Part three of Emerald_Parrish's request. Hope you enjoy!

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10th of Frostfall, 4E 201

The wind was cold and the snow was falling when I arrived outside the Embassy. An Aldmeri man wearing Thalmor robes approached the carriage and offered to help me out. It took everything I had to swallow my hatred and allow him to help me down from the carriage. I managed to say a quiet "thank you" before hurrying along. As I walked away, I fought off the shiver I had racing down my spine. Gods, I did not want to be anywhere near here.

On my way to the front door, I passed by a Redguard man getting out of his own carriage. He gave me a friendly grin and joined me up the path. "Fashionably late, too, eh?" he asked, his words slurring. He must have been drinking the whole way up here. "I do enjoy coming in late. Makes things... interesting."

Grimacing, I moved past him and up to the entrance. One of the two Thalmor guards stopped me before I could proceed further. "Your invitation, please."

My mind started racing. Was something amiss? Did I mess up already? "Is there a problem?"

The woman chuckled. "Oh, there's nothing wrong, as long as you hand over your invitation." Her eyes narrowed. "Assuming you have one."

Oh, of course. Everything was fine. How could I have been so stupid? Now to get myself out of this mess I had made. Think. Think. How would a noblewoman act? Snooty? Proud? Or would she just hand over her invitation, no questions asked?

"If you don't have an invitation—"

"No, I have one." I reached into my robes and pulled it out. "Sorry for the trouble."

The woman opened it and looked it over. I caught a glimpse of the name on the page, and I immediately cringed.

Delphine had used my real name, not an alias. If Elenwen found out who I was—

"Everything checks out," said the guard, handing my invitation back to me. "Enjoy the party."

I nodded in thanks and proceeded to the door. The two elves standing at it opened it for me and allowed me inside.

The warmth of the room was a pleasant change to the cold outside, but my heart felt as though an icicle had been jammed through it. This was the lion's den, the belly of the beast. I was in the home of the woman who murdered my parents.

My palms slicked with a cold sweat. Oh, gods. What am I doing?

Then, like a panther descending upon its prey, Elenwen herself approached me. She looked down on me, angular face bearing a look of indifference. Like she did not enjoy parties, but she put them on to save face. Her eyes were shaded with dark makeup, as were her cheeks. It gave her a gaunt, menacing look, one probably meant to strike fear into the hearts of her inferiors. It worked; I swallowed hard as she stood over me. For the first time in years, I felt like the scared little girl who had watched her parents die in front of her.

Elenwen spoke with a high, clear voice clipped with an accent unfamiliar to Skyrim. Her voice alone was enough to make me weak at the knees. "Welcome. I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are...?"

I forced myself to stay calm. All I had to do was make her forget that she asked for my name. "You're Elenwen? I've heard so much about you!"

My tactic worked. Elenwen seemed to have forgotten about her question and smiled proudly. "Have you? All good, I trust." Then her smile faded, and my gut flipped. "But you have me at a disadvantage. I'm afraid I know nothing about you.... Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this... to Skyrim?"

I was just about to answer, but thank the gods, Malborn interrupted. "Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt...."

Elenwen sighed and turned her back to me. I peered around her to see the small area just past the foyer that served as a bar. Malborn stood there, polishing a silver wine goblet.

With an impatient look, Elenwen put her hands on her hips and said, "What is it, Malborn?"

Malborn put the goblet down. "It's just that we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red—"

"Of course! I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles."

Clearly chastised by her harsh tone, Malborn dropped his head. "Yes, Madame Ambassador."

With another impatient sigh, Elenwen turned and faced me once again. "I apologize for that. I believe I shall be needing to get back to the rest of the party." She held out her slim, gloved hand. "Do enjoy the rest of the evening."

As I took her hand in mine, I could not help but imagine what this hand must have looked like as it was signing my parents' death warrants. "Thank you, Madame Ambassador."

She gave a polite smile, then let go of my hand and returned to her guests.

My hand shook as I let it drop back to my side. Oh, gods. What have I gotten myself into?

Letting out a heavy sigh, I walked up to the bar, where Malborn had returned to polishing the goblet.

Malborn slipped right into a genial mood. "What can I get for you?" Then, looking to both sides nervously, he leaned forward a little and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. "You made it in. Good. As soon as you distract the guards, I'll open this door and we can get you on your way." He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Let's hope we both live through this day."

"I agree. How would you recommend I distract the guards?"

"Hold on. Let me see if we have some of that." He dropped down below the counter, but kept speaking to me in his whisper. "Do whatever you can. Just make sure it's good enough to keep them busy long enough for us to clear out." He stood back up. "Sorry, we don't seem to have anymore Alto wine at the moment. I apologize for the inconvenience."

I nodded, wiping my hands down the front of my midnight-blue robes, and turned to face the crowd.

Aside from Elenwen and Maven Black-Briar, who was talking to the elven ambassador, I recognized no one. I knew they were uppity, important people; they would have to be, considering they were at the party. A few Bosmeri servants milled between the guests, offering wine or food to everyone.

I wondered why all the servants were Bosmer, but then I remembered that Valenwood was one of the first provinces that the Aldmeri Dominion conquered. They razed the forests and killed thousands of people. And now the Thalmor sought to do the same with Skyrim.

Not if we can help it.

As I tried to move around the small circles of people, I came across a familiar face. The Redguard from outside. He was sitting on a small bench, alone, nursing an empty glass. The scowl on his face told me no more than I needed to know; he was wishing for another drink.

When he heard my approach, he looked up at me and grinned a little. "I remember you," he said, breath stinking to high heaven. "You were late. Just like me."

"Hmm, yes." I tried not to cough. "What's wrong?"

"I can't seem to get past the crowds to get another drink, and the servants won't offer me another." He scowled at the bottom of his glass.

"Well, there may be a way I could help with that."

He looked back up, eyes sparkling. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "But you'll have to do something for me."

"For a pretty lady who's promised me a drink, I'll do anything."

"Can you cause a good distraction?"

"Honey, you're looking at the king of distractions. Get me my drink, and you've got yourself a deal."

I shook hands with him briefly, then squeezed my way back to the bar. Malborn gave me a curious look, silently asking if I was ready to leave. I leaned against the counter. "What's the strongest drink you have?"

"That would be the Colovian brandy." He passed me a opaque, green bottle full of liquid. "Why?" he asked in a lower voice.

"I've got our distraction. Be ready when I return."

He nodded subtly, and I left to find my new Redguard friend.

He had remained in his seat, arms crossed and glass laying forgotten next to him on the bench. "Did you get it?"

I handed him the bottle. "Make good on your word."

"Don't worry, honey. You've more than held up your end of the bargain." He stood up then, bottle in hand, and raised his voice above the dull chatter and soft music coming from one corner of the room.

I did not stick around to hear what he had to say; I pushed my way past the gathering crowds and returned to Malborn. "Let's get out of here."

"Let's go, let's go! Before anyone notices us." We both made a break for it, slipping through the door behind the bar and into the warm and well-stocked kitchen. Once again, I wiped my hands down the front of my robes as we leaned against the door, listening to see if we had been followed.

After a tense silence, Malborn released a sigh of relief and backed away from the door. "So far so good. Let's hope nobody saw us slip out. We need to pass through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do any talking, got it? Follow me."

I followed him into the main part of the kitchen, where the tables had been laden with prepared food and drink for the party. There was more food here than I had ever seen in one place before.

Then, a reedy voice from the back corner spoke up. I turned my gaze to find a Khajiit woman standing behind a table. She wore chef's clothes, down to the floppy hat. "Who comes, Malborn?" she asked, glaring at my Bosmer companion. "You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen."

"A guest, feeling ill. Leave the poor wretch be."

Ill, was I? Best I act it. I faked a wobbly step and kept my gaze down to the floor, as if I had to watch where I stepped, lest I stumble and fall.

"A guest? In the kitchens? You know this is against the rules...."

Malborn scoffed. "Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn't realize that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador..."

The Khajiit woman hissed. "Get out of here, I saw nothing."

Malborn chuckled under his breath as he led me into the larder. He shut the door behind us, letting out a small sigh.

"Your gear is in that chest," he said as he pointed to the chest closest to my feet. "I'll lock the door behind you. Don't screw this up. I need to lock the door behind you or the patrols might notice something's wrong."

I nodded and opened the chest. I was so relieved to see my weapons and armor safely stashed away. "I'll be fine. Go, before you're missed."

He took a step back, saying, "Gods guide you," and left the larder. With a soft click, he locked the door.

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized I was on my own.

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By the Nine, the Thalmor Embassy was a labyrinth of horror. Room after room was filled with guards, mages, and dangers for any who dared trespass. It was a nonstop venture of death and destruction.

But nothing could have prepared me for the prison below Elenwen's solar.

Even from the balcony just above the main level, I could smell it. The room stank of urine, old blood, and other, much nastier, things. Along the bloodstained walls were racks of torture tools: blunt maces, whips, shackles. The floors were stained with blood, both old and new, dripping through the cracks. I had to fight back the urge to vomit.

And if the room itself was not bad enough, it got worse. Before my very eyes, I had to watch as two Thalmor agents, one in robes and the other in gilded armor, tortured a prisoner.

The man, who appeared to be Breton, panted and sagged against the wall. He could not sit on the floor; his hands were shackled above his head. His bare chest was crisscrossed with a number of different scars, at various stages of healing. One stretched from the base of his jaw all the way down to the left side of his chest, just over his heart. His face was shadowed by his straw-colored hair, and his jaw was covered in a thick layer of stubble.

The man let his head droop down and tried to sit on the floor. "Stop. Please. I don't know anything else. Don't you think I'd have told you already?"

The Altmer in armor slapped the prisoner, making me wince at the sound of skin striking skin. "Silence. You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions."

The one in the robes—I assumed he was "Master" Rulindil—snorted and crossed his arms. "Let's begin again."

The Breton's shoulders quaked, and his voice broke. "No... for pity's sake.... I've already told you everything—"

The guard interrupted him with a jab to the jaw. "You know the rules."

The guard punched the Breton again and again, and each punch made me cringe. The Breton cried out in agony with each blow. I wished I could block out the sounds of his screams.

Once the beating ended, Rulindil stepped forward and signaled for his guard to stand back. "Start at the beginning, as usual. If you persist in this stubbornness, I'll have—"

The Breton picked up his head, eyes shadowed by dark bags and swollen. "No, wait! I was just... catching my breath.... Why wouldn't I tell you again? I don't even know anything...." He sighed, his breath rattling in his throat. "There's an old man. He lives in Riften. He could be this Esbern you're looking for, but I don't know. He's old and seemed kind of crazy. That's all I know."

"And his name is...?"

"I don't know his name. Like I've already told you a hundred—"

He cut himself off with another scream of pain as the guard produced a blunt mace like the ones I had seen earlier and clubbed him in the side. Bones crunched, blood spattered, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

Rulindil acted as if he had not just been smeared with Breton blood. He wiped the red stains aside as if it were nothing more than water. "You know the rules. Just answer the questions. Where can we find this nameless old man?"

"Like I said, I don't know! I've seen him down in the Ratway. Maybe he lives down there, but I don't know for sure."

Rulindil sighed, as if disappointed. "That will be all for now. I must say I continue to be disappointed in your lack of cooperation. I hope next time you will do better."

The Breton picked up his head again. His eyes were even more swollen and pained than before. "What else do you want from me? I've already told you everything. Listen, if you let me go I can take you to Riften, show you where—"

The guard smacked the Breton across the face with the mace's handle, screaming, "Silence, prisoner!" as he did so. The impact knocked the poor man out, and he slumped towards the floor.

I could not just stand by any longer. Not after what I had just witnessed. I had to rescue this prisoner, and I had to kill his captors. I made up my mind then and there that I would not leave the embassy without taking the Breton with me.

The pair of Altmer whispered between themselves while I crept down the stairs to their level. I readied my sword and dagger, deciding I would have to kill both of them at once. Otherwise, I would not stand a chance.

With their backs turned to me, neither of them heard me until it was too late. My mercenary ventures had taken me far and wide, thus I had gained plenty of experience. The experience I had with getting rid of Falmer had come in handy in this case; I was able to sneak up on the men before they had a chance to retaliate. I stabbed both weapons into their backs, killing them smoothly and silently. Their bodies dropped to the cell's floor, their blood mixing with the Breton's.

I sidestepped the corpses and knelt in front of the Breton. I looted a key off of Rulindil and unlocked the shackles holding the prisoner up. He fell forward, and I barely caught him before he hit the floor. I laid him down gently on the straw mat below him, brushing a sweaty and bloodstained lock of his hair away from his face.

"Sir, wake up," I said, lightly slapping the cheek that had not been bruised. "Wake up."

Ever so slowly, the man's dark eyes fluttered open. His gaze was unfocused at first, but as it cleared, he tried to sit up and get away from me.

"Easy, easy," I said, forcing him back down. "Easy. I may have a healing potion for you. Just relax."

"Who are you?" he asked, hand locking around my wrist.

"My name is Ylva. I'm going to help you get out of here, I promise. Can you tell me what the elves wanted to know, exactly?"

He sighed and laid his head back. "Something about a guy named Esbern. I didn't know what they wanted exactly. They never said. They just..." He paused and looked down at the wounds all over his body. "They liked to get physical."

"They won't hurt you anymore. Do you know if there's a way out of here? The way I came in is blocked."

"There's a trapdoor." He pointed his shaking hand towards the cell's door. "Past there. They dump bodies down it. Could lead somewhere."

"Thank you." I fished into my bag and came across a healing potion. I popped the cork out of the glazed bottle and held it to the man's lips. I cradled the back of his head with my other hand, to help him drink.

As he drank, I listened for anymore guards coming down here. I would do my best to fight off whoever came, but I doubted I would last much longer. I was already exhausted from the all-out fight I had been in just getting to the solar. As long as no one got suspicious or raised any alarms, I had time.

When the man finished off the potion, I let his head rest against the mat again and stood up.

The man jerked up a little, fear crossing his bruised face. "Where are you going?" he asked, reaching for me.

"Just for a look around. I'm not leaving you. I won't."

"Please...." His eyes began to drift closed again.

"Don't you leave me, you hear?" I knelt down again, grabbing onto his shoulder. "Hey, what's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"Etienne... Etienne Rarnis."

"All right, Etienne, you and I are going to get out of here, even if I have to carry you out on my back. You hear me?"

He nodded, eyes opening and locking onto me. "I hear you."

"Listen closely. I'm just going to have a look around. I won't be long. When I get back, I'm going to help you get out of here."

"Thank you... Ylva."

I smiled weakly and stood once again. "I'll be back shortly."

Just as I left the cell, the door above, on the balcony, swung open, and three sets of footsteps descended the stairs. I leapt back into the cell with Etienne and got down low. The bars of the cell only came halfway down from the ceiling, and solid wood walls made up the bottom half of the cell. Certainly made hiding convenient.

"Listen up, spy!" called a voice nearby. The footsteps grew closer, now on the main level with Etienne and me. "You're trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die."

"Never mind me, Ylva," said Malborn, making my gut flip. Gods, no. "I'm dead already—"

The guard hissed, making Malborn fall silent. "Silence, traitor! Move. Slowly."

I readied my dagger. To save Malborn, I would have to be fast. He did not deserve to die for helping me. I knew he had been hesitant to aid me since the beginning, and I did not want his death hanging over me for the rest of my life. I may not have liked him very well, but I could not allow him to die.

When the steps halted right outside the open cell, I sprang up and launched myself into the first guard. I held my dagger in front of me and plunged it into his throat. Warm blood spilled down my hands and arms as the Thalmor and I both fell gracelessly to the floor.

"Filthy Nord!" screamed the second Thalmor guard, shooting his hand out towards me. Purple lightening shot from his fingertips, and the savage shocks ran through my metal-clad body without difficulty. I writhed on the floor, legs and arms spasming and twitching on their own accord.

"No!" said Malborn, throwing himself at the guard. The shocking ceased as the sound of blows being landed filled the air. I shook my head and got to my unsteady feet. Malborn and the guard were busy fighting with their fists, and Malborn was clearly losing. The guard wore armor and metal gloves; Malborn's fists were bare and he had no protection.

I grabbed the small war-axe off the dead Thalmor's belt. I swung my arm up, yelled, "Get down!" to Malborn, and let the axe fly.

Malborn ducked just in time; the Thalmor guard never saw the weapon coming. He only had time to gasp in shock as the razor-sharp blade embedded itself into his chest.

Panting, Malborn stood up and dusted his clothes off. "Let's get out of here, for pity's sake! There will be others coming soon, no doubt."

I nodded and retrieved my dagger from the body below me. "Get to the trapdoor and open it. I'll be right there."

He did as I instructed, while I went to the chest sitting just next to the cell Etienne was still in. I took the small dossier, one identical to the others I had gotten from Elenwen's office just above, and slipped it into my pack with the others.

"We have a problem," said Malborn, tone worried, as I went into the prison cell to help Etienne to his feet.

"What?" I asked. Beside me, Etienne moaned. The healing potion had taken away his discomfort for a time, but the effects were wearing off.

"The trapdoor, it's locked. What do we do?"

"Search the bodies for a key."

He went about the disgusting task while I waited by the trapdoor with Etienne. I allowed him to sit down while we waited for Malborn to find the key.

When he found it, he rushed back to us, unlocked the door, and jumped down into the chilly cave below. It was a long drop, and I had no idea how Etienne would survive it.

"Malborn, do you think you can catch Etienne?" I called, moving the poor Breton towards the door.

"I think so. Hurry!"

I wrapped my arms around Etienne's chest and lowered him through the door slowly. Malborn readied himself below, giving me a nod when he was ready. I let go of Etienne, and Malborn managed to catch him. They both collapsed into the snow beneath, but at least both were alive. We were all getting out alive.

Gods be praised, we made it.

Without a second thought, I plunged through the trapdoor, escaping that hellish place with no intention of ever returning.

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This part turned out to be way longer than I originally intended it to be. This is the final part of this short series, so don't be expecting a part four. Unless, of course, someone requests this particular storyline to continue. Then there will be a part four.

I hope you have enjoyed reading this particular short series. I know I enjoyed writing it!

Requests, as always, are still OPEN. Don't be afraid to request anything. I would love to write it!

Love and sweetrolls, my lovely readers!
~ WG 💙