Your Truth Cannot Stand
A Skyrim Fanfiction
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House…
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House… (you are here)
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House… (you are here)
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
“And what happened the next time you spoke with her?”
Carnaril’s voice dragged him back to the present, to the pain in his limbs and the pounding of his own labored heartbeat in his head. Ondolemar forced his eyes to stay open, struggling to keep his face tilted up toward his tormentor.
Eyes like icicles drove into him, and he willed himself to meet them steadily, even as the restful mercy of unconsciousness dragged his mind toward it. “We… continued our discussion about our shared research.”
There it was again: that eyebrow raise, clearly engineered to inform him that he was digging his own grave. Don’t panic. Don’t act guilty. It was only research.
Heretical research.
NECESSARY research, to validate the Thalmor’s claims and potentially give us a political advantage. I did nothing wrong.
As Kierska said, those who outlaw research cast doubt upon their own claims.
“And what did she say? Did she give any indication that she was leaning closer to embracing the heresy of Talos?”
“She… had observed that his shrines and amulets displayed the same properties of those of a Divine, but she seemed to have mixed feelings about Tiber Septim himself. Though…”
Should I even be saying this? It could seal my fate, but… if they already know and I hold back, it will only increase their suspicion.
He’d been silent for too long. The mace drove his right hand sideways into the wall, grinding shattered bones into violated flesh. A molten tsunami rolled down his arm, and his pain-fogged mind, which had already been struggling to stay afloat, drowned in the roaring tide.
The edges of the world dimmed. His leaden chest labored for every gasp and scream, and yet, he couldn’t stop. As he wavered on the brink of unconsciousness, a distant corner of his mind asked if he’d live long enough to wake up.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
But he didn’t have a choice. Magic was curling through him, alight with the gold of a Restoration spell, but so different from his own.
Where his magic was soothingly warm, this invasion of energy was burning and harsh. Where his healing wrapped him in a comforting embrace, the torturer’s spell seized him like a violent captor, dragging him roughly from the edge of merciful oblivion back into wretched consciousness.
The darkness flared into blurry fog, and his blank, dazed stare wandered up to the vague yellow smudge that was Carnaril’s face, then sideways to the arm that was slowly lifting.
The mace was rising to strike again.
Panic rammed through his chest like a fist, and he forced his heavy, slurring mouth to blurt out a cry of “Wait!”
The weapon paused, and Ondolemar fought to drag his scattered thoughts into a sentence. His mind was so blurred that he could barely think, let alone speak, and once again, his struggle dragged on too long. A mace flange hooked under one of his ribs, shifting the already broken bone, and his attempt to speak dissolved into a weak, helpless wail.
“Stop… please, I… I’ll complete my report. What…” What was I talking about? I can’t keep him waiting. Think, THINK! But his head offered nothing but pounding, painful fog.
His desperate eyes rose to Carnaril’s, and he strained to push the fear from his voice as he asked, “What… was I talking about?”
“You were talking about the Dragonborn’s feelings about Tiber Septim.”
Seeking an excuse to arrest her, no doubt.
I’m not sorry to disappoint you. “Yes, she told me about that… during the incident with Molag Bal.”
“Describe this incident in detail.”
“Of course.” The thought of talking that much was exhausting, but at least the retelling would allow him to send his mind somewhere else. Somewhere strange and dangerous, yet comforting compared to this ordeal.
A time when, with a sincerity he hoped would remain unknown to Carnaril, he had greeted the Dragonborn as a friend.
~*~
She was trotting up the stairs again, this time with lighter, steadier steps. From her gait, it seemed that Kierska had begun to enjoy a measure of welcome in Understone Keep, unlike him.
They were too far apart for their paths to cross, so she passed him by on her way to the throne, so intent on her destination that he wondered if she’d noticed him.
He made a point of being closer and more visible when she was ready to depart, and her sharp yellow eyes caught him instantly. “Oh! Ondolemar.”
The presence of a person who could converse on his level brought a warm smile to his face and voice. “What is it, my friend?”
Lydia’s helmet was on, so he couldn’t see her face, but her visible stiffening made him suspect that she didn’t approve of her companion being friends with a Thalmor.
Too bad. The rulers of the Aldmeri Dominion didn’t need the permission of a lowly Nord to socialize as they pleased.
The Khajiit came to a stop in front of him, her tail-dance lifting into a series of light bounces as she cocked her head. “It was actually just me collecting the bounty on a dragon, but now that you reminded me, I’d been wondering if I could ask you something weird, unwise, and potentially dangerous.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow and his questioning tone rose in tandem. “From that description, I can’t guarantee I’ll say yes, but you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity.”
“Well… I was thinking about the claim that the Thalmor stopped the Oblivion Crisis.”
“It is not merely a claim,” he countered, allowing an edge of annoyance to slip into his voice. “It’s a historically accepted fact.”
“It’s actually a historically disputed fact, but more importantly: if it WAS the Thalmor who closed the Oblivion Gates, do you know how they did it?”
“That’s an interesting question.” Even as the words left his mouth, dread clenched a fist in his gut, and his stare narrowed on hers. “I hope you haven’t discovered something that requires a practical application of that knowledge.”
To his relief, she raised her palms toward him in a reassuring gesture. “Nothing like the Oblivion Crisis, thankfully. But there is an altar to Molag Bal in a basement in this city, and my last two attempts to get it deactivated and make the building safe failed miserably.”
Those palms turned upward in a wry shrug. “I’m not that good at fighting things that don’t have a tangible body to stab or throw spells at.”
“I see.” For all her capacity for critical thought, it seemed that there were still some areas in which she was a blunt instrument. Perhaps one that could be honed in the future, but for now… “So you’re hoping I can use the Thalmor’s magic to break Molag Bal’s hold on this building.”
“Yes. I should warn you: if you fail, we could get trapped in the house together. That’s what happened with Vigilant Tyranus and me when we went in to investigate.”
“Vigilant? You mean a Vigilant of Stendarr?” Of all the factions in Skyrim, they were among the few he could truly respect. Hunters of heresy and Daedra, sworn to the service to the gods, much like him. “What happened while you were trapped together?”
“Molag Bal ordered me to kill him. I said no, and I told Tyranus not to try to fight me, but the door was sealed shut, and every small object that wasn’t nailed down started flying around the room.
"I was in the middle of trying to figure out how to get the door open when Tyranus said ‘It’s you or me!’ and attacked me. I ended up having to kill him.”
“A Vigilant of Stendarr, trying to kill you on a Daedra’s orders. How ironic. I assume you’ll want a promise from me that I won’t repeat his mistake?”
“That would be good, yes.”
“Then you have it. I have no intention of being ordered around by the likes of Molag Bal.” Her earlier words flickered through his mind, and he inquired, “What about your second attempt? Did you have an accomplice then?”
“Yes – a priest of Boethiah.”
“Oh?” That certainly wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “How did you come to collaborate with a priest of a Daedra?”
“While I was trapped inside the house, Molag Bal said that priest had defiled the altar before, and he wanted me to bring him back and break him. I thought if he’d messed up the altar once, maybe he could do it again, so I decided to tell him what he’d be up against and let him make his own decision.
“He decided to come back, and once he was trapped in the spike cage next to the altar, Molag Bal gave me an old, rusty mace and told me to beat the priest into submission. I didn’t want to, so I threw the mace on the ground.”
She was given a Daedric artifact, and she threw it on the ground. How very Kierska of her.
Her face flattened in sullen annoyance. “The cage spikes went down, but instead of finishing the job, that stupid priest just got up and ran away, and all I got for my trouble was a curse from Molag Bal. I had to go all the way to Solitude to visit a shrine of Stendarr to get rid of it. It was all just a pointless pain in the tail.”
“And now you believe the third time will be the charm?”
“That depends on you. If you can’t do it, please be honest. Overconfidence and Daedric princes are a bad combination.”
“Says the woman who threw Molag’s mace on the floor.”
Her mouth opened. No noise came out. She closed it. “I didn’t say I was smart.”
His answering “Hmph” was more amused than scornful. “Perhaps not. But you were wise enough to come to a member of the most powerful group of mages in Tamriel. I’m certain that, once the altar has been analyzed, I’ll find a way to break Molag’s hold and render the building safe.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a nagging whisper of common sense reminded him that he did not know any spells that would solidify the liminal barrier and block out a Daedric prince.
But surely there had to be something in the books he’d brought from Alinor that would bridge that gap in his knowledge. And even if there wasn’t, he was a member of the Thalmor. He’d figure something out. “Give me a few hours to wrap up my duties for the day, then meet me at the affected house this evening.”
“All right. It’s just upstream from the Arnleif and Sons Trading Company. I’ll see you then.”
As they parted ways, Lydia’s whisper barely reached his keen Elven ears. “I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
Kierska’s voice was even softer, and he had to strain to hear it. “He didn’t know the spell off the top his his head, so you might be right. But I want to find out whether Thalmor can close liminal openings or not. Have supper and a couple drinks on me at the inn, then if I don’t join you in two hours…”
The growing distance between them made the rest impossible to hear, but he’d already heard enough to make his fingers clench.
The Thalmor’s reputation was resting on his shoulders. He had to do this. He had to prove their superiority, and their worthiness to wield that superiority, one action at a time.
~*~
The door was sealed. The lights were dim. The world was shaking, and everything that wasn’t nailed down was flying through the air, as it had been for the past hour.
Ondolemar had tried every spell and incantation he could think of, had modified them in an attempt to counter his target’s magical resonance, and had come closer to stooping to the use of foul language than he had since he’d first sworn service to the gods.
And the hideous, glowering altar refused to yield.
He could feel Kierska staring at him, whenever she could take her eyes off the barrage of small objects that her shield was barely keeping at bay. She’d promised to protect him while he worked, at least as best she could, but while she was keeping her end of the bargain, he was starting to question his own ability to keep his.
Think, THINK! There has to be something… “Kierska?”
She glanced toward him, her mouth tightening at the sodden sound of a dead airborne rabbit bouncing off her shield. “Yeah?”
“Perhaps we should try attacking it in unison.”
Disembodied laughter thundered through the basement, and Kierska’s mouth flattened. “You’re making wild guesses, aren’t you?”
“Do you have a better idea?!”
“My better idea was not to come in here unless you were sure you knew what you were doing!” A tankard bounced off her helmet, forcing a slight flinch that did nothing to break the glare she was fixing on him. “You said you were sure!”
I did, didn’t I? I… His pride forbade him from echoing her words, but they whispered through his head all the same. I didn’t say I was smart. “I… I underestimated the resilience of this altar.”
“So you have a basic idea of what to do in principle, but you think we just need to do it harder?”
“Ah…” Maybe?
“You don’t know.”
“ALL RIGHT, I DON’T! I’m sorry! I… was overconfident.” “Overconfidence and Daedric princes are-” SHUT UP! “At this point, anything is worth an attempt.”
“Have you used the Talos amulet on it?”
“What?!”
“The amulet of Talos. I forgot to get it back from you last time. Do you still have it?”
Ugh, he did. He’d been planning to ask Calcelmo to analyze it, when the perpetually preoccupied archaeologist wasn’t so absorbed in his research. “Yes, but what do you want me to do with it?”
“Run magic through it, hit the altar with it, I don’t know! I already used every spell, Thu’um, and weapon I had on the altar last time I was here, but I forgot to try the amulet, so maybe it’ll work? Like you said, anything is worth a try at this point!”
“Fine, but…” But either it was an amulet made by mortals, with a unique enchantment that seemed thoroughly inapplicable to the current situation, or it was an amulet of a Divine he didn’t believe in. Either way, he couldn’t see it working.
But the alternative was to stay trapped here by his own stubbornness. “Fine.” Maybe if he was lucky, the implements of heresy would destroy each other.
Fire swirled to life in his palm, and he dangled the amulet between the flame and the altar, then threw the firebolt. The amulet bounced and swung on its string, while the firebolt shattered against its target, leaving altar and necklace equally unharmed.
Frustration flared into lightning in his hand, and the spell arced from amulet to altar, shimmering across both of them and accomplishing nothing. With an angry cry that was almost a snarl, he slammed the necklace down on the hideous head that dominated the altar, then growled in pain as the adornment bit into his palm.
That thrice-damned laughter boomed through the halls, and if Molag Bal had manifested in front of him right then, Ondolemar would have seriously considered trying to throttle him with his bare, lightning-wreathed hands.
“Foolish mortals,” the Daedra’s voice rumbled, thick with amusement as the clatter of flying objects faded. “There is no escape unless I allow it. You will remain here until one of you submits to me. And unlike you, I have all the time in the world.”
“Hmph.” A rustle caught Ondolemar’s attention, and he turned to see Kierska offering him an apple. “He isn’t wrong about the difference in time tolerance. At least I thought ahead enough to bring a few days’ rations.”
The sight of the crisp green fruit reminded him that it had been several hours since he last ate, and his stomach was quick to emphasize the fact. He accepted the food with a grateful nod, then bit into it, savoring its sweetness and trying to prevent any of its juice from running down his chin.
I wonder how many meals she packed. And if one of them is going to be my last. The thought sat heavy in his gut, twisting like a knife as he watched his companion chew on an apple of her own. Both of us could die in here. Because she trusted me.
Her eyes met his for a moment, then strayed to the altar. “So… how did the Thalmor close the Oblivion Gates? And why don’t they teach that spell to all their mages?”
“I…” I don’t have the answer to either of those questions. “I do not know the specifics, but I do know they used deep and subtle magics that most people are not privy to. As for why our magic trainers don’t teach these skills to all of our mages…” I don’t want to have to say this twice in one answer, but... “I don’t know.”
“So how do you know they have those spells?”
“Because they used them to end the Oblivion Crisis!”
The walls shook, and the two trapped mortals braced their legs wider apart, gathering magic in their free hands as laughter boomed through the cramped tunnel. “Such hubris,” Molag Bal rumbled. “As if a Daedric Prince could be thwarted by mere mortals.
“Even in Coldharbour, we bore witness to Mehrunes Dagon’s defeat – not at the hand of some pathetic elf or human, but at the fangs of Akatosh himself! I wonder if your arrogant rabble ever considered the irony: you came to this land to hunt down heretics, while you steal credit for the victory of a god!”
No, no, that can’t be right…
Even as words tried to string themselves into an answer in Ondolemar’s reeling mind, Kierska’s face and stance scrunched themselves into a tight wad of annoyance. “I can’t believe I agree with Molag Bal. Blast this day and everything about it.”
“Then don’t believe it,” Ondolemar blurted out, his tone rising and his voice quickening despite his best efforts. “He is lying. I’m surprised you would accept the word of a Daedric prince as proof!”
Her eyes narrowed, and her voice sharpened to something near a biting snap. “His word, eyewitnesses’ words, the words of people who saw a dragon statue where there wasn’t one before, history books’ words.
“The words of people who, unlike the Thalmor, couldn’t have been motivated to lie by the rewards of claiming the credit for themselves! You say the Thalmor ended the Crisis, but there’s less proof of that than there is of Talos being a god!”
A sharp CRACK! rang through the room as his hand tightened on the apple, sending a deep fissure running through the damaged fruit. Juice dripped down his fingers, but the unwelcome stickiness, which would normally have claimed his full attention, was all but ignored as he returned Kierska’s glare.
Damn it, DAMN her, is she TRYING to provoke me into killing her? How DARE she make such a heretical insinuation, how dare she undermine everything the Thalmor’s right to rule is based on?
He already knew the answer. And it only made him angrier. She dares because it’s true. I have no way to contradict her claims.
But there has to be something. If I just request the information from Alinor…
“It seems that further research is required,” he responded tightly, forcing himself not to break the apple any more than he already had. “I will request the relevant information from our scholars, and convey it to you once I have it.”
He was trying to sound certain. The disembodied laughter that rolled through the tunnel didn’t help.
Kierska glared up at the ceiling, then shook her head. “Fine. We’ll table this discussion for later. For now, let’s finish our apples before you turn yours into sauce, and then try attacking the altar together. I doubt it’ll work, but anything is worth a shot.”
“Of course.” Assuming destroying the altar would actually break Molag Bal’s hold on this building.
Divines help us, I may have doomed us both.
Carnaril’s voice dragged him back to the present, to the pain in his limbs and the pounding of his own labored heartbeat in his head. Ondolemar forced his eyes to stay open, struggling to keep his face tilted up toward his tormentor.
Eyes like icicles drove into him, and he willed himself to meet them steadily, even as the restful mercy of unconsciousness dragged his mind toward it. “We… continued our discussion about our shared research.”
There it was again: that eyebrow raise, clearly engineered to inform him that he was digging his own grave. Don’t panic. Don’t act guilty. It was only research.
Heretical research.
NECESSARY research, to validate the Thalmor’s claims and potentially give us a political advantage. I did nothing wrong.
As Kierska said, those who outlaw research cast doubt upon their own claims.
“And what did she say? Did she give any indication that she was leaning closer to embracing the heresy of Talos?”
“She… had observed that his shrines and amulets displayed the same properties of those of a Divine, but she seemed to have mixed feelings about Tiber Septim himself. Though…”
Should I even be saying this? It could seal my fate, but… if they already know and I hold back, it will only increase their suspicion.
He’d been silent for too long. The mace drove his right hand sideways into the wall, grinding shattered bones into violated flesh. A molten tsunami rolled down his arm, and his pain-fogged mind, which had already been struggling to stay afloat, drowned in the roaring tide.
The edges of the world dimmed. His leaden chest labored for every gasp and scream, and yet, he couldn’t stop. As he wavered on the brink of unconsciousness, a distant corner of his mind asked if he’d live long enough to wake up.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
But he didn’t have a choice. Magic was curling through him, alight with the gold of a Restoration spell, but so different from his own.
Where his magic was soothingly warm, this invasion of energy was burning and harsh. Where his healing wrapped him in a comforting embrace, the torturer’s spell seized him like a violent captor, dragging him roughly from the edge of merciful oblivion back into wretched consciousness.
The darkness flared into blurry fog, and his blank, dazed stare wandered up to the vague yellow smudge that was Carnaril’s face, then sideways to the arm that was slowly lifting.
The mace was rising to strike again.
Panic rammed through his chest like a fist, and he forced his heavy, slurring mouth to blurt out a cry of “Wait!”
The weapon paused, and Ondolemar fought to drag his scattered thoughts into a sentence. His mind was so blurred that he could barely think, let alone speak, and once again, his struggle dragged on too long. A mace flange hooked under one of his ribs, shifting the already broken bone, and his attempt to speak dissolved into a weak, helpless wail.
“Stop… please, I… I’ll complete my report. What…” What was I talking about? I can’t keep him waiting. Think, THINK! But his head offered nothing but pounding, painful fog.
His desperate eyes rose to Carnaril’s, and he strained to push the fear from his voice as he asked, “What… was I talking about?”
“You were talking about the Dragonborn’s feelings about Tiber Septim.”
Seeking an excuse to arrest her, no doubt.
I’m not sorry to disappoint you. “Yes, she told me about that… during the incident with Molag Bal.”
“Describe this incident in detail.”
“Of course.” The thought of talking that much was exhausting, but at least the retelling would allow him to send his mind somewhere else. Somewhere strange and dangerous, yet comforting compared to this ordeal.
A time when, with a sincerity he hoped would remain unknown to Carnaril, he had greeted the Dragonborn as a friend.
~*~
She was trotting up the stairs again, this time with lighter, steadier steps. From her gait, it seemed that Kierska had begun to enjoy a measure of welcome in Understone Keep, unlike him.
They were too far apart for their paths to cross, so she passed him by on her way to the throne, so intent on her destination that he wondered if she’d noticed him.
He made a point of being closer and more visible when she was ready to depart, and her sharp yellow eyes caught him instantly. “Oh! Ondolemar.”
The presence of a person who could converse on his level brought a warm smile to his face and voice. “What is it, my friend?”
Lydia’s helmet was on, so he couldn’t see her face, but her visible stiffening made him suspect that she didn’t approve of her companion being friends with a Thalmor.
Too bad. The rulers of the Aldmeri Dominion didn’t need the permission of a lowly Nord to socialize as they pleased.
The Khajiit came to a stop in front of him, her tail-dance lifting into a series of light bounces as she cocked her head. “It was actually just me collecting the bounty on a dragon, but now that you reminded me, I’d been wondering if I could ask you something weird, unwise, and potentially dangerous.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow and his questioning tone rose in tandem. “From that description, I can’t guarantee I’ll say yes, but you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity.”
“Well… I was thinking about the claim that the Thalmor stopped the Oblivion Crisis.”
“It is not merely a claim,” he countered, allowing an edge of annoyance to slip into his voice. “It’s a historically accepted fact.”
“It’s actually a historically disputed fact, but more importantly: if it WAS the Thalmor who closed the Oblivion Gates, do you know how they did it?”
“That’s an interesting question.” Even as the words left his mouth, dread clenched a fist in his gut, and his stare narrowed on hers. “I hope you haven’t discovered something that requires a practical application of that knowledge.”
To his relief, she raised her palms toward him in a reassuring gesture. “Nothing like the Oblivion Crisis, thankfully. But there is an altar to Molag Bal in a basement in this city, and my last two attempts to get it deactivated and make the building safe failed miserably.”
Those palms turned upward in a wry shrug. “I’m not that good at fighting things that don’t have a tangible body to stab or throw spells at.”
“I see.” For all her capacity for critical thought, it seemed that there were still some areas in which she was a blunt instrument. Perhaps one that could be honed in the future, but for now… “So you’re hoping I can use the Thalmor’s magic to break Molag Bal’s hold on this building.”
“Yes. I should warn you: if you fail, we could get trapped in the house together. That’s what happened with Vigilant Tyranus and me when we went in to investigate.”
“Vigilant? You mean a Vigilant of Stendarr?” Of all the factions in Skyrim, they were among the few he could truly respect. Hunters of heresy and Daedra, sworn to the service to the gods, much like him. “What happened while you were trapped together?”
“Molag Bal ordered me to kill him. I said no, and I told Tyranus not to try to fight me, but the door was sealed shut, and every small object that wasn’t nailed down started flying around the room.
"I was in the middle of trying to figure out how to get the door open when Tyranus said ‘It’s you or me!’ and attacked me. I ended up having to kill him.”
“A Vigilant of Stendarr, trying to kill you on a Daedra’s orders. How ironic. I assume you’ll want a promise from me that I won’t repeat his mistake?”
“That would be good, yes.”
“Then you have it. I have no intention of being ordered around by the likes of Molag Bal.” Her earlier words flickered through his mind, and he inquired, “What about your second attempt? Did you have an accomplice then?”
“Yes – a priest of Boethiah.”
“Oh?” That certainly wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “How did you come to collaborate with a priest of a Daedra?”
“While I was trapped inside the house, Molag Bal said that priest had defiled the altar before, and he wanted me to bring him back and break him. I thought if he’d messed up the altar once, maybe he could do it again, so I decided to tell him what he’d be up against and let him make his own decision.
“He decided to come back, and once he was trapped in the spike cage next to the altar, Molag Bal gave me an old, rusty mace and told me to beat the priest into submission. I didn’t want to, so I threw the mace on the ground.”
She was given a Daedric artifact, and she threw it on the ground. How very Kierska of her.
Her face flattened in sullen annoyance. “The cage spikes went down, but instead of finishing the job, that stupid priest just got up and ran away, and all I got for my trouble was a curse from Molag Bal. I had to go all the way to Solitude to visit a shrine of Stendarr to get rid of it. It was all just a pointless pain in the tail.”
“And now you believe the third time will be the charm?”
“That depends on you. If you can’t do it, please be honest. Overconfidence and Daedric princes are a bad combination.”
“Says the woman who threw Molag’s mace on the floor.”
Her mouth opened. No noise came out. She closed it. “I didn’t say I was smart.”
His answering “Hmph” was more amused than scornful. “Perhaps not. But you were wise enough to come to a member of the most powerful group of mages in Tamriel. I’m certain that, once the altar has been analyzed, I’ll find a way to break Molag’s hold and render the building safe.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a nagging whisper of common sense reminded him that he did not know any spells that would solidify the liminal barrier and block out a Daedric prince.
But surely there had to be something in the books he’d brought from Alinor that would bridge that gap in his knowledge. And even if there wasn’t, he was a member of the Thalmor. He’d figure something out. “Give me a few hours to wrap up my duties for the day, then meet me at the affected house this evening.”
“All right. It’s just upstream from the Arnleif and Sons Trading Company. I’ll see you then.”
As they parted ways, Lydia’s whisper barely reached his keen Elven ears. “I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
Kierska’s voice was even softer, and he had to strain to hear it. “He didn’t know the spell off the top his his head, so you might be right. But I want to find out whether Thalmor can close liminal openings or not. Have supper and a couple drinks on me at the inn, then if I don’t join you in two hours…”
The growing distance between them made the rest impossible to hear, but he’d already heard enough to make his fingers clench.
The Thalmor’s reputation was resting on his shoulders. He had to do this. He had to prove their superiority, and their worthiness to wield that superiority, one action at a time.
~*~
The door was sealed. The lights were dim. The world was shaking, and everything that wasn’t nailed down was flying through the air, as it had been for the past hour.
Ondolemar had tried every spell and incantation he could think of, had modified them in an attempt to counter his target’s magical resonance, and had come closer to stooping to the use of foul language than he had since he’d first sworn service to the gods.
And the hideous, glowering altar refused to yield.
He could feel Kierska staring at him, whenever she could take her eyes off the barrage of small objects that her shield was barely keeping at bay. She’d promised to protect him while he worked, at least as best she could, but while she was keeping her end of the bargain, he was starting to question his own ability to keep his.
Think, THINK! There has to be something… “Kierska?”
She glanced toward him, her mouth tightening at the sodden sound of a dead airborne rabbit bouncing off her shield. “Yeah?”
“Perhaps we should try attacking it in unison.”
Disembodied laughter thundered through the basement, and Kierska’s mouth flattened. “You’re making wild guesses, aren’t you?”
“Do you have a better idea?!”
“My better idea was not to come in here unless you were sure you knew what you were doing!” A tankard bounced off her helmet, forcing a slight flinch that did nothing to break the glare she was fixing on him. “You said you were sure!”
I did, didn’t I? I… His pride forbade him from echoing her words, but they whispered through his head all the same. I didn’t say I was smart. “I… I underestimated the resilience of this altar.”
“So you have a basic idea of what to do in principle, but you think we just need to do it harder?”
“Ah…” Maybe?
“You don’t know.”
“ALL RIGHT, I DON’T! I’m sorry! I… was overconfident.” “Overconfidence and Daedric princes are-” SHUT UP! “At this point, anything is worth an attempt.”
“Have you used the Talos amulet on it?”
“What?!”
“The amulet of Talos. I forgot to get it back from you last time. Do you still have it?”
Ugh, he did. He’d been planning to ask Calcelmo to analyze it, when the perpetually preoccupied archaeologist wasn’t so absorbed in his research. “Yes, but what do you want me to do with it?”
“Run magic through it, hit the altar with it, I don’t know! I already used every spell, Thu’um, and weapon I had on the altar last time I was here, but I forgot to try the amulet, so maybe it’ll work? Like you said, anything is worth a try at this point!”
“Fine, but…” But either it was an amulet made by mortals, with a unique enchantment that seemed thoroughly inapplicable to the current situation, or it was an amulet of a Divine he didn’t believe in. Either way, he couldn’t see it working.
But the alternative was to stay trapped here by his own stubbornness. “Fine.” Maybe if he was lucky, the implements of heresy would destroy each other.
Fire swirled to life in his palm, and he dangled the amulet between the flame and the altar, then threw the firebolt. The amulet bounced and swung on its string, while the firebolt shattered against its target, leaving altar and necklace equally unharmed.
Frustration flared into lightning in his hand, and the spell arced from amulet to altar, shimmering across both of them and accomplishing nothing. With an angry cry that was almost a snarl, he slammed the necklace down on the hideous head that dominated the altar, then growled in pain as the adornment bit into his palm.
That thrice-damned laughter boomed through the halls, and if Molag Bal had manifested in front of him right then, Ondolemar would have seriously considered trying to throttle him with his bare, lightning-wreathed hands.
“Foolish mortals,” the Daedra’s voice rumbled, thick with amusement as the clatter of flying objects faded. “There is no escape unless I allow it. You will remain here until one of you submits to me. And unlike you, I have all the time in the world.”
“Hmph.” A rustle caught Ondolemar’s attention, and he turned to see Kierska offering him an apple. “He isn’t wrong about the difference in time tolerance. At least I thought ahead enough to bring a few days’ rations.”
The sight of the crisp green fruit reminded him that it had been several hours since he last ate, and his stomach was quick to emphasize the fact. He accepted the food with a grateful nod, then bit into it, savoring its sweetness and trying to prevent any of its juice from running down his chin.
I wonder how many meals she packed. And if one of them is going to be my last. The thought sat heavy in his gut, twisting like a knife as he watched his companion chew on an apple of her own. Both of us could die in here. Because she trusted me.
Her eyes met his for a moment, then strayed to the altar. “So… how did the Thalmor close the Oblivion Gates? And why don’t they teach that spell to all their mages?”
“I…” I don’t have the answer to either of those questions. “I do not know the specifics, but I do know they used deep and subtle magics that most people are not privy to. As for why our magic trainers don’t teach these skills to all of our mages…” I don’t want to have to say this twice in one answer, but... “I don’t know.”
“So how do you know they have those spells?”
“Because they used them to end the Oblivion Crisis!”
The walls shook, and the two trapped mortals braced their legs wider apart, gathering magic in their free hands as laughter boomed through the cramped tunnel. “Such hubris,” Molag Bal rumbled. “As if a Daedric Prince could be thwarted by mere mortals.
“Even in Coldharbour, we bore witness to Mehrunes Dagon’s defeat – not at the hand of some pathetic elf or human, but at the fangs of Akatosh himself! I wonder if your arrogant rabble ever considered the irony: you came to this land to hunt down heretics, while you steal credit for the victory of a god!”
No, no, that can’t be right…
Even as words tried to string themselves into an answer in Ondolemar’s reeling mind, Kierska’s face and stance scrunched themselves into a tight wad of annoyance. “I can’t believe I agree with Molag Bal. Blast this day and everything about it.”
“Then don’t believe it,” Ondolemar blurted out, his tone rising and his voice quickening despite his best efforts. “He is lying. I’m surprised you would accept the word of a Daedric prince as proof!”
Her eyes narrowed, and her voice sharpened to something near a biting snap. “His word, eyewitnesses’ words, the words of people who saw a dragon statue where there wasn’t one before, history books’ words.
“The words of people who, unlike the Thalmor, couldn’t have been motivated to lie by the rewards of claiming the credit for themselves! You say the Thalmor ended the Crisis, but there’s less proof of that than there is of Talos being a god!”
A sharp CRACK! rang through the room as his hand tightened on the apple, sending a deep fissure running through the damaged fruit. Juice dripped down his fingers, but the unwelcome stickiness, which would normally have claimed his full attention, was all but ignored as he returned Kierska’s glare.
Damn it, DAMN her, is she TRYING to provoke me into killing her? How DARE she make such a heretical insinuation, how dare she undermine everything the Thalmor’s right to rule is based on?
He already knew the answer. And it only made him angrier. She dares because it’s true. I have no way to contradict her claims.
But there has to be something. If I just request the information from Alinor…
“It seems that further research is required,” he responded tightly, forcing himself not to break the apple any more than he already had. “I will request the relevant information from our scholars, and convey it to you once I have it.”
He was trying to sound certain. The disembodied laughter that rolled through the tunnel didn’t help.
Kierska glared up at the ceiling, then shook her head. “Fine. We’ll table this discussion for later. For now, let’s finish our apples before you turn yours into sauce, and then try attacking the altar together. I doubt it’ll work, but anything is worth a shot.”
“Of course.” Assuming destroying the altar would actually break Molag Bal’s hold on this building.
Divines help us, I may have doomed us both.
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