#finding ancano

A creak from the door has Ancano jump to his feet and spin around. Over the last hours, he has cast several spells trying to open that massive Dwemer metal door, but to no avail, eventually coming to consider that maybe Elenwen's orders might just have been to leave him here to die.

But now, somebody has come. The hooded figure of another Thalmor steps into the cell, and Ancano freezes. "You?"

Ondolemar looks at him, his face a mask that won't give away any hint of what he might be thinking, let alone feeling. "So this is how we meet again. I consider the circumstances as unpleasant as you do, Ancano. Be reasonable. There are guards outside, and if you try to do anything foolish, I'll have you shackled to that wall. Those are my orders."

Ancano swallows hard. "I assume I am in Markarth then." It has been a while since he and Ondolemar have last met. Back then, Ancano was simply Dayla's advisor, struggling not to lose her trust whilst staying loyal to the Thalmor. "What are Elenwen's intentions with me?"

The Justiciar shrugs. "I guess you're actually well aware. She's holding you in pledge so that the Dragonborn will obey. It seems you've Elenwen some reason to doubt your loyalty and effectiveness."

Ancano tenses and evades Ondolemar's gaze. "I asked to take my leave."

"How very foolish of you. Linking the Dragonborn to the Thalmor was your purpose all along, the only reason why Elenwen has spared you so far. You should have known defying her is always a bad idea, Ancano."

He is right, of course. But right now, that is of little interest to Ancano. "My question still stands: What is she up to? What does she want Dayla to do?"

"Use her skills and reputation to turn the tide in our favor. Strengthen the Thalmor in Skyrim. I bet she has several missions in mind for your Bosmer girl."

"Dayla is a rebel," Ancano says defiantly. "Nobody can make her do something she does not want. She will never bow to Elenwen." Nor to anybody else, he thinks.

"Rumor has it," Ondolemar replies, "that she will do pretty much anything to save your life."

Ancano shakes his head, remembering Dayla's amber gaze, lit up with sunbeams. He knows he is precious to her, but her freedom is, too. "I can't let that happen, Ondolemar. Being forced into serving the Thalmor will break her." He knows it will. Dayla always needs to make her own choices, follow her own path, and she although she never mentions it, he is sure she has been raised in the Valenwood resistance against the Thalmor.

It almost sounds as if Ondolemar is holding back a sigh. "You should rather worry about yourself."

Ancano glances at the door, but he knows he stands no chance to make an escape. "I bet Elenwen is not willing to let me go anytime soon, is she? And I assume you will not just let me slip away?"

"Guard your tongue!" the Justiciar hisses. "I couldn't possibly do that. I'm willing to treat you as decently as possibly while having you here, but I'm not getting myself into any trouble. I have my orders, and I'll stick to them."

Ancano raises his eyebrows. "So should Dayla refuse to cooperate …"

"Then I'm bound to have you executed on the spot and send your head to the Embassy."

The two Thalmor stare at each other.

"But that execution," Ancano says quietly, "is eventually supposed to happen anyway, is it not? No matter what Dayla does?"

This time, it's Ondolemar who looks away. "Yes. No matter what she does."

“So this is your very first report to the Dominion.” Elenwen glances down at the documents Dayla has just handed her. “Let’s see if you are as useful as I hope you to be, Dragonborn. And if these lines are worth keeping your precious advisor alive.”

Dayla remains silent as Elenwen skims through her report. She just watches the Ambassador’s frown, her sniffy expression as she turns page after page, at one point licking her finger to help with the somehow balky paper. Sometimes Elenwen gives her a short side glance, and Dayla does her best to look intimidated and humble. The way a Thalmor would a Bosmer expect to look like.

“Not bad for a start,” Elenwen finally remarks. “You brought back just the information I hoped for. Quite promising. This will be valuable when the next Great War begins ... the one in which you will stand with the Dominion, and serve its purposes.”

“If I do that,” Dayla whispers, “will you let Ancano go? Will he be safe?” “Don’t you get impatient, little Dragonborn. I make the rules here. And I ask the questions. Anything else you have to report?”

“Yes.” Dayla straightens up and produces some more documents from her knapsack. “I also brought those for you to sign.”

Elenwen blinks. “What is that?”

“This is an order to be copied and sent to all your Justiciars in Skyrim. I will keep one myself. It’s an act of grace which also states that you will no longer go after Ancano trying to harm him in any way.”

“What?”

“And this,” Dayla proceeds, “is another order calling back the spies you’re sending after me to see whether I’m really running your errands. We no longer need them, as I will no longer be working for the Dominion.”

“You insolent Bosmer brat!” Elenwen hisses. “What makes you think I would sign any of these? That’s ridiculous. I’ll have Ancano suffer for this insolence of yours. Be ready to receive some of his fingers. I will -”

“You will sign these,” Dayla replies calmly. “For I make the rules now. You can’t hurt Ancano any longer. I’ve seen to that.”

The Ambassador frowns. “Is that so? I still see no reason why I should sign here.”

“Then let me show you a reason.” Dayla pulls out the small flask and looks Elenwen dead in the eye. “If you don’t sign and have these papers spread immediately, you’ll be dead within the next twelve hours.”

“How dare you -”

“The paper I wrote my report on,” Dayla interrupts, “is poisoned. This kind of poison would even get through the leather of your gloves but you did me the favor to lick your finger, which speeds up the effect. I’m willing to give you the antidote if you comply with my humble request. Try to summon your guards, Elenwen, and I’ll shatter this flask on the floor. You’d be doomed then. Do we have a deal?”

“You’re bluffing,” Elenwen states huskily.

Dayla gives her a smile. “Care to take the risk, Ambassador? I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Gnashing her teeth, Elenwen reaches out and takes the papers Dayla has prepared - or rather, that Urag prepared. “You win this time, Dragonborn. But only this time. Next time we meet, I will crush both you and Ancano.”

"Yes, I’m very pleased we came to this agreement, too. You may now call your scribe and have him spread the word. Once you’ve made sure that every Thalmor in Skyrim is informed, I’ll hand you the flask.” Dayla smiles again.

“I swear by Auri-El that you’ll regret this,” Elenwen hisses. “I’ll have you beg for mercy, insolent wood elf whore!”

Instead of replying, Dayla just lets the fask spin between her fingers so that the light from the fire place has the red glass light up.

Elenwen falls silent and proceeds to sign the paperwork. She doesn’t know that Dayla is indeed bluffing. Kind of, at least.

“Is it true what they say then?” Brelyna’s red eyes keep glaring at Dayla. “You ... and that Thalmor?” “He has a name, Brelyna.” The dunmer girl snorts. “He also has a past, just in case you forgot. Or did you? Did you forget Savos Aren?” Dayla shakes her head. She has decided to speak to Brelyna first, considering they were quite close during Dayla’s time at the College. “I didn’t forget him. But this isn’t about the past.” “Oh, no.” Now it’s Brelyna shaking her head. “It’s about the trouble you got yourself into for messing around with the Thalmor. I’m sorry, Dayla, but I can’t help you here.”

Urag listens to Dayla carefully, then hesitates. “I do get the situation, but what would you want me to do here?” Her courage falls. “The last time I came here with Ancano, the two of you actually got along quite well once you started to talk about arcane literature, and so I thought ... since you seemed to, kind of, appreciate him ...” “As I said,” Urag interrupts, “I get the situation. I’m asking what you want me to do. I’m a librarian, not a battlemage, and I’m not sure how books will help you here.”

Dayla swallows hard. “You won’t help.”

“You’re not listening,” he growls. “I will do what I can. Only you must come up with a plan first. I can find almost any answer in the Arcanaeum - but I need the right questions to do so.”

“Seriously?” Nirya hisses, tossing back her hair and eyeing Dayla disdainfully. “You want me to get in trouble for that ... that treacherous spy?”

“You found him rather handsome,” Dayla reminds her. Nirya twists her mouth. “Apparently, you’ve come to the same conclusion. But unlike you, I don’t let handsomeness stand in the way of my own sanity and reason. I also said he couldn’t be trusted.” 

She gives Dayla a baneful stare. “You, however, seem quite bedazzled by his attention. So that Thalmor fancied you, for a while. You sure pleased and entertained him well. And now you seriously think there’s more to it? You believe that tale of the Emissary holding him captive so that you obey? Don’t fool yourself. You may be the Dragonborn, but you’re a bosmer. You’ll never be enough for a true Altmer, and particularly not for a Thalmor. They are classy. Superiorly bred. They just don’t fall for a slut from Valenwood. Face the truth, wood elf: As you stand here, Ancano is most likely sitting in a garden of Alinor, sipping wine, enjoying the sea view and laughing about how very foolish you are.”

“I know full well I’m asking a lot.” Dayla takes a breath, looking around. She has gathered all those who are willing to help her in the Arcanaeum. It feels strange to stand here and talk to them. As if she was offering a lecture. She feels the expectant looks of her listeners and has to focus on not letting the memories take over, not glancing over to the entrance and waiting for Ancano’s silhouette to appear, entering the Arcanaeum regally, like that one time when he would interrogate her about the finding under Saarthal. That time when it all started, somehow. Dayla forces her attention back to the present, to the mages standing in front of her. Ready, at least, to listen to Dayla’s suggestion about how to save the Thalmor who almost destroyed the College.

“It’s dangerous,” she proceeds. “I won’t deny that. And yet, in other circumstances I’d go on my own and try my luck. I wouldn’t risk anyone else’s life. But I need to ask this favor.” Her gaze wanders over to those she has in mind for this task, and the expression on their faces tells Dayla they are quite aware of this.

“If I do it alone, I will most likely fail, and Ancano will have to pay for that.But if you ...”

“If you are willing to take the risk, this mission will be carefully prepared,” Urag steps in, and Dayla realizes he isn’t talking to her, he’s addressing the other mages. “I should have everything we need right here. A little bit of caution, and we can make it perfect.”

He was the first to listen to Dayla’s plan, and he hasn’t even flinched but started to skim through his shelves immediately. You know, the others would simply throw that kind of stuff away, but I always keep it. In an organized way. Even the ones that don’t seem important. But you never know when you will need that information again, and after all, that’s what a library is for, isn’t it? Here it is!

“It can work,” Dayla says and bites her lip. “It’s just I can’t make it work alone.” Somewhat suspicious glances are exchanged. Dayla feels hesitation.

A Bosmeri Prayer “Baan Dar, Lord of Slyness, Shadow Master. Among all the gods of my homeland, you have always been my patron and my guardian. I know you’ve blessed me so many times, granting me a rescue when I had lost all hope. You helped me slip away from Helgen ...  And I am sure, Baan Dar, that it was you who’d sent a snarky Thalmor my way to help me out, assist me and stay by my side. Of all the people of Tamriel, you chose a Thalmor. That must have been your doing, the humor of a trickster god.

I call upon you today as I did so often before; but this time, it isn’t about me. It’s about him. Please let my prayers be heard one more time, Baan Dar. If it was you who sent Ancano to me, don’t let him be taken from me. 

I’m not one who stands aside idly. I’d rather be out there and search for him on my own. But I have errands to run for Elenwen, and she’ll take any delay as proof of my betrayal, making Ancano pay for it. I have to play along for now and rely on my friends. I found help at the College, Baan Dar. The Khajit know your name, too, so maybe you had your share in J’zargo offering me help. His promise made others step in, and by now, word should be spreading among the Khajit of Skyrim, and hopefully, they will bring some news soon. 

J’zargo’s message finds Dayla already on her way to Winterhold, returning from Windhelm with all the information Elenwen requested her to find out. The knowledge that she is about to deliver all of that to the Embassy weighs heavily on her. Even though she doesn’t really sympathize with the Stormcloaks, betraying their secrets to Elenwen feels wrong. I can’t believe I’m a Thalmor spy and servant now. Back in Valenwood, I’d rather have killed myself than work for them. But this isn’t about me. This is about protecting Ancano. But then the courier stops her and hands over the note. Dayla instantly recognises the rounded handwriting of a Khajit paw. As she skims the words, her heart starts beating faster. If anybody else was to read the letter - a Thalmor Justiciar trying to figure out if a certain dragonborn remains loyal to Elenwen’s orders -, they’d find nothing but innocent chatter, as J’zargo obviously has been cautious to address the matter directly. But Dayla knows to read between the lines, look behind the meaning of veiled words, and she understands that the Khajit have found Ancano.  That he is still alive. That he has lost all hope. That he is being held in Markarth. Dayla can hardly breathe, and has to fight back tears of relief. He’s alive. I’ll head right to Markarth. I’ll ... She lowers the note and swallows hard. I can’t. Elenwen’s spies will know. They’ll have him killed before I even enter the city gates.

She’s been sitting on the edge for hours, and despite the steaming mug of tea that Brelyna brought her a little earlier, Dayla is chilled to the bone. The ice wind tugs at her scarf and her hair, whispering of salt and dark waters. She doesn’t listen. She keeps her eyes on the road, flinching each time she perceives a movement, sees somebody step out of the shadows ... but every time, it’s only one of Winterhold’s guards patroling back and forth.

Dayla wishes she could do more than sit and wait here But she has no clue about the exact route the Khajit caravans are taking, and she might as well miss them. 

The mages of the College have tried to convince her to wait inside, at least for a while. They have offered to take turns out here. But Dayla won’t have any of that. 

Another movement. Dayla tenses, but this time it’s only the hooded figure of a priest. A strange sight for a place like Winterhold. He’s most likely just traveling through. No, wait, that can’t be right ... Dayla blinks and leans forward as the priest passes by a guard and mutters something about a Talos blessing. And even this distant muttering lets her realize that there is something way too familiar in his voice, his movements, his silhouette, everything.

Then he turns his head. The face is still hidden under the simple hood, but Dayla still spots a pair of golden eyes, and when he calls out, his voice removes any doubts she still might have had: “Dayla!”

She jumps from her post, too breathless to reply. Her legs almost won’t obey her, but she forces them and bolts towards Ancano. There’s a cry, clear and shaky with tears, sounding so strange Dayla can hardly believe it has been her who made that sound.

Ancano is now running, too. They meet halfway, when Dayla just leaps to bridge the remaining steps between them and throws her arms around him. She feels the warmth of his body through the rough fabric, the pounding of his heart, and how he immediately hugs her back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

“You’re back,” Dayla manages to whisper. She gently pushes back the hood so she can finally see his face, the relief in his eyes, the way he looks at her. “You’re alive.”

“And you,” Ancano replies somewhat hoarsely, “feel like a block of ice. How long have you been sitting there, you insensate being?”

Dayla finds herself making a noise somewhere between laughter and sobbing. “I was so afraid.”

Without a word, he hugs her tighter, and by the way he inhales, she can tell he’s fighting back some tears, too.