Your Truth Cannot Stand
A Skyrim Fanfiction
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
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…
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 (you are here)
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…
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 (you are here)
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
The air outside Understone Keep was brilliant and cold, and Ondolemar drew it in until his lungs were filled with its crisp, frosty vigor. After going a whole week without emerging from the Keep’s dim, stuffy halls, the open expanse of sunlight and fresh air felt like it was bringing him back to life.
I need to get out here more often, he thought, staring up at the shining gulfs of cloud-adorned blue above him. His eyes slipped closed, allowing him to tilt his face more fully toward the sun’s faint warmth, and he listened as the soft whisper of wind rose to a sudden, distant whoosh.
Is the wind picking up? Is there a storm on the way? As he turned his face from the sun and opened his eyes, the sound swept across his ears again, and an echo of Kierska’s words sent uneasiness creeping down his spine.
“So there I was, just picking a Nirnroot and minding my own business, when I heard a whooshing noise. I ignored it, then all of a sudden this column of ice slammed into my back! You wouldn’t think a dragon the size of a dragon could be stealthy, but if you aren’t paying attention…”
Ondolemar’s eyes flew wide, and his gaze darted to the sky, just in time to catch a glimpse of a vast, dark shape swooping overhead.
Then came the scream.
His skin hardened in a rush of magic, and his panicked gaze followed the enormous winged shape as it raced to the south, dropping a smaller silhouette in its wake.
What the… KIERSKA?!
It was hard to tell from this distance, but this spikes on the tumbling figure looked right, and the scream sounded like that of a Khajiit. No, NO!
He lunged into a desperate run, stumbling on Markarth’s dangerously steep staircases as he tried to balance calculating her landing place with not killing himself on the way there. Divines, catch her, please! At least keep her alive long enough for me to heal her!
Almost there. She was going to land beside the blacksmith’s workshop. The Orcish smith and her apprentice had stepped out from under the roof of the partly-walled shop, watching the Khajiit’s descent in horror, and Ondolemar cursed the complacency that had kept him from learning a telekinesis spell when he had the chance.
No wonder she tries to learn all the spells, if this is what happens when you don’t!
She was close enough now that he could recognize her face. She’d been falling for so long – surely there was no way she would still be alive an instant after she hit the stone.
Divines, help her!
One second from impact. A bark of “FEIM!” exploded from the doomed Khajiit, the deafening burst of verbal sorcery slicing through the Altmer’s sensitive ears, and a second later, a ghost slammed into the ground.
Ondolemar stumbled to a halt, staring slack-jawed at the transparent figure who was slowly, unsteadily pushing herself to her feet. She looked slightly dazed, and he wondered if it was possible for a living body to become undead so quickly without even leaving a corpse.
Then the effect of the Shout wore off, and a normal-colored Kierska yowled after the dragon’s retreating, distant form. “WIMP!”
The Orc and her assistant stepped toward the angry warrior, glancing from the dragon to the person it had dropped, and the young Imperial stammered out the question that was ringing through everyone’s minds. “W-what happened?”
The Khajiit rounded on him, her fangs bared, her voice rough with rage, and her bushed-out tail flailing as he took a step back in alarm. “I was fighting that dragon, and just when I was close to winning, that milk-drinking snowback FLEW AWAY FROM ME! I HATE it when they do that!”
“Flew away from you? But… were you holding onto it? Or was it holding onto you? How did you…”
To the youth’s visible relief, she finally calmed down. “I saw in its body language that it was starting to fly off, so I used a Shout to launch myself off a rock like a ramp and grabbed its foot. As it turns out, it’s hard to hold onto a dragon’s foot and fight at the same time, especially when it’s trying to kick you off.”
Ondolemar gripped the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get killed,” he muttered as his panting guards caught up with him, and Kierska frowned.
“When you overprepare as obsessively as me, you get to be a bit reckless, because you know you can to get away with it.”
“I suppose that’s true. Speaking of which, since you’re here, I’d like you to come with me. I have something I want to show you.”
“Oh?” Her head cocked. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” A vague and unconvincing answer, and one he knew her curiosity couldn’t resist. She’s lucky I’m not trying to arrest her; all I’d need to do is get her curious, and she might just follow me into a cell.
Of course, if the rumors I’ve been hearing of her wiping out Forsworn camps are true, that would probably end worse for me than it would for her. After all, she does obsessively overprepare.
“All right,” she answered, and he smiled.
Just as I thought.
They retraced his steps back to the Keep, this time at a much safer pace, and as they walked, she glanced up at him. “How come you were at the blacksmith’s? Did you decide it was too dangerous to keep fighting in a robe?”
“My job seldom includes fighting, though I am, of course, trained to do so if the need arises.”
“In a robe.”
“An enchanted robe whose design reflects my station.”
“A barely enchanted robe. And it’s still a robe. It wouldn’t even stop a basic iron sword.”
“Not everyone spends their lives seeking brigands with iron swords to fight. We don’t all need to be as obsessively overprepared as you. Especially-” he glanced at his fully armored pair of guards- “those of us who have bodyguards.”
“I guess that’s true.”
Ondolemar pushed the door of the Keep open, and the trio of warriors followed him in. He led the way to his quarters, then pulled a book from a drawer, and handed it to Kierska with a smile. “Here. I doubt it will help you catch dragons, but I believe you will find it useful against bandits and Forsworn.”
She accepted the volume with two careful hands, and he watched with a growing smile as her eyes skimmed the cover and went wide. “Mass Paralysis?” Her golden stare snapped up to meet his. “How did you get this?”
“Alinor does not share Skyrim’s primitive fear of the arcane. Advanced spell tomes are common there. It’s a pity you were not born there; who knows what heights you might have already risen to.”
He could imagine her standing in a sunlit book shop, college or library, holding an armful of arcane tomes, her eyes shining with the excitement of discovery. Her hands sweeping through the arcs of advanced spellcasting, her voice crisp and bright with an elegant Alinor accent… her body arrayed in dignified Thalmor robes…
The image froze and dimmed. This version of Kierska was far closer to his ideals than the one who stood before him, but… it was no longer her.
Even as the thoughts flashed through his mind, he could see the same brightening and fading in her eyes. “There is a lot I could’ve learned,” she mused, her right thumb gently tracing the edge of the book. “But I don’t think that’s where I’m needed most. And if I’d lived there instead of where I grew up, I wouldn’t be me.”
“I suppose that’s true.” And he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not the change would be an improvement. He should have been sure, but… he wasn’t.
Before he could decide, her uncertain voice reclaimed his attention. “Are you sure you want me to read this, though? I mean, even if it isn’t rare in Alinor, it must have been expensive, and spell tomes disappear when they’re used…”
“Of course. I ordered it from Alinor for your use, and I expect you to use it.”
Now, at last, the light in her eyes broke through her uncertainty, grateful and excited, as it had when Mara broke the Daedric hold on the house. “Thanks! If you want, I could reimburse you for it-”
“Then it would no longer be a gift. I assure you, I have plenty of gold of my own. Besides, I think I prefer the look on your face.”
The look in question jolted to one of surprise, then shifted into a mixture of appreciation, amusement, and something uncharacteristically close to shyness. “Do you often give gifts like this just to see the looks on people’s faces?”
“Only to people who have earned my respect.”
Warmth glowed in her expression again, and spread through his chest. I wonder if this is how she feels when she helps people… or how the Thalmor felt centuries ago when they saved Alinor from the Oblivion Crisis.
There’s so much more we could be doing in this world. So much we have to offer, in our culture, our knowledge, our enlightenment… and if we change the way we go about sharing it, perhaps all people will come to respond the same way she is now.
An instant after the thought crossed his mind, it was obliterated by a furry, scaly set of arms wrapping around his ribs.
“Wha…” It took him a startled squawk and a long, awkward moment to process the sight. The Dragonborn was pressed against his front, as closely as she could without stabbing him with her armor, and her cheek rubbed against his chest in a feline show of affection.
The ring of moonstone blades leaving their scabbards made the Khajiit jerk away, her whole body tensing at the sight of his bodyguards’ drawn swords. “Um… was that… not allowed?”
With a gesture of his hand, Ondolemar sent their weapons back into their sheaths. “There is no spoken rule against it,” he explained, “but it certainly isn’t customary, and it is generally best to ask first.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry. Sometimes I forget how much more formal some other cultures are.”
“It’s quite all right.” More than all right. He could still feel her warmth across his stomach and chest, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to enjoy it while it was happening.
It was so seldom that such things happened at all.
He opened his mouth to invite her to repeat the gesture, but it was too late; she was already changing the subject. “Speaking of rules, are you sure you won’t get in trouble for giving a spell book to someone who isn’t Thalmor?”
“That depends. Do you intend to break your word, and get me in trouble by using it against my allies?”
“I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you keep your word.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” A sudden jolt ran through her, and her eyes flashed as if with sudden memory. “By the way, while I’m here, I was wondering if you’d learned anything from your research.”
“I found a shrine of Talos in the city, and I permitted the Jarl to keep it in place for research purposes. My attempts to probe it with scrying techniques indicated that it does contain a distinct magical resonance, but the data thus far is inconclusive.”
She perked with interest. “Scrying? That’s a technique I haven’t learned yet. I just went for the simple, straightforward route – I think I mentioned that time I got sick.”
“And you visited a shrine, yes…” His voice trailed off, and he allowed his discomfort to show in his tone. “I doubt that strategy would work for a nonbeliever.”
“It worked for a Khajiit who sees Talos as a war criminal.”
“That’s true. Hopefully it will not be necessary; I consider such things to be an absolute last resort.”
“Suit yourself. You didn’t push me to do something I think is wrong, so I’ll show you the same respect. But given that the decisions made regarding Talos are a matter of life and death, I hope you won’t let squeamishness stop you from being thorough.”
“I assure you, I will take all measures necessary to draw a fully informed conclusion.”
“That’s good.” Her long, sharp teeth flashed in a grin. Alien and beastlike, but still so warm and bright. “I’d expect no less of you.”
~*~
The mace hung limp at Carnaril’s side, and a look of exhausted exasperation was etched into every line of his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he sighed, “and at this point I do not, I would think you were more attached to her than you are to the Thalmor.”
“I gave her one spell book,” Ondolemar countered, “and I’ve given the Thalmor decades of service. I’d hardly call the two equivalent.”
“One spell book too many,” Carnaril returned. “We are the ruling faction of the Aldmeri Dominion and the future rulers of Tamriel, not a charity for people who are not aligned with our interests.”
“You say that as if this very Embassy were not frequently the site of Elenwen’s ‘charity’ toward people who are largely uninterested in cooperating with us.”
“Food and drink, versus a master-level spell?” Carnaril raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call the two equivalent.”
His own echoed words struck him full in the face, and Ondolemar flinched slightly. “A fair point.” I wonder what he’s going to do about it.
“Speaking of the First Emissary’s parties…”
OH, NO.
“Brelas said she saw the two of you conversing during the last party, shortly before the Dragonborn entered the restricted parts of the facility, stole classified information, and killed four of our operatives. Would you care to explain that?”
I’d been afraid he would ask about that. Most of what I’ve told him so far didn’t seem too damning, but the incident at the party…
I’ll have to choose my words carefully. Xarxes help me, I’ve never been good at censoring myself! But if he knew what we discussed…
He’d spent too long in silent panic. As always, Carnaril’s mace was quick to remind him how little time he had to think his answers through, and how eager his interrogator was growing for any excuse to vent his frustration on his prisoner’s defenseless body.
At least he was willing to wait until his winded victim was able to breathe again. “All right,” Ondolemar managed between gasps. “I had not… expected to see her there, but… I assumed Elenwen was… fine with her presence… and she was unarmed… as much as a battlemage… with claws and fangs can be.
“She said she assumed she had… been invited to provide advice… to the Thalmor about dragon slaying… which she promptly did. Then… when Elenwen left her to… tend to the other guests… she spoke briefly with several Jarls… all of whom seemed to know her personally… before approaching me.
“She asked if it was safe… to discuss our research regarding… Talos there, and I told her it was… not the time nor the place… lest misunderstandings ensue.”
He could still feel the flash of fear that her whispered question sent through him, and the sudden pressure of every set of eyes and ears that might have caught her words. For the first time in a life dedicated to their service, he had found himself afraid of the Thalmor, and he hated what that implied.
“And how did she respond to that?”
With a wan smile on her lips, sincere concern in her eyes, and a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Ondolemar, this isn’t going to end with me fishing you out of a Thalmor prison, is it?”
I can never let him know she said that. “She accepted my decision.”
“What did she say, precisely?”
I hope I can remember this answer later. “She said she didn’t want… to end up in prison… over a misunderstanding.”
“And did she say anything about what she would do if you ended up in prison?”
“No, she did not.”
Part of me still can’t believe she did. In a moment of incredulity, he had asked Kierska, his voice cautiously low, if she thought it was wise to tell the commander of the Justiciars that she might act against the Thalmor in the way she’d just described.
Her answer had made his heart pound.
“All right then, O wise commander of the Justiciars, tell me: if I had to choose between a group of people who imprison one of their own just for doing research they don’t like, and a friend who was imprisoned just for doing research, who do you think I should choose?”
A friend. He’d called her that before, but this was the first time she’d explicitly reciprocated.
And of all the times she could have done it, she’d chosen a moment when she was offering to risk angering the most powerful faction in Tamriel on his behalf, while forcing him to choose between encouraging her to act against the people swore to serve, or telling her to abandon him to a horrible fate.
“It will not come to that,” he’d assured her, unwilling to consider the idea that he and the Thalmor might not be on the same side, even as his own hushed tones spoke the truth his mind could not accept. “I will disprove the Talos heresy, but in the meantime, there is no need to risk giving people the wrong idea.”
She hadn’t contested him out loud. But neither had her quiet “If you say so” sounded even remotely convinced.
He wished he could reassure her as much as she had reassured him. If the unthinkable happened and his world fell apart, the thought that he might have one friend who wouldn’t abandon him to his fate was more of a relief than he wanted to admit.
But convincing her would take more skill in lying than he would ever have.
“So what else did you talk about?” Carnaril asked, and Ondolemar relaxed slightly, grateful for the chance to shift the topic onto one he didn’t have to dance around.
“She talked about the differences and similarities… between the Nords’ interpretation of Kyne, the Imperials’ Kynareth… and the Khajiit’s Khenarthi. In fact, she made an intriguing observation that-”
“Ondolemar, if you even begin to go on another of your endless theological rants, I swear I will break out every last one of your teeth.”
Kierska would’ve let me do it. She even would have listened and asked intelligent questions.
He pushed the sulking thought from his mind and looked Carnaril in the eye, finally managing to draw enough breath to say a full sentence smoothly. “Doesn’t it become rather difficult to interrogate people if they lose the ability to speak clearly?”
“It would almost be worth it. But I’ll hold off – for now. Were you able to find any other evidence of her reasons for being there?”
“She also said Ancano had attacked the College of Winterhold, and she wanted to know why. Oh, and she wished to know what, if anything, we knew about the reason for the dragons’ return.
“Elenwen professed ignorance on both counts, as did I, and we assured her that neither event was officially condoned.”
“Shortly after that, she began to seem ill – she told Elenwen it was because she was unused to such rich food, and normally abstained from alcohol.” A slow frown crossed his face. “Although, looking back, I do not remember her drinking much.”
“An excuse to have herself escorted from the room, no doubt. And while Razelan was making a scene, no less. Do you have reason to suspect he was knowingly involved?”
“If he was, he had probably forgotten it one glass of brandy later. More likely, Kierska merely learned of his penchant for making drunken scenes, provided him with a few too many drinks, and then encouraged him to make a toast, to avoid endangering him by making him knowingly complicit.”
“That would seem to fit the psychological profile you’ve provided, yes. At any rate, that drunken fool is hardly a major concern. What DOES concern me is the fact that you continued to associate with Kierska, even after she killed Rulindil and three Thalmor soldiers.”
“If by associate you mean I questioned her and obtained the same information Rulindil tried and failed to acquire, yes, I did. You’re welcome. GHAAAH!”
“It continues to amaze me that you mistake this for a good time to run your mouth,” Carnaril muttered, twirling his freshly bloodied mace in sharp, exasperated movements. “Not that your reputation implies that you know how to do otherwise.”
“And yet… you assume… I’m holding back,” Ondolemar gasped, straining the words through teeth he couldn’t have unclenched if he’d tried.
“The Dragonborn has had a number of unexpected, undesirable effects on you,” Carnaril observed. “Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me how you got this information from her?”
“I already-” The mace rose, and Ondolemar decided to forego pointing out that he’d already included the information in his report. “All right, I’ll tell you. Again.”
So much time and pain wasted on questions I’ve already answered. Thalmor interrogations truly are stupid. No wonder my method worked better.
All right, Ondolemar, just the facts. Don’t tell him what I thought or felt; just tell him the facts, and pray that he decides to see reason, or at least give me a bit more water before my throat tears itself apart.
I need to get out here more often, he thought, staring up at the shining gulfs of cloud-adorned blue above him. His eyes slipped closed, allowing him to tilt his face more fully toward the sun’s faint warmth, and he listened as the soft whisper of wind rose to a sudden, distant whoosh.
Is the wind picking up? Is there a storm on the way? As he turned his face from the sun and opened his eyes, the sound swept across his ears again, and an echo of Kierska’s words sent uneasiness creeping down his spine.
“So there I was, just picking a Nirnroot and minding my own business, when I heard a whooshing noise. I ignored it, then all of a sudden this column of ice slammed into my back! You wouldn’t think a dragon the size of a dragon could be stealthy, but if you aren’t paying attention…”
Ondolemar’s eyes flew wide, and his gaze darted to the sky, just in time to catch a glimpse of a vast, dark shape swooping overhead.
Then came the scream.
His skin hardened in a rush of magic, and his panicked gaze followed the enormous winged shape as it raced to the south, dropping a smaller silhouette in its wake.
What the… KIERSKA?!
It was hard to tell from this distance, but this spikes on the tumbling figure looked right, and the scream sounded like that of a Khajiit. No, NO!
He lunged into a desperate run, stumbling on Markarth’s dangerously steep staircases as he tried to balance calculating her landing place with not killing himself on the way there. Divines, catch her, please! At least keep her alive long enough for me to heal her!
Almost there. She was going to land beside the blacksmith’s workshop. The Orcish smith and her apprentice had stepped out from under the roof of the partly-walled shop, watching the Khajiit’s descent in horror, and Ondolemar cursed the complacency that had kept him from learning a telekinesis spell when he had the chance.
No wonder she tries to learn all the spells, if this is what happens when you don’t!
She was close enough now that he could recognize her face. She’d been falling for so long – surely there was no way she would still be alive an instant after she hit the stone.
Divines, help her!
One second from impact. A bark of “FEIM!” exploded from the doomed Khajiit, the deafening burst of verbal sorcery slicing through the Altmer’s sensitive ears, and a second later, a ghost slammed into the ground.
Ondolemar stumbled to a halt, staring slack-jawed at the transparent figure who was slowly, unsteadily pushing herself to her feet. She looked slightly dazed, and he wondered if it was possible for a living body to become undead so quickly without even leaving a corpse.
Then the effect of the Shout wore off, and a normal-colored Kierska yowled after the dragon’s retreating, distant form. “WIMP!”
The Orc and her assistant stepped toward the angry warrior, glancing from the dragon to the person it had dropped, and the young Imperial stammered out the question that was ringing through everyone’s minds. “W-what happened?”
The Khajiit rounded on him, her fangs bared, her voice rough with rage, and her bushed-out tail flailing as he took a step back in alarm. “I was fighting that dragon, and just when I was close to winning, that milk-drinking snowback FLEW AWAY FROM ME! I HATE it when they do that!”
“Flew away from you? But… were you holding onto it? Or was it holding onto you? How did you…”
To the youth’s visible relief, she finally calmed down. “I saw in its body language that it was starting to fly off, so I used a Shout to launch myself off a rock like a ramp and grabbed its foot. As it turns out, it’s hard to hold onto a dragon’s foot and fight at the same time, especially when it’s trying to kick you off.”
Ondolemar gripped the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get killed,” he muttered as his panting guards caught up with him, and Kierska frowned.
“When you overprepare as obsessively as me, you get to be a bit reckless, because you know you can to get away with it.”
“I suppose that’s true. Speaking of which, since you’re here, I’d like you to come with me. I have something I want to show you.”
“Oh?” Her head cocked. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” A vague and unconvincing answer, and one he knew her curiosity couldn’t resist. She’s lucky I’m not trying to arrest her; all I’d need to do is get her curious, and she might just follow me into a cell.
Of course, if the rumors I’ve been hearing of her wiping out Forsworn camps are true, that would probably end worse for me than it would for her. After all, she does obsessively overprepare.
“All right,” she answered, and he smiled.
Just as I thought.
They retraced his steps back to the Keep, this time at a much safer pace, and as they walked, she glanced up at him. “How come you were at the blacksmith’s? Did you decide it was too dangerous to keep fighting in a robe?”
“My job seldom includes fighting, though I am, of course, trained to do so if the need arises.”
“In a robe.”
“An enchanted robe whose design reflects my station.”
“A barely enchanted robe. And it’s still a robe. It wouldn’t even stop a basic iron sword.”
“Not everyone spends their lives seeking brigands with iron swords to fight. We don’t all need to be as obsessively overprepared as you. Especially-” he glanced at his fully armored pair of guards- “those of us who have bodyguards.”
“I guess that’s true.”
Ondolemar pushed the door of the Keep open, and the trio of warriors followed him in. He led the way to his quarters, then pulled a book from a drawer, and handed it to Kierska with a smile. “Here. I doubt it will help you catch dragons, but I believe you will find it useful against bandits and Forsworn.”
She accepted the volume with two careful hands, and he watched with a growing smile as her eyes skimmed the cover and went wide. “Mass Paralysis?” Her golden stare snapped up to meet his. “How did you get this?”
“Alinor does not share Skyrim’s primitive fear of the arcane. Advanced spell tomes are common there. It’s a pity you were not born there; who knows what heights you might have already risen to.”
He could imagine her standing in a sunlit book shop, college or library, holding an armful of arcane tomes, her eyes shining with the excitement of discovery. Her hands sweeping through the arcs of advanced spellcasting, her voice crisp and bright with an elegant Alinor accent… her body arrayed in dignified Thalmor robes…
The image froze and dimmed. This version of Kierska was far closer to his ideals than the one who stood before him, but… it was no longer her.
Even as the thoughts flashed through his mind, he could see the same brightening and fading in her eyes. “There is a lot I could’ve learned,” she mused, her right thumb gently tracing the edge of the book. “But I don’t think that’s where I’m needed most. And if I’d lived there instead of where I grew up, I wouldn’t be me.”
“I suppose that’s true.” And he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not the change would be an improvement. He should have been sure, but… he wasn’t.
Before he could decide, her uncertain voice reclaimed his attention. “Are you sure you want me to read this, though? I mean, even if it isn’t rare in Alinor, it must have been expensive, and spell tomes disappear when they’re used…”
“Of course. I ordered it from Alinor for your use, and I expect you to use it.”
Now, at last, the light in her eyes broke through her uncertainty, grateful and excited, as it had when Mara broke the Daedric hold on the house. “Thanks! If you want, I could reimburse you for it-”
“Then it would no longer be a gift. I assure you, I have plenty of gold of my own. Besides, I think I prefer the look on your face.”
The look in question jolted to one of surprise, then shifted into a mixture of appreciation, amusement, and something uncharacteristically close to shyness. “Do you often give gifts like this just to see the looks on people’s faces?”
“Only to people who have earned my respect.”
Warmth glowed in her expression again, and spread through his chest. I wonder if this is how she feels when she helps people… or how the Thalmor felt centuries ago when they saved Alinor from the Oblivion Crisis.
There’s so much more we could be doing in this world. So much we have to offer, in our culture, our knowledge, our enlightenment… and if we change the way we go about sharing it, perhaps all people will come to respond the same way she is now.
An instant after the thought crossed his mind, it was obliterated by a furry, scaly set of arms wrapping around his ribs.
“Wha…” It took him a startled squawk and a long, awkward moment to process the sight. The Dragonborn was pressed against his front, as closely as she could without stabbing him with her armor, and her cheek rubbed against his chest in a feline show of affection.
The ring of moonstone blades leaving their scabbards made the Khajiit jerk away, her whole body tensing at the sight of his bodyguards’ drawn swords. “Um… was that… not allowed?”
With a gesture of his hand, Ondolemar sent their weapons back into their sheaths. “There is no spoken rule against it,” he explained, “but it certainly isn’t customary, and it is generally best to ask first.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry. Sometimes I forget how much more formal some other cultures are.”
“It’s quite all right.” More than all right. He could still feel her warmth across his stomach and chest, and he wished he’d had the presence of mind to enjoy it while it was happening.
It was so seldom that such things happened at all.
He opened his mouth to invite her to repeat the gesture, but it was too late; she was already changing the subject. “Speaking of rules, are you sure you won’t get in trouble for giving a spell book to someone who isn’t Thalmor?”
“That depends. Do you intend to break your word, and get me in trouble by using it against my allies?”
“I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you keep your word.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” A sudden jolt ran through her, and her eyes flashed as if with sudden memory. “By the way, while I’m here, I was wondering if you’d learned anything from your research.”
“I found a shrine of Talos in the city, and I permitted the Jarl to keep it in place for research purposes. My attempts to probe it with scrying techniques indicated that it does contain a distinct magical resonance, but the data thus far is inconclusive.”
She perked with interest. “Scrying? That’s a technique I haven’t learned yet. I just went for the simple, straightforward route – I think I mentioned that time I got sick.”
“And you visited a shrine, yes…” His voice trailed off, and he allowed his discomfort to show in his tone. “I doubt that strategy would work for a nonbeliever.”
“It worked for a Khajiit who sees Talos as a war criminal.”
“That’s true. Hopefully it will not be necessary; I consider such things to be an absolute last resort.”
“Suit yourself. You didn’t push me to do something I think is wrong, so I’ll show you the same respect. But given that the decisions made regarding Talos are a matter of life and death, I hope you won’t let squeamishness stop you from being thorough.”
“I assure you, I will take all measures necessary to draw a fully informed conclusion.”
“That’s good.” Her long, sharp teeth flashed in a grin. Alien and beastlike, but still so warm and bright. “I’d expect no less of you.”
~*~
The mace hung limp at Carnaril’s side, and a look of exhausted exasperation was etched into every line of his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he sighed, “and at this point I do not, I would think you were more attached to her than you are to the Thalmor.”
“I gave her one spell book,” Ondolemar countered, “and I’ve given the Thalmor decades of service. I’d hardly call the two equivalent.”
“One spell book too many,” Carnaril returned. “We are the ruling faction of the Aldmeri Dominion and the future rulers of Tamriel, not a charity for people who are not aligned with our interests.”
“You say that as if this very Embassy were not frequently the site of Elenwen’s ‘charity’ toward people who are largely uninterested in cooperating with us.”
“Food and drink, versus a master-level spell?” Carnaril raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call the two equivalent.”
His own echoed words struck him full in the face, and Ondolemar flinched slightly. “A fair point.” I wonder what he’s going to do about it.
“Speaking of the First Emissary’s parties…”
OH, NO.
“Brelas said she saw the two of you conversing during the last party, shortly before the Dragonborn entered the restricted parts of the facility, stole classified information, and killed four of our operatives. Would you care to explain that?”
I’d been afraid he would ask about that. Most of what I’ve told him so far didn’t seem too damning, but the incident at the party…
I’ll have to choose my words carefully. Xarxes help me, I’ve never been good at censoring myself! But if he knew what we discussed…
He’d spent too long in silent panic. As always, Carnaril’s mace was quick to remind him how little time he had to think his answers through, and how eager his interrogator was growing for any excuse to vent his frustration on his prisoner’s defenseless body.
At least he was willing to wait until his winded victim was able to breathe again. “All right,” Ondolemar managed between gasps. “I had not… expected to see her there, but… I assumed Elenwen was… fine with her presence… and she was unarmed… as much as a battlemage… with claws and fangs can be.
“She said she assumed she had… been invited to provide advice… to the Thalmor about dragon slaying… which she promptly did. Then… when Elenwen left her to… tend to the other guests… she spoke briefly with several Jarls… all of whom seemed to know her personally… before approaching me.
“She asked if it was safe… to discuss our research regarding… Talos there, and I told her it was… not the time nor the place… lest misunderstandings ensue.”
He could still feel the flash of fear that her whispered question sent through him, and the sudden pressure of every set of eyes and ears that might have caught her words. For the first time in a life dedicated to their service, he had found himself afraid of the Thalmor, and he hated what that implied.
“And how did she respond to that?”
With a wan smile on her lips, sincere concern in her eyes, and a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Ondolemar, this isn’t going to end with me fishing you out of a Thalmor prison, is it?”
I can never let him know she said that. “She accepted my decision.”
“What did she say, precisely?”
I hope I can remember this answer later. “She said she didn’t want… to end up in prison… over a misunderstanding.”
“And did she say anything about what she would do if you ended up in prison?”
“No, she did not.”
Part of me still can’t believe she did. In a moment of incredulity, he had asked Kierska, his voice cautiously low, if she thought it was wise to tell the commander of the Justiciars that she might act against the Thalmor in the way she’d just described.
Her answer had made his heart pound.
“All right then, O wise commander of the Justiciars, tell me: if I had to choose between a group of people who imprison one of their own just for doing research they don’t like, and a friend who was imprisoned just for doing research, who do you think I should choose?”
A friend. He’d called her that before, but this was the first time she’d explicitly reciprocated.
And of all the times she could have done it, she’d chosen a moment when she was offering to risk angering the most powerful faction in Tamriel on his behalf, while forcing him to choose between encouraging her to act against the people swore to serve, or telling her to abandon him to a horrible fate.
“It will not come to that,” he’d assured her, unwilling to consider the idea that he and the Thalmor might not be on the same side, even as his own hushed tones spoke the truth his mind could not accept. “I will disprove the Talos heresy, but in the meantime, there is no need to risk giving people the wrong idea.”
She hadn’t contested him out loud. But neither had her quiet “If you say so” sounded even remotely convinced.
He wished he could reassure her as much as she had reassured him. If the unthinkable happened and his world fell apart, the thought that he might have one friend who wouldn’t abandon him to his fate was more of a relief than he wanted to admit.
But convincing her would take more skill in lying than he would ever have.
“So what else did you talk about?” Carnaril asked, and Ondolemar relaxed slightly, grateful for the chance to shift the topic onto one he didn’t have to dance around.
“She talked about the differences and similarities… between the Nords’ interpretation of Kyne, the Imperials’ Kynareth… and the Khajiit’s Khenarthi. In fact, she made an intriguing observation that-”
“Ondolemar, if you even begin to go on another of your endless theological rants, I swear I will break out every last one of your teeth.”
Kierska would’ve let me do it. She even would have listened and asked intelligent questions.
He pushed the sulking thought from his mind and looked Carnaril in the eye, finally managing to draw enough breath to say a full sentence smoothly. “Doesn’t it become rather difficult to interrogate people if they lose the ability to speak clearly?”
“It would almost be worth it. But I’ll hold off – for now. Were you able to find any other evidence of her reasons for being there?”
“She also said Ancano had attacked the College of Winterhold, and she wanted to know why. Oh, and she wished to know what, if anything, we knew about the reason for the dragons’ return.
“Elenwen professed ignorance on both counts, as did I, and we assured her that neither event was officially condoned.”
“Shortly after that, she began to seem ill – she told Elenwen it was because she was unused to such rich food, and normally abstained from alcohol.” A slow frown crossed his face. “Although, looking back, I do not remember her drinking much.”
“An excuse to have herself escorted from the room, no doubt. And while Razelan was making a scene, no less. Do you have reason to suspect he was knowingly involved?”
“If he was, he had probably forgotten it one glass of brandy later. More likely, Kierska merely learned of his penchant for making drunken scenes, provided him with a few too many drinks, and then encouraged him to make a toast, to avoid endangering him by making him knowingly complicit.”
“That would seem to fit the psychological profile you’ve provided, yes. At any rate, that drunken fool is hardly a major concern. What DOES concern me is the fact that you continued to associate with Kierska, even after she killed Rulindil and three Thalmor soldiers.”
“If by associate you mean I questioned her and obtained the same information Rulindil tried and failed to acquire, yes, I did. You’re welcome. GHAAAH!”
“It continues to amaze me that you mistake this for a good time to run your mouth,” Carnaril muttered, twirling his freshly bloodied mace in sharp, exasperated movements. “Not that your reputation implies that you know how to do otherwise.”
“And yet… you assume… I’m holding back,” Ondolemar gasped, straining the words through teeth he couldn’t have unclenched if he’d tried.
“The Dragonborn has had a number of unexpected, undesirable effects on you,” Carnaril observed. “Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me how you got this information from her?”
“I already-” The mace rose, and Ondolemar decided to forego pointing out that he’d already included the information in his report. “All right, I’ll tell you. Again.”
So much time and pain wasted on questions I’ve already answered. Thalmor interrogations truly are stupid. No wonder my method worked better.
All right, Ondolemar, just the facts. Don’t tell him what I thought or felt; just tell him the facts, and pray that he decides to see reason, or at least give me a bit more water before my throat tears itself apart.
Author's note:
That Nirnroot incident is an actual thing that happened to me while I was playing Skyrim. I don't ignore whoosh noises anymore.
If you want to read my original stories, you can find them here.
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