bracers," she repeated, incredulous. "Whiterun could come under attack any day, from either a dragon or an army, but no one should worry, because the Dragonborn is making cheap bracers."

"They are rather cheap, aren't they?" he mused as he cut and molded another piece of leather. "Still, good enough for our purposes."

"Our purposes?" Lydia repeated dubiously. "These things couldn't even stop a dagger."

Dovah sighed, put down the materials, and reached back into his satchel. The bracer he pulled out had the unmistakable sheen of an enchantment. In his other hand, a flame appeared. "Allow me to demonstrate." He tossed the bracer straight up into the air, and quickly engulfed it in fire. He caught it and held the unscathed wrist guard up for her inspection.

"What I'm doing," he declared, "is trying to save lives. If the guards at the western watchtower had been wearing one of these, at least one more of them would still be alive. Very very red, definitely, but still alive."

"…My apologies, my Thane," Lydia said carefully. "That's an… admirable task."

"It was the blacksmith Avenicci's idea," Dovah clarified, smiling. "She's much brighter than her father. We make these, Farengar enchants them, and they'll be distributed to the populace at a price so cheap even the beggars will be able to buy one."

"But why are you making them up here?" Lydia inquired.

Dovah sighed, returning to his work. "Lydia, I just shot fire into the air. How many people down there are looking at us?"

Lydia surveyed the newly-darkened street below. The guards by the gate were chatting, a beggar was milling about, couriers were moving goods toward the market, and across the way, Adrianne Avenicci was haggling with a customer by her forge. But no one was looking up at them. "Huh."

"Indeed. It's hard for me to walk down the street in this place. Everybody wants something," he sighed wearily. "But this is a blind spot. No one ever has cause to look over here, and no one wants to even glance too long at the guard barracks. That's just begging for trouble."

"Unless you’re a thane," Lydia finished. "You're hiding in plain sight."

"No better place. The guards haven't even seemed to notice I'm up here," Dovah mumbled, too focused on the half-made bracer. "So, what is it you need, Lydia?"

"For you to obey the Greybeards and go to High Hrothgar. Any apprentice smith could do this; your time is too valuable!"

"I've been doing more than making bracers," Dovah replied defensively. "I've been meeting people, exploring the city, reading."

"Drinking," Lydia added bemusedly.

"Learning," Dovah corrected. "Mind you, I've only a week's worth of memories. And as a friend of mine pointed out, every drunk in Skyrim is a scholar. It's amazing what you can learn by chatting someone up in a tavern."

"And what have you learned?" she asked.

"Some basic alchemy, smithing, enchanting," he started. "Fascinating stuff, really. The bartender over at the Mare told me about a shrine of Azura I'm keen to visit. That preacher Heimskr told me a little about Talos. Farengar rattled off some legends of the Dragonborn. Read the 'Battle of Sancre Tor.' Oh, and have you ever read 'The Armorer's Challenge'? About Katariah's champion? It's quite clever."

"If you're interested in learning, my Thane," she finally interrupted, "Then why don't you go see the best teachers? Why do we not leave for High Hrothgar?"

Dovah shrugged. "Farengar urged the same thing. But you gotta walk before you can run." He stood up and stretched with a groan. "Let's talk about it over dinner." Dovah started to grab his bag when yelling caught his attention.

"You deaf, moron?" a guard was saying to a cloaked figure who had entered the city. "What's your business he-" The guard stopped, gasping, and bent over as red lights appeared from his torso, drifting into the figure's outstretched hand.

"Vampire!" the other guard screamed, unsheathing his sword. The vampire laughed as, with supernatural speed, he kicked the guard in the chest, sending him flying into a canal, and continued draining the life from his friend. Screams echoed off of Whiterun's walls as citizens fled the scene.

The hideous laugh of the vampire was cut short when Dovah leaped from the barracks and landed upon him, and they both fell to the ground. Dovah rolled on top of the vampire before it could get up and began punching the undead creature in the face as hard and as fast as he could. He was surprised at how well his smiling opponent was taking the blows, but continued striking. That is, until a searing pain shot through his stomach.

Dovah looked down to discover the vampire had pulled a dagger and stabbed him. Blood was pouring from the wound. He reared his head back and drove it down onto the vampire's nose, eliciting a satisfying crunch, but groaned as his foe twisted the dagger, shoved the Nord off him, and arose with amazing grace. Now on his back, Dovah held one hand to his stomach and tried to unsheath his sword with the other, but the vampire stepped on his wrist, pinning it down with impossible force, and kicked him in the stomach. He skidded a little under the force of the kick, and could only gasp at the still-smiling vampire. But both their expressions turn to surprise as an arrowhead sprouted from the creature's chest.

The vampire ignored what should have been a mortal wound and turned to the guard who had fired the arrow. Reversing his grip on the dagger, he threw it at the guard, who went down clutching her chest. Dovah swung out his leg for a trip, but the vampire easily avoided the feeble attempt and kicked the wounded Nord in his bleeding mid-section. Dovah, dizzy from the sudden loss of blood, could do nothing but groan again and curl into a fetal position, his wrist still pinned under the creature's unrelenting foot. The vampire broke off the end of the arrow jutting from his chest and prepared to plunge it down - when his head came off, blood spraying everywhere.

As the headless body of the vampire crumpled to the ground, Lydia came into Dovah's view behind it, breathing heavily as she lowered her bloodied blade. "Everyone all right?" she called, giving the vampire's head a kick so it wouldn't roll into the canal. The three guards groaned proof of life and waited for the healers to arrive. Dovah took a few quick breaths and closed his eyes a moment, then released restorative energy into his stomach, which was just enough to close his angry red laceration.

"You're a damned fool, jumping off that roof," Lydia chided as she helped Dovah to his feet.

"I'd be dead now if he hadn’t," the pallid guard spoke up, leaning against a pillar by the canal. "Thank you, Dragonborn. I don't know if you remember me. Chet. We fought together at the watchtower."

"Ah, yes, of course!" Dovah exclaimed pleasantly, forgetting about his sore stomach. "Call me Dovah."

Chet nodded. "Dovah. Well, the cure disease potions are on me!"

"Perhaps our friend can contribute to the cause." Dovah crouched next to the headless corpse and rifled through its pockets. He found a coinpurse and emptied it out, passing the coins to Chet. "Is Whiterun often attacked by vampires?"

"Not often, but they seem to be coming more and more," Chet sighed, rubbing his sore chest. "Some get it in their heads that they're unstoppable and take a run at us. I heard they're reforming the Dawnguard. Vampire hunters or something, in the old fort near Riften. Might consider joining up myself."

"Dawnguard, huh? Well, maybe if I find myself in the area…" Dovah mused. He wiped at the vampire blood on his shirt, and was surprised when it brushed away easily, falling to the ground as dust. "Hey, what's going on here?"

"When a vampire dies, its blood turns to dust," Chet explained. "I've heard it's quite a valuable ingredient in many potions."

"Really? Well, don't mind if I do…" Dovah collected the dust in the vampire's coinpurse while a crowd formed to see the aftermath of the fight. A gangly young commoner with a large satchel chose that moment to push his way to the front. "You're the Dragonborn?" he asked.

"So they tell me," Dovah muttered.

"I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only," the courier declared. "Let's see here… Ah, a letter from the Jarl! Moving up in the world, eh? Looks like that's it. Got to go." With that, he promptly turned on his heel and walked away.

"Why is Balgruuf sending you letters?" Lydia asked, curious. "He would send a guard to fetch you if he wanted to talk."

"Wrong jarl," Dovah muttered, reading the letter. "Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath… it seems he wants me to be a thane there and… buy land? Everybody wants something."

Lydia eyed the letter suspiciously. "Hmph. I wouldn't trust that man if I were you. Just wants to make you into a trophy on his shelf."

"And Balgruuf didn't?"

"Balgruuf's different," Lydia insisted. "He saved your life, if you recall-"

"I recall," Dovah cut her off wearily.

"And Siddgeir only became Jarl by betraying his uncle," Lydia continued. "Nobody trusts him. That's why he's… courting you."

"Courting me?" he smiled, stowing away the letter. "He should know to at least buy a lady a drink first…"

drink for your lady friend, Dovah?" the bartender Hulda asked over the din of the Bannered Mare as the Dragonborn approached. He had been coming in for most of his meals in Whiterun, much to the delight of Hulda's customers. She recognized the armor-clad woman he was with as the one who had been pestering her on his whereabouts.

"And why don't you pour a couple for Lydia and I, as well," Dovah replied, setting gold on the counter. "How are things around here?"

"With all the business you've been bringing me, I might be able to retire earlier than I thought. Get a chance to spend more time with my kids," Hulda replied and sipped her mead. "Mmm. Speaking of which, did you settle that business with the Jarl?"

"Yes, yes, all taken care of," Dovah replied quickly.

Lydia, who had been surveying the inn, glanced between her Thane and Hulda. "The palace guards told me you hadn't been around. What business did you have with the Jarl?"

Hulda started to respond, but Dovah cut her off. "The Jarl just needed help with… tutoring."

"Okay…" Hulda said, her face just as skeptical as Lydia's. "So what else is new?"

"Oh, you know. Blood-suckers everywhere," Dovah answered nonchalantly, taking a swig of mead.

"I can only imagine. So I take it you want to eat in the back room again?"

"If it's not too much trouble. What's on the menu?"

"Umm…" Hulda thought, looking around the crowded room. "You know what, just pop back into the kitchen and ask the cook, Saadia; she'll know."

Dovah clinked mugs with Hulda and maneuvered through the room with a few smiles and nods, but Lydia grabbed Dovah's arm, halting him before entered the kitchen. "Why are you lying?"

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"Because you're terrible at it," Lydia stressed. "You lied about what you were doing with the Jarl. How am I supposed to trust you if you're keeping secrets?"

"I told you, I just-"

"Tutoring, right," Lydia interjected. "That's hogwash. On what subject could you possibly tutor someone else?"

"I make a mean bracer," Dovah shrugged as he moved toward the kitchen. Lydia stayed put, crossing her arms, and he stopped and sighed. "I've never lied, to my knowledge. But if I told you everything, Lydia, I wouldn't need your trust, would I?"

The kitchen was a sweltering little room to the left of the entrance just outside the main dining hall. Bags of vegetables. seasonings, and other ingredients lined tables and shelves all around a fire pit, with a great assortment of pots and pans hanging above. Several barrels were wedged underneath a staircase to the upper level. A diminutive Redguard woman was stirring a pot cooking over the bed of coals, while slabs of meat sizzled on a grill next to her.

"Saadia?"

"Hmm?" the woman hummed, glancing over at Dovah expectantly.

"Er- Hulda said you could- you could tell me what's on the menu," he stuttered, studying the cook, but she didn't seem to notice. "Something soft; my stomach's bothering me."

Saadia went to the other side of the room and rifled through a sack. "… I can have some baked potatoes ready for you in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect, I love those! Lydia?"

"Make mine mashed, with a steak," Lydia chimed in next to him.

Dovah started to leave, but ended up walking in a circle around Lydia as he doubled back to Saadia. "By the way, did you know some Alik'r warriors are looking for a Redguard woman?"

Saadia froze, one hand on the ladle, then spun to face Dovah, fright in her eyes. "Are you sure? Oh no! They've found me? I need your help!"

"With…?"

Saadia looked over his shoulder at the crowded main hall, where many guests were staring openly at the Dragonborn's back. "Please, come with me," she whispered furtively. "I need to speak to you privately."

Saadia started up the stairs, and Dovah and Lydia followed her to a small bedroom. It was directly above the coals in the kitchen, and the whole room seemed to have a thin layer of grease over it.

"All right, then," Saadia sighed. She spun around sharply, pulling a dagger from underneath her apron. Dovah took a half-step back, spilling his mead a little, and Lydia's sword was out in a flash.

"So, you're working with them?" Saadia asked, distress in her voice. "You think you can take me? You so much as touch me, and you're going to lose fingers. I mean it! I'll… I'll cut you in half!"

"Take it easy, lady." Dovah sounded as though she had hurt his feelings. "I'm just the messenger."

"So the Alik'r know where I am?" Saadia asked, panicked. She brandished the dagger. "What did they offer you? Gold? How many more of them are coming? Tell me!"

"Put that down before you get hurt," Lydia ordered grimly, keeping her sword at the ready.

Saadia dropped the dagger, her hand trembling. "I'm sorry, just… Just don't hurt me. I know you're not one of them, but you just can't help them. You can't let them know I'm here. Please, will you help me? There's no one here I can trust."

"Maybe," Dovah replied sullenly. "What do you want?"

"I am not the person that the people of Whiterun think I am," Saadia admitted. "My real name is Iman. I am a noble of House Suda in Hammerfell. The men who are looking for me, the Alik'r, they are assassins in the employ of the Aldmeri Dominion. They wish to exchange my blood for gold. I need you to root them out and drive them away before they find me and drag me back to Hammerfell for an execution."

With the dagger gone, Dovah seemed to lose interest in her. He walked to a bookshelf and rifled through the selection. "How am I supposed to get rid of them?"

"They're mercenaries, only in it for the money," Iman explained desperately. "They're led by a man named Kematu. Get rid of him, and the rest will scatter. I don't dare show my face, lest they recognize me, so you'll have to find out where they are."

"If they're only in it for the money, you should be able to buy them off," Dovah pointed out.

"Nobody could possibly match the Thalmor's gold," Iman replied, shaking her head.

"Any suggestions as to how to find them, then?"

"I heard one of them was just arrested trying to sneak into the city. If he's locked up in the jail, perhaps you can get it out of him. Please, I know I'm asking you to do something difficult, maybe even dangerous. I just don't know who else I can trust."

"Why are the Alik'r after you?"

"I don't know for sure. I spoke out against the Aldmeri Dominion publicly; I suspect that's why these men were hired to hunt me down."

"Why haven't you gone to the guards for help?"

"You think I'd be in hiding if this was something I trusted town guards to handle?" Iman asked shrilly. "These men are ruthless. Cunning, deceitful… they'll pay off whoever they can. I can't trust anyone here in Whiterun. Guards and Jarls can be bought. And the Alik'r are close; I'm running out of time, so I'm choosing to trust you."

"… Very well. I'll look into this for you." Dovah held up a copy of The Great War. "But I'm taking this."

Iman nodded. "Find me the moment the Alik'r are taken care of."

"I said I'd look into it."

Tirdas, morning, 24th of Last Seed

hat are you looking at?" sneered the Alik'r warrior in the Dragonsreach dungeon. The face of the blond-haired, bearded Nord at the door to his cell was the first he'd seen since he was captured which wasn't obscured by a guard helmet.

"Nothing much," the Nord shrugged. "Name's Dovah. And you are?"

The prisoner just glared.

"No name, huh? I know how that goes. Listen, Nothing Much, I need to find Kematu. Where is he hiding?"

The Redguard barked a laugh, surprised. "You have a death wish, then? If you know that name, you must know to meet him would be to meet your end."

"I just want to talk to him."

He slowly smirked. "It seems we both have needs, friend. Perhaps we can help each other."

"What is it that you need?" Dovah asked suspiciously.

"I have dishonored my brothers by being captured, and so they have left me here. My life with the Alik'r is over now, but I have no wish to die in this gods-forsaken land. If I can be released from this prison, I may start over," the Alik'r said, grabbing the bars of his cell door. "See to that, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

"Why did they leave you here?"

"Because I was clumsy enough to be captured," he replied ruefully. "Kematu always says, we're supposed to be the best of the best. I wasn't."

"Who's we?"

The prisoner didn't answer.

"You said you'd tell me what I want to know."

"I'll tell you where to find Kematu," the prisoner retorted. "And only because I believe he will have you killed in moments. Though they may have left me behind, I'm still a child of the Alik'r in my heart. That's all you will get from me."

Dovah huffed in frustration, thinking a moment. "How much to pay your fine?"

"100 gold will secure my release. You can afford that, can't you? I suppose you better hope you can, if you want the information. Get the money into the hands of one of these guards, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

"I'd better get the best baked potatoes ever…" Dovah muttered, walking away from the confused Alik'r.

The dungeon master didn't look up from his book as Dovah approached his desk. "Let me guess," the grizzled old guard began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Someone stole your sweetroll."

Dovah cleared his throat, sliding the Axe of Whiterun across the table. The guard knocked over his chair in his haste to stand up. "My apologies, Thane- uh…"

"I guess it would be 'Thane Kiin,'" Dovah filled in for him. He motioned at the Alik'r's cell. "I want to pay that prisoner's fine."

"Done," the dungeon master said quickly, reaching for his key ring.

"Whoa, not so fast," Dovah said quietly. "I need to make sure I get a head start on this guy. I'll pay his fine, but don't let him go right away."

"With pleasure," the dungeon master growled back. "Convince him to stay out of the city while you're at it."

Dovah went back to the door of the cell, along with the dungeon master. "Your fine's been paid, Nothing Much," he said, dropping a coin purse into the dungeon master's hand. "Now tell me about Kematu."

"Very well. Kematu is west of Whiterun. It's an unassuming little cave called Swindler's Den," the Alik'r confessed. He took a breath, clearly uncomfortable at giving out even that scrap of information. "You realize if you set foot in there, you're never coming back out. They'll kill you. But that's your problem, not mine."

"Right, right, abandon all hope, blah, blah, blah," Dovah said, pulling out a map of Skyrim a piece of charcoal. "Mark the location, please."

The Alik'r did so and gave back the map and charcoal. Turning to the dungeon master, he declared triumphantly, "Guard, my fine's been paid, now set me free!"

"Sorry, my ears aren't so good," the dungeon master replied, digging a finger into his ear. "You say somethin'?"

As Dovah smiled and walked away, he listened to the warrior shout and shake the door of the his cell. "I said my fine has been paid. Now let me out!"

"Right, right… Oh, look at that. I seem to have lost my keys," the dungeon replied, taking on an elderly tone as he patted at his belt. "Might take me a while to find them. Bad legs, you see. You just sit tight. I'll get around to it eventually."

"Curse you!"

"Don't worry, sonny, they'll turn up. Trust me…"

ust please, trust me," Farengar whined. "You don't want to know any more about this." While Dovah was in the dungeon of Dragonsreach, Lydia had gone upstairs to the wizard's study to get her own answers.

She grabbed the diminutive Nord by his robe. "That's not good enough!"

Farengar glanced down at his robe bunched up in her fist. "You want to let me go," he said quietly, a flame appearing in his hand.

"I'm well aware of your reputation, wizard," she growled. She released his robe, but didn't back off. "I also know people have been whispering about you and necromancy for years-"

"Lies!" Farengar objected.

"Lies can have legs. You don't tell me what I want to know, those whispers will get louder."

"Do your worst," he sniffed. "Balgruuf knows I would never do such a thing."

"Does Balgruuf know about the mysterious late night visitors you've been receiving over the last few months?" When Farengar didn't answer, she continued, "I don't know why you and Balgruuf are feeding at this madman's trough, but I'm the one who has to deal with him! I know he had business at the palace sometime in the last three days, and I need to know what he was doing here!"

Farengar was silent a moment. The flame disappeared from his hand as he walked to his desk. "Balgruuf's old steward didn't like how much sway I have with the Jarl. Many years ago, he tried to have me killed. I managed to kill the assassin-"

"Yes, yes, everyone knows that story," Lydia interrupted. "I'm not afraid of you. Just tell me what the Dragonborn was doing here!"

"I am telling you; shut up and listen," Farengar snapped. He sighed and continued, staring at his desk as he remembered the incident. "What people don't know is that the assassin wielded a sword of the highest quality. I could tell it had powerful magic imbued into it, and I kept it for study. But I quickly realized what I was dealing with, and I sealed it away." Farengar snorted bitterly. "I couldn't destroy it, but I thought I could at least contain it..."

"Contain? The sword? What are you talking about, mage?"

Farengar walked over to a small bookshelf, removed a pamphlet stuck between two tomes, and handed it to Lydia. "The Dragonborn came to me asking about the Jarl's son Nelkir. A few hours later, I realized my key was gone, and so was the sword."

Lydia read the pamphlet, titled Admonition Against Ebony. "… Ebony blade? The Ebony Blade?! You brought the Vampire of Mephala into Dragonsreach?!"

"It wasn't my idea!" Farengar yelled. "There was no more secure place for it, and my wards should have protected us from it. I acted under the Jarl's orders!"

"Because you told him you could contain the treasure of a Daedra Lord," Lydia retorted scornfully. "You arrogant fool!"

"I wasn't trying to keep it, only lock it away until it decided to move on. But I guess my wards didn't work…"

"And now my Thane has it," Lydia declared. "The most corrupting artifact on Tamriel, and you let it fall in the hands of the Dragonborn."

"And that is the only reason I'm telling you this." Farengar snatched back the pamphlet and returned it to the shelf. "The Ebony Blade feeds on betrayal. Mephala herself speaks through it, promising that the blade will be the ultimate weapon for anyone who would bathe it in the blood of... friends."

"Good thing I'm not his friend. I'm his housecarl," Lydia responded. "What about Nelkir?"

"As I told the Dragonborn, I don't know anything about Nelkir. He's had bouts of violence over the last few months. I've given Hrongar a few potions for the child now and then to calm his nerves or put him to sleep when he's having a bad day. But I've never even met him. Those kids avoid me like the Knahaten Plague," Farengar sniffed. "But..."

"But what?"

"Well... the Blade has a mind of its own. It wanted to find someone to corrupt. The more powerful, the better. I thought it was after the Jarl. He may decide the outcome of the rebellion, after all. But it seems it has found someone better..."

ound you!" Nelkir yelled triumphantly. He was playing hide-and-seek in the courtyard of Dragonsreach with his sister Dagny, who squealed as Nelkir pushed aside the bush she was behind. At nine, she was only a year old than Nelkir, and she was giddy that her brother finally wanted to play again.

"Okay, now you hide! Sixty seconds!" Dagny smiled, covering her eyes. "One, two, three..."

As Nelkir ran back towards Dragonreach, a strong arm stopped him in his tracks. "Hi, Nelkir. I'm Lydia. You remember me?"

"You’re a guard," Nelkir muttered, struggling. "Let me go; Dagny's counting!"

"Just a moment, okay? I need to ask you a few questions. Do you know the Dragonborn?"

"Dovah? Yeah! He's great!" Nelkir said enthusiastically.

"Why?" Lydia persisted. "What did he do for you?"

Nelkir fidgeted and looked away. "I dunno. He just made the whispers stop."

"The whispers?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Nelkir whined. "Dovah said I would be okay now. Let me go!"

"Okay, sorry, go! Good luck!" Lydia called as he ran across the wooden bridge to the palace entrance. Dagny soon made a bee line after him, clearly having peeked through her fingers while she was counting. A moment later, Dovah came into view around the side of the building.

"Hey, Lydia. I see you got your... say, what were you doing here again?"

"Collecting my pay," Lydia said smoothly. "I'm not a slave, remember? What did you find out from the mercenary?"

"Just the location of his leader. I've got to head out there now before that one is released... I could use a hand, if you're up to it." Dovah turned to leave, and Lydia followed, a few steps behind.

Middas, afternoon, 25th of Last Seed

s there some housecarl rule about always keeping your eyes on your charge?" Dovah called back to Lydia as he trudged through the muck at the bottom of a hill. They had traveled along the road through the tundra west of Whiterun for a full day, then broke off into the tundra itself as they got closer to the marker the prisoner had put on Dovah's map.

"You have the map, my Thane," Lydia noted. "I'm only following your lead." In truth, she was also struggling to keep up with her thane's quick pace, and it was hard to catch a breath between answering all of his questions.

"Come on, now," Dovah chided. "What about that rotting Peryite worshipper? You kept your eyes on me even while his skin was falling off. That dragon flew overhead, but you looked closer to putting an arrow through me than through him. Look at those bags under your eyes; did you even sleep last night? Just what are you afraid of?"

"The tundra is a dangerous place, my Thane," Lydia replied, struggling to hide her weariness. "I have to keep my eyes out for threats while you're dealing with a distraction."

"Well, just take it easy, will you? Tell me about the shrine we passed back there."

"That was a shrine to Stendarr, God of Mercy," Lydia explained. "His symbol is the horn you saw on the pedestal. He calls people to show compassion and reason. Nords know him as Stuhn, the God of Ransom."

"God of Ransom? Doesn't sound very compassionate to me."

"Ransom is more compassionate than execution. In the ages of myth, Shor did not take prisoners," Lydia clarified. "But his Shield-thane, Stuhn, begged him to show more mercy. If someone was willing to earn back an enemy's life with an adequate ransom, Stuhn reasoned, then the love this act demonstrated should not be broken, and Shor heeded his words. So the Nords learned that an enemy need not always be an enemy, and may be redeemed."

"Huh..." Dovah pulled out the map and tried to discern their location. "So why is he called Stendarr?"

"That is the elven name for him, used when the pantheons of the Divines was formed by Alessia. They know him as man's defender. He urged them to see the value in mankind, and to subjugate and teach rather than slaughter."

"This guy really got around."

"Not exactly… the Imperials have long preached that all the peoples of Tamriel really worship the same deities. They believe there is a 'monomyth' in all the stories of creation. That everyone experienced the same thing in the chaos of the Dawn; that the same pantheon of gods appeared to them in different forms. So the Stendarr of the elves is believed to be the same as the Stuhn of the Nords. The Khajiit call him Secunda, I think."

"Farkas told me Secunda was the small moon."

"It is. Khajiits worship the moons." Lydia waved off the questioning look he shot back at her. "You'd have to ask one of the cats about it if you want to know more."

Dovah stopped and crouched at the top of a hill. "Well, that must be it." He nodded to a small opening at the bottom of a hillside, where a figure was milling about. "Seems they have a lookout."

Lydia squinted. "That's not a Redguard. It's a Nord. Looks like a common bandit to me."

"Well, let's show a little compassion, eh?" Dovah drew his bow. "We'll sneak in close, and you see if he's friendly. If he's not, I'll take him out."

"Okay- no, wait," Lydia stopped, drawing her own bow. "You make the approach. A man of your size may be able to deter a fight."

Dovah just nodded, and they both snuck around to the east, so that they could use a small hill for cover. Dovah waited for Lydia to climb to the top, then he snuck around the base of the hill while she mirrored him at the summit.

When he got as close as he dared, Dovah broke cover and walked forward, putting on his friendliest smile. "Hello! I was wondering if you give me some directions-"

The bandit screamed like banshee, drawing his sword and charging. He was quickly stopped by Lydia arrow piercing his shoulder, and his battle cry turned into a scream of pain.

Dovah kicked away the bandit's sword and put a foot on his chest, stopping him from getting up. "As I was saying, I'm looking for a pack of Redguards. You want to buy your life, just tell me where they are."

"Inside," the bandit seethed.

"You on their payroll?" Dovah asked as Lydia descended from the hill.

The bandit shook his head gingerly, hissing with each breath. "They moved in a few weeks back. Paid us just to hang 'round, keep an eye for 'em. We leave 'em alone and they leave us alone."

"We?" Lydia asked.

"Me mates and I we- we're just mammoth poachers, I swear. We did naugh' want nuthin' to do with 'em Redguards. Armed to the teeth, they is, and mean-lookin'. That’s all I know!"

Dovah shrugged and lifted his boot off the bandit. "Off you go, then. Find a new career. They're always looking for woodcutters in Riverwood."

ord from Riverwood?" Kematu asked his second-in-command Sader as the younger Redguard came running up to him in their underground camp, still dripping from crossing through the underground river in the cavern.

"It's the sentries," Sader said quickly. "They've been taken out by two Nords."

"All the sentries?"

"Yes! I heard them talking; they're looking for us. I think Iman sent them. They were coming right behind me."

Kematu gave a short, warbling whistle, and his half-dozen warriors quickly extinguished torches and took positions, scimitars drawn. They'd made camp at the source of a underground stream. A waterfall which masked their chamber had corroded much of the ground away, creating a pit at the entrance. In the dim, natural light that trickled in from a small hole in the ceiling, the Redguard warriors pulled up their rope ladder and arrayed themselves in a semicircle around the lip of the pit, waiting for the intruders to pass through the waterfall from the dark, partially flooded tunnel entrance below.

Kematu squinted into the darkness. For an instant, he thought he saw a shadow, and then an orange light behind the waterfall, but he was suddenly blinded as steam began to pour out from the base of the waterfall and fill the cavern.

"Alik'r, hold!" Kematu yelled, squinting into the darkness and steam. His men flinched, but held their ground. When the steam cleared enough to for him to see again, there were two armored Nords at the bottom of the pit, a woman and a bearded man. Both of them had bows with arrows at the ready. The man was taking aim at Kematu.

"Curved swords!" the man exclaimed, grinning. "Those look amazing. But what you really want about now is a weapon that has some range, don't you think, Kematu?"

Kematu raised his chin. "You have me at a disadvantage-"

"You have no idea."

"…Who are you?"

"The people who killed all your lookouts," he called pleasantly. "Except one, but he's off to a fate worse than death. I go by Dovah Kiin, and this is Lydia..." Dovah cocked his head back at his companion. "Do you have a last name?" he muttered.

"Tell me, Dovah Kiin, why we shouldn't jump down there and kill you both."

"That's a big word, why. Why, why, why. I don't discuss philosophy without a pint. But, by all means, jump down here. Two of you will be dead before your feet can touch the ground, including you. And I have a new sword I'm still aching to try out."

"He is Thane of Whiterun," Lydia called, keeping her eyes on her target and willing her arms not to tremble as she kept her bow drawn. "And people know we are here. Kill us today, and you will all be dead in a week."

Kematu mulled over the situation and gave a hand signal to his men, who relaxed but kept their scimitars out. "You've proven your strength, warrior. Let's avoid any more bloodshed. I think you and I have some things to talk about."

Dovah just pulled back his bowstring farther. "If we're going to talk, the weapons go away first."

"Stay your hand, warrior!" Kematu nodded to his warriors, and they sheathed their scimitars. The Nords lowered their bows, and Kematu met them at the top of the wooden ramp. The dark-haired woman wore steel-plated armor, and the man's thick brown armor was decorated with wolf imagery. "Let us talk a moment, and no one else needs to die. I think we can all profit from the situation in which we find ourselves."

"I've been sent here to kill you," Dovah said bluntly.

"Of course," Kematu answered smoothly. "Sent by… what is it that she's calling herself these days? Shazra? Saadia? One of those, correct? Did she appeal to your sense of honor? Your greed? A more… base need, perhaps?"

"Potatoes."

Kematu was finally caught off guard. "What?"

Dovah shrugged. "The woman knows how to bake a potato. Oh, and I got a book."

"… It doesn't matter. No doubt she's convinced you that she's the victim. But do you know why we pursue her?"

"Saadia told me - you're assassins."

"Assassins? No, nothing so crass. 'Saadia,' as you know her, is wanted by the noble houses of Taneth for treason," Kematu declared. "We were hired to return her to Hammerfell for her crimes. You can help us with that, and make sure no one else gets hurt."

"What was her crime?"

"She sold the city out to the Aldmeri Dominion. Were it not for her betrayal, Taneth could have held its ground in the war."

"Hogwash."

"How dare you!" Kematu growled. His mens' hands returned to their scimitars.

"Saadia spun me some tale about the Aldmeri Dominion, too," Dovah said, signaling impatiently with his hand that Kematu was boring him. "You Redguards think any Nord will do anything to stick it to the elves, don't you? So you've both concocted stories about the Dominion to get a sympathetic ear."

"I don't know what Iman has told you, but I assure you-"

"Saadia can't be more than thirty-five," Lydia interrupted. "You're saying a child sold out your city during the Great War and has been on the run ever since?"

When Kematu didn't answer, Dovah turned and started walking back down the ramp.

"Stop," Kematu ordered, stepping closer again. "I can't tell you why she's wanted. But please, believe me when I say this: the best thing for your city is getting Iman out of it. Don't be fooled; she's incredibly dangerous. And we're not going anywhere until we see justice done."

Dovah glanced at Lydia and thought it over. "So what do you want me to do?"

Kematu smiled. "She trusts you, at least to some extent. She sent you after us, and has no reason to think you'd do anything other than that. Convince her we'll be coming for her, and she needs to leave. Lead her to the stables outside Whiterun. We'll be waiting to take her into custody. I'll gladly share a portion of the bounty in return for your efforts in seeing proper justice done."

"Well, it seems like everyone wins. Except Saadia."

"Good. We'll be waiting for you at the stables."

Fredas, early morning, 27th of Last Seed

e meet at last, my dear lady," Kematu sneered, coming around from behind the Whiterun stables as Iman walked into the dark structure with Dovah and Lydia.

"What is this?" Iman exclaimed, spinning to face Dovah. "What have you done?!"

"I looked into it," Dovah said as if he was talking about the weather. "And I came to the conclusion that you two deserve each other."

"Oh, come now," Kematu remarked drolly as Iman's face contorted in dismay. "You didn't really expect to manipulate people forever, did you? Your luck had to run out sometime."

Before Iman could respond, Kematu summoned light green into his hand and launched it at her. The paralysis spell made her go stiff as a board and fall to the ground. Kematu gave a whistle, and his men came around the bend in the road with a carriage.

"What happens now?" Dovah asked Kematu as they loaded the stiff Redguard woman into the back of the carriage.

"Now, we'll take our friend back to Hammerfell," Kematu said solemnly. "Where she will pay the price for her treason."

"She won't be harmed?" Lydia inquired.

"Not on the way back. Once she gets there, it's not up to me to decide what's done with her," Kematu answered. To Dovah, he continued, "And as for you, I owe you a portion of the reward, don't I? Well, here you go. Spend it wisely, and if I may… Don't allow yourself to be fooled by a pretty face. You're better than that."

"I don't know, Kematu," Dovah mused, pocketing the gold. "It really depends on the face, doesn't it? But thanks. If I'm ever in Hammerfell, I'll look you up." Kematu gave a short bow, and he and his men starting riding south on the carriage.

Lydia watched them disappear into the distance as the sun came up, a troubled expression on her face. She was broken out of her reverie when a horse began breathing on her ear. Dovah, on the back of another black steed, was holding its reigns.

"Why so glum, Lydia? I just bought you a horsey!"

Lydia turned to face him. "Why?"

"I thought it's about time you and I went to see the Greybushes."

"Greybeards," she corrected tersely. "Why did you turn her over? Do you have any idea what they'll do to her?"

"Well, if they're anything like the Imperials, they'll bore her with some prayers, put her head on a block, and-"

"You don't know what she did!" she exclaimed. "You don't know why they were here. How could you condemn her like that? What happened to mercy?"

Dovah shrugged. "It's just a numbers game. Those men weren't going to rest, and Whiterun didn't deserve to be harassed. The solution was to either get one person killed or seven. And if I'm ever in Hammerfell, it'll be nice knowing there's a group of curvy swordsmen out there who owe me a favor."

"That's it?"

"Well, that, and I think it's really Hulda who has the recipe for those potatoes. Now, come on. I need you to show me how to ride these things."

Dovah passed her the reins to her horse and lurched forward on his unsteadily. Lydia eyed her Thane, and the high-quality sword still sheathed at his waist. Finally, she mounted her horse and followed - a few paces behind.

The Tale continues in The Way of the Voice.