Chapter Text
Miz’ri steepled her fingers silently, staring into the warm glow of the hearth. If there was one thing she was coming to learn about Skyrim, it was this: There was no such thing as a straightforward task.
Across the tavern table, Kaidan sidled into the bench and sat heavily in front of her, leaning forward on folded arms and blocking most of the hearth from view. Firelight gleamed against his pauldrons. They sat there, facing each other without comment, for a long moment. Last time they’d come here, they’d been forced to share a room. Now, the tavern and its rooms were unusually empty–only the barkeep wiping ale tankards behind the counter, ignoring them. Eventually, once it was clear Miz’ri didn’t know where to begin, Kaidan cleared his throat. Her gaze flicked up to his.
“Think I don’t have to tell you the Thalmor are bad news,” he tried.
“Right. Something about having to rescue you from them gave me that impression a while back,” she answered dryly. He seemed ready to protest the being rescued part, but ultimately shrugged it off. “Was it so much to ask for an artifact to be in the place it belongs?”
“Coming from someone who normally steals artifacts?”
“Only for academic purposes.”
Miz’ri rested her forehead in her hands and groaned. The long and short of it was that the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller hadn’t been in its resting place, deep in a dungeon. Instead, there had been a note from the thief, asking for a rendezvous, which resulted in them riding back to Riverwood, back to the Sleeping Giant Inn, where the thief introduced herself. Delphine. A remnant of the Blades, a band of warriors who–she explained to Miz’ri in great detail–once served the dragonborn and hunted dragons.
Not that she’d expected anything less, but this dragonborn business was becoming quite the full-time job.
“Is this something you, er…really want to go through with?” Kaidan raised a brow at her. Miz’ri shook her head with a sigh and held her hands out in a shrug.
“What other choice do I have?”
There was no arguing that point. Even if she wanted to escape these duties and return home, which she didn’t, there was no promise that fate wouldn’t follow her. Besides, it would mean giving up everything she had built here in her new home–and it was cowardly. She had not come this far to be cowardly.
“Look,” she continued, leaning back on the tavern bench, “a lifetime of academia has taught me how to converse with truly insufferable people. I have no doubt I can talk my way into the party with an invite and blend in. Getting the documents Delphine wants will be the hard part.” She gazed into the depths of her ale tankard for a moment. “...I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious if I could pull it off, though.”
“All I know is this.” Kaidan pointed at her seriously. “Whatever trouble you might get into, Delphine won’t be able to help once you’re inside the embassy. What happens if they catch you?”
Miz’ri considered this. “I light the place on fire and run when they aren’t looking?”
“Not much of a tactician, are you?” he sighed.
“Yes, I suppose they’ll probably have Thalmor mages, now that you say that…”
“If you’re going to do this, what we need is a plan, Arach.”
Miz’ri took a moment to gulp the rest of her ale, then banged the tankard down on the table with finality.
“Alright. Tell me what you have in mind…”
“We’re counting on you, Dragonborn.” Delphine was scrutinizing her closely, but Miz’ri resisted the urge to squirm under her stony gaze. The two of them were standing in the pink light of twilight on a farm near Solitude. Two weeks had passed–the time had finally come for her to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy; if she couldn't remain cool under pressure, the entire operation would fail.
“One last thing. Here.”
Whumpf. The old soldier dropped a thick folded garment into her arms. Nearby, a bridle and reins clinked as an elf prepared a horse next to a carriage. Miz'ri looked down to see midnight blue fabric and silver embroidery glinting in the afterglow of sunset, and wondered where exactly Delphine had gotten it from. She would have been much more comfortable in formal robes from the College, but she knew she needed to keep the university far removed from whatever the hell she was getting herself into. If the Thalmor officer in Winterhold caught wind of one of the students committing some light treason, well…
“You can change in the farmhouse. We’re safe here for now.”
“Okay.” She shook her head to clear the thoughts. “Right.”
Once she was in the cool darkness of the farmhouse, Miz’ri removed her mage robes carefully. Admittedly, she was nervous. It was much easier agreeing to do this than actually doing it, but she had felt confident in their plans at the time. Now she found herself wondering what details they may have failed to account for. She slipped the dress over her head, pulled her arms through the sleeves, and tugged it down until the skirt skimmed the floor beneath her. Tying the laces of the bodice, she made her way to a small mirror hanging on the wall.
The mage let out a sigh as she locked gazes with her reflection, which was a little blurred due to grime on the mirror. It had been a few months since she’d found herself in the dungeon with the deathlord; her hair was looking far more reasonable these days. After it had been burned, she’d mitigated the damage as much as possible by having Anya trim it once they’d made it to the College again. It wasn’t near the shoulder length it had been before, but her hair now fell in tame, if slightly shaggy, locks. She smoothed it back, her forehead gem catching a sliver of light from the window. For most of her life, she’d been very sure of who she was: an academic with an inclination towards battle magic and a hunger for adventure that home couldn’t satisfy. Now, she wasn’t sure at all of the woman who stared back from the mirror–the dragonborn. The people around her kept reminding her of the role’s importance, the fact that it made her a hero with a stake in Skyrim’s political climate and also saddled her with the duty of defending Tamriel from dragons. Dragons, which had not been real until she came here.
Well, she’d certainly gotten the adventure she asked for.
Miz’ri pulled the bow of the bodice laces taught before slipping back out from the farmhouse, into the dimming glow of dusk. Delphine was deep in conversation with the carriage driver, the two of them poring over an invitation in a thick envelope, and didn’t look up as the mage drifted toward the stables.
A massive stallion with a gleaming black coat perked up as she drew near. She held one hand out to it, smiling when it pressed its velvety nose into her palm. Her own horse, Kelpie, waited patiently in the stall next to them. It would’ve been a comfort to bring her along instead of riding in a carriage, but it would have drawn more attention than it was worth to ride to the party on her own.
“Hi, Kiai,” she murmured, at which point she realized the sound of a brush–which she hadn’t noticed at first–stopped.
Kaidan leaned over to look at her from where he had been standing on the other side of the stallion, brush in hand. He seemed surprised to see her there and gave Kiai a rough pat before stepping away from him.
“Getting ready to head out?”
Something about standing before him in formal clothes was mildly embarrassing. She’d never had reason to dress up around him before; it was foreign territory. Miz’ri gathered her skirts in hand and gave them an experimental swish, giving him a conspiratorial look. “So? Do I look convincingly like someone that consorts with high society?”
“You clean up alright, Arach,” he answered in a tone that seemed genuine enough for her to believe the answer was “yes.”
“Thanks.”
Kaidan folded his arms over his chest, glancing briefly at Delphine and the elf by the wagon. “Listen, I spoke to Delphine while you were in there.”
“About?”
“I’m going to tail you.”
Miz’ri recoiled a bit in shock. “What?”
He nodded toward Kiai. “Don’t worry, I’ll follow from a ways back. But it’s too risky to let you go alone.”
Too risky? Who decided that? she wondered. Until now, they had seemed fine sending her off alone. “I thought we agreed it was a bad idea for you to get too close to the Thalmor again. What happens if they notice you?”
“They won’t. I won’t be on the path, just following from the edge of the forest. Once you’re at the party, I’ll wait in the trees in case something goes wrong. If it all goes smoothly, all you have to do is get back outside and we leave unscathed.” He shrugged.
His nonchalant attitude was bewildering. “And if something does go wrong?” Miz’ri asked, looking at him sidelong.
“Then you scream,” he answered simply, “and I’ll come find you. Thalmor or no Thalmor.” His ruby eyes were serious. Miz’ri suddenly felt hot in the dress.
“Dragonborn!” Delphine was waving at her from the wagon. “If you’re ready, let’s get moving!”
“I’ve got to go.” Miz’ri shifted her weight, turning away but looking back at him. “I’ll find you when I’m done getting the documents. Don’t get caught,” she warned, at which he gave a little half grin.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
The mage took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “...See you on the other side, I suppose.”
“Yeah. Good luck.” With that, she took a few steps in the direction of the wagon. Before she was clear of the stables, though, Kaidan cleared his throat and she stopped. “For what it’s worth…The dress suits you.”
When she glanced back, he was looking at something in the distance–which was just as well, because she couldn’t hide the surprise on her face. She found herself at a loss for a response, fumbling for the right words, wanting to say something back that was witty or at least a “thank you,” wanting to say that even though she didn’t like the idea of him following her it made her feel a great deal more secure in her mission. Instead, she watched him turn back to tending Kiai without saying anything at all.
“Dragonborn!” Delphine again.
“Coming,” she called back. Miz’ri regained her composure and headed toward her fate. She could thank him later, she told herself, if they both made it out alive.
