X - Riften

Merill and Nalimir traveled to Riften on foot, enjoying the rare sun that heralded them the whole way down. They met with little trouble during the walk to Skyrim’s southernmost city, though Merill was tempted by the plentiful game that moved silently through the shadows of the birch trees, their coppery leaves coating the cobbled road. Whatever silence had possessed them on the way to Whiterun was gone now, and the two spoke with ease as they went southward, remarking on nearly everything they saw and daring one another to shoot a distant bird or take out an approaching bandit from behind. It felt almost easy, almost the way things used to be. Almost.

They reached Riften under a clear night sky, the constellations looking down on them as they passed beneath wooden watchtowers and up a small hill to where the squat stone walls of Riften looked out over Lake Honrich. The gate was flanked by two helmeted guards, their arms crossed as Merill and Nalimir approached.

“Halt,” one of them commanded, stepping forward to block their way. “You have to pay the visitor’s tax.” Merill raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the tax for?” she asked sharply. She was used to dealing with the thick-headed guards in Markarth, and gathered that Riften would be no different.

“For…well, for the privilege of entering the city, of course!” he replied hastily. “What does it matter?”

“Harald, is that you?” Nalimir said suddenly, hastily stepping forward. “What, they’ve got you stuck on gate duty after we pulled the rug out from under you?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Harald asked coldly, his voice suddenly gone sour. “They said you’d died up north.”

“Sorry, mate, looks like they were wrong,” Nalimir said lightly. “Go on, open up the gate or I’ll have to let my friend here bash your ugly head in.”

“Ah, fuck you,” the guard spat, and Merill offered him her middle finger as they passed through into the city.

Riften was quiet, surely due to the lateness of the hour, but Merill couldn’t help enjoying the lights flickering from hazy windows in the log-built houses as she moved through the cobbled streets, past a smithy and an empty market in the city’s centre. It was grungy and dirty and the air stank of wood smoke, but she found that she liked it rather well. Where Markarth had been all white stone and a cold sort of detachment, Riften was black and rambling, cheekily cheerful in its seediness.

“Esbern can wait until we’ve had a drink,” Merill decided, and Nalimir directed them to The Bee and Barb, a lively inn just off the marketplace filled to bursting with rough-edged people enjoying a late-night drink and ignoring the protests of a priest in the corner. A great fire burned in the hearth, shaking off the chill of the air outside, and the inn-goers paid Merill little mind as she squeezed through the crowded tables to the only free place she saw at the back of the bar while Nalimir went to buy them dinner. She was secretly grateful for the isolated spot, pleased to be cloistered out of the way of the revelry of the bar. She busied herself with scratching into the oak table with her whittling knife, idly marking in time with the tweaking of the lute-player’s tune.

“Been around the yard a time or two, eh lass?” Merill looked up to see a strong-jawed bearded Nord at her table, leaning over the empty chair across from her with his callused hands planted in front of her.

“Fuck off,” Merill scowled, going back to her whittling.

“You’re new in town, eh? I can tell. And I’ve a sneaking suspicion you don’t come by much of your wealth honestly.”

“That’s none of your business,” Merill snapped.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, lass,” he replied nonchalantly, drawing back the chair across from her and sitting, leaning back in the chair with an easy air. “Wealth is my business.”

“That seat’s taken,” Merill told him pointedly, and just as she did Nalimir appeared at the man’s shoulder, his hands full of two plates of mutton with tankards of mead balanced on top. The man looked up, and familiarity flickered across his face.

“Nalimir, lad, good to see you!” he exclaimed, clapping Nalimir on the shoulder and sloshing mead onto the floor. “We all thought you’d kicked it up in Solitude!”

“Etienne made it back, didn’t he?” Nalimir asked concernedly, and the man chuckled.

“Aye, Etienne could weasel his way out of just about anything. Except getting locked up by Thalmor, it seems!”

“You know him?” Merill asked sharply, and they both turned to look at her.

“Ah, Nalimir, you’ve brought a friend!” the man said brightly, and Nalimir grimaced.

“Bryn, this is Merill. Mer, Brynjolf.” This is Brynjolf? Merill thought sourly. What a twat.

“I need to find an old man hiding in the Ratway,” she told him, and Brynjolf looked impressed.

“Right to the point,” he remarked to Nalimir. “I like this one. Where’d you pick her up?”

“Merill and I –” Nalimir started.

“We’re old friends,” Merill swiftly cut in, and Brynjolf’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She cast a telling glare at Nalimir. Had he planned on sharing their life stories with this man?

“I’d be happy to help you, lass, but in Riften, nobody gets free information.”

“Come on, Bryn,” Nalimir insisted, dropping the plates heavily on the table. “You owe me. Just help us out.”

“No can do, lad,” Brynjolf told him doggedly. “You know well as I that people down in the Warrens are there for a reason. They’re mad or in hiding. That information doesn’t come cheap.”

“We can’t just search them ourselves?” Merill asked Nalimir, and he shook his head, casting a glare at Brynjolf.

“It’s a bloody maze down there. Without knowing where we’re going we could get lost for days.” She looked back at Brynjolf, her expression cold.

“What do you want, then?”

“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform,” he said, resting his elbows on the table. “But I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid.” Merill said nothing, and he continued, “It’s simple. I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.” It sounded simple enough, and certainly easy after all the thievery she’d gotten away with in the streets of Markarth.

“Why plant the ring?”

“There’s someone that wants to see Brand-Shei put out of business permanently. That’s all you need to know. Sound like something you’d be interested in?” Brynjolf’s smirk and easy manner irritated her, but she had a feeling it would be the quickest way to get information about this Esbern.

“Fine.”

“Good. Head to the market tomorrow morning then. When I see you I’ll start the distraction and you can show me what you’re made of. Madesi’s the only Argonian there and Brand-Shei will be the only Dunmer. Should be easy for you.” Brynjolf stood, leaving a fresh tankard of mead on the table. “We’ll see you, then, lass.”

Nalimir watched him go, then sat in the empty seat, his narrow face irritated.

“I can see my Thieves Guild connections have come in handy,” Merill remarked drily.

“Brynjolf’s an ass,” Nalimir told her shortly. “He’s a good thief and he knows it, but he’s an ass.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, tearing into the mutton on her plate. “Should be a quick and easy job. Then we can get Esbern and get him back to Riverwood, no trouble.”

Merill’s hunch was only confirmed when they left the inn the following morning and entered the chaotic fray that was Riften’s market. The round market pavilion was thick with bustle, people shoving to get through to respective stalls and hawkers shouting out their wares over the noise. She liked the crowd, the jumble of people from all over Tamriel, the fresh, wintry smell of wood smoke permeating the air, merchants waving fistfuls of glimmering jewelry and fresh furs, children playing toss-the-nut and making people stumble and trip as they tried to push through, a single bard perched on a low wall playing the lute with a basket for gold at his feet. Nalimir hung back just outside the pavilion, watching warily from the shade under the smithy’s awning as Merill slipped into the crowd.

            Merill bought herself a sweetroll from one of the stalls and circled the well in the center of the market, her eyes scanning for Brynjolf. At one point she felt a familiar tug on her cloak and whirled around, catching the young pickpocket’s wrist.

“Find someone else, boy,” she told him sharply, and he shrunk away, Merill looking fondly after him. Her eyes swept the stalls again and she suddenly saw Brynjolf, standing beneath an awning handing an enormous red glass bottle to someone. Brynjolf looked up, as if sensing someone watching, and met her gaze. She nodded once and he returned the gesture. Merill turned away, finishing her sweetroll as she located the only Argonian merchant, boasting a wide array of jewelry from his stall.

“Everyone, everyone!” she heard Brynjolf call suddenly, his voice booming over the market. “Gather ‘round! I’ve something amazing to show you that demands your attention!” Merill wouldn’t have thought something so normal to a market scene would draw attention, but evidently Brynjolf did not hawk often, for marketgoers and merchants alike abandoned what they were doing to cluster around his stall, shoving for room. Merill slipped quietly away from the crowd and over to Madesi’s stall.

She knew it’d be simple, easy even, to simply clear out the stall, but that would make it obvious that Brand-Shei wasn’t the true ring’s thief. So she ducked behind the counter and drew a lockpick from her cloak, giving the lock on the latticeboard under the counter a few quick nudges before it clicked and slid open. She heard Brynjolf carrying on about some sort of magical elixir as she did another quick job on the lockbox beneath the counter and swiped a small silver ring from inside. Brynjolf continued his charade as Merill stole across the market to a stall whose Dunmer merchant was sitting just outside, listening skeptically to Brynjolf’s speech. She ducked behind a stack of crates, allowing perfect view of Brand-Shei’s back pocket, and pulled it out, lightly as a moth, lowering the ring in and leaving the stall to join the crowd again. She saw Brynjolf glance over and he lowered the bottle, ending his speech.

“That’s all for today, then, friends. Come back tomorrow if you want to buy!” The crowd began to disperse, and Merill meandered her way toward Brynjolf’s stall. “Looks like a chose the right girl for the job,” he said with a satisfied smile, reaching inside the lockbox at his stall and handing Merill two fifty-gold pieces. “The way things’ve been going around here, it’s a relief that our plan went off without a hitch.”

“What’s been going on?” Merill asked curiously, crossing her arms and leaning against the low wall that circled the pavilion.

“Ah, the guild’s been having a bad run of luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did well.” A cunning look crossed his weathered face. “Best of all, lass, there’s more where that came from, if you think you can handle it.” Merill raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Suit yourself,” he told her with a shrug. “But if you change your mind, we’re down in the Ratway. A tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Nalimir here can show you the way,” he added as Nalimir approached them, glancing shiftily around as if worried they were still being watched.

“The way to what?” he asked, but Brynjolf was already going on.

“Don’t know much about Esbern,” he was saying. “No one does. But he’s down in the warrens, easy enough to get to if you can deal with thugs and thieves all the way. Paranoid old man, judging from the few times I’ve chatted with him. Just head down through the Flagon and follow the chalk squares on the walls, should take you right to the plaza where all those mad folk live.” He paused. “That all?”

“That’s all,” Merill told him, turning to leave.

“Remember, lass,” Brynjolf added hastily. “You know where to find us.”

“What was he talking about?” Nalimir muttered to her as they strode out of the crowded plaza, ducking into a deserted, rubbish-strewn alley.

“Practically begged me to join your guild,” Merill told him lightly, pulling what was left of the sweetroll from her pocket and offering him half. Nalimir looked surprised.

“You going to do it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She gave him a half-grin.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she told him playfully, crossing her arms. “Dunno, d’you think you could stand having me around all the time?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Mer, you’d definitely be a breath of fresh air down there. Past few years, there’s been a run of bad luck, we’ve had trouble clearing a house without someone tipping off the guards.”  Merill frowned as Nalimir dropped his joking tone.

“When I heard people talking about it in Markarth they always said you lot ran this city,” she told him, puzzled.

“We’ve got the Black-Briar family on our side, and that helps a bit,” Nalimir told her, leaning back against the alley’s wall. “But it used to be better. Before I joined. There were chapters all over Skyrim, coffers overflowing. The guild’s in a bit of a sorry state nowadays.”

Riften was built over the Treva River and the lake it flowed into – the city itself was two stories, the lower one was down by the river on a canal, a line of lower-grade shops and slums for the poor. The canals smelled strongly of rotting fish and were mostly quiet save for the occasional pickpocket scowling from the walls. Nalimir led her swiftly along the canals and down a narrow alley to a gated door of algae-covered wood, ignoring the sleeping beggar that lay nearby.

“The crown jewel of Riften,” Nalimir said with airy grandeur as they entered. The Ratway was a foul place, its stained stone walls stinking of urine and disease with a splash of raw meat. The floor was coated in grimy bones and bits of rubbish, and there were great ditches in the stones where murky water gathered. Merill instinctively drew her bow, wary of the thugs Brynjolf had warned her of.

“Lots of trouble down here?”

“Ah, don’t bother,” Nalimir told her, sweeping past her down a narrow tunnel. Merill followed him past a ragged-looking drunk that seemed barely conscious, mumbling to himself. “Bryn likes to make this place sound worse than it is. Nobody down here’ll give us much trouble.” They went quietly all the same, Merill’s senses pricking at every unfamiliar sound. Stories of the torture and beatings and innocents worked to death in Cidhna Mine had instilled a deadly wariness in her of the underground – in Markarth, the sky was always visible, and Merill liked it that way. Still, Nalimir was right – there were a few other inhabitants lurking in the Warrens, but most of them scurried out of sight when they saw Merill and Nalimir coming. Those that didn’t barely even moved.

The pair moved quickly, following the grubby white chalk on the walls that would supposedly take them straight to Esbern. It was only when they came out onto a landing above several other walkways at different heights that Merill heard voices – sane, accented, upper-class voices down and to the left. Merill froze, her sharp left ear picking up the sounds before Nalimir, and he instinctively froze with her, recognizing when her ear picked up something her eye could not.

“We’ve been through this area twice now,” someone was saying, in the telltale haughty voice of a young Altmer. “We need to go round the other side.” Merill ducked down, pulling her hood low, and slid an arrow from the quiver at her hip. Nalimir drew his twin blades, quietly as he could. Merill narrowed her gaze, spotting a Thalmor on a walkway across the canal and more on one of the lower paths.

“Circle around,” someone else said. “It must be nearby.” Looks like we got here just in time. Merill drew back, angling the arrow to account for her eyesight, and let it fly. It struck the Thalmor in the back of the head and he soundlessly crumpled off the platform, his body spinning once before hitting the water with a great splash. The other Thalmor turned suddenly as Merill nocked another arrow and stared confusedly around, drawing their weapons. Before they could act, Merill let two more arrows fly, one striking another agent in the face. The second arrow was deflected by the agent’s shield, and as Merill was drawing another from her quiver, Nalimir leapt down from the bridge to meet the remaining agent, his blades flying. Merill nocked the arrow, but found herself lowering it right after, amazed at what she saw.

As children, she’d surpassed Nalimir in most regards – he was smarter and more pleasant, she knew, and a faster runner, but at the age of nine she could wrest a boy twice her size to the ground and break his nose. She was a better archer, there had never been any question, but they’d never really tried at swords. Nalimir was a natural. He moved effortlessly, the blades mere extensions of his arm, flashing in quick succession, almost too fast for the eye to follow. The Thalmor agent raised his shield, but Nalimir was too quick for him – his blade caught the agent on a chink in his armor and the Thalmor’s sword clattered to the ground, leaving Nalimir free to put a blade through his head.

“Damn!” Merill exclaimed, hopping down onto the bridge as Nalimir yanked his blade loose, kicking the Altmer’s body into the water below. “Nali, where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

“Picked up a trick or two, I guess,” he told her, trying to disguise the pride on his face. She had never noticed it when they were young, but she imagined her quick mastery of the bow had to have annoyed him to some degree.

“You’re bloody brilliant with those things, Nali, I mean it,” she told him, pulling her arrow off the bowstring and sliding it back into her quiver. “We see any more of those assholes, I’ll just sit back and let you have at them.”

Despite her nagging desire to see Nalimir in action again, she was grateful that there were no more Thalmor lurking in the tunnels, and they eventually came to what appeared to be a dimly-lit cell block. Barred doors lined the walls, and she could hear people muttering from behind them.

“What do you think?” Nalimir asked quietly, and Merill kept her fingers curled around the nock of an arrow, cautiously moving along the doors and peering inside each one. It seemed like the warrens served as some sort of sanitarium – all its occupants looked half-crazed, some hiding in the shadows blithering incessantly, others slammed up against the bars, screaming. There didn’t seem to be anyone in charge, so Merill continued along the doors, searching for one that might belong to Esbern and praying the Thalmor hadn’t gotten him already.

“You think any of these folks are Esbern?” she asked after a moment. A man with a jaw stained red was staring hungrily at her from behind his barred door. Merill kicked his barred door sharply and the man slunk back into the shadows, snarling.

“In there, maybe?” Nalimir suggested, and Merill saw he gestured to a heavy wooden door banded with iron. She stood beside him at the door, glancing at Nalimir before hammering on the door. A small metal grille in the door jerked open, revealing a withered face dominated by bushy white brows and small, watery eyes.

“Go away!” the eyes’ owner shouted, and the grille slammed shut.

“Esbern?” Merill called, getting closer through the door and trying to keep her voice down. “Open the door. I’m not Thalmor.” The grille slid open again.

“I’m not Esbern. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It started to slide closed, and Merill quickly put up an arrow, forcing it open.

“I told you, I’m not with them. Delphine sent me.” The eyes changed slightly.

“Delphine? How do you…so, you’ve finally found her, and she led you to me. And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap.” He struggled to smash the grille shut against her arrow, and she forced it open again.

“Delphine said to remember the 30^th of Frostfall!” Nalimir shouted, and the grille stopped.

“The 30^th…so you are a friend.”

“Not a friend,” Merill corrected him sharply. “An ally.” The pale eyes studied her for a moment, looking her up and down. “Fine, fine, hang on just a moment.” Merill removed the arrow and the grille slid shut with a clang. She heard Esbern muttering and a number of locks clicking and turning in the door before it swung open. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home,” he muttered, stepping away from the door. Merill and Nalimir ducked inside the low-ceilinged stone room, Merill slinging her bow across her back and staring around. It was spacious despite the low ceiling, boasting a number of tables and shelves and desks all laden with books around a small, grubby bed and a counter of food with salted fish hanging from the ceiling. “Close the door now!” Esbern told her from the other side of the room. “Don’t bother locking it, I won’t be long!”

Esbern was a Nord, clearly, easy to see by his height and the shadow of where muscles used to be, but the man had grown old, and his skin had paled and sagged around his eyes and mouth. A thick white beard covered his chin, though his hair was cropped short, and he wore a dirty white linen shirt with brown leggings and fading, tattered boots. Merill turned and swung the door shut, making a loud rattling noise as it did so from the grand collection of locks on its back, and turned back to Esbern, who was rifling through the books on his desk. Nalimir had drifted over to the shelves along the far wall, studying the titles written in peeling gold script along their spines.

“That’s better,” Esbern murmured, turning to face her. “Now we can talk. Tell me your name, girl.”

“Merill.”

“And him?”

“My friend, Nalimir,” she said, and Nalimir turned, glancing at the old man before them.

“Merill, then. Let me see your face. I’m old, and I like to know who I’m talking to.” Merill lowered her hood and Esbern nodded, a smile on his face. “Ah, good. Good. So, Merill. Delphine still keeps up the fight after all these years. I thought she’d have realized it’s hopeless by now.” He shook his head sadly, his smile fading. “I tried to tell her…” Merill frowned.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s hopeless’?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Esbern said sharply. “What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on?” Merill crossed her arms stubbornly.

“I’m a Dragonborn,” she said curtly, and at once, Esbern’s whole expression changed. A light appeared in his eyes and his whole posture seemed to straighten, like a school-child suddenly becoming alert.

“What? You’re…?” Esbern shook his head and began to pace, rubbing his beard. “Can it really be true? Dragonborn?”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” Esbern stopped and turned to face her, a sad smile on his face.

“Then…there is hope after all. For so long, all I could do was watch our doom approach, helplessly.”

“Doom?” Merill asked as Esbern began to pace again. The dragons were certainly bad, but she had never gone as far to think of them as doom. “You mean the dragons?”

“Dragons, pah,” Esbern said harshly, spitting onto the stone. “They can be killed. The Blades killed many in their early days as dragon-slayers. No, the dragons are merely the final portent of the End of Days.”

“‘End of Days’? I don’t think things are quite that bad,” Merill scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “I’ve seen more dragons than most, a good battalion can take them down without too much trouble.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Esbern said frustratedly, throwing up his hands as he turned circles around the room. “What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said!”

“Alduin?” Merill had heard the word somewhere before, and it had invoked the same strange, anxious feeling roiling in her gut now. Her resolve fluttered.

“The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead!” Esbern exclaimed. He turned suddenly and seized Merill’s shoulders, his face barely apart from hers. “No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end! Nothing can stop him!” Surprised at his strength, Merill pushed Esbern’s arms away and he went on pacing, rubbing his neck. “I’m sorry,” he muttered after a moment. “There are some days when I forget myself. Being alone so long…it’ll do that.”

“I don’t know anything about an Alduin,” she told him shortly. Nalimir had returned to running his hand along the dusty shelves, his back to them.

“The prophecies are clear. Only the Dragonborn can stop Alduin.” Esbern reached under his thin bed and pulled out a dirty rucksack. “We must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss. But give me just a moment, I must gather a few things…” Esbern began shifting through the books around his bed, looking at their covers and tossing them aside. “I’ll need this…no, no, useless trash…where’d I put my Annotated Anuad…? Boy!” he barked suddenly, and Nalimir jumped away from the shelves. “You see my Annotated Anuad over there?” There was a crash from outside and Merill turned toward the door. “One moment, I know,” Esbern said hastily, throwing books aside as he searched. “Time is of the essence, but musn’t leave secrets for the Thalmor…there’s one more thing I must bring…” Another crash from outside, followed by a scream.

“I think it’s time to move,” Nalimir told her hastily.

“Esbern,” Merill said sharply, nocking an arrow.

“Well, I guess that’s good enough,” he said, shouldering his rucksack. “Let’s be off.”

“Stay behind us,” Merill said, nudging open the door with her foot and keeping her bowstring taut. Sure enough, three Thalmor stood over a body and an opened cell door, their blades dripping blood. Merill let the arrow fly, nocking another as it struck one of the Altmer in the neck. The third dashed forward, cutting quickly and sharply before Merill could step back and bloodying her fingers. Nalimir was poised to cut him down when a great fire spell blasted forth from behind them, sending the charred Thalmor flying into the opposite wall. Merill lowered her bow, staring around at Esbern, who had a flame dancing in one hand.

“Carry on,” he said brightly, closing his fist and making the spell vanish.

“Do you know a quick way out of here?” Merill asked, nocking another arrow and glancing around.

“There’s a sewer grate that lets out just outside the city,” Esbern said, walking past her. “Hopefully the Thalmor won’t have that guarded.” Indeed, they met no opposition on the way out, and Merill released a sigh of relief when she followed Esbern up the ladder and into daylight. He was surprisingly spry for such an elderly Nord.

The road to Riverwood was long, but Merill didn’t want to linger in Riften, knowing the Thalmor would be crawling the city searching for her. Esbern seemed glad to be outside, so they walked quietly under the darkening sky, uninterrupted for the most part. Eventually the old man dropped behind, muttering to himself as Merill and Nalimir led the way down the road.

“So this bloke’s supposed to help us stop the dragons?” Nalimir murmured under his breath, and Merill cast a skeptical glance back at Esbern, who had was trailing down the side of the road, running his gnarled hands through the high reeds that grew there. “I think he’s a bit mad, Mer.”

“You got any better ideas, eh?” she asked him sharply, elbowing him in the side. “Besides, I’ve…heard the name Alduin before, somewhere. I think…I think he’s right.” Merill glanced up at Nalimir her face solemn. “There’s something much worse than dragons coming, Nali. I can feel it.” Every time she thought of that dreadful black dragon in Helgen, that hot, primal blood deep inside her stirred, restlessly roiling in her gut.

It was well into the night when they finally reached Riverwood. The barkeep, dozing at the counter, paid them little mind when they trooped through the false cupboard in the side room.

“So this is where she’s been hiding all these years,” Esbern muttered as Merill led the way down the narrow stairs into the hidden room, Nalimir sliding the cupboard closed behind them.

“Delphine, my old friend!” Esbern exclaimed, striding forward with his arm thrown out. The two embraced, and Esbern was holding tightly to Delphine’s shoulder’s a broad grin on his gnarled face. “It’s been too long!”

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Delphine told him with a rare smile. “Merill. Glad you made it here in one piece.”

“I see you learned my name,” Merill replied, lowering her hood and taking a seat by the small fire. Nalimir crossed his arms, leaning against the mantle. Delphine’s eyes still flickered distrust when she looked at him, and Merill gazed, hard, back at her, daring her to object. Nalimir stayed quiet, like always.

“I figured I owed you something for everything I’ve been making you do,” Delphine muttered, pulling a few bottles of ale out of a cupboard and passing them around. “Don’t get used to favours.”

“Noted,” Merill murmured, popping the cork of her ale and taking a long drink.

“Now then,” Delphine said after she and Esbern had sat down. “I assume you know about...”

“Oh, yes!” Esbern said excitedly. “Dragonborn! Indeed, yes. This changes everything, of course. We must locate…I know I had it here somewhere…” he rummaged inside his rucksack, pulling out books and papers as he searched.

“Esbern…” Delphine started, and Merill could sense doubt in her voice.

“Give me…just a moment…” he grunted, sifting through more books and piling them out on the flagstones. “Ah! Here it is,” he said, finally finding a tattered purple volume and standing to lay it flat on the table. “Come, let me show you.” Delphine and Merill exchanged a look before joining Esbern at the table, where he was flipping through pages of fading, blotchy script. “You see, right here,” he said, pointing. “Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim. This is where they built Alduin’s Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore…a hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event.

“Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time – one of the wonders of the ancient world – its location was lost.”

“Esbern,” Delphine started. “What are you getting at?”

“You don’t mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall?” Esbern asked, genuinely astonished, and Delphine shook her head. Merill glanced back at Nalimir, who merely shrugged. “It was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries. I’ve been working years to find it, and I’m coming close.” He looked back down at the book. “Not lost, you see, just…forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets…I was only able to save a few scraps…”

“So you think that Alduin’s Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?” Delphine asked as Esbern trailed off into silence.

“Well, yes, but…there’s no guarantee, of course,” Esbern told her, flipping through the book again. “Give me a few more days and I should be able to finalize its location. I’m close, Delphine, close enough to taste it.”

“I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern,” Delphine said, but she didn’t sound entirely sure. Esbern did not respond, but carried the book over to his chair, muttering as he flipped through it with one hand and rummaged in his rucksack with another. Delphine turned to Merill. “I’ll make sure Esbern’s safe down here. I’ll send a courier for you when we know where we need to go. Keep an eye out for Thalmor.”