Edwyn Wickham stared at the bookshelves, wondering what he possibly could have missed in his research. He’d read Book of the Dragonborn so many times he could recite it from memory, and yet he still could not say definitively that yes, Dardeh at-Dadarh must be the next true, divinely-appointed Emperor. Yes, he had the blood. He was Dragonborn. That much was clear. But was that blood truly the divinely-given key, or was it all an elaborate metaphor?
I don’t know. I must know. Surely Harkon would have wanted me to secure the position of Emperor in his stead by the best, most legitimate claim I could obtain and I believe – it must be so! – that the Dragonborn blood is the way to do that.
He turned to Urag Gro-Shub yet again, approaching him behind his desk as he’d done so many times recently. The old Orc looked up to see who was nearing him.
“Yes, Archmage? What can I do for you today?” His voice was polite enough, but he didn’t quite manage to hide a “not you again” look from his face.
“What else might you have on the history of the Empire? The position of Emperor, specifically?”
Urag sighed heavily. Edwyn had learned early on that the archivist applied his no-frills approach to interpersonal exchanges to everyone, equally. You were to respect his materials and his knowledge, and if you didn’t, he’d be certain you were appropriately punished, regardless of who you were.
“This again? You’ve seen everything we have, Archmage, down to the most obscure treatises I can find.”
“But there must be something. I need to know how it works.”
“How what works, exactly?”
“The Dragonborn.” Edwyn paced back and forth. “How does one become Dragonborn?”
Urag snorted. “At the risk of sounding absurd, one is born that way. Sir. And why don’t you just ask him, if that’s something you’re so interested in?”
Edwyn stopped and stared at the old Orc.
“Ask him?”
“Yes. The Dragonborn. Dardeh. He seems to be a nice enough guy, as far as I’m able to tell such things. Don’t know much more about him than that. He can Shout, and he didn’t have to be taught how. That makes him different. But he’s just a man, like you or me.”
Oh, no my dear Orc, there are no other men like me in the wide world. Harkon chose me of all his followers because I am different. I am especially gifted among mages and vampires. And I will be Emperor, one way or another.
“Yes, well I had planned to seek him out eventually; but you have reinforced my determination to do so sooner rather than later. Thank you, Urag. And keep looking, if you would. Should there be some obscure reference to dragon blood I would be most interested in reading it.”
“Of course, Archmage.”
Edwyn turned to leave the Arcanaeum. Tolfdir had alerted him to another outbreak of magical anomalies, this one near Winterhold. He’d asked Edwyn to take care of them and check with the Jarl of Winterhold – something he should have done long since – and now was as good a time as any to do that, before heading back to Solitude.
If he’d had eyes in the back of his head he would have seen Urag Gro-Shub rolling his.
___
Brynjolf stood beside the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Sayma looked particularly peaceful; no surprise, really, given that she was getting rest for once, while Qaralana slept.
I hate to wake the lass up but I have to tell her that I’m off.
It was bad enough that he’d spent the past several nights apart from her because she’d been angry. It had been a necessity, for the last couple of those nights; for he’d needed to hunt, to make certain he had a supply of blood potions, and to work in the lab in Riftweald Manor to create enough supply to meet the demand. If he left for Castle Volkihar without speaking to her, he was concerned that their relationship might be put under too much strain to survive.
He leaned over and shook her gently by the shoulder. “Lass, I need to talk to you.”
Sayma’s eyes fluttered open. After a moment of apparent confusion, she slipped off the side of the bed and stood to face him.
“Is everything alright?”
“There’s nothing horrible going on, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “At least not yet. I came to a decision about Maven, and I’m afraid she’s going to be a very angry woman for some time.”
Sayma blinked. “What? What’s happened?”
“Well, let’s just say that I reached the end of my patience with her. I’m tired of being treated like nothing more than hired muscle. We needed to put a crimp in her plans to take over the EEC, anyway, and what better way to do that than to partially interrupt the flow of her income, wouldn’t you say?”
Sayma looked truly confused. “Yes, of course, but… what have you done?”
Brynjolf snickered. “I finished what you started, out at Goldenglow. She’s not going to be getting honey from a cheap and nearby source for some time. No honey, no mead. No mead…”
“Oh my gosh, Red, did you really?” Her mouth hung open a bit before her expression turned to a grin. “That’s fantastic! And so much more direct than taking on the pirates again…”
“Yes, I think they’ll be looking for bluer seas once they find out she’s going to have some trouble paying them off. They’ll also think twice about working for her when they hear about the poor mercenaries who used to guard Goldenglow.”
Sayma raised one eyebrow.
“Yes, I took care of them, too. It was delicious.”
Sayma took a moment or two to look him over. Brynjolf cracked a small smile at the familiar, hungry look flickering in her gaze as she took in his new armor. He knew how well it suited him, and he knew what her reaction would be. She was not so very different from either Dynjyl or Andante in that respect.
“I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I was so awful the other day.” She gestured toward him and grinned. “New clothes, Red?”
“Aye. I had left these over at Honeyside from a long time ago and decided to change things up a bit.”
“Well speaking of things that are delicious, you look good enough to eat,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist and pressing herself up against him.
“Glad you approve,” he said, grinning, feeling himself respond to her nearness.
This is a bad idea, he thought; but the one, infallible constant in his relationship with Sayma had been their desire for each other, no matter what else might be going on around them. He pushed his concerns out of his mind and leaned forward to kiss her. It was an eager kiss, after several days apart, and he lost himself in it for a moment, savoring the taste of her and knowing that she was doing the same.
Then Sayma squeaked, and pushed away from him. Her eyes were huge, and he could see her trembling.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your… teeth,” she said, waving a hand toward her own face.
Damn it all. Of course she found my fangs. I’m an idiot.
He sighed. “Um…”
“And you’re – cold, Brynjolf.”
He crossed his arms and stared at her. “I suppose I am.” He paused for several long heartbeats before continuing. “It sort of goes with the territory. I’m sorry if I startled you.”
“You’re… you’re a…”
“I’m a vampire again, yes. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I wasn’t thinking.”
Tears started slipping down Sayma’s cheeks, even though when she spoke, her voice was totally controlled. “When we were all talking about it the other day – were you already…?”
He shook his head. “No, lass. Of course not. I wouldn’t have lied to you all, and especially not to you. I never have lied to you. But the process was already underway. I couldn’t tell you that part because you would have forced me to stop it. And I have to be this strong, Sayma. That was my reasoning, at least. I thought it was the best chance we have to stop Edwyn Wickham.”
“No, Bryn,” she said, her voice cracking. “No, no… how could you? What about us, your family?”
“You’re why I did this,” he said, as calmly as he could manage, but with a hint of panic rising up into his chest. This isn’t going well at all. “I need to protect you. I… need. To protect you.” By the Eight it’s the only thing I can do.
There was a long, silent moment while the two of them stared at each other and Brynjolf waited for his world to fall apart again. To his utter surprise, Sayma took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded.
“I understand, Brynjolf. That’s what’s always made you go ‘round. You want to keep us all safe: us, and the Guild, and all the people you care about. You even wanted to help the ghosts of those ancient Redguards in Hammerfell. But this… I feel like I’ve lost you forever.” She reached up to scrub the moisture away from her eyes and frowned as though she was annoyed at her own reaction.
“No, lass,” he said. “You haven’t lost me. Not at all. I’m still me. I’m just a wee bit different. And a lot stronger.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and then spoke quietly.
“Show me.”
A shock ran through him, as her words transported him back to the moment when he had leaned toward Andante and said the same thing. “Show me,” I told him. “I’ve never seen such a thing before, up close, and I want to.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he murmured, trying to grapple with the bittersweet memory and walk the tightrope that was the current moment. One wrong move and he could destroy their lives… again.
Sayma nodded. “I want to see. You. What you really look like now.”
“Well, if you’re sure about it.”
She nodded.
Mostly against his better judgment, Brynjolf drew energy into his left hand and released his illusion spell. He watched Sayma’s eyes grow round again. He knew what she was seeing: his eyes were a vivid, glowing copper; his face was more angular and his mouth held differently as it accommodated the large fangs. And as if that weren’t enough, the sun had risen outside. Even the dim light coming in through the window was enough to have him steaming. Her eyes said a great many things in rapid succession: shock, fear, sadness; but also curiosity, wonder, and strangely enough, desire.
“Oh, by all the gods,” she whispered.
He took a step toward her and then winced as her hands flew up in front of her body as if to protect herself. He closed his eyes for a moment, as disappointment flooded through him.
She can’t do it. Not even Sayma, the strongest woman I know.
“It’s too much for you?” he asked quietly.
“I’m… I just…” she stammered. Then she nodded. “I want it to be ok. I really do, but…”
“Don’t you love me?”
He knew, as soon as he said it, that he shouldn’t have. If her saying that to him had hurt as badly as it had, it was inevitable that his saying it to her would do the same. But it was the same thing he’d wanted to say to his mother and his father, in his dream; a cry of anguish that came straight from the heart of him.
Don’t you love me? Am I not good enough for you?
She stared back at him, the look on her face telling him that she was also thinking about their previous exchange, and feeling guilty about it. She nodded again, slowly.
“Yes, I do. I always have and I always will, Brynjolf. But now you’re – different. I know you wouldn’t ever hurt me, or the children, but you’re different.” She gestured toward him again and her mouth opened a couple of times, as though she was struggling for words. “You’re… you’re a beautiful thing. I don’t know whether you realize how much. It’s a little overwhelming, actually. And yet all I can think of right now is that our children are going to grow up, and I’m going to get old, and you’re going to look like this forever, never changing. You’ll leave me, eventually, when I’m not appealing anymore. It feels like you’re abandoning me for something I don’t even understand.”
He wanted to be angry at that moment. He was angry. A small part of his mind – the part that had led him to sit in front of the fire and do nothing but drink for weeks on end, before Roggi had come and forced him to get healthy again – was angry, was screaming at him to say something or do something. But the rest of him was simply sad. She’s right. I’ll never be the same again, and I’ll never be different again. She’s going to live out her life and once she’s gone, I’ll still be here, looking just the way I do right now. He turned away from her and was almost to the door before he was able to say anything.
“I’m… disappointed, Sayma,” he said. “I’m disappointed, because the way you look is not why I’m with you. You’re beautiful; but even if you weren’t you would still be the one who completes me. That won’t change just because you get older. I thought you knew that.” He sighed heavily, wishing he didn’t have to add the rest, but feeling compelled to do so.
“But even more than that: of all the people in the world to accuse me of abandonment, you probably have the least right to do so.” He shook his head, gathering magic and casting his illusion spell again. “I came to tell you that I will be gone for awhile. I have some business to take care of in the Solitude area. I didn’t want to just leave without telling you so in person. Maybe I should have. I’ll be back in a few days, and don’t worry, I’ll come check in with you but I’ll stay over at Honeyside. It’s just as well, anyway. If Edwyn comes looking for me I’d rather draw him away from all of you.”
He heard Qaralana beginning to stir and fuss. Sayma wouldn’t have heard it yet, he realized, as she didn’t share his keen hearing.
“The baby’s waking up,” he murmured. “Take care of her, and Chip. I’m going to go try to get rid of our biggest problem.”
He didn’t look back at her as he opened the door to slip out of the bedroom, but he heard her sobbing behind him even as he left the house and headed for the hidden opening to the vale.
She has no right. After what she did to me, and to Roggi, and to the Guild, she has no right to judge me for trying to do what I thought was the only way to fix things. Even if I was wrong.
As he moved through the dark passage back into the Rift, he heard his father’s voice in his mind.
“Ye’ve made a right mess of yer life yet again…”
He stepped out into the light of the day, blinking, and sighed.
You were right, Da. I have. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I’ve made a mess instead. And now I have to live with it for the rest of time. I think I understand what Andante felt like.
___
Edwyn felt, rather than saw, the pulsing of magical energies just beyond the crest of the ice-bound hilltop. He’d made his way out of Winterhold and to the southwest, up onto the hillside beneath the watchful gaze of the Shrine of Azura. The magical outbreak was not far beyond the excavation of Saarthal, the ancient capital of Skyrim supposed to have been built by none other than Ysgramor himself.
It wasn’t too surprising, he thought, that such magical anomalies would persist near Saarthal. It was, after all, the place in which he and Tolfdir had discovered the so-called “Eye of Magnus,” hidden in the deepest part of the ancient barrows beneath the city. The object had been the source of so much energy that when they had removed it to the College, its presence had attracted no less than the Psijic Order – and had driven the Thalmor’s representative, Ancano, crazy. At least that was Edwyn’s opinion. He’d had to kill Ancano in order to preserve the College – for the mer had been dead set on opening the Eye and releasing its power.
Even I couldn’t have contained that artifact on my own. I don’t know where the Psijics took it, but so long as it is not here I’m not concerned. Still, there was so much power in it that it’s likely still bleeding out of the very stones beneath our feet.
He grimaced as he rounded the end of the icy stone outcropping and saw the transparent, greenish area of pulsing energies just above his position. Those had been better times, he thought. He’d only barely returned to Skyrim, then, at Harkon’s behest. He’d had nothing to worry about aside from taking control of the College. He and Agryn and Vyctyna had busied themselves with the pursuit of that one specific goal – that, and creating more Volkihar vampires when and where they could.
And then Harkon was killed, at a time when I couldn’t even think of leaving the College.
He frowned again, remembering. It had been all too exciting, chasing down the Staff of Magnus, learning its location, retrieving it from deep within Labrynthian and then battling the insane Altmer and the power of the Eye itself. He’d had Agryn with him for part of the process; but most of it had been done alone. He’d felt entirely deserving of taking over Savos Aren’s position as Archmage after that.
Savos Aren, grasping wretch that he was, leaving his companions either dead or enthralled, bound for all time to hold the Dragon Priest Morokei captive. Convincing himself that he had no choice, the weakling. He wasn’t worthy of the title of Archmage, and if I hadn’t needed to clean up his messes I might have been able to help Harkon. All Aren needed to do was defeat Morokei. I was able to do that by myself. Imagine how simple it would have been for me had Agryn been with me? And where is Agryn now that I need him? Again I am left to my own devices, forced to rely on my own strength!
Edwyn howled in anger and conjured a wraith, followed by a bound sword for each hand. He dashed forward and attacked the nebulous energy source. As it had when he had fought the anomalies near Dawnstar, the area surrounding the source exploded into three more solid – and most definitely more aggressive – spheres of magic.
The sun had been just about to set when he had reached his target. As he fought the first of the three anomalies the wraith fought another; and as the sun set his power increased with the darkness. The fight was intense.
While Edwyn was fully capable of destroying a wisp or an ice wraith, these anomalies were stronger. Each blow, even with his formidable vampiric power behind it, did only a small amount of damage to the creatures with their tough, solid shells – whether matter or energy he wasn’t sure; all he knew for a certainty was that they did not fall to a few simple sword strikes. He needed to re-cast his wraith at intervals, followed immediately by his own swords; and he did so over, and over, shrieking at the anomalies to obey him and die, until at last his swords and the wraith’s energy blast struck the final wisp at the same time.
There was a massive explosion of light and power as both the final wisp and the central anomaly itself disintegrated. Edwyn dismissed his swords, grabbing for his own kneecaps to balance and prevent himself from toppling backwards down the slope. The sounds of the explosion reverberated across the ice fields and down through the nearby crevasses, and then dissipated. He straightened and grinned at the wraith, which ran up to peer at him before she also disintegrated.
“Well, then,” he said to the air. “I was about to thank you for your efforts, but I see that my company was no longer required.” He looked around the area and then shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Do you see that, Agryn Gernic? I no longer require your assistance!” He shook his head and started laughing loudly at his own cleverness. Then he frowned, and shrugged, and began trotting back toward Winterhold. It was time to speak to the Jarl.
Edwyn wasn’t entirely convinced that he understood why Winterhold needed a Jarl at all, truthfully. The formerly thriving city had fallen into the Sea of Ghosts well over eighty years previous, in an event known as the Great Collapse. The sea continued to undermine the coast beneath the College and the settlement, and more of it crumpled downward each time there was a bad storm. Nowadays, Winterhold was not much more than a collection of a few buildings. The bones of a few more, destroyed when shifting land had shifted heating fires enough to set their encompassing homes alight, still clung to the cliffside. It wasn’t as though the city couldn’t be expanded onto safer terrain; but for whatever reason, the tiny population of Winterhold as it existed declined to move.
He approached the Jarl’s longhouse reluctantly. He had never introduced himself to Jarl Korir, had never thought it necessary to do so. He’d been preoccupied with other matters. This was a delicate time, however; and if he was to stand any sort of chance to persuade the various and sundry Jarls to support Elisif’s claim to the high throne, he needed to take full advantage of his status and this opportunity.
When Edwyn entered the longhouse he found a large, auburn-haired Nord standing on the lower step of the throne’s dais, speaking to a sour-faced woman.
This must be the Jarl. Unimpressive. Just look at the underbite; he must be another of those deeply inbred sorts that seem to dot the landscape around here. Nords. They’re a backward lot. I hope he’s more intelligent than he appears.
“That… wizard is still at the inn,” the woman said. “I can’t believe Dagur allows him to stay here.”
“This is what it’s come to,” the Jarl grumbled. “No one seems to care what they’ve done to our home.”
“It’s clear that memories are far too short,” the woman said. It occurred to Edwyn that this unpleasant creature must be the esteemed Jarl’s wife and housecarl, Thaena. No wonder he’s as sour as he is. The two of them probably deserve each other.
“And it’s clear money matters more to Dagur than honor,” the Jarl said, turning to the throne and lowering himself into it.
No doubt this Dagur finds it convenient when he is able to afford to feed himself. Honor is a fine thing, but it does very little to fill one’s stomach, in my experience.
The Nord finally seemed to notice Edwyn standing quietly in front of the throne, and gestured toward him.
“And just who are you? What’s your business here in Winterhold?”
Edwyn gritted his teeth. This is going to be difficult, isn’t it? How unfortunate. “I’m here in several capacities, Jarl Korir,” he said smoothly. “First and foremost, I’m here on behalf of the College.”
“I should have known by the robes,” Korir said, frowning.
“Yes. Well I wish to inform you that the magic anomalies to the west of us have been dealt with. You’ll have no further difficulties with them.”
“Good. Not that it matters,” Korir growled. “It wouldn’t have been an issue if not for your College. In fact, if you count yourself among their numbers then you’ve blood on your hands as well. Look around. There’s nothing left of Winterhold. Nothing! Everyone knows that it’s the College’s fault the sea swallowed our city. Still they deny it, but we all know the truth.”
Edwyn fought to contain the anger welling up in him. I could end you and your wife before you even knew enough to blink. Count yourself fortunate that I require your cooperation. He took a deep breath and expelled it before speaking.
“As it happens, my dear Jarl Korir, you are addressing Lord Edwyn Wickham, Archmage of the College of Winterhold and husband to Elisif of Solitude, our future High Queen. I was pleased to rid your town of its problem personally, and I can assure you that the most likely cause of those anomalies has been dealt with.” He leaned closer, smiling his most unpleasant smile. “I can also assure you that the College was not, in fact, the cause of the Great Collapse. I don’t believe that there was anyone there at the time powerful – or competent – enough to create such a disaster, regardless of what you may have been told.”
Korir blinked in obvious surprise. Then he practically growled at Edwyn.
“You, the Archmage? You do have a lot of guts showing up on my doorstep, I’ll give you that. And while I am glad to hear that the problem has been resolved it doesn’t change the fact that you caused it in the first place.”
Actually, my dear idiot, if anyone caused it, it was that Thalmor bastard Ancano fiddling about with the Eye of Magnus. But I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend such a thing.
Edwyn opened his mouth to say something else, but Korir interrupted him.
“As to your being Elisif’s husband… I pity the poor woman for losing Torygg, but you will have to forgive me if I do not recognize your union as a legitimate one. True Nords in Skyrim marry once, and once only. It’s a shame that the girl has forgotten that simple fact.”
“That girl,” Edwyn said, forcing the words out from between tightly-clamped jaws, “will be named High Queen at the Moot. As I understand it, this will happen soon. I am quite certain that you will be supporting her in this. It would be so unfortunate if something like those magic anomalies attacked the town again.”
Korir stared at him for a moment and then laughed, a single loud blat of laughter without humor.
“You’re not only a Breton, and a mage, but an idiot as well, is that it?” he snorted. “There’s only one true High King in Skyrim and that’s Ulfric Stormcloak. The Moot should have had him crowned months and months ago. Years, even, at this point. If you think I’ll support anyone else you’re sorely mistaken. There may not be much left of Winterhold these days but it used to be the seat of power in Skyrim and I am still its Jarl. I won’t be intimidated by you, or anyone else.”
Edwyn felt his control slipping away, and continued to fight himself anyway. He watched Korir’s eyes widen just a bit and wondered whether his illusion spell was fading.
“Are you quite certain that you haven’t misspoken, Korir?” he said, quietly.
“Quite.” Korir said curtly, frowning at him. “Now you should go. There isn’t anything else you can do to Winterhold that will put it in any worse a position than it already occupies. You can level it with your magic, but you cannot change its people. Or its Jarl. Or the laws and customs of Skyrim herself.”
Edwyn saw himself flying forward to tear the man’s throat from his body, as he had done with the late Vingalmo. It would be the greatest of all possible pleasures to do so. But he forced his face into a slight smile and nodded.
“Indeed. I am sorry to have disturbed you, Jarl Korir. Rest assured that the Archmage of the College has your best interests at heart, and those of the, um, city of Winterhold. Perhaps we shall see each other again soon, at the coronation.”
“Get lost,” the Jarl growled, waving him toward the door.
Edwyn turned and strode from the longhouse, quickly, before he utterly lost control. He’d taken only a few steps out into the darkness, across the roadway and into the relative shelter of one of Winterhold’s broken buildings before he howled his anger, a loud, inarticulate sound without words. He walked down the hillside beneath the bridge to the College and then transformed to his Vampire Lord form.
Time to get back to Solitude. Time to prepare Elisif. We’re calling for the Moot and we’re doing it now, before things get any more out of hand.
He flew down the slope to the shoreline and headed west, across the water. Things were not going well. But he would make certain that they did, and soon.
