Breath and Focus Part 17

Sundas 29th Frostfall 207 4E 7:30 PM

"What do you have to report regarding the Blades' activities?" Hecate asked as she sipped her wine.

Nazir and she were having their weekly meeting. It had been seven months since Nazir had discovered the resurgence of the Blades and he had been busy gathering intelligence on the opposing faction. Hecate had barely seen the Speaker since he was out so often tracking down rumors and stories about dragon slayers. He would come in on Sundas to give his report, take the list of petitioners on Mondas and head out immediately.

Sometimes Hecate worried that Nazir was still ashamed about his botched mission with the Desperate Housewife, but if that was the case, it was something he had to work out on his own. There had been some laughs about his motley punishment, but the Siblings had been good about not rubbing it in his face too much.

Nazir was a proud creature, they all were, and it hurt his pride for his record to be stained with such an easily avoided mistake. If he felt a need to earn her good graces and the status worthy of his rank, then she'll gladly take what he had to offer. Nazir wasn't as good as Elbent had been for networking, but he was still damned talented.

"They're definitely allied with the Stormcloaks," Nazir said as he took a deep drink from his own cup. "There are a squad of them based in Windhelm barracks full time. As far as I can tell, they've had a few in and out for the last couple of years. There are Blades established in all the of the Stormcloak controlled holds and in good standing with the jarls. They act as bodyguards with all the high ranking officers, usually a quad, but some only have one or two which indicates that they're stretched thin."

"And the rumor about them studying the thu'um?" Hecate asked carefully. She was glad Cicero was busy attending to the Night Mother. She didn't think this would be good news at all and she wasn't wrong.

"You can hear the thundering echo of their Shouts in Valunstrad Quarter as they practice," Nazir said bitterly. "Had me all flustered despite years of dealing with you tossing Cicero around like a ragdoll, but most of the locals took it not only in good stride. They actually seemed proud. All that Nordic heritage bullshit, you know." At Hecate's nod, he continued.

"Delphine is acknowledged as the Grandmaster of the Blades," Nazir said as he looked at his notes. "She's still stationed up at Sky Haven Temple, but I can't get any of our agents up there. The Blades are meticulous about their recruiting standards and seem to be able to smell a fake a mile away. Even if that wasn't an issue, their fortress is impossible to infiltrate. Not only do they have a series of puzzles, but the last one is some sort of blood seal."

"I remember that one," Hecate admitted. "It takes the blood of a Dragonborn to open from the outside. There's an interior lever they can use, but from the outside it looked pretty impossible to crack."

"Well, it is," Nazir huffed. "Meanwhile, when they're not playing babysitter with jarls, the Blades have been going to wherever the dragons are and killing them. Lydia Stormblade is often seen leading a trio of Blades, presumably the ones who are currently training under her. It's said that their Voices can make a dragon fall from the sky."

Hecate shuddered visibly at that bit of news. "By the gods, I was hoping she hadn't learned Dragonrend. Lydia had only heard it a few times when I learned the Shout from the Heroes and she wasn't very versed in the dragon language." She sighed. "But then, neither was I. It's not too much of a stretch that she remembered me practicing most of my Shouts and retained what the words meant. Once Ulfric unlocked the ability to use the thu'um, it wasn't difficult for her to continue learning new Shouts on her own."

"Why are you so worried about this Dragonrend Shout anyway?" Nazir asked. "It helps defeat dragons. I know we're villains, but even I think getting rid of the flying monsters is a good thing for everyone involved. Who cares if it makes heroes out of the Blades or Lydia?"

"Because the Dragonrend Shout works by making the immortal dragon understand mortality," Hecate explained. "Dragons were never meant to know that and it makes them vulnerable for a short period of time. Their bodies are wracked with pain as they try to struggle with the acceptance of death. It's the only Shout ever created by mortals and is fueled by hate and anger."

"Again, what's the big deal?" Nazir shrugged. "Who cares if they get pissed off at dragons?"

"Because as the Dragonborn, I have a dragon's soul. It affects me less severely since I'm still mortal, but it hurts like Oblivion. Imagine daggers driven through your body, hundreds of them, and torn in every direction," Hecate said.

"Sounds like fun," Nazir said dryly. "You're worried that the Blades know that you're the Dragonborn and have been instructed to use it against Tragedy when she attacks her newest Stormcloak victim."

"It's not likely that she would risk sharing that secret," Hecate admitted, "so that means it's unlikely a Blade will use it against a non-dragon target. It does mean that Lydia does have that tool at her resources and if she gets close enough to me that she can take me down literally with a Word."

"Not good," Nazir said.

"Not good at all," Hecate agreed. She sighed as she considered her options. "Most of the Family should be returning for the winter. The roads will be closed from the storms shortly. Some are on long term missions, like Vedave, so we can't depend on them to come home on their own. Get to the dead drops and leave a message to come home for an important update. We need to get the word out about the Blades and their apparent strength. I don't want anyone to be ambushed now that we have solid information."

"It might be some time before they even see them," Nazir cautioned. "I just did a rotation of drops, leaving instructions and personal letters. They might not get them for a few weeks yet."

"It's just a risk we'll have to take," Hecate said.

Sundas 29th Frostfall 207 4E 7:30 PM

"It's just a risk we'll have to take," Lydia insisted. "I know slen, Paarthurnax. I've studied it for half a year now and that's much longer than any word I've learned in dov. I'm ready to learn the next word of the Shout."

Paarthurnax chuckled within his confines. "So the pruustiik thinks she knows more than the mindopah?"

"I want to know what I'm learning!" Lydia whined. She started pacing with her arms folded behind her back as was her want when aggravated. "It's so frustrating to be shown a Word I already know and not know the rest."

"Onikaan cannot be learned easily," Paarthurnax chided her gently. "One cannot say, 'I wish to be wise this day' or everyone would be wise. True wisdom comes with time, experience, and all too frequently aus. Something I have had to experience all too commonly since my imprisonment."

"Krosis, Paarthurnax," Lydia said, pausing in her pacing. She looked ashamed. "If I could stop it, I would, but the Blade recruits need to know that they have learned the Dragonrend Shout properly before going out in the field to face dragons. Their lives depend on it."

"You have no idea the pain I suffer from your Shout," Paarthurnax said quietly. Lydia wished he would be sullen or accusatory so she could feel righteously indignant. "Every time I feel like I am dying, violently and many times over and over."

"If you don't want to die for real, then we need to make you valuable to Delphine," Lydia snapped. "You're not giving us the fame Delphine thought you would when we captured you, not like how Numinex had been for old King Olaf. So, if you don't want to die, then you'll just continue to suffer."

"This aspect does not suit you, Struntuz. You wish to be hard and cold like the ice and snow of your land, but you are a better person when you are warm and kind. Striving to be what your lover was is no life. Striving to be what your thane was is no life. You must find your own path and walk it instead of trying to wear the shadow of those before you. You try to wear the mantles of the heroes you so desperately wish to be and find yourself lacking because you feel you are not good enough."

"Let me guess, I am good enough," Lydia said bitterly.

"No, krosis, unfortunately, you are not good enough. Not as long as you believe you are not and not as long as you live this nok," Paarthurnax responded. He curled up as best as he could given his chains, tucking his head under his wing indicating that he was done talking with her for now and that she should contemplate his words.

Sundas 29th Frostfall 207 4E 7:30 PM

Why did the letter have to arrive today of all days?

Vedave Sendal leaned back in the rickety chair that went with his equally rickety desk as he contemplated the letter he had found in the dead drop the Brotherhood used for Windhelm. The envelope was a creamy thick parchment, rich in both texture and cost. Although only Vedave's name was written on the cover, he knew only one person would have that flowing handwriting and extravagant taste.

Anaril Telind.

The Dark Elf's heart beat rapidly as he ran his fingers along the envelope's rim. He had written to Anaril months ago after deciding to follow the Listener's advice. She might be a flighty human at times, but he couldn't deny that she had a stable long term relationship with the Keeper.

Sure, it was a bit violent, with her frequently Shouting at him and sending him flying across the Sanctuary, and Vedave was pretty certain that Cicero was mentally challenged in some capacity, probably from too many blows to the skull, but that didn't change the fact that they obviously adored each other in a way that made the mage want to vomit most days.

It was weird to realize the Listener and Keeper had only been together a mere five years. That was how long it took to really get to know a person. To understand their virtues and flaws, to know the little quirks they had that made them special and all the ridiculously annoying habits that made you want to pull your hair out. How could they have already decided they were going to be together forever?

It wasn't official in any capacity, although Babette had gleefully gossiped about the two of them getting secretly married before the Night Mother two years ago before going off to kill Ulfric Stormcloak. Everyone knew about the ring that Hecate wore under her gloves. She never took it off and sometimes when Cicero wasn't available, she would take the gloves off and smile wistfully while she looked at it.

Vedave's chest would clench with jealousy whenever he caught her doing that. He wanted something solid like that. It was stupid for an assassin to feel that way, but he did. He wanted someone who would understand the joy of the kill as well as the love of discovering new magic.

When Anaril and he had first gotten intimate, Vedave had thought that it would be a mere winter fling. Find a warm body-and Dunmer were notorious for their body warmth-until the snows thawed enough to go kill again. Until then, they had plenty of time to scratch a different sort of itch.

As much as Vedave had enjoyed the feel of Anaril under him as they shared a bed, what really drew his interest was the Altmer's knowledge of arcana. Both elves had centuries of experience and it was fascinating to compare and debate on different techniques. Finally, someone else who could comprehend the intricacies of magic!

Then Eiruki had to act like a crazy bitch and drive Cicero over the edge, causing the jester to lose his cool and attack her savagely. He had beaten the girl until her skin was almost as dark as Vedave's.

Hecate had resolved the matter by sending Eiruki away to Wayrest Sanctuary in High Rock. Garnag was made Speaker under the pretense of extending the Brotherhood's hand through Tamriel again, and maybe that was even true to an extent. The old orc had chosen a handful of Siblings to take with him in addition to the troublesome Nord and that included Anaril. Vedave had been chosen to stay since Hecate wanted at least one spellcaster to remain in Dawnstar Sanctuary.

Vedave had never been sure if it was an honor or a matter of elimination. It hadn't really mattered to him. He had a fully stocked enchanter's lab and a source of victims for his spells. He should have been satisfied, but he wasn't.

He found that he missed Anaril horribly. He had tried to exchange letters, but it just wasn't the same. Sure, they could discuss theory still, but it lacked the passion of a live debate. He missed the Altmer's face lighting up as he described his target's dying expressions or the look of intrigue when Vedave told him about his spell research.

Vedave had finally written a letter to Anaril after taking his current assignment in Windhelm. The Dark Elf had wanted to make sure none of the nosier members of the Family would be tempted to read his mail. They might not be allowed to steal from each other, but that didn't mean Babette or Cicero wouldn't snoop in a Sibling's personal things.

He didn't pour out all his thoughts and desires; that was too crass even for him. Why would Anaril want him if he came off as some desperate, needy thing who couldn't even survive a few years without him?

Instead he had written that Dawnstar was doing well and that they were starting to get crowded again. The Listener had mentioned expanding again and how would Anaril feel if Vedave were transferred to Wayrest? They could pick up their experiments together again if he was interested.

It hadn't surprised Vedave there wasn't an immediate response. Travel between the two countries usually took weeks, between the inclement weather and the bandits lurking for easy pickings. Throw in the civil war on top of that and it was a miracle the Brotherhood's scouts managed to deliver letters at all.

Meanwhile, to help pass the time, Vedave had taken a special contract in Windhelm. A Crooked Merchant wanted to increase strife between the Dark Elves and Argonians in the Gray Quarters by having Torbjorn Shatter-Shield murdered.

Shatter-Shield, for reasons unknown, had decided years ago to pay Argonians the same wages as the Nords he employed in his shipping company. There had been some grumbling about it, but apparently it had been profitable for Shatter-Shield since he never revoked the wage increase or found cheaper labor.

The bonus included having a Dark Elf commit the murder to point fingers at the ghettos of Windhelm. Vedave thought it was all pointlessly complicated since it involved months of him patronizing bars and loudly complaining about the unfairness of it all, but it was a high-prestige contract since it involved a lot of set-up and the pay was fantastic.

If he earned enough reputation as a competent killer, maybe the Listener would consider him as a Speaker for the next Sanctuary. Sithis knew that the current homestead was getting full with the dozen extra people they had picked up over the last couple of years.

"Damn, why did it have to arrive today?!" Vedave exclaimed as he looked at the letter again. Any other day would have seen him jumping around happily, but tonight was the night he was going to kill Torbjorn. No matter what the news, acceptance or rejection, Vedave would be distracted one way or another. A distracted assassin was all too quickly a dead assassin.

He couldn't afford to wait much longer if he was going to make it back to Sanctuary before the roads closed for the winter. In theory, Vedave could simply wait until spring and do the deed then. It would give him more time to make sure the rumors and lies he had spread about Shatter-Shield had thoroughly taken root, but he was ready to go home.

The mage would never admit it out loud, but he missed his adopted family. He liked Babette the best, as a fellow alchemist, but sometime he found that he even missed the inane Cicero and his incessant cackling.

Vedave carefully tucked the precious letter into one of his many pockets. He would complete his assignment and head home tonight. When he stopped at the campsite he had set up earlier, he'd look at the letter then. For better or for worse, the waiting was over and he'd deal with the consequences then.

For now, there was a job to be done.

Sundas 29th Frostfall 207 4E 9:30 PM

"I came to apologize," Lydia said meekly. Paarthurnax was still curled up and might be asleep, but she was pretty certain he wasn't. She got the impression that Paarthurnax didn't sleep much and that most of the time he was meditating. "I'm sorry for pushing you about the Shout and getting sullen. I just don't feel like I have much time for anything any more."

"Tiid, time," the dragon rumbled as he unfolded. "There is never enough. You worry that you will never know what Shout I am teaching you because either Delphine will lose patience with your gambit or because her half of the bargain will be fulfilled and I will be slain."

Lydia blushed with shame at the accuracy of Paarthurnax's words. By the Nine, how was he able to see through her so easily? Was she that transparent to everyone? "Yes," she admitted, "you're right. I want to know everything I can."

"To be stronger than Diana," Paarthurnax asked, raising an eyebrow, "or to be better than her? Every Word you learn, every Shout you master puts you one step further ahead of her. Assuming she has not mastered the words first. Which is likely given her inherent dovah soul. All she has to do is read the word and kill a dragon while you struggle for weeks or months. That is what you think, geh?"

"How do you know all this?" Lydia asked, slapping her hands to her side in frustration. "It's like you can read my mind!"

The golden dragon laughed, the sound like thunder. "No, joor, I have simply taught many of your kind over the years. I waited on the Monahven since your Mythic Era after my zeymah was banished by the Kel. I was young when the Dwemer, Chimer, and Akavir ruled. I was alive when Ysmir and Ysgramor were merely men instead of legends. I have bargained with men, mer, and beastkin for a very, very long time."

Lydia was shocked at the sound of look of melancholy on Paarthurnax's face as he continued. "But I do not feel like I have had enough time. No one does. I know my death is in this room. I know that is the only release I will ever find, whether it is by your blade or when I have given up all hind. I am not ready for dinok, and I do not believe I ever will be." He swerved his triangular shaped head towards her. "You are my only hope for life, but I must wonder if you are strong enough to make the decision. You bend your dez to match those you respect and follow the wills of those you think are greater than you. Can you truly stand alone? Can you stand tall as yourself and change the course of history by your own will instead of that of others?"

"You speak too boldly, dragon," Lydia growled.

"I speak merely vahzen as I see it," Paarthurnax countered. "You already have me trapped like some animal for display. You have decided to not kill me for now so no matter what bitter truths I share you will either swallow or throw away as you see fit. My life is in your hands and I can only pray to the skies that you will give it back to me so I may return to them some day."

"You might have a little better luck with that if you flattered me more instead of being so rude," Lydia snapped, not liking how right the dragon was.

"Niid," Paarthurnax said, "I think you are not suited for sweet lies and honeyed words. You are a Bron and you crave the plainness of truth."

"Then tell me the truth of this Shout you're so carefully teaching me!" Lydia shouted, her thu'um threatening to break loose. "If you think I don't want to be deceived or tricked, then tell me as plainly as you promised."

"Everything in good time, little joor," Paarthurnax replied with a grin. Lydia suspected that he was pleased with her reaction and had hoped for it. "You must learn how to spell before you can write just as you must learn to crawl before you can run. I need you to learn this Shout but I want you to use it with wisdom. You have learned how to hate in order to master the thu'um. I hope to teach you to find harmony and peace with yourself as I found it with myself so long ago. My life is precious to me, but I will not forsake your soul in the process."

"Thank you oh so very much for your consideration," Lydia drawled sarcastically before turning to leave. She was determined to have the last word this time, but was stopped short when Paarthurnax spoke again.

"Tiid," he whispered. "Tiid, time is the second Word of the Shout. Learn it well, Lydia."

Mondas 30th Frostfall 207 4E 2:30 AM

Vedave tightened his gloves before exiting through the second story window of his room at the New Gnisis Cornerclub. He was in full Dark Brotherhood regalia and had to admit that it felt good to be wearing the red and black again.

The elf had considered going out in civilian clothes, but had decided against it. He had already done his job of sowing the seeds of discontent among both the Dunmer and Argonians; thus there was no need for a dramatic, public killing. All he had to do was kill the Nord and leave town. His public persona would be noticed missing the new few nights at his favorite bars and the obvious conclusion of whodunit should be on the mouths of most of the Gray Quarter by the end of the week. Give them the rest of the winter to fume over the matter and there should be a few nice riots come spring, making Vedave's employer very happy.

On the off-chance the Windhelm guards were too stupid to solve the murder-they had done a fantastic job blundering in the Butcher case, after all-Vedave would be sure to drop a glove or some other minor item that could be easily identified as belonging to him. He had made sure to get in a few bar fights over the last couple months and caused enough damage to be put in jail overnight enough times that the guards should recognize it as his. Vedave was nothing if not thorough.

The cold wind felt good on his face as he sprinted through the empty streets of Windhelm. No doubt in the morning it would be full of people either celebrating or bemoaning the Emperor's birthday. Vedave thought it was weird to celebrate the birthday of a man long dead, but apparently it wasn't the actual Emperor's birthday. Instead it was a day to specifically celebrate every Emperor ever. More human silliness really, but for now the streets were blissfully empty.

It took almost an hour to travel from the Gray Quarter to Valunstrad. The two quarters were on opposite sides of the city and the difference between the two was astonishing. While the Gray Quarter was dirty and overcrowded with refugee Dunmer and lower class Nords, Valunstrad was where the Palace of the Kings was located as well as the higher class families. Crews were sent out daily to keep the travel paths clean of both trash and snow. Cold resistant flowers flourished on the stone walls giving a bit of color to the otherwise gray city.

The Dunmer mage was almost to the Shatter-Shield residence when he heard, "FUS RO DAH!" from behind. Vedave was thrown off his feet and into the air, tumbling head over heels a few times before slamming into a wall.

For a brief moment, he was confused why the Listener would Shout at him before he realized that the voice was a male's. As he shakily got to his feet, he saw a pair of Blades standing at the far end of the alley. He had heard something about the Blades learning how to Shout up at the palace, but he had dismissed it as idle gossip.

"Stop in the name of the law, scum!" one of the Blades yelled as he leveled his katana at the assassin. "You're under arrest!"

"I don't think so," Vedave responded as he threw a bolt of fire at the one on the left. The Blade went down in a burst of flame as the Dunmer turned to flee.

Dammit, months of work down the drain. He would have to abort the kill and try again later. Thankfully, he was fully cowled so there was no way they could identify him. Now all he had to do was lose the do-gooders and send a letter to Sanctuary to let them know about the Blades learning the thu'um. Hecate was not going to be happy when she heard about this.

"You're not getting away, assassin!" the remaining Blade yelled. "IIZ SLEN NUS!"

A blast of ice washed over Vedave, knocking him to the ground and encasing him completely. Panic surged through him before he reminded himself that Stormcloaks took prisoners. All he had to do was make sure to surrender and they would arrest him. He'd cool his heels until the Brotherhood could come and bust him out. Hell, worst case scenario, he'd pay his own bail. It's not like they had actually caught him doing anything.

"In the name of the Empire, I find you guilty of being a member of an unlawful organization," the Blade intoned as he drew close. He pulled his katana free, raising it above his head. "By the laws of Cyrodiil, I sentence you to death!"

If Vedave could have, he would have screamed as the blade descended towards his neck.

Mondas 14th Sun's Dusk 207 4E 3:00 PM

Cicero poked his head into the Listener's wardrobe to find her tucked into the corner behind her dresses. "Cicero knew he would find you here," he said as he climbed in. "Cicero takes it that Hecate heard the news about Vedave?"

"Yeah," Hecate said quietly as she took Cicero's hand and squeezed it. She knew how he hated the absolute dark and tight space of her personal refuge and was grateful that he was joining her instead of teasing her. "An initiate came in from Windhelm with the news a few hours ago."

"Assassins die," Cicero said as he squeezed back. "Cicero mourns every time he loses a Sibling, but we are sworn to Sithis. Death is a release, not a punishment."

"I know, I know," Hecate sighed. "We've lost Family before, but never like this."

"What did Cicero not hear?" the Keeper asked. "What is different?"

"The Blades killed Vedave before we could warn him about their Shouting abilities," Hecate said, trying to choke back a sob. Cicero pulled her close into a hug when he heard the waver in her voice. "That I could understand. It's their job. They were the Emperor's bodyguards. They're sworn to stop assassins."

"But?" Cicero nudged.

"But they didn't just dispose of his body," Hecate hissed. "They tied his body to a stake with his head dangling by his side. They left a sign that says 'This is what happens to assassins' hanging over him. They have him on display like some common piece of meat! How dare they!"

"This cannot stand," Cicero growled. "They must pay."

"They will, my dear Keeper," Hecate promised, her voice darker than Cicero had ever heard. "Come spring, when the roads are open again, I will personally go down to Sky Haven Temple. They can't keep me out of there. Not with the blood of dragons flowing through my veins. And when I do, they will pay." Her eyes narrowed with hate. "They'll pay with everything they hold dear."