Chapter Text
ACT III
CHAPTER I
“EMPTY CELLS"
In the months following the massacre of the Vigilants at the Temple of Stendarr, and all that followed, Eres and Gwyneth spent their time working to keep the Vigilants within Skyrim as functional as possible.
News travelled fast in such a small province, and it was not long until rumors of the Vigilants’ destruction reached the furthest corners of Skyrim. But, with winter in full swing, the Temple did not receive so many visitors. Only a few Vigilants had braved the dangerous weathers to join them at the Temple, however briefly.
With their forces so crippled, every Vigilant in Skyrim would be needed in the field, taking the fight to the Daedra rather than holing up in a Temple, wishing for the best.
As much as Eres might have enjoyed the company – if only to combat the feeling of loneliness and empty rooms – it was best that the remaining Vigilants were doing what they could to keep the world safe.
Gwyneth became much as Johanna was to Fellburg, incredibly good with managing the mundane details of running the Temple while Eres focused on that which needed her attention most – requests from Jarls, the paranoid ramblings of priests, deciphering which rumors were worth investigating, and which were merely wives’ tales.
And, though Eres hated to think of it – the loss of so many Vigilants meant that their budget did have enough wiggle room for her to send a sizable salary back to Fellburg. The Keeper was paid well, it seemed.
Fellburg returned with news that a carpenter had made his home near the main road in Fellburg – road. Fellburg had roads, now. Plural. Only two – but still, that was better than none. She doubted they were more than packed dirt, but they were still roads.
Between the carpenter and the smith, they had managed to build a forge and smelter, and Yosef had hired on a few hands from nearby Rorikstead and traveling laborers to get the old iron mine back open again. The crops they’d planted before Eres left had, sadly, not made it through winter – they’d frozen over in the time that Fellburg had been sieged, however brief a time it had been, and had never recovered.
But Yosef had plans, and he seemed optimistic for Fellburg’s future, according to Johanna. Johanna also mentioned that they’d hired a few more guards, and had even managed to build guard posts near the Keep entrance, and on the roads approaching Fellburg. It was much safer there now, like a proper Keep.
Eres had wished she could see it, then.
She wishes even more so, now.
“That guard from Windhelm demanded to speak with you.”
Eres peers down out of the window on the second floor, at the stoic guard who remains posted outside the front doors of the Temple, hands folded behind his back.
“He could just come inside. Like a normal person.”
Gwyneth merely shrugs. “He doesn’t seem willing to. He said he would wait for you there. He hasn’t moved an inch in hours.”
“Points for dedication,” Eres mutters. “Do you know what he wants?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Gwyneth shrugs again. “Said it was only for The Keeper’s ears. I haven’t heard anything strange from Windhelm, lately, though… Whatever the issue might be, they’ve been keeping a tight lid on it.”
Eres hums in thought. She’s not particularly thrilled for a messenger from Windhelm, of all places. She’s always hated that city, and she hates Ulfric even more. Racist bastard.
But. She can’t allow her personal grievances to interfere with her work.
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll go see him.” She meets Gwyneth’s eyes and makes a show of rolling her eyes about it. Gwyneth’s soft laughter follows her down the stairs.
Well, at least someone is getting something out of this.
She grabs her cloak and shrugs it over her shoulders before she opens the front doors to meet him. Though winter is coming to an end in most parts of Skyrim – such as Fellburg, which has probably thawed and is beautiful in early Spring, she bets – Dawnstar is always cold.
“I’m told you requested me,” Eres says to him, when he stands to attention. She clasps her hands in front of her waist, her feet shoulder-width apart, a pose that looks gracious and almost regal without becoming too overbearing.
“I am Hjerik,” the guard states. “From Windhelm.”
“I gathered,” she says dryly, looking pointedly at his uniform – that of a Windhelm guard’s. “What can I do for you?”
“The Steward Jorleif has requested the aid of the Vigilants,” Hjerik says stiffly. “You, specifically.”
She raises a brow. “Specifically me?”
“He asked for the Keeper,” Hjerik continues. “No one else. To meet him in the Palace.”
“And did he say what for?”
Hjerik shakes his head. “That is only for you to know. I was not informed of the details, only that it is urgent. We have prepared a horse for you.” And he gestures behind him and to his left – where, sure enough, two horses wait somewhat impatiently. “We must make haste to Windhelm at once.”
“I have duties here, you know. I can’t just leave because you asked me to.”
“This is not a request,” Hjerik states. “It is an order.”
Both of her brows rise high, and she rocks back on her heels to regard him coolly. “An order?”
“The Vigilants here answer to Ulfric, el—Keeper,” the guard shifts on his feet, but whether he is simply impatient or uncomfortable, Eres cannot tell. “Jorleif is Ulfric’s steward. He has asked for your presence, and therefore he shall have it.”
“And if I refuse?”
Hjerik’s face twists into a grimace. “I would prefer that you did not.”
Strangely, despite her doubt of him for being Ulfric’s man, she thinks that he means it. He does not look as though he wants to force her to come, but that he knows he must if she doesn’t come willingly.
“…Fine,” she sighs. “I have to make arrangements first, but I’ll meet you out here in a bit.”
Hjerik looks relieved, and nods. His form relaxes.
Eres turns to reenter the Temple, shaking her head. She hates Ulfric. Just because he had managed to gain Dawnstar’s allegiance, it didn’t mean he had hers – or the Vigilants’ at large. Dawnstar and The Pale might answer to him, but she certainly doesn’t.
But the last thing she needs is some army showing up on her doorstep because she pissed off the Jarl.
She informs Gwyneth of where she will be headed, grabs a few necessities – as well as her armor and weapons – and meets the guard back in the courtyard to follow him to Windhelm.
It looks as though her few months of relative peace as the Keeper of the Vigil have come to an abrupt end.
When Eres arrives in Windhelm, the first thing she sees is couple of Nordic men harassing a Dunmer woman. She is, sadly, not at all surprised.
“You eat all our food, pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!”
“We haven’t helped the Stormcloaks because it’s not our fight…”
The confrontation fades into the background as Eres continues past into the Candlehearth Hall. The Dunmer woman looks like she can handle herself against a couple idiot drunkards. And, at least for the time being, she is acting in the capacity of a Vigilant. She is supposed to be neutral – not off punching drunk racists in the street, as much as she’d like to.
She pushes open the door to the inn, and is immediately greeted by the innkeeper behind the bar.
“Come in, have a seat, get the cold out—” The woman looks at her as Eres pulls down her hood. “Oh, it’s you again.” Then she frowns. “There’s not any Daedra here again, is there?”
“Not as far as I know,” Eres replies, and the woman relaxes. Well. There’s no telling what that Jorleif wants her for, but it’s probably best not to cause a panic. “Just need a room for the night.”
“Sure enough, it’ll be twenty septims for the night. Back left.” Eres raises a brow. “We’ve cleaned it since you were here last. Doesn’t even smell like sulfur anymore.” And she gives Eres an almost cheeky smile as she hands her the key.
Eres did worry that perhaps only the Nord woman could not smell it, but when she opens the door, surely enough, she does not smell sulfur, or brimstone. Looking around the room, there is no indication of any sort that she had once killed a Daedra in here.
With Altano.
Eres shuts the door behind her, and suddenly feels very, very tired.
She’s tried her best not to think of Altano and everything else that had happened for the past few months, now. Any time she remembers it, she recalls how many times she had felt uneasy around him, and digs herself into a hole wondering if she might have been able to stop him sooner if she hadn’t been so careless.
If she’d only paid attention, maybe she would have seen it coming long before it came to a head. Maybe she would have been able to save those that Altano slaughtered at the Temple.
It does ache within her, to be here again, in this place, where she had once been ignorant of Altano’s machinations, and complicit in his plans. It aches more to be here again as an acting Vigilant, and not just a Keeper of the Temple, where she might encounter things – evils – that she had not seen in some time.
Of course, there were always Daedra, witches, conjurers, necromancers – all sorts of sordid affairs took place in Skyrim all the time. But the patrolling Vigilants handled most of those incidents, and she had been busy enough bringing order back to the Temple that she had been able to avoid any direct confrontation herself.
Now, that was no longer the case.
She was back in Windhelm, back in that room, and in the morning she would see Jorleif, and be handed a new assignment. She could see no other reason why the steward would call her here.
There is something going on in Windhelm, and it would be her job to figure out just what that was.
In the morning, she makes her way to the Palace amid the brisk gusts of wind of early morning whipping through the narrow streets of Windhelm. What she wouldn’t do to be back in Fellburg with its spring thaw, with the vibrant forests and plains around it. She would even welcome the great forests of Whiterun Hold or Falkreath compared to the drab, dreary mess that is Ulfric’s home city. It is no wonder everyone here is so miserable.
When she enters, she can hear distant conversation rumbling from behind the walls. It seems that Ulfric and one of his men are discussing their plans, and not very subtly. At least not to the ears of an Elf.
Jorleif, she assumes, stands at attention beside the stone-crafted throne until he sees her and her green robes, and then he is moving briskly towards her, meeting her halfway.
“Finally!” He calls as he approaches. His hands wring together nervously.
Not a good sign.
“I apologize for the delay,” Eres says, rehearsed. “We arrived in the middle of the night. I am Eres, the Keeper of the Vigil.”
“Yes, yes,” Jorleif nods hurriedly. “I am Jorleif, the steward here in Windhelm.” He reaches for her elbow, and pulls her after him as he walks purposefully for a large oaken door on the right side of the large throne room.
They stop outside it, and Jorleif makes no move to enter.
“What is it that you require the Vigilants’ aid for?” Eres asks. “That cannot be tasked to someone beneath me?”
“Discretion in this matter is paramount,” Jorleif answers. “And Jarl Ulfric does not trust wandering Vigilants to have Windhelm’s best interest in mind. But you, under Ulfric’s banner—”
Her expression sours. “The Vigilants remain neutral, in this and all things that are not related to the Daedra. We are not part of your Rebellion.”
Jorleif bows his head shortly. It’s an odd thing to see, from a Nord man in the capital city of the Stormcloaks. “Yes, that is my point entirely. Would this task go to just any Vigilant, word may spread. I trust the Keeper has more discretion?”
She crosses her arms. “That depends on what the issue is. If it’s endangering your citizens, I would be remiss if I didn’t warn them.”
“No, no,” Jorleif says. “Well. Not the regular citizens, anyways.”
Her brows meet sharply. Eres pointedly lowers her hood, and runs a hand through her hair so that her ears cannot be missed. Jorleif sees them, and his face goes carefully blank.
“That…is not what I intended,” he says haltingly. He shifts, uncomfortable. “We were aware of your…origins.” Eres hums, nonplussed. “The only victims have been within the dungeons. Criminals,” he explains. “And guards.”
“The guards, as well?” Consider her interest piqued. “What’s happened to them?”
“They’ve all but vanished into thin air,” Jorleif throws his hands up, exasperated. “First it was only the prisoners – they’d suddenly just disappear from their cells. At first, it was believed that they were simply escaping, but then more of them started to disappear, and then the guards, too… All that is left behind is blood.”
“Blood?”
“On the walls, the floors,” Jorleif shakes his head. “It’s everywhere – you’ll see.” He hands her a key. “We haven’t been able to trace where the blood comes from, though we suspect it is that of the victims. But even so, if they are all dead, where could they have gone? There is but one exit, and none have come through it unaccounted for.”
Eres palms the key. “I’ll see what I can find out. Where is this dungeon?”
“Just through this door.” Jorleif opens it, and steps inside to hold it open for her. Beyond it appears to be some sort of lounge room for the guards – even now there are a few milling about. One is even asleep on the floor, using his rolled up, padded armor as a pillow. Jorleif points to a narrow hallway just to the right of the doorway. “Down the stairs there and straight ahead. There is a guard posted at the door, but we haven’t let anyone inside since the last disappearance.”
“And no one has disappeared from outside the dungeon?”
“Only those who were there overnight.”
Eres’ eyes narrow. Only at night? Or had they only noticed those disappearances in the morning? What could make a man just disappear?
“I’ll return once I’ve found something.”
“Please do. I will be in the throne room if you need any assistance.”
Jorleif leaves, and Eres ignores the guards that stare at her as she descends into the hallway that leads to the dungeon.
The sole guard who sits outside of it, sprawled haphazardly across a rickety wooden chair, straightens when she approaches.
She blinks in surprise when she sees him. “Hjerik?”
He stands, and bows his head slightly. “Good morning, Keeper.”
“Is this your usual post?”
“No, Your—” he pauses, and his face scrunches in confusion. He doesn’t seem to know quite how to refer to her.
The guard appears to be in his late thirties, perhaps early forties, with laugh lines and crows’ feet and a salt-and-pepper beard covering his chin. He is not even remotely attractive. His eyes, though, do not stare at her with barely disguised hate, and that at least is a plus.
“Just Eres, please,” she tells him. “Have you been assigned to me?”
Hjerik nods. “I’m to stay here in case you need me inside.”
He doesn’t look particularly thrilled about that.
“I will be fine on my own for now, Hjerik. Thank you.” His relief is palpable. The Nords have always been quite the suspicious bunch. There’s no telling what might be going through his head.
Hjerik does not sit back down until she moves past him, unlocks the door, and steps inside.
At the sight of the blood splattered over the dark stones of the dungeon, Eres is suddenly glad for the door that separates her and Hjerik, waiting outside, for he does not witness her shudder. The scene is far too reminiscent of what she had seen at the Temple – only minus the bodies.
She walks from cell to cell, and, when she tugs on the doors, she realizes they have all been unlocked. Stepping inside one of them, she looks around at the bloodied straw that serves as a poor sleeping mat, at the walls, the shackles…
There is, from what she can see, no sign of even a struggle. The straw would have been kicked all over the cell if there had been, she is sure. But it remains neatly piled in one corner, a poor-quality fur laid atop it. Even the fur is streaked with blood.
Eres crouches, and conjures the ever-bright magelight in one hand. Even with close inspection under such bright direct light, she cannot see any sign that anything is missing aside from the prisoner themselves.
It is, as Jorleif had said, as though they had vanished into thin air. How very strange.
Eres exits that cell, and, looking over the others, notes that they all appear to be the same way – mostly undisturbed, save for the bloodstains.
The small table and chairs set up in one corner, likely where the guard would sit while on duty, were also stained with blood. The tabletop looks as though someone was dragged across it, but when she follows that trail to the floor, there is nothing but a few drops of blood. Whoever’s body had been there had likely been carried from there onward.
Which meant that the bodies likely hadn’t “vanished” at all, but they had been taken. By someone. Or many someones. It had to be a sizeable enough operation, to overpower the guards and the prisoners without leaving any sign of combat…
Eres turns from the table, and stops in her tracks, frowning.
There is a small narrow opening in the wall, leading into another room. Even with the bright lighting afforded to her from the hovering orb of magelight, she had very nearly missed it entirely.
Eres draws her silver sword just in case, and moves carefully for the opening.
But when she sends her light inside, she is disappointed. There is no one within it, as there had not been in any other area of the dungeon. Like the cells, and the guard’s lounge, this room, too, was splattered with blood.
Given the barrels all shoved into one corner, Eres would have guessed that it was a storage room of some kind, possibly for supplies for feeding or caring for the prisoners. She might have guessed that that was all this room was, were it not for the statue on the far wall.
Covering the entire wall to the opposite side of the barrels is a mural, carved into stone, and at the very center of it is posed the statuesque form of a woman. A woman that Eres does not recognize.
The statue doesn’t look like any of the female Divines that she can think of, or even any of the Daedric Princes who often took female forms, such as Meridia or Nocturnal – Eres had studied up on quite a few of them, following Altano’s betrayal.
She knew that this statue, whoever it was, was not of any Divine or Prince she knew of. And, it, too, was splattered with blood.
But something drew her to it.
Sheathing her sword, Eres approaches it slowly, looking at it first from one side, and then the other. The statue appears almost to be set into the stone behind it, but when she sniffs – she can smell something that reeks almost of sewage and stale water. There is a draft from behind this statue, she can tell – both with her nose, and with her ears. There is just the tiniest whistle that she can hear only if she holds her breath and focuses. Any human would have missed it entirely.
She tries to find a clasp, a seal or a seam, something – anything – that might trigger the statue to move or swing open. She knows there is something behind it. She would bet her entire estate and the Temple’s that whatever had happened to the prisoners and guards within these dungeons had to do with this damn statue, and whatever was directly behind it.
But even with careful inspection, Eres cannot locate anything that might open it. She even attempts just pulling at the damned thing, but it doesn’t budge.
Taking a step back, Eres sighs. She will have to speak with Jorleif. Surely, he must know something about that statue. It isn’t exactly inconspicuous.
Hjerik stands so abruptly when she exits that he nearly knocks over the table beside him.
“Did you need assistance, Keeper Eres?”
“I might, actually,” she admits. “Do you know anything about that statue in there?”
Hjerik frowns. “Statue? You mean the blind lady?”
She raises a brow at him. “Blind lady?”
Hjerik shrugs. “That’s what some of the guard calls her. She’s got a blindfold on.” Eres hadn’t noticed, but then, she’d been too busy trying to figure out how to move it to appreciate its appearance. “I’ve never really heard anything about her. She’s just always been there, long as I have.”
“And how long have you been working as a guard here?”
“Thirteen years, mum,” Hjerik answers.
“Hmm.” Odd. She thanks him for what little information he’d offered her, and makes her way up the stairs to find Jorleif.
“Did you find anything?” Jorleif asks, as soon as he sees her approaching.
“I might have,” she says slowly. “I’m not sure. Do you know anything about that statue down there?”
“Ah,” Jorleif closes his eyes and nods. “The Maiden Statue.”
“The Maiden? Which Maiden?”
Jorleif shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s always been there. There’s some kind of passage behind it, but it can only be opened with the blood of a vampire. Or, it used to before…”
Her eyebrows raise high on her forehead. “The blood of a vampire?” That sounds a lot closer to Vigilant business than just some missing criminals and guards. “You didn’t think to mention this to me before? Did you not suspect it could have been vampires?”
Jorleif at least has the grace to look somewhat sheepish. “I didn’t think it was relevant. The last time it was active was probably…twenty years ago? The Vigilants came then, too. But the Maiden Statue can’t be opened now, even with vampire blood. It’s been sealed shut. There’s only the one entrance now. We’d have noticed if there were vampires milling about.”
“Are you sure about that?” Eres asks, dubious.
“The…vampires, or…?”
“The Statue,” she sighs, her irritation building. How could he not have thought this was relevant before? “Are you certain it can’t be opened now?”
“We’re sure,” Jorleif says quickly. “The Vigilants sealed it shut back then, the first time. It can’t even be opened with vampire blood. We tried that before, when we tried to recover the bodies.”
“Hm…” Eres frowns. “Do you remember which Vigilants investigated this incident before? Do you have any records of the first incident?”
“Ah…” Jorleif’s brow furrows, and he looks down at the ground, crossing his arms. It takes him a long moment, but finally his head snaps up. “Jacob! That was his name! A man named Jacob led the investigation back then. I think he took all the records with him, though.”
Eres’ head spins.
Jacob. That Jacob?
“This may seem like an odd question,” Eres starts, “but did any other Vigilants come with him, for this investigation? And how many of them left?”
“Ah… I can’t remember,” Jorleif admits. “I do remember he left on his own, though. I think he said the others had gone before him, and he was just finishing up.”
Dread sinks low into her stomach.
Something of it must show on her face, because Jorleif’s expression falls into dismay. “Do you think it’s related to what happened then…?”
“Let’s hope it isn’t,” she mutters, already turning for the door. “For both our sake’s.”
“Wait, where are you going? What about the investigation?”
She marches off, her mind already miles away.
“To the Temple!” She shouts over her shoulder. “I’ll be back once I’ve figured this out.”
She stops suddenly at the door, and turns, pointing at the door down into the dungeons. “Let no one inside that dungeon until I return. No guards, no prisoners—I don’t even want a damn Skeever in there if you can help it. Keep that dungeon sealed. Find somewhere else to house your criminals.”
Jorleif jogs to meet her at the door, lowering his voice so that he cannot be heard across the throne room. “And what are we supposed to do until you return? How long will it be?”
“I don’t know,” she answers, almost to both questions. “Hopefully not too long,” but she can make no promises – she has no idea how difficult it will be to find Jacob’s records. “I’ve already told you what to do until I return. Keep the dungeon sealed. And no one who doesn’t need to know about this should be told. Keep it quiet. Last thing we need is some curious idiot sneaking in there and making things worse.”
Jorleif nods quickly, his eyes wide. “Do—Do you think we’re in danger here in the palace?”
“No,” she says, and she hopes that she’s right. “But I would move the guards from that room somewhere else, if you can. There’s no need to tempt fate.”
“I will,” Jorleif agrees. “We will…make arrangements. Please return soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Eres shoves her way out of the front door of the palace, walking so briskly for the gates that she may as well be jogging. She has to make it back to the Temple as quickly as possible.
Jacob. Damn it.
His voice rings in her ears, as real as if he’d been walking right beside her.
“Once again…Once again, I alone survive…”
Had he been talking about this? Was this incident in Windhelm what he’d meant?
Gods, it had to be.
“Even I…Even I was once corrupted by him…In my time of need… I…I was dying. He offered me his help…”
Molag Bal.
Jacob’s encounter with him before. He could not have had more than one dealing with the likes of Molag Bal, Eres was certain.
Twenty years ago, here in Windhelm, Jacob and the Vigilants had been compromised by Molag Bal, and Jacob had been the only survivor. Twenty years ago, prisoners and guards started disappearing from the cells of the Windhelm dungeon, taken and killed by vampires – Molag Bal’s creations. The Maiden Statue, too, activated only by vampiric blood, had been opened once before, and sealed shut.
It had happened once, and now it's happening again – under Eres’ watch. Molag Bal had a hand in this, she's sure of it – but she needs to know exactly what had happened before. She will not be opening that statue until she knows exactly what she will face on the other side.