#tamriel

This is a story set in the continuity found here

The Previous three books can be found in the link

Mad House Stories Presents:

Brehter Solomindvors

The Brother of Solomindvor

By: Anonymous

Hello dear reader,

Previously, we have journeyed through the Tragedy of Sasha of Riften. These travels amount to something over two books, with just under a book to provide her daughter with our reading minds. The author’s short story, the final story written under the Imperial Association of Communications, gave us the heartbreaking origin of her orphaned state. Now, we have yet to explain a few details which did not receive attention in the previous works. Namely, what happened to Sasha in Markarth, and the original larger documents Song of Sasha was contained within.

Now many findings have been completed by the team who excavated the site in Hammerfell however, the recent devastation caused by Mehrunes Dagon in this horrid Oblivion Crisis, the death of the glorious Emperor Uriel Septim VII, the sacrifice of his only heir Martin, and the subsequent collapse of the Imperial government as it struggles to find a new Emperor has left our nation in mourning. That is the reason, the Imperial Government has dissolved the Imperial Association of Communications, Imperial Society of Cultural Histories and all related institutions. What is more, the accuracy of the prior publications’ asserted events has led to the increased desire from various government organisations and the Prince of Hlaalu Morrowind to see these books pulled from public hands.

However, as the bulk of the research was done before the Crisis and continued to sit in the possession of my late superior, Faendal Ibrelenth, it was decided to seek independent funding. That was when Paul Toombes, the publisher who is also a friend of the author’s and who was lovingly lampooned for his famous theater role in Rabia al Rawl’kha & The Quest For The Golden Sands, offered to publish the book under his own printing company. In this way we are now able to present some portion of the findings without any responsibility or strictures imposed by an Imperial commission. While it has been decided to avoid the possible infractions of Imperial Code that republishing the prior works with additional material may incur, this book shall be a complete guide to the contents of its source material. However the author is of course liable to practice the craft of the novel, and poetic license will be taken.

That is why, while Mad House Stories is primarily known for anthology storybooks, they will be the publisher for the first edition of Brehter Solomindvors. We shall once again meet the narrator in short time, only one more small explanation of the story.

Brehter Solomindvors is a story dating back to the 1st Era, just after the fall of the Alessian Empire. It is still told by the Reachmen of Western Skyrim, however it is often told as merely an accessory story to the much more well known “Legend of Red Eagle”. The legend is presented below, having been written up by a researcher for summary in order to proceed with the story of interest:

The legend dates back to the 1st Era, 1030, during the expansion of the Alessian Empire. As the Imperial legions moved into the Reach, they overthrew the ten local kings who held dominion over the territory. However, a chieftain named Faolan, known as Red Eagle, refused to surrender.

Finding his forces outmatched by the Alessian military, Faolan sought out the Hagravens. He entered into a pact with these witches to gain the power necessary to maintain his resistance. In an esoteric and secret ritual, the Hagravens removed his heart and replaced it with a briar seed, granting him immense strength at the cost of his soul.

Red Eagle then spent two years leading a guerrilla war against the occupation. He was eventually cornered by a massive Imperial force and fell after a final stand. His followers took him as he perished to a hidden burial site in the hills. Before he died, he bequeathed his flaming sword, known as his Fury, to his people, claiming that if the blade were ever returned to his resting place, he would rise again to lead them. Commonly spoken as “When my Fury is returned to me, I shall bestow my Bane.”

In the centuries since, the sword, and the king himself, have remained lost to the mountains and the superstitions of the Reachmen ever since.

The accessory tale, which is the tale of interest today, dates back to 1st Era 1323 (Approximately). It can be summarised as follows, although some ambiguity will be maintained to allow the author’s story to develop unhindered:

Solomindvor, a Reachman living in the Dwemer ruins of Markarth, along with his claimed brother Idiot, is met by a local spirit or deity who tasks the hiding of Red Eagle’s Fury to him. Solomindvor is then told the children of his brother will be the bloodline of the Draakkundd, the Reachman localised form of Dovahkiin. Solomindvor must then take Idiot to the resting place of Red Eagle, so that the soul of the chief may bless Idiot’s line and complete the prophecy. After that, Solomindvor is commanded by the sister of the earlier deity to bury Red Eagle’s Fury in a sacred shrine, so that one day Idiot’s descendant might find it and return it to Red Eagle, and retrieve Red Eagle’s Bane to liberate the Reach once more.

It is the hope of the surviving researchers that this story helps to teach those unfamiliar with the richness of Reachmen culture and the true depth of the discovery in Hammerfell. Now we return to the narrator, to tell this tale.

Gereth Dosenius, Former Assistant Translator for The Imperial Society of Cultural Histories; Paul Toombes, Publisher for Mad House Stories

Introduction

Welcome back dear reader. When last we left Sasha of Riften, she was ascending to her place among the Divines. The subsequent short story told by Derkeethus gave us bittersweet revelations about Sasha’s ultimate origin, and now we are left with only a few more details of note. However, in the interest of allowing Sasha’s spirit to rest, this book will avoid placing her at the reins so to speak. Aside from a brief vignette which sets the frame, and an account of Sasha’s time in Markarth, the story that follows is divorced from Sasha by about 3 eras.

This should be more than satisfying to those, who despite having been enraptured in Sasha’s song, desire a new story to consider. This story, which has been passed down, can now be told in its full significance and not merely as a decoration for a larger myth.

How did Sasha obtain Red Eagle’s Bane, the greatsword used to kill Ulfric Stormcloak? Well it just so happens that Rabia once wondered the very same thing, and so asked her mother on one dark night in Hammerfell. Sasha, like many Nords, ever ready to tell a bedside tale begins to tell her little daughter all about her time in Markarth, where a mysterious man in a prison teaches her of the legend of Brehter Solomindvors. While a previous tale, Curse of Destiny, was told to a much older Rabia, this tale was told to Rabia when she was quite small. So Sasha made her best attempt to make the story enjoyable for young ears.

The Bedtime Story (Prologue)

One black night, in the wide open desert plains of Hammerfell, a large cathedral stood in the dark of Nocturnal’s shadow. Lit all over by torches, the black stone cathedral, with its crags and spires, appeared like Alduin the World Eater. This was the castle of the Dragon of the Rift, the bester of Alduin, the ruler of the House of Dovahkiin. Queen Sasha’s people were Vampires, thieves, the dispossessed. All were welcome in the court of Queen Sasha, so long as attempts were made to temper their hunger and to act with refinement. During the day all would sleep, awaking as the sun began to set in order to watch the Princess learning to dance.

Princess Rabia, the Queen’s beloved daughter, was the only one other than her mother to be awake during the day. Rabia would run in the fields and fish in streams, often accompanied by her mother or one of her Khajiit guardians. Often Rabia played pretend she was a pirate or an adventurer, swinging a wooden sword around and diving into the tall grass from fences. When the day grew long and Azura began to reach her dark blue finger into the sky, Rabia would return to the castle tired and exhausted of all of her energy. However some nights Rabia would have trouble sleeping.

Rabia was afraid of the vampires, the ghouls, the ragged forms who called her mother Queen, and though all knew never to lay a finger on her, she often called her mother to sit with her as she fell asleep. Rabia was only seven years old at this time, and she still clung to her mother. Queen Sasha obediently granted her daughter audience, and often sang or cuddled with her until she fell asleep soundly. When Rabia was too excited to sleep, Queen Sasha often told Rabia bedtime stories.

The Countess Serana, jealous of the attention Queen Sasha gave to Rabia, often leaned out by the bedroom door and hurried the Queen along in her stories. However tonight Countess Serana was away, and Rabia sat up in her pajamas, bouncing up and down on her mattress.

“Hold still Rabia.” Queen Sasha spoke calmly, “You had too many sweets before bed again, I told you that it would keep you up, but did you listen?”

Queen Sasha was beautiful, Vampirism had not destroyed her grace and high demeanour, only beginning to shrink away the right side of her face so that the right half appeared much older than the other. Her right eye was glazed over white, a scar of a battle that the Queen spoke little of to Rabia, her left eye was glowing red. Many found Queen Sasha frightening, but not Rabia. Princess Rabia saw only her mother’s face, and knew only love for her. Now Queen Sasha was looking at her daughter with the loving annoyance of a parent.

“I’m sorry mama.” Rabia pleaded.

Nazir, the right hand of the Queen, had brought back a crate of candy and treats from the city and gave it to Rabia, much to her mother’s chagrin. Nazir loved to spoil Rabia with treats and toys, especially since he had no accountability for Rabia’s missed sleep or wasted time.

The Queen placed a soft hand on Rabia’s cheek, “It’s ok my love.” She pulled the blanket over Rabia, “Lay still and your mother will tell you a bedtime story, will that make you happy?”

“Yes mama!” Rabia replied eagerly.

“Calm yourself Rabia, settle down or I will not tell my story.” The Queen lectured.

Princess Rabia quickly smoothed out and began to lay still under the covers, reaching out her soft kitten-furred hand to hold her mother’s at the edge of the bed. Queen Sasha took Rabia's hand and kissed it, then returned it to Rabia as she continued to hold it.

“Which story would you like to hear my love?” Queen Sasha asked.

Rabia furrowed her brow, trying to think of what she wanted to hear. Rabia glanced at a sword that Queen Sasha had mounted on a plate and used to decorate Rabia’s room.

“Mama, that’s Red Eagle’s sword right?” Rabia asked, pointing to the sword with her nose, the same way her guardian Ma’iq pointed to things.

“Ah, you wish to hear the tale of Red Eagle again my love?” Queen Sasha began, “It is a wonderful story—“

“No! Not that story again.” Rabia complained, “I already heard it two nights ago.”

Queen Sasha tensed up, “Watch your tone Rabia, you are sounding like a spoiled brat.”

Rabia calmed herself and looked into her mothers eyes, “I’m sorry mama.”

Queen Sasha could never stay angry with Princess Rabia, and leaned over to hug Rabia as Rabia purred. “What story would you like to hear?” Queen Sasha asked tenderly.

“Mama, how did you find Red Eagle’s sword?” Rabia asked.

“Ah… Well my love, that tale is better saved for when you are older. Maybe you will want to hear another tale? What about The Giant and The Trol—“ Queen Sasha noticed Rabia hiding disappointment beneath her deep brown eyes that shimmered like puddles. “Oh my love, do you really wish to hear this story? Is there nothing I can do to make it up to you?”

“Yes mama,” Rabia replied, “I promise I can handle the scary stuff. Please mama won’t you tell it to me?”

Queen Sasha hesitated, it was less that the story was scary and more that she didn’t want to expose Rabia to the harsh reality of the world the story hid. Queen Sasha paused and considered how she might tell the story to such a small audience.

“Very well,” Queen Sasha said, “I suppose you’re old enough to know about when your mother was a prisoner. It was at that time I learned about Red Eagle’s Sword, and Solomindvor’s Brother.”

“Soh-loh-meend-juhvor?” Rabia attempted to sound out.

“Yes my love,” Queen Sasha replied, “Now quiet, or I won’t tell the story.”

The Queen placed a pipe in her mouth, lighting the tobacco and puffing it out in slow measured breaths. The room began to smell of burning leaves and hazelnuts, and Rabia began to drift away in the perfumed smoke.

Rabia closed her mouth tightly and held tight onto the Queen’s hand. The Queen began the story, looking deep into Rabia’s eyes as she did. Just like always, the Queen told it to Rabia as though Sasha was only a character, and Rabia closed her eyes to imagine.

Sasha began an invocation, “Azura, as light breaks the shadow, Nocturnal as the shadow arrives. Grant wisdom to mine eyes, and set it forth.”

Markarth

In this scene: Queen Sasha the narrator, Sasha the misfortunate hero; Weylin, the unwitting assassin; Margret, the doomed woman; Eltrys, the mysterious stranger.

Queen Sasha: Sasha came to Markarth to shield herself in the stone walls, she had been previously in Windhelm where she had found herself unto Ulfric Stormcloak the Jarl. Having come hither unto Windhelm from Riften the city of her youth wherein she had served her own justice upon those who had once wronged her. Though the city Riften slept easier, Sasha had not done it for such a reason. She then had quarreled with Jarl of Windhelm, whereupon she had left Windhelm without staying long. Sasha known far and wide for her journeys and for what had transpired in Riften.

Sasha enters the city through the gates and observes the bustling cheaping at the frontmost area of the town. Sasha goes to a stall to inspect some meat, next to her stands a woman Margret.

Margret: I should hope that this meat is fresh for the price you are willing to charge for it, I should love a leg of roast lamb for dinner.

Weylin walking through the crowd becomes manic and frantic, running towards Margret brandishing a knife.

Weylin: I am now as I have been Forsworn! Take this you wicked sinner!

Weylin begins to stab Margret repeatedly in the roar of the crowd as Sasha notices helpless to intervene in time. The crowd hustles and bustles unaware as Weylin commits his crime.

Margret: Oh horror! Someone better save me! I am being assailed!

Weylin: Look how the people turn tail! They run! They know that the Reach belongs to the Forsworn.

Sasha: Unhand her! Stop this act at once! People can you not see what is happening?

Prompted by Sasha’s screams, the crowd catches on and begins to uproar. Margret falls to the ground dead and bleeding, one of the Markarth guards bursting forth to lop at Weylin with a sword, wounding him fatally in the neck. Weylin dies as Sasha looks on petrified.

Sasha: I am Dragonborn, soul of Dovah, yet useless to save this poor woman. I have seen the act unfold in all of its parts and find no comfort. This town, this high walled town of stone and steel, has swallowed me in a lull of my spirit and my nerve. How should I now find my sentiments swerved, for this stranger, who now out of danger is dead. I did not even avenge her for the guards did cut off her assassin’s head. Poor I, poorest me, weak in character.

Eltrys comes up behind Sasha and pulls on the ruffle on the shoulder of her dress. Sasha turns to face him.

Sasha: Yes, who is this before me? I trust you saw what occurred? Now why are you calling upon me, a stranger Nord?

Eltrys: ‘Tis a shame, truly. I had just come into the cheaping at this very hour, and had not expected to witness the assassin at play. Truly it brings a sour end to a rather long day. However I should spy, a note fall from your person, I thought I may return it to you.

Sasha: What is meant by this? A note, confounded thing, I have no such memory. Perhaps you mistake me. Or perhaps you have heard my name and seen my face and wished to approach me in a fanatic way? I must ask you to stray from me, and leave me to my own comforts.

Eltrys: No madame, it is not so. I have not until now seen thy face and thy name I still yet do not know. Please take what is rightfully yours so that I am not cursed by the gods. Now I must go.

Eltrys forces the parchment into Sasha’s hands and quickly walks away, disappearing into the crowd once more.

Sasha: What is this? A secret letter of the most peculiar contents? Why has it been given unto me, surely this is a jest? Surely a subtle nod? Ach, I will read it then, there is no forestalling what fate has placed so clearly into my hands. I will read it now.

Sasha reads the note.

Sasha: Incredible, unbelievable, unforeseen indeed. I have now of a strangers need. To meet him in this strange place? At a yet unknown hour late in the evening? Is that where my fate is now leading? Ach, I will do it, I will go to this Shrine of Talos. Perhaps there I will be enlightened to an answer, or some genuine reason. Yet I fear this shrine, and the strangeness of the time, so late at night. Perhaps some fool is trying to give me fright, yet they do not know that I am no mere buffoon to trifle with, my sword is sharp and my mind quite sharper.

The Shrine of Talos

In this scene: Sasha and Eltrys.

Queen Sasha: Now in the great stone city of Markarth, the Empire had taken a solid hold. So it was that Talos was far and rare to come by, so disliked was he by the Empire and their Altmeri clientel, so as Sasha try to ask about the shrine in secret, it had taken her quite a spell. Eventually upon the good graces of a kind old man, Sasha was told the way to take. The shrine was deep, far beneath the underkeep of the city, in the vast tunnels descending down great stone stairs. It took Sasha quite a while to get there.

Sasha waits impatiently under the cover of darkness. She begins to doubt anyone is coming.

Sasha: Yes quite as well it should be, it should be me as well I suppose. That some merrymaker now makes play upon, I find this quite detestable. Now I am quite a fool, standing beneath the vestibule of this great stone god. If I were faithful then at least I could pray to him but alas, I am one who blasphemes. Talos will not help me, he despises me, I have seen it in my dreams.

Eldrys arrives finally, holding a torch. Sasha waits for him arms crossed.

Sasha: Yes now you arrive, I had begun to think I would wait the whole of the night. So now what pray tell, will you share? Is it time for answers, are we nearly there?

Eldrys: Yes madame, you shall have your answers for what you have seen today. I promise no more games or lies. It is not safe to speak so openly where the Silver-Bloods have eyes to see and ears to listen. I trust you understand, having come from Riften? Or so I have heard.

Sasha: Yes, I am quite familiar to these habits. In Riften one could hardly cough or sneeze lest be apprehended, your weariness and apprehension by me are respected. Now please tell, tell of what I have seen. To what reason was the woman made to bleed? How are the Forsworn tangled in this scheme?

Eldrys: Yes all of that and nothing left out. I am not one with a tight mouth, I shall speak. Many murders have I seen, all in the way as before. Each week and month there is another, yet never are the assassins apprehended, always their lives the guards have ended. Why? Why should not a single man stand trial, and what is the reason behind the killing? Not a guard will speak and the Jarl has no desire to hear. I am afraid I had given up before you drew near. Now go, go to Margret’s room, over to the Silver-Blood inn. Perhaps you shall find some kind of truth on which we can begin. When you have done that, go to The Warrens and find what you can of Weylin. Then we meet again here.

Sasha: Why must it be I? Surely you are just as well equipped with eyes that see? Yet you delegate such a task to me?

Eldrys: There is no deception, in this you must trust. I have been sneaking around there before and have previously gotten caught. Though I should like to, the inn welcomes me no longer. Now go, waste little time. Our enemies hurry as well to cover up the crime and we must stop them. Guards already are on our trail, I fear.

Sasha: I will, as sure as I sent Alduin tail tucked, flying to Skuldafn I will do it. Of this you can be certain.

The Silver-Blood Inn

In this scene: Sasha; Kleppr, the innkeeper; Frabbi, the innkeeper’s nagging wife.

Queen Sasha: So Sasha scurried forth, like a rat beneath the great stone city. Finding herself at the stairs leading to the surface, and finding herself before the great stone inn. Etched into its walls were running vines, and polished bronze adorned its face. The city had once been home to Dwemer and the Dwemer had left their trace.

Frabbi: Kleppr! Kleppr! Have you tidied the woman’s room? You must make sure nothing is left for Thonar comes soon.

Queen Sasha: Thonar being Thonar Silver-Blood.

Kleppr: Quit your nagging me woman, I told you I already finished cleaning the room. You go and clean it again if it suits you.

Frabbi: I think not, I wish to finish my chores so I may rest by the fire. I will simply not allow you to forget this matter, my husband. That must certainly please you to hear?

Kleppr: Nothing had pleased me, since the day I made the mistake of asking you to be my wife however I will clean the room if you so wish it. If you asketh of me, my wife I will have to obey. For what is a husband’s word otherwise?

Frabbi: You speak very good words my husband but will your words be revealed as truth or fable? Now finish up the jugs, I must cloth the table.

Sasha enters, shrouded in darkness by her divine protector Nocturnal. Frabbi hears the door open, but does not see another person. Frabbi walks over to Kleppr.

Frabbi: Kleppr! The door! It falls off of its hinge. I did hear it open up a twinge, you must fix it! Fix it or Thonar shall take it from our coinpurse.

Kleppr: You are mad woman. Imagining things. These buildings were built by the Dwemer, an ancient race of genius beings, the door fitted perfectly to its untarnished hinges. It must have been the wind, or perhaps you did not close it all the way. You have been going out to drink all the day.

Sasha lifts the key to the room from Frabbi’s apron strap.

Frabbi: Kleppr! Some villian has just put his hands on me in a most indecent way! I felt it, so certainly as I breath, will you not believe me?

Kleppr: Woman, you are drunk. You should best lay down and get to sleeping. I will do your chores, as I always do, for you my wife.

Frabbi scowls at Kleppr, huffing and puffing and goes to remove her apron. Frabbi finds no key.

Frabbi: Kleppr! The key! Someone has stolen it, oh! Oh Kleppr, I cannot believe this misfortune has befallen me.

Kleppr: Stolen? Or rather say I, dropped and forgotten? This would not be the first time, woman. You certainly have a way with such things.

Frabbi huffs and goes off to sleep as Kleppr finishes wiping down the ale jugs. Sasha enters into the room that had been Margret’s.

Sasha: Stuffy little room, stone beds as well. Dear gods this place must be a kind of hell. I should have thought some things would be kept soft. There seems not to be much askew, so far as I can tell. Perhaps I spy, yes I spy, a book, on top. Top of the little stone desk, a book bound in hide, a diary. What is in this diary? What should I discover? That Margret was a spy sent undercover? From Solitude, General Tulius, the Legion? I wondered why she had been killed and perhaps this be the reason? Truly strange the timings, that this should occur on the very night I came in riding. What a stir, though I cannot yet see how she was targeted, perhaps the name of the party of interest is of note? Silver-Blood, what is this name? I have only slight knowledge of their fame, and not the least of their fortune. Still, perhaps I should visit the Jarl? Such an affair is certainly his domain, though some reservation I feel?

Kleppr begins to open the door. Sasha is hidden by Nocturnal, sneaking out of the inn.

The Warrens

In this scene: Sasha; Nocturnal the Mistress of the Shadows.

Queen Sasha: Sasha quickly found her way down to the homeless track, the way she had learned simply by watching. Sasha had already once learned to be poor, finding where Weylin lived was a mere trifle. Now Sasha found Markath’s own Rataways which were known as The Warrens. Thick sludge dripping down the walls of the corridor that formed the district, the air was tense and damp, the smell corrupt and caustic. Sasha bribed a shivering Breton to tell her where Weylin stayed. This structure not much of a home rather than a cage, underneath the city and close to the pond. Sewage collected within, a sight just like the canals.

Sasha walks past disinterested vagrants and an Argonian on skooma. The door of Weylin’s cell is locked but the shoddy construction makes it easy to break in. Sasha finds a note on Weylin’s sleeping roll.

Sasha: This note, what does it say? Who is this N that I find as its signee? It says, Weylin, You've been chosen to strike fear into the hearts of the Nords. Your target is Margret. You will find her at the marketplace. We know you will bring glory to the Forsworn. Now it becomes a plot? Yet no facts become clearer, still the visage remains a mirror. Perhaps this N is my next end? Yet how should I find him? A letter is all I have in a city of a thousand souls. Not much to go on. No, I am losing myself. Look at this orphaned vellum, not creased nor stained, I look all around me and find not an item that looks this way. Who could this N be to write on a note so fine as this, a noble or a man of some important business? Perhaps I should leave before I am seen by a witness.

The shadows call upon Sasha. Sasha listens to their whispers.

Sasha: Silver-Blood, N, and an investigation. What will I find at this shrouded destination, tell me, O Mother of the Shadows, I call upon you.

Nocturnal, mistress of the shadows comes to her favored hero, appearing as a Raven with the head of a woman and the feet of a goat. Sasha bows low as the shadows voice their audience.

Nocturnal: My child I have waited for you to call upon me, I have watched this entire time. I smell the stinking legs of my spider sister within these shrouded walls, you were right to call upon my name. How shall I bless you, my child?

Sasha: Mother, what is the answer that hides from me in your shadows? Where is the darkest truth I have yet not known? Show it unto me, Mother, so I may put my soul to rest for my inaction in that woman’s death.

Nocturnal: There is a dangerous man kept within a dark pit, and others seek to use him outside of it, so they pass along his messages. The old blood of the town, blued with silver, truly nothing but worried band of vagabonds, seek them out counting their gold like Cyrodiilians count sips of brandy. I speak of the Treasury, O Sasha, now go there quickly. No more help shall I give you, the rest is upon your own truth seeking, now go there is no time to be waiting.

Sasha runs out of The Warrens but stops at their door.

Queen Sasha: Now dear young Sasha had a change of heart.

Sasha: Why must I tarry on like this? I am no native of this land nor one of this city’s people, I have no need to intervene, this plot quickly grows too thick for me, I will call upon the Jarl.

Nocturnal: You dare now to defy me? Have no more help then. We will see how you feel about neglecting my wisdom.

Nocturnal removes her favor from Sasha, Sasha grasping out.

Sasha: No! O Mother, do not make such haste! It was only a fleeting thought I swear it! Do not leave me Goddess I cannot bear it!

Nocturnal makes no utterance. Sasha kneels down forlorn.

Sasha: Woe betide my aching heart, I have no longer the blanket of dark. All of this time I have loved thee, O Nocturnal, oh why have you left me. Now I suppose I must make do in what is left. So what way will I go, which choice has my attention’s respect? I suppose the Jarl is still a handsome option, but perhaps Mother shall return to me if I follow her command? No, she would only see me weak. Yet weak now am I not while I weep? Where has my Goddess gone to? I loved her for her night, now left in this great dark city I wish for the New Moon’s light. I wish to disappear, yet it will not be, such is the tides found about beside me. Treasury then, but only if the Jarl does not listen, I will win back my Mother’s permission.

Queen Sasha: To the court of the Jarl runs Sasha, now unable to be hidden by the shadow’s clutches, little does she know, to quite an evil man she now rushes.

The Court of the Jarl

Queen Sasha: Sasha crept again, mouse as she now was, until she reached the home of the Jarl. Igmund, son of a foster daughter of the Empire’s son, was the ruler of the Reach. Many kings had long passed that had sat on the stone throne he now lorded over, yet Igmund no king. Nay a coward, an ignorant man with the head of a rock. He pomped over all with all of the furious pageantry of a cock.

Sasha enters the chamber of the Jarl, who is still awake at the late hour.

Igmund: Who is this before me? What shall you people have of me now? I thought perhaps I would enjoy some time by myself yet one of you comes to pester me now for help. And by the looks of it a whelp, be you Breton or Nord?

Sasha: Nord, O Jarl, but I admit for a Nord I am quite small. However are you not Jarl, sworn to protect and come to the fellow Nord’s aid?

Igmund: At the very least, she is a Nord. I had feared she were a Breton, and feared seeing her holding weapons.

Sasha: Now this is most ignoble! How do you speak about me in such a way, not even to my face do you address, no better than the Jarls of my own home. I have come to you on the matter of a crime, I would think you should hasten to hear it, regardless of the time. Now will you hear it or continue your pity excuses, I shall not stand to hear a Jarl who cannot be brought to uses!

Igmund: Hold your tongue gyrl! Not another word from you to speak, or I shall have you thrown in the mines. Earlier Thonar asked about any new criminals and I had none in mind, then he shall have you if this way you continue!

Sasha: Who are you to command me? Have you no idea to whom you speak? I am Sasha, of Riften, strongest in all of Skyrim, Dragonborn of the Rift! Sit down in your seat and hear me, before I cut out a wicked bastard’s eye. I still have yet to speak of the crime!

Igmund: ‘Tis all? No worries, I shouldn’t feel hurried. What power shall the Dragonborn have here? So far from her home. We shall not need protection from dragon flame, even the beds here are made of stone. Not in the least when the Reachmen of these hills seek to destroy us!

Queen Sasha: Sasha remembered to a time when others had thought in such a way. She recalled back to before Mirmulnir was slain, when he had devoured poor Rorick, and she shuddered now to think the Jarl of Markarth saw no danger.

Sasha: Fool! You wicked ingrate! Upon the land of the people you feast yet you know not of the dangers come in from the East? Listen to what I say, lest ye be trapped under dragon claws because ye only feared his flame! Today! In the Cheaping! A woman killed and I do not see you weeping? Such uncaring revulsion to a subject I have not seen, I would hate to think of those to whom you are King. In her room a note from Tulius, of a matter most urgent and serious, of corruption and swindling in the court! Though now I see that the two for you are not but sport! Play! You sit and drink wine all day? I even found, a note in the abode of Weylin, you must hear about the wicked text within! A party going by N, telling him to murder the poor woman, I have the documents here and I have seen them for certain!

Igmund: Silence! And out of my house be you went! You ignorant shrieking horrible wench! Just like a thorn in the foot develops into puss and infection, your presence gnaws at me. Why do you jabber on and on about, a single murdered woman, in a town of perhaps one thousand? Saying not much about the type she had been or if she had kept unpleasant company such as yourself, why I would not even have you for the help! Silence and be away with ye!

Sasha leaves the chamber of the Jarl in anger, as she does bumps into her, a stranger.

Sasha: Watch where you go jerk-head! Had I been a chasm you would be at the bottom dead!

Nepos: Meet me in my home for answers, you will know where to go. I have written it on that note.

Sasha looks down into her person, finding a note on the same vellum as the one found prior. She looks up to the man and he is gone.

Nepos the Nose

Queen Sasha: Sasha found herself to the area the directions led to, unsure of what she should find there. She heard strange sounds coming from a house but decided not to go in it, she had a task she could not stray from for even a minute of time. So Sasha ran upon the rock cobbled streets, as the lateness of the night grew dim. Now the night would only shorten, and Sasha wanted to see her dark Mother again.

Sasha: Now I follow this note! What a thrilling sensation, I should have known I would complete the investigation all on my lonesome. I doubted my own strength but now uplifted by the words I had spake to the Jarl. Now where do I go? Yes, this way. Further out upon these rows of cobble, up these chiseled stairs, now upon this bronzed door I knock.

Sasha knocks, the sounds ring out, a woman answers the door. A frail Breton wearing a silver ring, who beckons Sasha in. Now Sasha is in the home of Nepos the Nose.

Sasha: Now you have me, what is the answer to what I enquire? You seem warm and comfortable by the fire? Now answers, first your name and the answers you keep.

Nepos: I am the mysterious N which you seek, I go by Nepos the Nose. I am the king of the city’s information, and I am a follower of Madanach, leader of the Forsworn. I had Margret killed on the behalf of Thonar, and the Silver-Bloods, they feared they would discover their crimes and have them tied to Imperial arrow posts. They make the request through me and Madanach makes it so. We remove all trace of the instruction in the killer’s final thoughts. I heard your exclamation to the Jarl and decided to involve myself. Now do you understand?

Sasha: Not at all! Why confess if you are the guilty man? What reason urges this?

Nepos: Now my dear, why do you think I am letting you leave this place now that I’ve told you?

The Breton woman transforms into a werewolf, ripping apart her dress. Nepo stands and begins to cast magic spells. Sasha shouts flames at the werewolf so hot it would turn rocks to salt, killing her. Sasha strikes Nepo with her outstretched sword and smites off his hand, Nepos falls and the darkness clouds his eyes.

Sasha: Now what is this madness, a secret player revealed, this Madanach? Who should he be but another would-be tyrant? I shall go to Thonar at once and end this matter!

Queen Sasha: So Sasha raneth up out of Nepo’s house now quite like a rat again, sleek in form but wicked in bite, she had slain two mighty foes in the darkened house, now she no longer questioned her might. Except that she now worried others did not see with the clearness that she did, and was prepared for another confrontation.

Sasha: I am going on, I am going back, to the Treasury, like Mother asked. Now I am happily, without her company, my strength I have found back. Though this town I have quickly grown tired of, all my life I wished to see this place and now a sad sight I find it. Forward then, onward unto the forest of intrigue ahead!

The Treasury

Queen Sasha: So to the treasury was Sasha’s journey kept, now the early hours when the streets are swept. Towards the great Treasury. Some thought on her mind to how she will justify her arrival.

Sasha enters the treasury, where Rhiada sits having just begun her papers. Rhiada looks upon Sasha in some annoyance.

Rhiada: The Treasury is by appointment only, and to only those known to the Jarl. I am afraid if you are seeking ale, you have taken the wrong room as your end. Now please go, to the poor Thonar is not a patient friend.

Sasha: Gafaw, shut thy trap and hearken to what I speak. I am the Dragonborn, the Dovahkiin, you should watch your tongue to me. I am no petty little desk clerk. Fetch thy master, and bring him before me.

Rhiada: Now? So early in the morning? My master only arose from bed an hour prior, now he breakfasts with his wife, I cannot interrupt him.

Queen Sasha: To this Sasha calls upon the Thu’um to make a mighty shout of not force nor flames but a name.

Sasha (Loud as a Dragon): Thonar! Come out and face me at once!

The shockwaves of her voice reverb along the walls, Rhiada falls over in fear and books fall out of the shelf behind her. Thonar comes running out sick as a dog, to see what is wrong.

Thonar: What is this? What is this horrible loud noise? Who calls for me?

Sasha: I call for thee! Thonar, you have been up to wicked crimes, but you shall not escape justice this time! I have come for thee! Will you come quietly? I know of the killings, I know of Madanach as well. You shall not escape from me, just as surely as I brought Riften freedom on the top of the town well!

Thonar: Freedom? Freedom for whom? Surely not idealists like you? Leave my house, I have no time for this.

Thonar’s wife Betrid comes running down the stairs to see what the commotion is about. Now a gash appears on her neck and she falls over dead as Thonar screams. Sasha acts quickly and smites the shrouded assassin with her sword, he dies.

Thonar: What is this? My wife now before me dies? How is this? That she should lose her life? This should have been me, for my misjudgement, in trusting that foul Madanach to keep up his end of the bargain. To him I sent recruits to his Forsworn cause, to me he was supposed to send aid. Now before me my dead wife lay.

Queen Sasha: Sasha felt empty upon the sight. She sorrowed for the man that had just lost his wife, yet was no less intent on taking him to justice.

Sasha: I shall go, to find a friend. When I return, to your crimes we shall put an end. Now grieve, do as you need, make your arrangements, for the rest of your day set no engagements. I am no monster nor beast, and though not as much as thee, I feel burdened by the death of she.

Sasha leaves the treasury to find Eltrys at the Shrine of Talos.

The Framing

Sasha arrives at the Shrine to find Eltrys dead. Thonar was able to have him killed before Sasha arrived. Sasha becomes frantic.

Sasha: Oh dreadful tidings! Ach! Why would I be such a fool as to leave Thonar alone? Surely he knows the directions better than I, this being his home. Now what shall I do?

Now guards flood into the chamber.

Guard: You have trespassed against this land and her people, and killed Betrid Silver-Blood. We now by the order of the Jarl, take you to justice. Should you resist we shall put an end to you.

Sasha: No this is a mistake! The woman’s life I did not take! I had even killed the assassin for her husband’s sake! Do not do this now! Justice may be had! I have discovered a plot to harm this land and her people, do not make waste of time!

Guard: Now you attempt to make denial of the crime? What shall it be, death or will you come quietly?

Queen Sasha: Now Sasha made use of a strong power within herself, and on her person she carried a sword, though she had packed her armor away for easy walking she was not one to be slashed at. However, not wanting to take the lives of innocent men on a farce, nor wanting to obtain the ire of the people of Markarth, she relented. She thought perhaps greater heads would prevail, and of this thought her mind would soon be repented.

Guards bring Sasha to the Jarl, who is eager to see her put away.

Igmund: Yes, now we see your true self in the light of day, a killer. You killed Thonar’s poor wife in his own home, now you shall spend the rest of your days breaking apart dirt and stone for silver.

Sasha: Nay! ‘Tis not as you say or make play! Won’t someone listen to reason? I fear my mind is on the verge of collapse. For since I arrived, not one soul has seen nor listened, the only man who did is now a victim!

Igmund: By your hand! You sought to be rid of a loose end, so you killed that man, brought steel to friend. Rejoice that your life I do not put to end! Take her away!

The guards drag Sasha away in chains as she kick and scream, pleading with the men who now take her into the pit. Now Sasha becomes a slave in the mine.

The Cidhna Mine

Queen Sasha: Down into the depths they carried Sasha, who sat too petrified to fight back. Her faith in her people lost and her courage falling slack to her feet. All young Sasha can do is weep. Now they take her into the caged mine.

The guards bring Sasha before the Warden, stripping off her clothes and throwing a bundle of rags at her. Sasha falls crying on her knees.

Warden: Stand up prisoner! There is no allowance of lollygagging, to work now is your life, and no joy will you be having. At night, once the day’s take is made you may sleep, and on Sundas you shall be given meat. Else you shall make do on gruel instead. Now dress your naked body and get to mining, I use a whip and by your back I see you need no reminding of its bite. So unless you should like new scars among the old ones, work until the night.

Queen Sasha: What hurt Sasha most was that she could escape if she wanted to. She knew how to pick a lock or bash in a guard or two.

Queen Sasha to Rabia: You might now find it strange, seeing me at this age, and knowing I was once an assassin, however, once I allowed myself to be much kinder to vermin. Ever since the Imperials tried to kill me at Helgen I have held onto the hate and let it refine me, still at that time, I had pity left inside me. I saw the guards, I saw their parents and children, I saw the whole of my prison as lives worth saving. I should not have been so naive. Should you ever be locked away by others, spare not any effort till you are free.

Queen Sasha: Sasha stayed and put on the rags, no longer care towards whether justice was called on Thonar. She sunk down into a greater pit, pit of despair, and could not be called. All day she mined and broke apart the rock. Surely as the rocks the mines broke Sasha too. She would crawl and sleep at night barely stifling her cries. Each night, no thought towards the thoughts of the other slaves Sasha called out to Nocturnal to save her. Yet each night Nocturnal rebuked her. Sasha no longer had the attention of her savior, Nocturnal much offended by her. Sasha quickly learned how Madanach was kept comfortable in a separate cage, too dangerous to trust even with a pick, so allowed to sit and do no work, an orc taking up the door to guard him. Madanach had friends all over the mine, so Sasha could do not much but sit and hide from them. Many times the Forsworn attempted to speak to Sasha, to draw her into their cause, they spoke words of pity and grief in her defence. Yet Sasha stayed away, knowing that their concern was in pretend. Sasha had heard through the lies of the Liar himself, and could not be fooled by the lies of lesser men. Still, Sasha lay weeping nightly, far from acting rightly. So it passed in such a way. Then one day the books arrived. The books, for Markarth was a literate city, where all of the books of Skyrim were pressed and trimmed. Long before Sasha had arrived, some of the city dwellers had been afraid for the miners’ souls, without much to do but eat and mine until they grew old, and convinced Thonar to allow them to be given books. Out of date editions and moth bitten covers, but books nonetheless. Afterall, what should a prisoner expect? Gilded tomes? Pages white like bone? Deep rich leather on the cover? Nay, these blocks of parchment were all they were given. To Sasha it was a kind of deliverance. Sasha stay reading, in between weeping. Always in her hands either a pick or a book. Soon she was reading two or three or more.

Queen Sasha: Now in the mines, not a man was allowed a visitor, not a man, except that is, one prisoner. One man, name unknown to all, was never called to mine, just like Madanach he did nothing but sit in a cage all the time. Though the prisoner had no friends as Madanach did, only one girl, who came near daily, to read to him quietly from a journal. He would hardly say anything except for a gruff retort or a rare praise. Then the girl would rise and walk away. Never a man harassed her, never in their mouths a joke or assault, even the guards smiled at the woman when she rose up out of the fort. The prisoner in the cage, neither tall nor short. To all the others never a word he spoke.

Sasha and another prisoner, a Khajiit, are mining. She whispers to the Khajiit.

Sasha: What is the meaning behind that? Why should we be forced to work while he slacks?

Khajiit: They say that man is mad. Look not his way, time will come and it will go, no matter what you say. Focus on the work and it will eventually be over. I find joy in this, others seek escape in wishful thinking, I accept the truth. One day I may be free or perhaps not, still I keep a merry face.

Sasha: Shut up before I punch you in your face instead.

Queen Sasha: So Sasha passed her days, each day the same, mining silver, coughing from the dust. Sometimes Sasha’s nose bled, still she did not stop her work. Sasha had learned that diligent work allowed the attention of the clerk, who obtained the books. Sasha had become enamoured with the classics of Tamrielic Literature, she even sat through the Lusty Argonian Maid, though in her taste the prose was a tad overplayed. At night Sasha sometimes sat near the cage, so that she may hear the girl’s recitation in the morning. Often the girl read beautiful poems Sasha wished to listen to. As Sasha heard the girl’s poems her calm grew, so it became her retreat. Then one night Sasha began to weep again.

Sasha weeps, arms around her face. The prisoner slowly reaches out between the bars and shakes her. Sasha looks up in shock. The prisoner speaks with a strong accent native to the region, in a dialect Sasha can understand but hardly speaks. Igmund had spoken this way prior.

The Prisoner: Gyrl, you do not want to read that book, if the cover I clearly see. It is a tired story, for I have seen that you love the dramas. If you can wait, ask the clerk to find you a play by Okromma the Argonian. His dramas are much more your taste.

Sasha (In Shock): How could you know such about me, when never have you spoke and I myself hardly speak?

The Prisoner: I have not else to do but observe, and I have seen you read. Did you think I did not notice you grow close by the day? I saw which poems that girl read which inspired you, it takes little extra thought to know that book would tire you.

Sasha: So you are mad indeed, listen to you plead, claiming such psychic powers. No way could you know such things about me.

The prisoner shrugs, and goes back to saying nothing. Sasha feels the air grow thick.

Queen Sasha: Sasha continued to sit by the cage-side at night, to hear the girl’s recited poetry in the morning, each day feeling so moved by them. Sasha feeling peace while she listened. Then one day after a long day of work Sasha began to read the book the prisoner had disparaged. After only about a chapter or two she found it quite dreadful. Then Sasha felt regret about how she had treated the prisoner. Sasha returned to his side.

Sasha reaches through and touches the prisoner’s chest, the prisoner rises up and looks at her. Sasha sees the scabies marks on his hands and face, introduced by the physicians to cure his insanity. Sasha fights back the urge to recoil, and the prisoner speaks.

The Prisoner: Yes? What is it?

Sasha: The book was dreadful, you were right.

Queen Sasha: The prisoner only rolled over back into the night and began to sleep. Sasha became bitter, angry at his aloofness.

Sasha: Fine then! Be a fool with none to talk to, I shall not offer my time again to you!

The prisoner does nothing.

Queen Sasha: Soon Sasha began to despair further. She wanted a way out, and heard Forsworn plotting. She beat down the Orc with her fists to obtain Madanach’s audience. Madanach embraced her presence.

Sasha is led into the row where Madanach’s cell sits.

Madanach: Who do I see before me now? The hero of the Nords? You should be wary approaching me, many of my countrymen have died from Nord swords.

Sasha: I am no friend of Nords, nor am I a Stormcloak, I only seek to join your attempts to escape.

Madanach: Is that quite right? Yet there is doubt I cannot shake, you must prove your worth to us. Two men I need put down, one a clown traitor named Grisvar you can find drunk on smuggled in skooma down in the depths, and the other must be a friend, so I know your commitment is true. Kill that Khajiit you are always talking to.

Sasha: Grisvar is dead now that you have asked, but why the Khajiit? I swear to you he is not my friend.

Madanach: Then what’s the objection to killing him? Are you attached to that cat? Anyways he is a degenerate, he likes to lay with other men, there can be no such filth in the land of my forefathers. So now, you woman quite demure, will you follow the words of your noble fürhrer? Or lay down in the dust with beasts and madmen?

Queen Sasha: Sasha had very little she could say, and in the way of her escape stood the Khajiit. She made up her unsure mind to do the thing. She hardly knew this Khajiit, though she felt no avarice regarding his choice of company.

Sasha kills Grisvar, returning unseen and finding the Khajiit. Sasha’s heart grows heavy.

Sasha: Friend, come listen to me for a spell.

Khajiit: Certainly friend, you have made this place quite less of a hell.

Sasha plunges the shiv deep into the Khajiit’s side a number of times, she feels hot tears stream down her cheeks as she finishes the crime. The body she drags down to where she had left Grisvar. Sasha returns to Madanach.

Sasha: As you have bade, it has been done. Now do you desire me to kill anyone else? I do not desire to but I will do it.

Madanach: Not at all, I believe your commitment now. It takes a strong soldier to kill a brother, will you join the cause when we are through?

Sasha: Have I a choice?

Madanach: Weep not daughter, rejoice, and knono, know that I will not coerce you into any service. In two day’s time we set out on our escape, now go and ready yourself. It will not be a peaceful affair.

Sasha goes forlorn back to where she is used to sleeping. Now she begins the most bitter weeping, weeping more than she has wept since arriving. Calling upon Nocturnal to save her. The prisoner responds with irritation from his cage.

The Prisoner: Stop that! I cannot stand those words you say, you sound no different than those Forsworn and their prayers to Hircine. What kind of pitiful child degrades themself in such a way to a God that refuses to hear? It dishonors a Reachman to act in such a way, now dry your tears!

Sasha: You stupid old man, now I am confused as well as sad. I cry for I have killed the innocent, to join an escape I could manage alone. This because I feel unable to stand up unless joined by others, now having killed the only brother found here. Now you call me something I am not and hold me to standards I have not been reared to care for. I admit I am quite frail, but I am a Nord! As for your theology, I suppose you find a love for Talos then?

The Prisoner: Yes a Nord indeed, just like all the other Nords of this city you are truly Reachman. Not a Nord in Markarth except the Reach’s blood flows in his veins, you are no exception. The fool Madanach has taught young men to believe a lie about where Markarth’s people truly come from, do not be stupid enough to believe it. And do not speak to me of Talos, that false god of the Nords.

Sasha: And be stupid as yourself? I did not ask for your help in my grief, plus you make a grave error in your judgement. You say Nords from the Reach are truly Reachmen, yet I am from the Rift.

The Prisoner: No you are Reachman, as sure as I have seen these metal bars I have seen those eyes of yours before. I have also overheard you are Dragonborn, Draakkundd in our people’s language. For I knew your father and his father, I know a face when it calls to me. Sky eyed blue such as yours I have only seen once before.

Sasha: You fool, great noble idiot, my eyes are quite common. Among Bretons I have seen blue eyes, even among certain Nords. No other blood runs through my veins. Anyways what of you, what is your race? Breton? Like Madanach and his men?

The Prisoner: Do not dare to call me Breton you stupid girl, nor Madanach nor his men nor thyself. Know you not the wickedness of the Bretons towards your own people? I shall not be called the same as those sanctimonious people from High Rock!

Sasha (Speculating): Oh then, a Nede perhaps? I know there are many of those people living in obscurity here, at least that’s what a dear friend once taught me.

The Prisoner: It is worse that you call me a Nede. Have you no knowledge at all of your people? No, for you have heard the poems the girl reads, the ones she has written. Always her poems are written in the cadence of old, the meter which is like gold.

Sasha: The girl wrote those poems? They are beautiful, why does she not publish them? She instead comes here to entertain you with them? What a foolish girl.

The Prisoner: You are the foolish girl! You ignorant of your people’s times and lives.

Sasha: Stop this! I am no Reachman I swear it, I am Sasha of Riften, born to Nords.

The Prisoner: Nords of what background?

Sasha (Flustered): Farmers, fishermen, I do not remember, why do you interrogate me.

The Prisoner: You have not her eyes, nor her hair, but you have her face when you stand at that angle there. The two I knew before I was put here.

Sasha: Put here for insanity, certainly, and whose face? Do not compare me to some long gone ghosts of your past, I swear to you I have not been in this city before now.

The Prisoner: You were in this city once, inside your mother’s womb. Though you will not believe me. Now why do you cry out in such a pitiable display?

Sasha: The Khajiit I have killed, his death weighs on my mind. More than that I am in despair. I trust no longer in my strength or in my cunning. Even before I had strength I had cunning. Now, to escape a mere mine, with this band of killers I am running.

The Prisoner: Too bad you haven’t heard the stories of your people, we have a story just for this time. What is more fortunate is that the story is about you, Draakkundd.

Sasha: Draakkundd, why do you call me that?

The Prisoner: What else shall I call the hero of our people? Except her foretold name? You are not unknown to me, your birth foretold with fame.

Sasha: Oh please spare me, do you perhaps mean Dovahkiin? That is a Nord legend, you Reachmen merely steal our songs. I have been shown a temple established by Nords upon which the prophecy is depicted. Prophecy, much like this prison it is.

The Prisoner: Ignorant girl, know you not the tale? The tale of your ancestor, the brehter of Solomindvor? Surely you cannot think the prophecy is of the Nords?

Sasha: I have never heard this tale, it sounds made up to be certain. Perhaps a derivative, or local version? If there were such a tale written I would have known of it, I am not unfamiliar with stories from Tamriel’s lore.

The Prisoner: You would not find it in any Imperial sources, nor in the songs of the Nords. It is the tale of the disappearance of Red Eagle’s sword.

Sasha begins to laugh.

Sasha: You speak of Faolan the Reachman chief? I know this tale, this is a tale told to all of the children of Skyrim. You think I was born under a rock and dwelled there all this time?

The Prisoner: Silence foolish girl! I mean not the story of the Chief. I refer to the story given to Son of Caddach Axerxis by the sage Emeritus Trinitas, in the Second Era, when the Reachmen ruled this land. Before they became the Middle Bretons and now this bastard people who cower in these stone walls.

Sasha: You don’t cease to make play old man, that name? Emeritus Trinitas? No more clearly Cyrodiilian of a name have I ever heard, an Imperial is the origin of your sacred story?

The Prisoner: Hold your tongue girl! And do not say such thoughts produced by a retarded stream of reasoning, that clogs and builds up until it sprays out as your words just have. Trinitas was among the most learned of all Reachmen, the Reachmen who formed the royalty of the Empire itself! I shall not speak another word to one who so rudely denies her people.

The prisoner rolls over and stops talking. Sasha tries to sleep. Unable to sleep throughout the night, she pretends to be sick to avoid the wrath of the warden come morning. Sasha sits in her bedroll, knowing that in a day’s time she will be pushing out to freedom. Sasha looks at the prisoner.

Sasha: Grandfather, please forgive me. I’d like to hear that story. It has great importance to me. Won’t you tell it?

The prisoner turns and acknowledges Sasha.

The Prisoner: Very well, you shall hear the story. Now sit quietly and listen. There are many parts to it and I will not repeat myself.

Queen Sasha: So the prisoner began to tell Brehter Solomindvors to Sasha of Riften.

Brehter Solomindvors

Hear now the great tale of Brehter Solomindvors. This tale which is great and most undying which comes from the sayings of Trinitas who preserved this story from his master who preserved it from his master, who was told the story by another man’s master who had himself learned it from his father. The father who had learned it from his father and his father from his father and so onwards the chain continues back to the sister of Solomindvor himself. Hear now how Trinitas was brought before Fair King Axerxis, son of Caddach, father of Patroclus. So it was and so it will be so, and forget not the name of thy god, lest ye find a fate wretched as the fate of Malmoemnon.

Axerxis son of Caddach, Rex te Reacharus on the throne of city Markarth.

None more loved than he and none more full of woes. Sullen upon the face of the kingdom. Axerxis had not gone on the fox hunt. He had not gone out in the royal dressings. Not reaching for a pot of mead to be quenched, no more to the lake and on his arm nary a wench.

So it passed for such a time as this. Axerxis from joy not even a kiss. Now Axerxis called his poet in. The best in all the land, the only one then.

Prospero, if ever a pauper’s middle finger glowed, it was for his large verses. Prospero now ready to begin breathes. He recites for his king.

Prospero’s Poem

That thing,

Who is that thing?

Why does she stand there so seen?

Is she incensed with having been?

That flower, radiant flower,

Sometimes an awful smell,

Does she notice my glances and return them as well?

Horrible things I feel towards her,

Sure of an affinity I know,

Desperate rings my heart crieth out,

‘Save me, love me, or go!’

Thine affection in my eye?

Only a day of merriment,

Thy intellect and discerning mind?

Cast away my weariment,

Ugly girl, whenst thou pretends,

Thinkest me like other men?

Who has not the brains to be thy friend?

While other men catch thee dead?

I suppose thou findest me nothing but a little rock,

Well then throw me,

Take me up in thine hands and,

Well perhaps that is best left unsaid,

Oh sister where art thou?

Thou surely bring’eth good,

So sure as thou bringst the morning meal,

Thou bringst me,

A gently waking tree,

Built of fine grained wood,

The roastbeef on the hearth,

The endless rows of cakes,

I find thy eyes a pleasant omen,

Thy hand I wish to take,

Thy air I’d wish to float in,

In thy shadow I have wept,

Fair young thing where hast thou been?

My passion before thee kept,

Now awake?

Arrived, so soon?

So in love to see thoust up around at noon.

O Matilda, thou knows I must wait,

But how I wish to hold thy weight instead,

Let me find Beatrice instead,

And Matilda let me in thy room,

So I may rest my heavy head,

I wish to have thy collarbone,

Under my whiskered chin,

I wish to have thy unmasked place shown to me,

Again must I pretend?

This end like again and always?

Two marked blooms,

A love like this to carry all of June?

I want this now but let it tarry,

Like the Hades River ferry,

Thou takest me to doom,

At least doom will be wet,

‘Tis been quite dry before thee.

Still the King was not lifted in spirit. So prospero said:

O great King, you fret your claim morn till noon. See you not how the flowers bow to you?

On this the great King was taken quite aback. Axerxis pleased by the poet’s uttered thought.

Flowers yes, yet I desire men bow too. Though I quite adore your incantation.

Flowers now, then men will follow them! My rhymes, your first praises, then the nation’s!

Very well we shall see about your foresight. Let us now make haste to start the ascent.

Still the King was not lifted in spirit. So Prospero became quite ill.

You, more sullen than Solomindvor, O King.

Who is that name that you speak, Prospero? Solomindvor, who is that, please tell me.

Solomindvor, hero and his Brehter? The tale would surely lift your spirits quick.

Do you know it, can you tell it, to me? I should find myself wanting to hear it.

Not I, O great King, I know it not. Perhaps some far away scholar will know? Perhaps he comes here now from that country? I’ll fetch him, for your sake, I will hurry.

So Prospero went fothe to the great gate, heart loaded with his King’s sorrow as weight. Upon his exit the King spake not a word. Too beside his heart with great grief instead.

To the poet appeared the teacher’s face. He had tarried long until he got there. From a far off place came this Trinitas. Teacher of Men and Mer, stave in his hand.

Oh, what do I now see before me here? A court fool, a squier, or some other? Tell me now lest I see brother as strange?

No I am no fool, no squire, brother. I am the King’s own poet Prospero. I seek a wise man to cure my King’s woes.

So Trinitas came before Axerxis. The King rising to his feet in respect. Trinitas saying, O King, no tears! Knowest thee the tale of Solomindvor, his brother, his people or of his life?

The King said nay, I knowest not the tale.

So Trinitas did respond as follows:

King this tale by which I will cure thee now. It is neither long nor short, nor boring in the least. I will heal thee, tonight thou’ll be snoring. So pleaseth thine ear to hear such things, O King? With weary head and slacked arms I find thee. A mighty man of will I shall find soon. Sit and listen, with thine permission had. I tell of this most excellent brehter. Brehter of strong noble Solomindvor.

Book I

On the first day of the three hundreth year of the first thosandyer of the Camoran dynasty, after the Alessians had brought destruction upon the Reachmen in the name of the Alessian gods, there rose the formation of many kingdoms of the Nedes and the Bretons to the North and to the West.

The Nedes in the North,

The Bretons in the West,

TO the Bretons, all manner of magick and iron forging were known, less so among the Nedes and quite less so among the Reachmen, most of whom were in such a state of barbarism due to the destruction from the Alessians. The larger part of the Reachmen had taken up living in forest dwellings and in the great stone ruins of Markarth which had been built by the Dwemer in time long past.

TO the Reachmen of Markarth saluted Malmoemnon and defended them from his palace in the Middle Reach. Malmoemnon occupied the area of the tribe of Faolan, which had long faded into obscurity.

ON the twentythird day of that year, the Nede king Salmael sent forth his armies to advance to Markarth. Malmoemnon meeting Salmael on the field of battle and calling upon his immortal protector to assure his victory. Alas Salmael gained the upper footing and smote Malmoemnon on the arm by his sword. Malmoemnon felt the darkness take him and was no more. So Salmael, unopposed by another, continued down across the mountains of the Reach to Markarth.

Salmael sought treasure and all other spoils for he had great owings to the nobles of his land, he had gone into debts throwing elaborate feasts and now desired to be rid of them. For the owings threatened to surrender him the crown of his Great Grandfather Roderick. As well Salmael had been told that the Markarth ruins had become peopled with ignorant barbarian Reachmen, and he desired that he should have their children as slaves, the most lovely of the women children as his new Queen, for the Nedes of Salmael’s dominion were in the practice of taking many wives. Salmael desired as well in his wicked heart to make concubines of the women children and advisors of the men children, to cast the mutes and dullards into the fields to work, and to smite the remainder.

Salmael arrived at the great stone city and began to lay down siege upon its walls. The Reachmen of Markarth, not in the least comprehending magick and using arrows of flint and swords of bone, were no great adversaries for the Nedes.

Soon Salmael had broken into the castle and began to slaughter the men and the women, himself leading the front with his awful magick whilst his soldiers put iron to many a belly.

SO it was that Salmael conquered the Reachmen of Markarth and put an end to the reign of Malmoemnon.

The whole of the Reachmen children cried out as into bondage they were put. Spake not a god nor ghost into the defence of the children’s honour, as they were taken out unto the North. Among this nation of children was Solomindvor, his brother Idiot, and his sister Nitashe.

Book II

Taken were the Reachmen children into the Northern land of Salmael, bound in ropes and chains. There in the land of Salmael the children were taken to the estate of the King where his palace was. So Salmael did surrender the children to the master of his men Matlocke, who took charge in determining which of the children were fit for work in the palace, and which would toil in the fields.

SO Matlocke spent many days observing the children, his eye caught by Nitashe. For Nitashe was noble and possessing great beauty, a virgin just shy of maidenhood, Flaxen in hair and fair in face, eyes green as Solomindvor’s eyes. Nitashe spoke with softness of body and sweetness in sound.

SO Matlocke saw the woman child who was most lovely of all and fair in all ways, desired to bring her to Salmael. Protested Nitashe to be taken from her brethren, Solomindvor and Idiot. Still did Nitashe as Solomindvor bade. For said Solomindvor: Sister, You are spared the fate of the others, do not look back fortune in her eyes when now she favors you. As for I, I shall go where Idiot goes.

SO Nitashe honoured the words of her father’s son and went with Matlocke to dwell with Salmael.

SO it came to be that Nitashe was to be made the newest and youngest of Salmael’s queens. The Crowned Queen Emarta cast her scorn upon Nitashe; for Emarta had been told by a seer: that so long as no wife of Salmael was green-eyed she would continue to rule as his favored wife, however should he wed a green-eyed wife, Emarta would surely perish.

Salmael found Nitashe most pleasing, Salmael said to Nitashe: You who are so overflowing with beauty, the gods have truly bestowed their favor upon me, for I know not how else I should be so gifted by such radiant spoils.

SO Salmael ordered Nitashe to be taken back to the other women children, to be instructed in the manner of court femininity and conduct. So Nitashe looked for her brethren, and could not find them and was great in sorrow and forlorn. Yet Matlocke brought Solomindvor out into where the women children were, as to speak with him where none else could listen, although Nitashe did hear them.

Said Matlocke unto Solomindvor: You, child endowed with such knowledge, why do you refuse life in the King’s palace? What good shall it do you to toil with the dullards in the fields? To this Solomindvor said: I shall not dwell in palaces, fed the King’s meat and drinking his wine, learning all manner of things so I might become advisor to the King. I shall not do all of this while my brother toils in the sun. For I have been charged with him by my love for him and I shall never leave him.

TO this again chided Matlocke: Foolish one, you shall see great error in your ways come soon. For thou shall find the sun scorching thee, the whip upon thy back shall break thy spirit. This, all of this torment but for a mere imbecile? So saith Solomindvor: This and what is more shall I bear the weight of so that I am not leaving my brother alone to its devices. This I swear by.

SO wept Nitashe as Solomindvor was taken out into the fields to toil. Then Nitashe being brought unto Salmael again in a few nights time, put into his chamber. Nitashe being quite sullen and not lovely upon entrance of the King, not changing after the King offered her gifts and fine delicacies from far and wide. Until finally Salmael desired she speak as to what troubled her: My fairest Queen, jewel that rests upon my sofa, Treasure of Markarth, why wears you this look upon a face otherwise unspoilt? I feel agony to not make quick dispensation with what troubles you. Speak oh my most precious Queen. So spoke Nitashe: My King, such beauty as is in these robes, such sweetness as is in this wine, yet I cannot savour either: For my brothers toil in the fields, my brother Solomindvor wise enough to be chosen to dwell with you in your home, so I have heard said by Matlocke: For Solomindvor will not leave our brother for our brother is his charge. So Salmael said: Why should a wise brother of yours suffer the indignity of the fields, I Shall have him retrieved my Queen, make no more thy tears and rejoice.

HOWEVER saith Nitashe: O King, my proper husband and ruler of my world, I fear that Solomindvor will not leave our brother even as the whip lashes his back and the dust burns his eyes and cracks his throat: I cannot bear such a thought.

SO Salmael made pause on his enjoyment of his new wife, and made plans to send for Solomindvor to be brought to Nitashe the next night; for Salmael did not believe Solomindvor would stay in the fields to toil. Yet upon the next night Solomindvor did not come up to the palace and stayed in the field. So Salmael once again found lovely Nitashe forlorn upon his sofa.

Salmael said: For what reason doest thy brother make little heed to my call? For what reason is this, my Queen? So saith Nitashe again: Solomindvor will not leave our brother, for our brother is his charge and he is sworn to him.

Salmael said: And this brother, so demandeth Solomindvor’s loyalty so I desire to be told, is this brother also wise as Solomindvor is?

Saith Nitashe: No, O King, for our brother is named Idiot for nothing is said by he except that it confounds and draws ire: for Idiot was named as such by his own people.

SO Salmael became confused, and then said: So why should he be brought anywhere except to toil in the fields like the other dullards? Surely you do not wish that I allow a dullard into my home? So saith Nitashe: O King, love of my heart and light of my soul. I know that if you knew the story of Idiot’s coming to us you would see it as greatly blessed, and you would please me by returning my brothers to me.

Salmael was intrigued and so desired Nitashe tell the tale, and so Nitashe did so:

The Idiot

Once, being sent to fetch wood and water by their parents, Nitashe and Solomindvor came upon a wooded trail where a tribe of Reachmen also gathered. The boys of this tribe were in the act of decrying one of their brothers, who was red in hair and blue in eyes. None among the boys desired their brother to continue dwelling with them and said all manner of cruelty to him, saying: Idiot, you cannot carry wood, you cannot make up tents, you cannot hunt, so what good are you? Your mother is now dead and father has told us to be rid of you, to leave you here.

Idiot, only laughing and smiling, looking around at his brothers.

AND Solomindvor said: They would not speak such a way if true wisdom was held by them: for what better brother is he who cannot be useful in any other way that his love for thee? Sister, let us defend him from this undeserved hatred.

Nitashe saying: Solomindvor you certainly speak true, yet what is the effect? You see now that they do not see him worthy of Respect?

Solomindvor only shouting: Idiot: for I know you by no other name, come and be my brother, leave these brothers in name only and find home with us. What say you?

The brothers laughing all the more, saying to Solomindvor: Foolish one you are, asking Idiot to answer you, for many years we have kept this oaf and never once he did speak.

Solomindvor saying: do not answer for my question was not directed at ye. I desire only Idiot to answer. Answer Idiot to I, Solomindvor. So saith Idiot and drew great surprise from his brethren: Solomindvor, my brother.

SO Solomindvor and Nitashe took Idiot back to their home to be brother and son. Father of the two charging Solomindvor to be Idiot’s protector and companion, as it was right for Solomindvor had been the one to claim Idiot. So Solomindvor taught Idiot to speak and bestowed words to Idiot, who had not been taught such things. So Idiot became able to speak through the will of Solomindvor.

Upon hearing this Salmael was moved with admiration for Solomindvor and desired he and Idiot be brought to his chamber to be with Nitashe. So the next day Salmael called upon Matlocke to bring the brothers to him. Matlocke, angry that a dullard should be honoured in such a way while he had never once been, but still did as Salmael called and procured the brothers, and formed a jealousy in his heart, which was noticed by Emarta. Emarta said: Matlocke, see you not how this new Queen vexes the King with her desires? We should not allow it, Matlocke: fetch the wine, I shall mix jarrin root into one of the cups: give that cup to Nitashe and we may save the kingdom from her obscene desires.

None heard this except Idiot, who had left the chamber to wander, and found by Matlocke, who said: What indecency is this that you should eavesdrop on your Queen and the master of the King’s men?

TO this said Idiot: I was looking for the sun because my eyes were hurting and so the sun must be shining bright and it needs to be covered so I am looking for the sun because my eyes hurt. THEN Idiot laughed a great fool’s laugh and said: The sun is too bright, I am going to find it and cover it because my eyes hurt so it must be that the sun is too bright.

SO Emarta and Matlocke were certain of the Idiot’s oafishness and did not spare him thought though he had heard their plans. So Matlocke brought the wine into the chamber at the request of Salmael, who rejoiced to see the wine be brought. So Matlocke gave out the cups of wine, first to Salmael, then to Solomindvor, then to Idiot, then to Nitashe. However Idiot knocked the cup out of Nitashe’s hand and onto the floor, drawing the wrath of Matlocke who moved to strike Idiot. However Salmael forbade it saying: Matlocke, master of my men, thinkest you my kingdom to be so deprived that you should be moved to anger by a single wasted cup of wine?

TO this Matlocke restrained himself. Yet Idiot began to point to Matlocke so as to accuse him, drawing the concern of Salmael, who said: What provokes this display, brother of my most fair Queen? Surely my most trusted man is not deserving of such, so why do you accuse him? Matlocke felt great outrage and said: How should you spare even a second’s thought to this halfwit: surely you do not see reason in his madness?

Saith Solomindvor: Not once has my brother accused except that the accused was guilty of great and terrible doings.

Saith Salmael: Oh you two, who I let dwell with me in my palace, I shall hear no more of this. Tonight I shall enjoy my new Queen, and ye shall sleep on skins before our bed. Matlocke will fetch the skins as his repentance for whatever act you believe he has done: thus saith I the King.

SO Matlocke was angered but retrieved the skins, laying them out for the brothers. Then after the door was closed and the light extinguished and Salmael enjoyed his wife.

SO it passed that Emarta looking to regain the King’s favor, began to perform lewd acts for his entertainment, finding that though his passions were enflamed by her displays; he also rejected her for now she had lowered herself in his eyes.

SO on the day of a grand feast, Matlocke once again supplied the wine, once again bringing a poisoned cup for Nitashe. So once again Idiot was wise and caught on to the scheme: switching the cups of the King and Queen while none watched: for Idiot knew on this day the King had invited many of the nobles of his kingdom and feared assassination: had elected a servant to taste his food and wine. No sooner did the wine go past his lips did the servant die. To this Salmael was enraged and Idiot once again pointed at Matlocke to accuse; so saith Salmael: What is this, brother of my Queen, do you mean to say that the master of my men, faithful servant of mine for many years has tried to poison me? I cannot believe this except you have now pointed to accuse him now twice: what says Matlocke?

SO Matlocke said: It is not as you say: the oaf has switched your drink with the poisoned cup: you must have him put to death.

Saith Solomindvor: Untruth is all that you speak: for we have all seen you bring the cups and set them down before our places at the table: now you deny?

Salmael said: So is this truth: hast thou deigned to poison me, my old friend?

Said Matlocke: Now I swear it, O King, I admit to serving a cup tainted with jarrin root, and this I swear: that it was only meant for the lips of Queen Nitashe. So angered was Nitashe, who said: And who was it that ordered thee to have me poisoned? Speak so we may know.

SO stirred by the Queen, Matlocke spoke: It was Queen Emarta who is jealous of you, O Queen, she comandeth me to do so and thus I did: I did it out of hatred.

SO Salmael called to have Emarta brought before him: Emarta when called became mistaken that he desired to honor her before the feast as he had done in prior times: so she had her maid servants dress her in all manner of fine dress and decoration; so the Queen came before the King.

Said Salmael: Emarta, my Queen, Queen Nitashe has taken with great illness and died: I have heard this was by your own doing?

Overjoyed hearing Nitashe had died; and haughty in her certainty of the King’s affection: said Emarta: Yes my King, I have done this. For I know how you enjoyed her: yet I knew she would lead you to ruin with her young foolishness: you shall miss her; yet you shall also survive this grief and grow stronger like unto when a bone is broken and then heals.

Spake Salmael: Very well: a toast then oh my Queen. Salmael gave the poisoned cup to Emarta and Emarta raised it to her lips: so Emarta did see Nitashe step out from behind the great royal tapestry as she swallowed: realising in horror then dying. Salmael then ordered Matlocke tied to the stake and shot full of arrows. Then Salmael made Idiot master of his men as show of royal gratitude.

Book III

Many years did pass in the court of Salmael, until the year was the seventh year that the Reachmen Children were dwelling there. Grew Solomindvor into a man strong and radiant for even light could not rival him.

SO Salmael did rule for such a time, Enjoying great prosperity in his kingdom, finding the grain sweet and his cattle fat, Salmael making great sacrifices to the Alessian gods, as show of his bounty. So the Divines brought great favor upon Salmael and Salmael gained fifty new slaves as a ransom from the people of Whiterun, who he did sack for eighty days, in this time killing their chieftain in battle as he had slain Malmoemnon. Salmael had taken as ransom as well, seven fine horses, gold and furs, casks of mead, and three of the most fair women to be his Queen’s servants. Salmael had taken no new wife since Nitashe and she had kept his favor, and bore him a son, whom Salmael named Menitus, and sent by Salmael was Menitus, into the lands of the Camoran after Menitus had been weaned, to learn to speak Aleidoon and Merish, to learn the art of statecraft and to learn to fight in battle, as was the custom of Salmael and his people.

IN this time as well grew Idiot, who had become respected by all of the King’s men for his shrewdness, though he still could not speak plainly. So was the keen sight of Idiot that none escaped his gaze, and put Idiot and end to many plots in the may he had done with Matlocke.

SO well loved by the King were Idiot and Solomindvor that Slamael declared them his sons, and gave unto them great riches. Yet Salmael was a player of wage games, which used dice, knucklebones, pawns, and roulette wheels. So too did Slamael play games with tiles and coins and most dreadfully, cards.

Salmael, King of the Nedes of Haafingar; which at that time was known as Aliun in the south where Salmael reigned: liked to play cards with Flaubert, son of Lyle who was cousin of Roderick father of Salmael, both fathers being grandsons of Cristine, Mother of Malmoemnon, the tyrant who had once been the ally of the Reachmen of Markarth, living there with his tribe until being slain by Salmael, who as well set fire to Malmoemnon’s palace, slew Malmoemnon’s wife and son as well as all of Malmoemnon’s slaves, spared Salmael Malmoemnon’s daughter Yivian who Salmael did give as booty to Ogrik the half-breed, who had by his own hand bested ten of Malmoemnon’s men.

FOR Malmoemnon had lost the respect of Salmael for having wed a commoner and because he chose a leisure life of herding and shepherdry. Harkon, son of Harkon the Undead, had been slain by Malmoemnon. Harkon, great uncle of Cristine, demanded retribution to his house Volkihar, which he had been given to him by Harald Hand-Free, High King of Skyrim, as a dowry upon Harkon’s marriage to Valeriva, who was cousin to the High King by her great grandmother Chelsea.

HOWEVER, Malmoemnon refused to render retribution to Harkon, Lord of Volkihar, for Harkon son of Harkon had been razing the people of Malmoemnon’s claim, committing many acts of unspeakable monstrosity in the name of Molluck; for that was the Nede name for Molag Bal. So Harkon was outraged, yet could not advance on Malmoemnon without passing through the lands of Salmael the Nede. So, Harkon sent a messenger to Salmael, carrying a message which requested the death of Malmoemnon by his hand. So Salmael, who had been racked with debts, desired to slay Malmoemnon because he desired to sack Markarth and cart off her hidden treasures but had been denied by Malmoemnon.

SO Salmael killed Malmoemnon and had his head sent to Harkon as a gift. At the present time Salmael played cards with Flaubert. Flaubert desired to make a fool of Salmael for Flaubert had been made to know that Salmael had known his wife in her nakedness and had embarrassed her, upon which she had cuckholded him.

Flaubert had ordered his wife put to death, and had sent their son of ten years to be kept by a farmer who dwelled in his kingdom. Then Flaubert had wed the Noble Daughter of Yokuda’s people who was Tuya. Tuya daughter of a wealthy merchant and like a princess unto her tribe. Tuya had come to live in the home of Flaubert, bringing with her all of her women slaves and eunuchs; for Tuya’s tribe did not allow the touch of men upon women which were not wedded to them: Tuya’s purity had been decided at ten baskets filled with gold Rheims, which was the name called to moneys by the Bretons.

SO Flaubert had two wives, Tuya of exceeding purity and beauty, and Gretchen the Nord Queen whom Flaubert had absconded with after laying siege to Windhelm for seven days. Though Tuya was pure and devout, Flaubert still angered in his heart, and could not forget what Salmael had done. So Flaubert, heard of the proclamation of Salmael that he had claimed two sons, devised a wicked scheme.

Flaubert bestowed great gifts upon Salmael, grand Elephants and all kinds of garments made of silk. Flaubert gave Salmael two fast horses and five slow ones, a swan stuffed with dates, twenty slaves and two women slaves. Upon being received the King Flaubert bestowed upon his fellow prince, a ring of gold and sapphire, and one of Tuya’s own slaves, whose skin was dark like the skin of the walnut fruit and eyes blue as the sapphire in the ring. Receiving these gifts, Salmael put forward his own gifts, a suit of fine armor, ten Reachmen slaves and one Reachman slave woman. Four fat cows and six slim ones. Bands of fine cotton and Malmoemnon’s sword, which was Faolan’s sword.

SO Flaubert desired to be met by Salmael’s favored Queen and his two new sons, so Solomindvor and Idiot were brought, and then upon her rising, Nitashe. So Salmael bade his sons and wife to entertain his fellow prince, and so they three did converse with him in Bretonic, for they had all learnt it, Idiot nonetheless speaking in his usual falter. So Flaubert was impressed by Nitashe, but yet more was impressed by Solomindvor. So Flaubert asked that Solomindvor be allowed to join the princes in their private games and to watch and be asked questions for fine consideration and to provide stimulation by his answers.

SO Solomindvor watched the princes play cards. So now Salmael desired that Flaubert reveal what had transpired between him and Heather, daughter of Enrod, that he should have had her put to death.

SO Flaubert said: O Salmael, my wife had lain with another and had conceived my son by another man, and when I had been told by a loyal servant, I could not contain my betrayal and so I had her put to death. Though now I know he is a bastard I could not bring myself to kill this boy who was truly my son for I had loved him, but being unable to see him without sorrow, had I him sent, to live with one of my farmers.

Salmael, who did not remember that he had known Heather and embarrassed her, could only share in his fellow prince’s sorrow. Salmael said: This is most embittering news, for I have in past times, as well been schemed upon by my wicked wife Emarta, though I never received a son or daughter by her. You, Flaubert, you must dwell here until you are of better spirits. I insist upon it.

SO Flaubert dwelt with Salmael for many days and nights made merry, and at night played cards, Solomindvor brought to watch and be asked matters by which he would provide answers. So one night Flaubert asked Solomindvor: O Noble Solomindvor, thou art so wise, answer me a wise saying so I may be guided. How may I be made content enough to grow old when there is treasure to be had and virgins to be brided? How may I be swayed from bringing doom upon my people through my adventuring?

Saith Solomindvor: You say, O King, that at this time you have just now as of late wed a new and unknown wife? That your grains are yet sweet?

SO said Flaubert: Yes, and what is thy direction in asking thus?

Saith Solomindvor: Upon first knowing your wife, you will you be done with her? WIll you have known her and been contented to have known her? Will you till up the crops and not plant them annew when the last sweet grains are spented?

Flaubert said: Nay, I shall not till up my crops for good, I see not the good in that. Yet I do not understand thy meaning still. For it is well known that after the flower is had, its smell becomes known, yet flour is never in regret of being had. So I surely would not do one and still desire the other so much I become mad.

Saith Salmael: I believe I understand you, O my son, I see what you mean by this. For if a field is a wife, what good is there to be found if absconded after the first kiss? For just as one does not plant one crop only to go to a new place and start over, why should it be so in nuptials? For what is the wife but the man’s most private garden in which to sew the crop of love?

Saith Solomindvor: Yes father. That is just as I would say.

SO Salmael was pleased but Flaubert was still unsatisfied. So Flaubert said: Yes, O Salmael, you surely sayeth good sayings, yet I fear love cannot banish the conquest. Solomindvor what say thee? Doest thou know of wise words to soothe me?

Saith Solomindvor: O King, I know only one way to settle this, and it is by another question. Who is the more impressive sportsman? The one, who unsatisfied with his bounty finds new grounds to make sport upon, or the one who, ever fond of his grounds, can manage out a catch where others may find none?

SO to this Flaubert and Salmael were greatly astonished. So Salmael said: My son, I am afraid I know not of what you mean by all of this.

SO Flaubert said: O Noble Solomindvor, I believe I understand thee. Just as I seek new flowers, the foolish hunter seeks new fields, just as he finds no catch I find all flowers to smell the same. Yet should I act as the wise hunter, and treasure my one flower, I shall find her smell sweeter by each sniff?

Saith Solomindvor: Yes, O King, that is as I have meant.

SO both princes were delighted by Solomindvor’s wisdom. So Solomindvor stood aside as the princes began to play cards. Flaubert doing his best to have Salmael drink more wine that he, spilling much in mock drunkenness.

NOW Flaubert, who would leave the next morning rather early, decided to hatch his scheme. So he made a great display of showing his hands to Salmael as if by accident, so that Salmael became convinced of his sure wins.

SO Salmael was fooled, and Flaubert made his ploy. Drawed a stronger hand, Flaubert then said: O Salmael, I will beat you. Ask of anything I possess and I shall wager you.

SO Salmael did feel a wicked stirring in his heart when he considered the Queen Tuya who had not been taken to laying and had been lauded by Flaubert as mild and shy, drawn only by her eye to her husband. Forgot Salmael of Nitashe his Queen and his love for her because he desired Tuya.

SO Salmael said: I desire then, if you invite me to desire so, that should I win, you will give Tuya unto me. For the slave woman is beautiful, fecund, and lovely indeed. Yet I desire to be made acquainted with her mistress.

Flaubert expected that Salmael would ask for such, as he had made a great deal about his Tuya’s high qualities and beautiful grace. Still Flaubert made great protest and said: How can you ask that of me? For I should never love again if I should lose my Tuya.

Saith Salmael: You have said it and it is so. Would you now rebuke the gods by falling back on your words, O Flaubert?

FOR Flaubert had known that Salmael would be goaded to such acts of vanity as invoking his gods, for he so desired Tuya. So Flaubert said: Yes very well then, I shall keep my word and wager Tuya. Now you shall offer me a wager surely? I request you wager your son Menitus to me.

Salmael was confused Flaubert should desire Menitus, having spoken little of his son. So Salmael bade answer: O Flaubert, why do you request I wager Menitus? Menitus who now dwells in Valenwood with the Camorans? What good can the boy be at only six years of age now?

Flaubert said: How dare you ask such of me, and so ruin the sanctity of the game? Let us be done and retire then.

SO made once again to forget himself, Salmael contemplated, for he loved Menitus as he loved Nitashe. However Salmael saw that Flaubert had drawn a weak hand and so accepted, blinded by lust for clean Tuya. Yet Flaubert had used magic on Salmael to blind him to the cards he truly held, bestowing on him a false vision. So Solomindvor, who was always aware, knew of this trickery and desired to prevent the tragedy.

Saith Solomindvor: Father, do not do this, for King Flaubert does deceive you and you know not.

Still blinded by lust, Salmael rebuked: Solomindvor, son by my own choosing, speak not this way with such little faith, for it is not I who shall be losing.

SO Solomindvor was not heeded and Salmael showed his hands, Flaubert showed his cards and removed the spell, so now they were revealed much stronger. Now Salmael wept.

Said Salmael: O Son of my father’s cousin, do not do this, for I have acted in haste. Do not take my son away from me.

Said Flaubert: You must grant this to me, or else suffer greatly by the gods. I shall hear no more of your cowardice in the face of defeat.

Said Salmael: Why have you schemed upon me such, O my most beloved Flaubert? What great wrong have I done against you?

THEN Flaubert became greatly animated, and revealed what he had kept hidden. So Flaubert did say: You layed with my Heather, upon which she conceived your bastard I have raised ten long years. You were seen by my servant, who told me, but fearing for the child did wait until he was grown and loved by me. For if I must lose a son, by your tricks, you shall lose a son by mine.

NOW being bade to remember, Salmael recalled what he had done and wept bitterly. Said Salmael: O Flaubert, I swear I meant not to harm you, I made an error in judgment that has left Heather dead and my own son a bastard. I ask you forgive me, or at least spare Menitus your wrath.

NOW Flaubert the plot he had plotted had been revealed, so now Flaubert said: Nay, I shall not forgive until it is made right by me, however I am gracious surely. Menitus you may keep but in his stead I require Solomindvor.

NOW Salmael was made wise to Flaubert’s true intentions and did not truly know which choice to make. For Menitys was the child son of his most beloved wife, yet Solomindvor as beloved of a son to Salmael as if he had been born of Salmael’s own flesh, and Salmael disliked to surrender him. Salmael said: O my son, I beg your forgiveness for not having heeded your wisdom, I cannot face you for I have shamed myself before you, my most beloved son.

Saith Solomindvor: Cry not my father. I shall do it and I shall not despair. For you have loved me and I have grown strong and away from the hard life. I relish this chance to repay your love, so cease your tears, O King. However I would not like to leave until I know Idiot will be kept from suffering.

SO saith Salmael: My son, never shall I breathe than Idiot will be kept in perfect safety and be provided for, this I can say in good truth, for is not Idiot my son as you are, O Solomindvor? I will preserve Idiot, I swear it to you.

SO Solomindvor allowed Flaubert to make him into a servant as he had been after arriving at Salmael’s palace. Salmael, wanting all to be attended to in regards to his son, gave unto Solomindvor the Yokudan slave woman, who was named Rana, to be Solomindvor’s attendant. As well Salmael placed the gold and sapphire ring upon Solomindvor’s finger so that all may know that he was son of a King.

SO Flaubert returned to Jehanna the land of his people with Solomindvor and Rana.

Book IV

The Slave Women

-

Now after the story had been well told, Axexeris ordered the sage given gold.

Trinitas declined so was offered furs.

Still Trinitas declined these treasures too. As well the hand of the King’s fair daughter.

Only a god among men could tell this story. I wish you one day be King and bring glory, to our people and my father’s claimed lands.

Trinitas only waved his hand and left. A man of words for the crown no allure, left he now to some other moor or field. Always in this way, the wise find new days.

The Escape

Queen Sasha: The prisoner finished his story, Sasha left without words. The tale had reached into her heart and pumped new life into her. Now she could do nothing but sit in awe. With no more to do, the prisoner simply rolled back over and fell asleep, the day having gone away into night. Sasha began to consider leaving the Forsworn to escape alone, and to sit in the prison as a way to atone, for the Khajiit, and all the many others. She began to see the prisoner as a kind of brother. Yet on the day, Sasha heard her Mother’s words calling.

Nocturnal: Now my child! They advance now! Escape this mine and return to me, waste no time!

Queen Sasha: Sasha sighed out in desperation, her Mother had heard her lamentations, and had now returned. Did Sasha consider if this loyalty had been earned? No, perhaps she should have, yet she was eager to leave. Only as the Forsworn beckoned her to their secret tunnel did she look back once.

Sasha looks back at the prisoner, turning around again.

The Prisoner: Wait! Sasha!

Sasha: Yes! Do you wish me to free you?

The Prisoner: No, I do not wish that. Take this note from me instead. I have been writing it since we first spoke. Go away from me and do not look back, do not read that note until you are free. Go find Red Eagle’s Fury, then find Red Eagle’s Bane. Then do not rest until you have used it to fulfill your destiny. And then forget me.

Sasha takes the note and runs out with the Forsworn.

-

Queen Sasha looked down at sleeping Rabia, Rabia had fallen asleep shortly after Sasha had been put into the prison. Sasha had finished the tale throughout the night into the early morning. As Rabia lay snoring, and the sunlight flooded the room, Queen Sasha sit in quiet contemplation. She had went and found the sword. She used it to find Red Eagle’s Bane, and after defeating Faolan’s body she took it from him. Afterwards she came across Elynwyn, who had long been tracking her. Elynwyn making a strong case that Ulfric was a fanatic who sought to destroy all of Skyrim for Nord conquest. So Sasha had followed the Imperials into battle against the bear and cut him down with Red Eagle’s Bane. Though none knew, she had done it in Solomindvor’s name. Saw Sasha the green eyes of Ulfric and understood.

Then she had returned the sword, taking Red Eagle’s Fury back and sealing the tomb. Now the Fury was mounted on Rabia’s bedroom wall.

Like a vampire’s thrall Sasha had been led into battle by hands above her, and now she thought little of it. Perhaps that’s why she finished the contract to kill Titus Mede, she had mounted the wrong steed and had regrets. That’s why the Emperor died from a shadowed arrow in the neck.

Sasha stared out into the quickly brightening sky. lShe had read the note of course. Now she thought only of what it had said.

-

The Prisoner’s Poem

Now is a time of cowardly men. No longer looking wisdom in her eyes and making love to her. Rather they spin her around and take her in the manner of the beasts.

Spitting at the ground she has stepped on, to make sport of describing the shape of her feet to fools.

They think me mad. Why, I have voices in my head? That I do nothing but languish in this bed?

They cannot claim to have ever read a book outside of grammar rules.

Cannot say they have truly loved. Cannot say to have seen with eyes from above.

How can I learn to love another as my own self? How be I convinced by another so far out of my own mind except, that a part of them lives inside my heart and soul? The part growing with me becoming old?

The voices of the madman do not guide him, they do not love him, they cannot lead to the heights of all there is to know. Yet these voices that others laugh at are all that continue me. In silence I should find my life growing cold.

I mean a great deal in all that I say.

So I remember all of what you say, and I consider it deeply. I do not surrender a phrase, I do not speak meekly.

It is cowardice in thought which I scorn chiefly.

Perhaps I hate these fair a day book sniffers. The running mouthed kind who spew out half formed thoughts that wither, and are befuddled as to why you now will not forget.

The girlish mind cannot comprehend. Depth? Nay, only beauty in words which she wept.

The passion of the grown male poet? The lady will hardly show it, yet speaks of it all the more.

To the depth of word she is but a whore. She sells that passion she feels elite to see.

The heartbreak and tragedy, well constructed malady? To such a mind it hardly goes, beaten down by desire to flaunt words she hardly knows.

I find those most attached to a unitary truth, often those who self infantilise. Their security rests on self told lies saying they are a child of an eternal parent. Should you forget to agree anger shall be their declarant.

Opposed to any way of thought that calls beauty into reality, they call it imagination. No wonder as to where such fools have led this nation.

Led it to insanity.

They use caged logic of the Imperial, they drink the Emperor’s words as vermouth. One will listen to them and hear ancient lies treated as fresh truth.

They make themselves into children and think their god will respect that? The passion is lying flat. Sacrifices to a god who merely grows more fat.

They pray to a weak and incapable god. He offers no guidance but forgiveness. They cry when others recieve true vision. Vision that does not comfort leaves them stricken.

Towards this weak need for assurance I am sickened.

Why should I see wretched old hags and weak men who school on the nature of truth and reality? The order of things they bleed for like family?

They deny ghosts, they defy the Spirit, they utter harsh words when they are near it.

Impotent rage of a wimp who has been told he is well learned, the thinly veiled fool who yearns for what wiser men would return.

The authority of the elementary pedagogue, idiocy’s watchful demagogue.

I cry that adults should adopt an insulting register. The falsely given thought that beggars treasure.

Arguments of bloat, forced patience, and exaggerated association? These characteristic of infantile thought? These men lack critical capacity.

They think their common sense can surpass an education. Such ill informed audacity.

Gold, as is famously said, finds worth only in labor of men who mined it. All the master does is go out and find it.

Here in this mine of thought all that we harvest is silver, never gold, for gold would be too precious. We see gold now as pretentious.

The master, and all others of his ilk, his bastard brothers? Those that perform the steps of learning to show others. Create they the like of empty thought, Nosferahtus which feed on the words of men who now rot.

This is the lesser tyrant, the tyrant at his least has vigour, these weak boys among men no rigour to understand knowledge they obtained for no fee. No struggle, nor difficulty.

Words of other stronger thinkers become their fragile theories with no sincere commitment or felt effect. This weak kind is not worthy of my respect. That I must repeat myself I do regret.

To say I am being hard on these men is laughable, they are kings among peasants of our time, I am a a lowly crab. I sink in the mud while these men do what is actable.

Their story of suffering not trackable.

A weak race, a pitiful face of our kind. Expect nothing, extend yourself not to remind them, of the wisdom truly held by men who walk willingly into hell.

These vulgar speakers who deal in wine and not thought. They are cold iron to a mind that has become hot.

Think me a snob? Thinkest me an aristocrat? I was born in sod and slept with rats. Words came late to my mouth, I could not afford them.

I survived on common drivel. Fruits gained by those who squeeze, squeeze what juice remains from common lore, reduced now to a dribble. How I mourn for poets and the greater men of yore.

They are loyal as dogs, yet I am no dog lover. I am asking for the origin of the modern man, I ask why men see honour to join battles against their common brother. I ask why they seek cajole the fairer sex for short lived disappointments. I ask why they seek riches as the sick seek healing ointments.

A bastard race of men, from a line of bastard brutes. Bastard thoughts, bastard lives, and bastard looks. Bastards that maraud for nothing but common birth shoots.

Now these fool adopt mentalities of a saw toothed child with vocabulary of a learned man. They make vulgar play at women just for a chance to command. Have I not already discussed the disgrace of this man?

Allow me to repeat, and I shall thank thee for thine ears held to my ever winding speech.

Men who no longer appreciate the beauty of women. Only holes and rounded parts. Bigger and yet more vulgar, each step creates a wave of movement. Man escapes from there at birth and now cannot be without it, they care not to be taken into her heart. They prefer her mouth instead but not for speaking. They look her not in her eyes when she is weeping.

To be a man, and to do nothing with that freedom. To retreat into manure faced smugness, in love with the height of his rapidly watered down machismo. Such a man is not a man I wish to know.

There are men of study, think themselves smart. They scoff at the ancient, the highest of art. Minds so thoroughly developed break upon the slightest prodding. Now the man, not the woman, is sobbing.

Knowledge only a joke now, everything reduced to funnies. No knowledge except knowledge of the genitals. Genital of man on wider whole of animal, so that is all we speak. Knowledge is no good when it does not procure moneys.

As they say, ignorance is sweet.

Which weak men despair over their boredom? Which old hags learn to gather around the weeping men like birds around grain?

Young girls, old hags now just the same, find more love for divisions than the creativity for which they still possess permission?

The poet cannot run, for now he is lame.

Young girls coax other young girls in this way. They cling to wine stained abortions of thought that old hags whisper into their rooms at night and the men feast on it just the same.

To be a man who corrupts young girls is now the highest of fame.

Do not soften my words. Do not dance past it, look me in my eyes and away from the herd.

The work of the true artist is to stop one’s hand from creating until the true art has been seen. The so called artists cannot help but to share, though their art is green.

The artist must forfeit respect, the king his life upon bad times, and the holy man the touch of a woman. Now men desire all and cause nothing. To an idea of restraint there is much huffing.

The fruits of childish men I have mentioned at length. Chained by ideas of what constitutes strength, terrified of weakness. Never by this mind will the soul find achievement.

In my youth I wished to write. I wished to be a poet of great might. Yet fearful to closed ears I cannot even recite.

Now I am the patron of soft voiced girls, who despite their fear become crafters of excellent words.

You misunderstood, I’m capable of recitation even excellent at it as well. That is not to cause of my unending hell.

I am excellent in matters of verse. To others I shall never summon nerve to perform. Viewed by myself my art alone.

‘Tis better than to waste in on these heads filled by nothing but bone.

Even this thought, while cogent and literate, is seen by others as winding and itinerate.

In such times as this I should find my soul incinerate.

One could only dream.

And I? What shall I dream?

Why should I find myself better? It is far more easy to explain that letter. The letter is the demon that has haunted me.

Some men are weakminded, they cannot see outside of their own cages. Some men escape their cage and belittle the men who cannot. Some like me, would rather stay in the cage and rot, thinking of a better world outside of the bars that will never be.

Confinement, now freedom of the ages.

Why escape the cage? The world outside is no less a prison, no love is lost nor care is hidden. Outside I starve, inside I am starved also but may imagine how I would like to be fed.

Cast aside that forlorn stare, and do not even cry. When others ask “What’s wrong” you must answer with eyes dry. You must act a role so well, that they believe you, and when you slip they will not understand. What happened to the still and self aware man? He was always here, just a face for a name, the truth just became too heavy to hold and he dropped it.

He weeps for he knows now he has lost it.

He did this to himself, drunk the bitter poison neat. The country falls deaf to the voice of the meek, you didn’t have enough desire, now sleep. Sink into mediocrity of self loved dreams, utter words but never speak.

He becomes too sharp, now leave the room. Developed minds cannot run slow, he overbuilt the stage. He must do as he is told. Stands where he is directed, does not have a soul except to entertain the audience. Eat the drippings of our stolen fat with haste. Do not want for more, now take our gifts with outstretched hands. So shall you be a mastered man.

So that is why I sleep.

Life has become a dispensation I now wish to cheat.

So please, let it not be that you weep and miss me.

What video game world would be your #1 travel destination?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Tamriel 100% specifically Grahtwood, West Weald, Auridon and High Isle. i loooove Skyrim but its just too cold for me there long term haha

That baby vomit colored Tamriel doodle I gave up on. This was gonna be fanart of queercontrarian’s fic Of Gods And Men bc I thought Tam calling Az pretty was v fun. Anyway. Eh.