Chapter Text
Deep in the city beneath the city, countless sorts of scoundrels scurried about. Everyone knew that if you needed a thief or a cutthroat, the Ragged Flagon was the place to look. Heavy steel boots struck stone with a harsh clang with every falling footstep, and though the Orc twisted his nose at the stench permeating through the sewers, he trudged forward, going deeper into the bowels. He sought a killer, a specific killer with specific tools at her disposal and a specific mindset, and though he knew not if she would join his cause, those with no choice must make do with what tools they could wrap their claws around, and forge others themselves, and he, no, they had no choice. No choice but to wade through sewage to enlist the aid of one who could be an infamous adversary or the most ardent ally they could hope for. But first, he had to find her, and that proved to be a more aggravating task than he’d originally thought.
Rhapsodos. The name was all he had to go off of, and it was an old one. Aldmeri, according to the research that Florentius had done, and like many old Aldmeri names, there was a noble family in the Thalmor with that very name, and yet, despite that, he’d been told he wasn’t looking for an Altmer, he was looking for a Nord, and though he had his doubts there were many Nords running around with an Elven surname, he didn’t think his target would be easy to find, and he had his doubts the person in question would actually be down here. Mages tended not to prefer this kind of squalor, after all, lest they were necromancers, and it was her infamous hatred of necromancers that had him seeking her out in the first place.
Shaking his pessimistic concern of her not being here from his mind, he opened the door to the Flagon, and immediately wrinkled his nose at the stench worsening. Biting back bile, he trudged forward and kept a careful eye where he stepped, avoiding the puddles of what may not be water as he stepped forward into the light of the tavern. Though he kept his eyes straight forward, he was all too aware of the eyes falling on him, sizing him up like a saber-cat contemplating whether it should pounce on dangerous looking prey. While he certainly wasn’t frightened of any of these vagrants, he didn’t come here to make enemies, but he also didn’t come here to get robbed, or stabbed in the back.
“You’re lookin a little lost here. I’d be careful if I were you. After all, people who come to the Ratway lookin for trouble tend to find it. And they don’t tend to walk out afterward either.” A bald man counting coins at one of the tables stated without even sparing a glance up at him as if he were as insignificant as the insects buzzing around the cistern.
The Orc frowned at the thinly veiled threat, though he swallowed the urge to respond in kind, and crossed his arms as he scrutinized each of the people lurking in the tavern. The enforcer he passed on the way in had a hand on the hilt of his weapon already. The woman leaning against crates appeared to be sleeping, but he had his doubts that she actually was. The man behind the bar was cleaning glasses, but his eyes were on the intruder in his bar, and he leaned down to whisper something to the bald man in guild armor who’d spoken, who gave him a nod in response. Lounging across the top of the crates was a third figure in Thieves Guild armor, but with their hood up, he couldn’t tell who or what they were. The third figure appeared to be sleeping as well, but the firm grip on the dagger at their waist stated otherwise. All of these people looked ready to strike him down, but he didn’t plan for the situation to come to that.
“I’m looking for someone.” He stated simply as his gaze fell upon each person in there, silently wondering who among them, if any, were the person he was seeking out. “Does the name Rhapsodos mean anything to any of you?” He asked, though he doubted any would answer, not without some proper motivation, but from the look the two men at the bar exchanged, he knew they had one.
“That depends.” The blonde woman leaning against the crates asked, as the figure on top of them slowly sat up, though their face was still obscured by their hood, he was all too aware of their eyes burning into him.
“On what, exactly?” He asked, though he had no doubt the amount he was willing to pay was probably at the top of the list.
“On who you’re workin for, for starters.” The bald man spoke up now, his original task of counting coins forgotten as he rose to his feet, and positioned himself to stand by the woman in front of the crates. “And why you’re lookin for her.”
The Orc tilted his head ever so slightly as he mulled over what to tell these people. He didn’t plan on sharing much with people who might host vampires in their midst, and he knew thieves like these tended not to care about things like vampirism, but he did, and he didn’t want any of those bloodsuckers to possibly know who they might be looking to recruit, but at the same time, it wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter. Not now, not if he wanted the information he sought.
“I’m with the Dawnguard.” He answered simply at first, before elaborating, “And we want to recruit Jura Rhapsodos.”
A laugh, soft and quiet, escaped the figure relaxing on the crate and they shook their head slowly at his words before slinging their legs over the side of the crates, and hopped down in one fluid motion. They rubbed their hands together, as if trying to wipe the grime of this sewer off them, before tugging their hood down revealing sable hair and an almost wicked grin that reminded him of a hyena, or a mischievous fox.
“So that’s why? You shoulda said that from the beginning. Woulda saved us all time.” The raven-haired girl stated as she stepped forward into the light of the tavern, coal eyes glistening like oil with dark amusement as the light hit them. “But I’m afraid you’re shit outta luck.”
The Orc regarded her quietly as she spoke, eyeing her critically. She was a Nord, but at the same time, it seemed like she wasn’t the one he was looking for. “And why’s that?” He asked politely, keeping a cordial tone since it seemed they were willing to play nice, for the moment at least.
“Cuz Jura ain’t here, and she doesn’t come here.” She answered with a laugh and shook her head. “I mean, ya did find a Rhapsodos, you found me, so congrats on that, but I don’t have my sister’s talents, and when it comes to huntin anything that’s walking and talking but shouldn’t be, you’re right, Jura’s the one ya want.”
Disappointed, but not surprised, the Orc found the information both curious and interesting, but unfruitful at the same time.
“In that case, it’s been a pleasure, but this hasn’t helped at all.” He stated with a sigh and turned on his heel to leave the den of iniquity.
“Not a very good recruiter to be wanderin off like that, are ya?” The Rhapsodos snickered, and when he looked over his shoulder to fix her with a scowl, he saw she had that same devious smile. “Not even gonna ask where to find her? I guess you don’t want her joining very much, do you?”
“Not if she’s as childish as you.” He answered bluntly, though it wasn’t quite true. Isran was willing to put up with almost any behavior, so long as the person it came from was useful against the vampires, and if this mage was as good as they’d heard, she’d be worth it. Hopefully.
“Nah, she’s not. It’s my job to be the family disappointment.” She laughed as she messed with her hair slowly, plucking at the thin braid tucked behind her ear before unraveling it carefully, with the precision one might take when gutting a fish, twisting the strands between her fingers, before raking it back into the rest with a bored expression.
The Orc turned to face her fully again, a deep frown etched into his face like cracks in stone. He was already bored of her games and her jests, finding such behavior to be unbecoming of an adult, though a glance at the two older thieves flanking her told him this was normal behavior, but more importantly, they both wore a harsh, dangerous look in their eyes, a look that silently screamed a warning. Make a move against her, and we’ll cut you down. He grimaced as he took a step forward, and hands were on hilts instantly as a more substantial warning, or so he supposed. So there’s loyalty among thieves after all.
“So, where do I find her then?” He asked politely but refused to beat around the bush further. The sooner he left this place, the better.
“Well...”
The sound of creaking wood was the first thing she noticed as she roused from the dreamless depths of unconsciousness, but the second was the thick, iron taste of blood in her mouth, coating her tongue like honey, but not nearly as sweet. The dull, throbbing pain in her head came next, and then a strange, harsh burning as something hot seared into her chest, hidden under her clothes pulsating with magic against her skin before fading, and finally, a muffled groan spilled out of her lips as she tried to open her eyes, only to be assailed by the light stabbing into her like daggers, but as she tried to raise her arms to block it out, her limbs were sluggish, and heavy, but most importantly, bound.
Bound? Why was she bound? Where was she? The questions poured forth in her mind, and though the sun showed no mercy on her aching head and shined down with all of its might, sky blue eyes forced themselves to open, and she looked around slowly and realized she was not somewhere she should be. She should be naked in a warm bed, covered from head to toe in the warmest furs to be found in Skyrim, preferably with an old friend also in her bed, with a roaring fire five feet away to ensure the room was hotter than the Daedric forges in the Badlands of Mehrune Dagon’s lair. Sore, bleeding, and tied up like an animal about to be slaughtered in a cart filled with unfamiliar faces all wearing the same navy armor was not how she pictured her weekend going, and yet, as she glanced over, and saw her father was in the same position as her, she knew she had only herself to blame for the predicament she found herself in. She knew something like this might happen, and yet, she’d gone to meet him anyway.
The father she’d never known. The father that, in twenty years, she’d never met. The father left to rot in prison while she was left to be raised by her grandfather in that palace that was also her prison. The father many derided as a murderer, a madman, and a monster, but her father all the same, and though she’d known it was dangerous, she wanted to know him herself. She wanted to figure out the truth for herself, rather than listen to the words others spoke, regardless of the consequences. Well, it seemed these were the consequences.
While lost in thought, her father looked over at her as well, and as their eyes met, there was a look in his eyes, but she hadn’t any idea what it might be. Sorrow? Rage? Regret? She couldn’t tell. How could she? She didn’t know him, so trying to figure out what he might be feeling, if anything at all, was impossible. Predicting the future would be easier, but based on the bickering between one of her father’s soldiers and another of the prisoners, it seemed their future was pretty obvious.
She looked away from her father, and found herself grateful they were both gagged, as she wasn’t sure what she’d even say if they could actually speak. This was her fault, after all. They were caught because of her. If she hadn’t asked him to meet her, to meet her outside the city, they’d both be free as birds right now. But she did, and he’d agreed, and now they were both prisoners. She could only pray he didn’t think she set him up, but how would he know? It wasn’t as though he could predict what she’d do any more than she could predict his feelings, but she prayed. She prayed to Stendarr or Akatosh or Talos or to any gods that might be listening, and feel merciful enough to answer, that he did not think she’d so callously betray him like this.
But if the gods were listening, they did not grace her with an answer, not in the form of hope or relief or even a single drop of mercy. The wagons continued onwards, her father’s soldiers continued to bicker among themselves, and she couldn’t find it in her to look at any of them, as surely they all blamed her for this. Instead, she turned her attention down to her bound and bruised wrists, and started twisting them slowly, trying to get a good feel for how tight they were, and to her surprised, not very.
Lysandra Stormcloak was no thief, nor assassin, nor vagrant or scoundrel of any sort, but she grew up being best friends with the daughters of retired assassins, and she wasn’t a stranger to being playfully tied up and tossed into a cushioned basement in mock kidnappings and expected to escape on her own. “It’s good practice!” The twins would giggle as they worked to slip out of their own bounds tied by their parents. “We’ll need it someday!” They’d say as they coached her on how to twist her wrists just right, teaching her how to dislocate her own fingers to slip out, or how to unravel the knots with nothing more than her teeth. Even though she’d never been abducted before now, and never did anticipate it happening, she was thankful for the lessons as she kicked the soldier sitting across from her, before gesturing to the gag silently, and turned her back to him so he’d take it off. They could move their hands enough for that, but she’d need her mouth free to fully free her hands.
When she felt the gag loosen and fall around her neck, she turned to sit properly on the wagon seat again and muttered a quiet thanks to the man who removed it before silently getting to work on the ropes around her hands, being careful not to draw the attention of the Imperial Soldiers driving the wagon as she kept biting and tugging and nipping at the ropes to loosen them up until finally, she slipped her hands out from their bindings.
With her hands free, she reached under her robes to pull out the source of the burning she felt earlier, a glossy large chunk of ruby, loving sculpted into a glistening pendulum that on first glance appeared to be nothing more than an extravagant piece of jewelry, but those with a critical eye for magic, like her, could see the tiny runes, delicately and painstakingly carved into the facets of the gem, but few had the talent for enchanting necessary to tell what magic it might be imbued with by simply looking. Though it was dark and lifeless now, she knew she’d felt it burn with magic when she first woke up, but knowing the enchantment had been activated wasn’t the same thing as being certain the one who made it was anywhere nearby.
A kick from the soldier across from her snatched her attention like a hawk plucking a sparrow from midair, and she suddenly realized the wagons had rolled into a village, and she was quick to stuff the pendulum back into her robes and retied the rope around her wrist, or so it would appear, and she was counting on the likelihood that no one would bother to actually check.
“Looks like the end’s come faster than I thought it would.” She muttered under her breath to the soldier across from as the Imperials barked for the prisoners to get off the carts, and like the rest of them, she rose to her feet. As she got up and hopped off the cart, she glanced around the little village and realized she was in Helgen. She’d only been there a few times to pick up or deliver items to be enchanted, or already enchanted by the College, but it was enough to recognize the village, and to recognize some of the people there.
But as she stepped forward and her name was called by the Imperial commander, her eyes fell on a familiar figure who didn’t belong in this little village any more than she did. Lounging like a lazy cat sunning itself on a particularly warm rock, casually sipping out of a silver flask, was one of the twins.
She’d arrived there a week ago, and the villagers thought from the fine, fur-lined cloak, and golden circlet holding back flaming scarlet hair, that she was a noble. The gleaming horse she’d rode in on had clearly never pulled a plow in its life, the leather of its saddle glistening, well oiled, and appeared as though it had never been used before or that the owner despised dirt like the Thalmor despised the Nords of this land. Despite surely possessing more wealth than all of them put together, the woman had been utterly polite, soft-spoken, and made no rude demands of any of them.
She’d claimed to be awaiting a friend coming over from Cyrodil, and so she’d asked for a room at the inn, though she claimed to only intend to stay a few weeks, she’d paid enough gold, according to the innkeeper, that he could shut down the tavern for a year without an issue. She’d stayed in the attic room, and came down often to make polite conversation with the villagers, and would discuss anything from magic to the war to how crops were faring up in the snowier parts of the province.
The villagers of Helgen all agreed: she was eccentric but polite, and they were content with her presence there, but as some came outside to watch the executions while others urged their children inside and to avert their eyes, none of them expected the stranger to step forward once names were called, only to ask a question that shook all of them.
“Is my name on that list? Because if not, it rather should be. If I recall, tall, dark, and crispy there has been looking for me.” She’d stated and jabbed her thumb towards a horrifically burned Thalmor riding atop a dark horse, before turning to him and stating politely, “Nice to meet you, Karentus. I’m here to finish the job my father started. You remember him, don’t you? You should, since he’s your brother, and you killed him.”