“Agryn,” he called. “Come here a moment.”
“Yes, my lord?”
Agryn Gernic, a handsome Breton man with close-cropped hair, was never far out of earshot unless specifically asked to be. He was at Edwyn’s side almost instantly.
“Confirm my memory for me, would you? Was this room not completely full of enchanted weapons and higher-end armor?”
The young man looked around and nodded. “I thought it was, sir.”
Edwyn ground his teeth. There was only one person aside from the lady Elisif herself who had expressed any interest in this building after he’d acquired it. That man had come into the home the day Edwyn had bought the place, and had removed a few pieces of clothing and perhaps a few bits and bobs, with his full permission. Edwyn hadn’t paid very close attention to what had been taken, but the red-haired man had been as good as his word and had left the collections of gems alone. He hadn’t touched the weapons. A good amount of time had passed since then, and he’d barely considered the items that were now his.
But this. This was the kind of theft that had taken planning, and accomplices, and a prior knowledge of what sorts of items were in the place. Only the valuable things had been taken; the cheap iron swords and shield that might have tempted a common footpad had been left behind. No, this had been a carefully crafted heist, one designed to accomplish the most in the shortest period of time. And there was something else, too.
It’s not simply a theft. The culprit knows, somehow, senses that I prefer things to be neat and tidy and in their proper places and he’s left every single cabinet door in the place wide open, as if he knew that was a thing that would grate at me like pebbles scraping across glass. It’s almost as though my purchasing Proudspire was a personal affront to him.
Well, well, my red-haired friend. Who are you, exactly, and why did you go to such great lengths to irritate me? It wasn’t a particularly clever thing for you to do.
“I have a task for you, if you would be so kind.”
“Sir?”
Edwyn turned to smile at his golden-eyed friend. “I want you and Vyctyna to find out everything you can about a man named Brynjolf. I know that this is very little to go on, but he’s fairly distinctive – a typical beefy Nord, but he has bright red hair, green eyes, and a rather ugly scar on his left cheek. He was at court the day I purchased Proudspire for us. I’m certain someone in Solitude must know how to locate him.”
“Of course, my lord. But might I ask…”
Edwyn smiled again, and this time his long white fangs poked out from under his lips. “I’m certain it was he who robbed me. It’s not the material loss that bothers me, though. He didn’t do this simply for the wealth. He did it to show me that he could, and I am intrigued. I want to know why.”
Agryn nodded. “Very good, sir.” He gave Edwyn a shallow bow and turned to descend the stairs. Edwyn was double-checking the cabinet full of gemstones when he heard the man call out “Tyna! We’ve got a job to do. Let’s head out.”
“Right behind you, Aggy,” a bright female voice answered him.
Edwyn smiled to himself as he stepped into the study. Agryn Gernic and Vyctyna Tardif were his two most trusted associates. Harkon had suggested to him in a letter that his own lieutenants at Castle Volkihar would be happy to assist him in his endeavors, but that was an ancient community of vampires whose histories and entanglements were so interwoven that he would never know when to look for a betrayal, or from what quarter. Agryn, on the other hand, was a substantial, powerful vampire in his own right with centuries of experience and Vyctyna, while young and much weaker, was clever and resourceful.
And beautiful, but I’d best keep that observation from Agryn. He’s rather possessive.
It had been a very, very long time since Harkon, Lord of the Volkihar clan, had given him his Gift and sent him south to establish a branch of the clan. He’d been instructed to bide his time until events in the world were ripe for them to make their move. He’d spent several of the intervening centuries in Cyrodiil, which oddly enough had been where he’d met his fellow Breton and passed along the Gift to him. The man had been unwaveringly loyal to him ever since, no matter where they went. Vyctyna was Agryn’s find, Agryn’s protégé, Agryn’s reward for his long and faithful service. Edwyn could not imagine violating his trust for any reason.
But she is lovely, nonetheless.
Edwyn checked the first floor for missing items, but everything seemed to be as it had been. There was one exception. In the very center of the alchemy station was a single, distinctly-shaped bottle, clearly placed carefully so as to draw attention.
Edwyn picked it up and popped it open, taking a tiny sip. Almost immediately, his head started to spin and his vision blurred. He shook his head and re-stoppered the vial, then dropped it into the bin nearby.
My, my. Who made this? It’s incredibly strong. It’s good I didn’t swallow the entire dose, I would say.
I wonder what sort of message our friend the thief intended to leave with that particular gift. It must mean something. It’s so odd. He must have known I would realize who took the weapons and armor. It’s as though he wants me to find him. He can’t possibly know what it is he’s dealing with.
Edwyn shook his head, trying to clear it. The thief was a mystery that he intended to solve, but he had more pressing matters at hand and could not afford to be distracted by minor inconveniences. There was the College of Winterhold to run, the seeds of further discord to sow amongst the various branches of magical study in Cyrodiil, and his grasp on power in Solitude to be solidified. He and Agryn had worked for far too long to have a moment of inattention ruin their plans at this point. And with Skyrim’s civil war heating up, timing was suddenly of the essence.
He made his way to the lower level and into the opulent bath area that was one of the home’s most appealing features. It was time to get clean, warm, and suitably perfumed and attired for an evening with the Lady Elisif.
Soon. She is almost mine. Soon we will be a couple, and then the plans that the late Lord Harkon and I put in motion so long ago can come to fruition.
He slid into the warm water and frowned. Losing Harkon had been the last thing he could ever have anticipated, and he still didn’t quite understand what had happened.
He knew it had involved Auriel’s Bow – there was no creature, living or undead, that hadn’t been aware of the Bow being used. For several weeks it had happened, over and over. The sun had been obscured, plunging the world into a near-constant night. And while Edwyn had reveled in the power that came with being freed from the daytime’s restrictions on his abilities, he’d sorrowed at the news that had arrived along with it: Lord Harkon, possibly the most powerful vampire in Tamriel, had been destroyed by a newcomer, an unknown.
I should have flown to Volkihar immediately when I got that news. I should have. Perhaps I might have secured the Bow, helped to bring justice down upon the upstart who murdered our Lord. But matters in Winterhold were too precarious at that moment.
As best he’d been able to piece together the information, Harkon’s death had occurred at just about the same time he was removing an especially odious Thalmor named Ancano from the world, while he’d been watching in impressed silence as the Psijic Order shifted the Eye of Magnus out of Tamriel to parts unknown. As he’d been donning the robes of the Archmage for the first time, some previously unknown vampire had been retrieving Auriel’s Bow and using it to destroy Harkon.
He scrubbed warmth into his cold skin, furrowing his brows as he tried to sort through all the events of recent months. He couldn’t afford to miss something important; and there had been far too many important things happening recently.
I should have been there. But it’s possible that I would not have been able to prevent Harkon’s death, regardless, not if the upstart was strong enough to have located and used the Bow. At any rate, now that Winterhold is mine and I have a foothold in Solitude I should go there and see about the state of things at Volkihar. Rumor has it that the new Lord of the castle, the one who defeated Harkon, is also dead. If so, there’s another power vacuum there and I can think of nobody better suited to fill that space than I.
He ducked under the surface of the warm bath for a moment and came up grinning, running his hands through his cropped hair.
Before I do that, though, I have a dinner date.
He padded his way back through the house nude and dripping, stopping briefly outside the bedroom occupied by Jordis, the housecarl. She was reading, deeply engrossed in her book, and jumped as his shadow passed over its pages. She looked up at him and blushed furiously as she saw him standing there unclothed.
“Come here for a moment, Jordis,” he commanded.
She gulped, nodded, and rose from her chair.
“Turn around, won’t you?”
“Of course, sir,” she murmured, turning to face her bed. She was trembling.
The poor dear probably thinks I’m going to do something horrific to her because I don’t have any clothes on. How thoughtless of me.
Edwyn smiled, and cast the calming spell on the shivering Housecarl. He leaned forward and quickly slipped his fangs into her neck, sipping just enough of Jordis’ delicious blood to satisfy his hunger; then he released her and left the room. Jordis was friendly, and helpful, and tasted delightful; but he had no intention of taking advantage of her now or ever. He kept physical contact between them as brief and as minimal as he could manage it.
It wouldn’t do to visit the Lady Elisif on an empty stomach, would it?
He hummed to himself as he pulled his purple finery out of the closet and made himself ready for an evening at court. After dressing in his Colovian outfit he went to the strongbox and looked through the jewelry that his friend the thief had kindly left behind. There was a stunning silver and sapphire ring among the pieces in the box; he scooped it out, smiling. Anyone would be happy to own such a piece, anyone at all; but a lonely widow, young enough to enjoy her own beauty still, might enjoy it particularly well.
He’d been in his mage robes the first time he’d approached Elisif. She’d been gracious, meeting the Archmage for the first time, and had been delighted to accept his help with a disturbance one of her subjects had brought to her attention. Potema worshippers, they’d been; he’d cleared out the cave they inhabited without so much as breaking a sweat and returned to her, smiling and bearing the first of many sparkling jewels that he’d presented to her. Then he had left her, promising to visit again the next time he was in Solitude, and making certain that his face told her how very much he was looking forward to that future event.
She’s pretty enough. She’s even rather sweet. But the poor girl is so naïve. If not for her really very clever Nord steward – what is his name? Falk Firebeard? – she’d be in danger of being taken advantage of by unscrupulous sorts.
Edwyn chuckled at himself as he pulled on his boots and walked to Jordis’ room to check on her. She was on her bed, shivering; he walked to her and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched away.
“Are you alright, my dear?”
Jordis nodded up at him; but it was clear that she was anything but alright. Her eyes were huge and dark and she shuddered.
“Do accept my apologies for walking in on you unclothed,” Edwyn said. “I’m very sorry. I forget that not everyone is accustomed to that sort of behavior. Please, don’t worry. I won’t ever hurt you in that way. Your services here are very valuable and highly appreciated.”
Jordis nodded again, and whispered “Yes, sir.”
Edwyn smiled at her and turned to leave.
She’ll get used to it. They always do, so long as I’m gentle.
Elisif had gotten used to him, as well. He’d visited again on several occasions, as often as he could reasonably do so, using his new position as Archmage as an excuse to visit. Diplomacy required the establishment of good relations between the College of Winterhold and the future High Queen, after all. Each time he’d brought her a gift, fine wines or jewels or rare books. Eventually she had asked him to speak to her privately and had requested that he take her late husband’s war horn to a secluded shrine of Talos halfway between Whiterun and Windhelm. That task might have seemed a trifling favor except for the Thalmor agents waiting for anyone bold enough to approach the shrine. Edwyn had been happy for Agryn’s company on that trip; between the two of them they’d made short work of the Thalmor, but less capable fighters might easily have met a bad end.
That task, however, had been a real turning point in his relationship with Elisif. She’d offered him the opportunity to purchase the mansion at that point, hinting heavily that she would be pleased to have him nearby as a Thane to take the seat of Proudspire’s recently-deceased former owner. That had been the first time he had managed to steal a kiss from her, standing in one of the long corridors between the throne room and her private quarters.
Didn’t I make a show of things that day. It was a stunning performance, even for me. “I’m so sorry, my Jarl. Please forgive me. I was overcome by your beauty and I stepped entirely over the line of propriety.” And sweet young Elisif took me completely at face value, reassuring me not to worry, that she had considered the kiss a great compliment.
He really rather enjoyed her company, even though she was a bit childlike; and her response to his kiss had made it quite clear that she enjoyed his company as well. He’d been pleasantly surprised by her intensity. He’d made her wait, though, while taking care of some business in Winterhold, and had been delighted to see the blush in her cheeks when he returned to purchase the mansion.
She’s nearly ready. It’s been a long while since High King Torygg met his demise, after all, and that kiss told me that Elisif is hardly a shrinking violet. Perhaps this will be the night.
And then, Lord Harkon, our plans will begin to bear fruit after these many, many years.
He took one last look at himself in the glass before leaving Proudspire. He was an attractive man, blessed with good looks at birth and having taken great pains to stay that way throughout his very, very long life. He knew that he wasn’t necessarily the most handsome man in the world but he had always been able to use his looks to his advantage, and he intended to do so again.
He made his way from Proudspire Mansion to the Blue Palace and up the long, curved stairway to the throne room. The Thanes Erikur and Bryling were chatting with each other. Falk was there as usual, arguing with Sybille Stentor, the court wizard, over the price of spell components. Edwyn frowned when he saw her. Sybille was dangerous to him for several reasons: she seemed unimpressed with the fact that he was now Archmage, in spite of his having been introduced to her as such, and that annoyed him a great deal. More importantly, though, was the fact – rather obvious to him – that she was a vampire. As far as he could tell she didn’t even try to hide her golden eyes, and yet nobody seemed in the least concerned.
That will not prevent me from having my own illusion spell functioning at all times. It would not do to have her expose me to the court.
Edwyn had enjoyed his life as a vampire. The business of the blood was a messy nuisance, as far as he was concerned; it was a necessity of existence but he had never been one of the men who wanted to be a vampire for the taste of blood or even for the physical sensations of vampiric combat. To him it was simply a way to live forever if he so chose, and he definitely chose that. He had no issues with using his considerable strength in battle if necessary – his teeth and claws were as sharp as the next vampire’s – but what he would most definitely prefer would be for Sybille Stentor not to make it necessary for him to do so.
Lady Elisif rose as he approached the throne, and smiled at him.
“Lord Wickham. It’s a fine day when you’re around.”
Edwyn made certain to stay respectfully beneath the dais on which her throne rested, but put one foot on its first step. And thus, he thought, I demonstrate how very eager I am to see her again that I cannot bear to stay completely away.
“My Jarl, it is a pleasure to see you once more. Might I present you this token of my very great esteem?”
Edwyn passed her the sapphire ring, making sure that his hand caressed hers gently as he released it into her grasp, smiling up at her the entire time. Elisif seemed to have difficulty breaking her gaze away from his, but finally she blinked and looked down at the ring in her hand.
“Oh, my,” she said, holding it up and turning it around to examine it from all sides. “It’s exquisite! My goodness, Edwyn.” She slipped it onto her hand and held it out, admiring it.
Edwyn chuckled.
Caught.
“Lord Wickham, my Jarl,” he whispered. “We wouldn’t want to give the court the wrong impression by being too familiar with each other, would we?”
Elisif blushed.
“Of course, you’re right. How inappropriate of me.”
She looked flustered for a moment, but then Edwyn watched as her eyes began to sparkle and thought once more Yes, the deed is done. I have her.
“Let us retire to my sitting room, Lord Wickham. I’ve instructed the servants that we will be dining privately this evening.” She smiled at him and held out her hand, which he took to assist her down from the dais.
As they turned to leave the throne room, Edwyn noticed Falk Firebeard staring at him, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the center for the depth of his frown. He smiled back and nodded, trying not to laugh.
Yes, Falk. I intend to have your fair lady this evening. Even better than that, I do believe she intends to have me. I shall do my best to bear up under the hardship of it all.
They meandered down the hall, Edwyn smiling as Elisif began chattering excitedly. Things could not possibly have gone better.