Chapter 1
Tirdas, the 5th of Sun's Height, Year 202 of the 4th Era
Daenerys didn't want to wake up, but the evil sun wouldn't let her sleep. The light beat down upon her closed eyes like a blacksmith forging a sword. Her head pounded from the harsh glare. The pain was as intense as setting the wolf free, but it went on and on. Her body didn't want to roll over and her arms felt wooden as she tried to block the glare. Her mouth tasted like she'd ate something that had been rotting for three days. She couldn't even go back to sleep because she also needed to find a chamberpot soon. She grabbed for her amulet. "Make it stop! Talos, please!" Gathering her will felt like being hit by a Shock spell, but the flow of healing brought her blessed relief. She kept it going until the throbbing pain went away.
"Ah, feeling better now are we, luv?" asked someone.
Daenerys sat up and glanced about. The first thing she noticed was the girl. She was an uncommonly pretty girl. She still had some of the roundness of face that came with youth, but already had a woman's figure. Her clothing was designed to flaunt her assets. She wore a deceptively simple white gown gathered just below her breasts by a golden cord. A matching golden chain encircled her neck. An amulet shaped like a flower dangled from the necklace drawing the eye to the plunging neckline of the gown and revealing a generous amount of cleavage. By her accent, brown hair, and general appearance the girl was a Breton. The clothes and jewelry said wealth, possibly even noble. The girl had a pleasant smile upon her face and seemed distinctly amused.
The second thing she noticed was the room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of grey stone. The blocks were of unusually large size and carved in patterns that she had seen once before in the Dwemer ruin where she'd fought the Dwarven Centurion. She had no idea where she was or how she had arrived at this place. It was certainly not Riften because it didn't reek of shit.
The third thing she became aware of was that she naked from the waist up. No, she was completely naked. A soft and comfortable sheet had fallen into her lap when she sat up. It didn't bother her that another woman could see her breasts, but it did bother her that she was naked while the other woman was clothed. Was she being kept naked on purpose? Why?
Even as she took in the room and its occupant, she also tried to remember where she was and how she had ended up in this bed. However, what she mostly remembered was having wild passionate sex. As her Dothraki handmaidens would have said, she had been ridden hard. The memories were erotic, not painful. She had been a willing participant. She remembered hard firm muscles, but not a face. Her thoughts kept jumping to Khal Drogo and Jon Snow, but her lover hadn't been either of them. Regardless of her memories of being an equal participant, she still felt defiled and ashamed. She wanted to bathe, she was sweaty and felt dirty inside and out.
Other memories danced around but they were a mixed up and confused mess. There had been a pig involved at some point. Not in her bed. Some silly prank involving a pig. However, she also remembered talking monkeys, so her memories weren't that reliable. Although she had certainly had sex with someone. Her last truly clear memory was having a drink with Sam in the Forgotten Hole in Riften.
Daenerys forced her attention to the girl in the white dress. "Thank you for taking care of me while I was indisposed. You seem to have me at a disadvantage. Who are you? And, where am I?" The chamber pot could wait for just a little longer.
"Hit the drink a little hard did'ja?" asked the girl with a smug grin. "I'm Senna. Senna the Acolyte. As for where you are, you're currently a guest at the temple of Dibella. Well, I use the word guest loosely. Dibella is the goddess of sex as well as love, art, and beauty, but that doesn't mean the priestesses are happy about you being sprawled naked on the altar when we arrived this morning. Not to mention 'ja swimming in the cleansing pool and ransacking the temple. They'll be wanting a word wit'ja. Even if you are the Dragonborn."
"Dibella?" That explained the flower amulet, and the gold necklace, but not where she was… Unless… Every major city in Skyrim had a patron deity. The patron god or goddess had the largest temple in each city. There would be smaller shrines to the other gods and goddess, sometimes small temples, but only one main temple. In Whiterun it was Kynareth. In Windhelm it was Talos. In Riften, Mara. Dwemer stonework, and Colette Marence the Mistress of Restoration at the College of Winterhold had been driven out of the temple in… "You mean in Markarth?"
Senna giggled in pure child-like glee. "Of course. Where else did'ja think you were?"
Markarth was in the far west corner of Skyrim. It was more than a month away from Riften and much of the journey through Forsworn territory. "What day is it?"
"Tirdas," replied the girl before bursting into another giggle. "The fifth of Sun's Height in case you forgot that as well. You really drank yourself stupid, didn't 'ja?"
Tirdas the fifth? She'd lost an entire day. It had been the night of the third, but there was no way she could have crossed from the far east side of Skyrim to the far west in a single day. Well, there was one way. Teleportation – forbidden and dangerous magic that had once been common. The rules of magic had changed after Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Domination and Slavery had tried and failed to merge Tamriel with his own domain of Coldharbor in an event known as the Planemeld. Only very powerful mages could teleport now, and few dared. Mages had also learned that teleportation wasn't quite as instantaneous or safe as they had believed. Teleportation involved taking a short-cut through Oblivion, the realm of the daedra. During that time the teleporting mage was vulnerable to the daedra that inhabited Oblivion. Teleportation risked death, allowing unbound daedra into Tamriel, or even worse, becoming possessed by a daedra. That's why Teleportation was now forbidden even to the mages strong enough to manage it.
"So… did'ja forget your own name as well, Lady Daenerys Targaryen? Or should I call you the Dragonborn?"
"I know who I am, Senna the Acolyte. You may call me Lady Targaryen." She was less concerned about what Senna called her than the fact that her story and appearance were well enough known in Markarth that she had been easily recognized. Although it shouldn't be a surprise. Markarth was about a month's distance from Whiterun. There had been more than enough time for the story of her defeat of Mir-Mul-Nir to reach Markarth. She needed time to think. "Is there a privy? And I would also like some clothes if you don't mind."
"That's why I'm here, luv. The priestesses wanted to give you time to recover before asking for answers. Over there, behind that screen."
Daenerys walked behind the screen. She felt the girl's eyes on her, but she ignored her. She had expected just a chamber pot and was pleased to find a small vanity. There was even a vase of water and scented oils, so she could clean up as well. It wasn't a tub, but even being able to scrub herself clean was appreciated. Hanging on a hook was a simple linen dress much like what she had worn when she worked at the Sleeping Giant Inn as a tavern wench but without the leather corset. It was sleeveless with thick straps and a plunging neckline. She didn't like the color, as it was the plain yellow-brown of undyed linen, but she didn't have another choice.
From the other side of the screen, Senna started singing The Dragonborn Comes. While Daenerys wasn't fond of that song, she had to admit that Senna had a lovely singing voice. Although she only seemed to know the verses that were in Tamrielic.
She took her time with her ablutions trying to give herself time to think. Not that it helped much. How was she going to get back to the Dragonguard? She had tried to prepare Sofija to lead the Dragonguard, but Sofija was not ready to be in charge yet. Would the Dragonguard follow Sofija? Or fracture and fall apart? Even if she left this moment it would take weeks to reach Riften. Could she ask for aid from the jarl of Markarth? She couldn't even remember his name. She knew Markarth was an Imperial aligned city. Would they honor the neutrality of the Dragonguard? Hopefully, they didn't know she had been proclaimed Ysmir, Dragon of the North, yet. However, she couldn't be certain. The Greybeards had Shouted their proclamation from the Throat of the World, and it had been heard all the way in Riften. That meant it might have been heard in Whiterun as well, and some Nord nobles knew Dovahzul. Even so, word probably hadn't gotten all the way to Markarth yet.
Her thoughts were derailed by the discovery that she was wearing more than her amulet of Talos. She had a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. The ring was a thick band of gold set with a large ruby. She hadn't even noticed that she'd been wearing it and she had no idea where it came from. It was also enchanted, but she couldn't get any details beyond that it was a strong protective enchantment. At least that meant it probably hadn't done her any harm. She had to use a little of the scented oil to get it off her finger. Then she realized the dress provided for her had no pockets, so she had no place to put the ring. Rather than put it back on, she unhooked her necklace and put the ring on the same chain with her amulet of Talos. She might need to do something about hiding her amulet later, but the priestesses had already seen her wearing it. They knew who she was. They could see it again.
As she brushed out her hair, she realized there was another possible explanation for how she had managed to get from Riften to Markarth. The Breton who had offered her a drink had been named Sam. He had been drunk, and he had led her on a night of drunken debauchery that she couldn't remember. The Daedric Prince of Debauchery was named Sanguine. Had she slept with a Daedric Prince? Was the ring a gift from him? However, Sam had promised her answers and a staff. He'd also offered to introduce her to someone. She hoped that was the case and she hadn't slept with a daedra. All things considered, another Daedric Prince meddling in her life seemed far more likely than Sam being an extremely powerful mage crazy enough to risk teleporting her to Markarth. Not that it was an explanation she could share.
Despite taking her time, she had found more questions than answers. Putting her brush down, she went out to face the girl that might answer some of them.
Senna smiled at her. "You cleaned up nicely, luv. Would you like a bite to eat before we're off to the priestesses?" Senna gestured at a plate with a silver cover dish over it.
"Yes, please," agreed Daenerys. "I would also appreciate some help braiding my hair."
"Do 'ja think every Breton girl knows how to do fancy braids?" She laughed. "I'm just funning with 'ja, 'cause I do. Although I'm more used to having my hair braided than doing the braiding. Hmm, how about a waterfall braid? A circle around the crown of your head, and then letting your locks spill through?"
Daenerys thought she knew what the girl meant. It wasn't exactly her preference, but a change could be good. "I'll give it a try."
"Very well, your Ladyship. Let's just swap places then. I'll braid 'ja after you eat."
Daenerys sat down at the seat Senna vacated. She lifted the lid to find a simple cold breakfast of oats and cream with plain water to drink. It was a common enough breakfast among Nords, although those who could afford it would drink ale or mead with their breakfast. Daenerys was glad for their absence. The last thing she wanted was more drink. There was also a small pot with a dab of honey for her oats. That was a luxury most Nords couldn't afford. Daenerys noted it as a sign that even if some of the wild sex that she couldn't really remember had taken place on the altar of Dibella, the priestesses were still treating her with respect.
"So," asked Senna. "Why did'ja take off your wedding ring? I didn't even know 'ja was married."
Daenerys had been in the process of taking a sip of water, and almost coughed on it. She kept her composure and swallowed it down. Wedding ring? "This ring?" She tapped the ring now hanging on the necklace with her amulet of Talos. "It's not a wedding ring. Just enchanted for protection."
"I know a wedding ring when I see one. Nords don't often wear one. They're happy just exchanging troths. It was an Imperial custom first, although we Bretons exchange rings as well. A big golden ring with a large stone on that finger of your left hand? That's a wedding ring. Trust me, Mara has only a dinky shrine in Markarth, not even a single priestess, so we do most of the weddings. I've seen plenty of them. It's even in even in the vows. 'With this ring, I thee wed."
Daenerys couldn't even remember the face of the man with whom she'd been intimate. If it had been a man and not a daedra. However, if she had said vows, she had said them in a drunken stupor. A drunken promise wasn't binding. Even Nords made their vows and oaths when sober. They got drunk afterward. "Thank you for informing me. The customs of my homeland are different. The groom removes the cloak of the bride's family and drapes the cloak of his house over her shoulders. We don't exchange rings. I'll be certain not to wear a ring on that finger again."
"Well, luv, don't be surprised if one of the priestesses doesn't bring it up. We all saw the ring on your finger, and we certainly saw the evidence of how much you two enjoyed each other."
"So how much trouble am I in with the priestesses?" asked Daenerys glad to change the subject.
Senna shrugged. "Now that's a good question. What 'ja did, if done with permission and at the right time of the month, would even be a Dibellan rite. However, 'ja didn't have permission. Violating the inner sanctum? You're double lucky. If 'ja been a man, they probably would have killed you. Dragonborn or no. If 'ja were just a common woman, they wouldn't have killed 'ja, but 'ja would have been in for a long period of service to the temple. Since you're a lady and the Dragonborn…" She shrugged. "Maybe 'ja can buy them off with enough septims?"
Daenerys kept a smile on her face and nodded her agreement. "I'm sure we can work out something." She waved a hand dismissively. She had to appear confident, even though her offense was obviously serious. However, she was distracted by the comment Senna had made about the right time of the month. She wasn't infertile any longer. That had her frantically trying to remember Masser's phase and when her fluxes had ended. It had been just before arriving in Riften. Only three days ago, but it seemed far longer. That meant… she probably wasn't pregnant. Although she wouldn't know for certain for another three weeks. She would have to obtain a bottle of Dibella's tears from an alchemist just to be safe. She would not be carrying the child of a man she couldn't even remember. If her lover had even been a man and a daedra. She was certainly not carrying the child of a daedra.
"Oh, don't 'ja worry. I'm sure something will be worked out for 'ja. Rank does have its privileges." Her tone was a little too sweet, like adding honey to tea to hide the bitterness.
Daenerys pushed away her tray. "I'm done, why don't you tell me about Markarth while you braid my hair?"
Senna shrugged. "Very well, your Ladyship." She took up position behind Daenerys and started dividing her hair for braiding. "Although, shouldn't 'ja have found out about Markarth before coming here?"
"Humor me," said Daenerys. "I want your perspective."
"Sure, your Ladyship." She started gently pulling at Daenerys' hair working it into braids. "Well, there's not much I can tell 'ja about the politics. Just what everyone knows. Jarl Igmund has declared for the Empire and he has Thalmor advisors in the city. They're free to arrest anyone they catch worshiping Talos, so 'ja might want to hide that amulet of yours. The Silver-Bloods are the richest clan and they might actually support 'ja. They're always grumbling about the Thalmor, but I'm sure 'ja already knew all that."
Actually, she didn't. Markarth had been so far away she hadn't worried about it that much, just that it was aligned with the Empire.
"The priestesses could tell 'ja more. Some of them meddle in politics. However, I can tell 'ja that if you're a Breton in Markarth 'ja keep your head down." Her tone again had that artificial lightness to it.
"Oh, and why is that?"
"Because Bretons are the descendants of Nords and mer who became civilized, learned proper magic, fought for the Empire, and worship the Aedra. While Reachmen are descendants of Nords and mer who remained savage, live in caves and tribes, learned dark magic, constantly rebelled against the Empire, and worship the Daedra. We are completely different people. I am nothing like them, but we look the same." She rolled her eyes. "If 'ja overlook their unkempt hair, tattoos, ritual scars, and ill-fitting stinking hides. Even when the differences are obvious, too many Nords treat us the same. Did'ja know about the 'Markarth Incident'?"
"Yes," agreed Daenerys. That much she had heard about. However, she hadn't realized how closely Bretons and Reachmen were related. "During the Great War the Reachmen captured Markarth. They ruled for about two years. Ulfric Stormcloak took back Markarth using the power of the Voice and with a lot of troops. He was promised that Talos worship would be allowed, but that didn't happen and Ulfric was arrested. The Reachmen that Ulfric didn't kill fled to the caves and the hills. They call themselves the Forsworn now." And to the best of her knowledge, the Forsworn were running unchecked through the Reaches and now controlled a large portion of western Skyrim.
"True, but you're leaving out important parts. At least important parts if you're a Breton. 'Ja see, when the Reachmen conquered Markarth, they let the Nords live and work in the city. The Reachmen were the rulers, but they were merciful. When Ulfric liberated the city, he put almost every Reachmen to the sword. The few he let live, he sent to work in the mines."
Daenerys felt the tugs on her hair grow a bit rougher as Senna continued braiding and talking.
"What your little story leaves out is a lot of Bretons got killed as well. Any Breton that couldn't produce an important Nord to vouch for them was assumed to be a Reachman. Which basically meant only the richest Breton's lived. My da's a candle-maker. He was lucky. Being a Breton in Markarth means always dressing your best, always talking proper. Yes, I say did'ja and such. I know it's not proper Imperial, but it's solidly Breton. It's how I was raised. You would think as an acolyte of Dibella that I'd be safe, but I don't leave the temple much anymore. When I do, I always wear my acolyte dress. I never make animal sounds: barks, growls, or cries. I don't wear facepaint, even though many Nords do. I don't think things are so bad that someone would attack a priestess, but I've heard of Bretons being lynched in the city. With the recent murders I've been staying in the temple, but I worry about my family constantly."
"What recent murders?" asked Daenerys.
"Did'ja not hear about the murders? It's about the only thing anyone can talk about. Although, I suppose they'll talk about 'ja now as well. Lots of people have been turning up dead lately. Merchants, workers, even a few nobs. Sometimes the killers have been caught. Sometimes they get away. When they have been caught, they've been Forsworn pretending to be Bretons. My family has lived in Markarth for three generations. Three! But, they stay home and lock their doors at night now. Not that many people are out at night with them enforcing the vagrancy law."
And that also sounded important. "Vagrancy law?"
"Yeah, vagrancy is against the law here in Markarth. Get caught sleeping on the streets and you could be sent to Cidhna Mines. Used to be the guards had better things to do than roust out beggars. Now with the murders, they're taking it seriously. If you're out after night, say even walking home from a tavern, the guard will stop you. If you're a Nord just walking home, they'll make sure you get home. If 'ja don't have a home, 'ja go straight to the silver mines for six months. They say it's to root out the Forsworn." She shrugged.
All cities had beggars living in the streets. She'd lived on the streets herself as a child. For that matter she had no money. With the Thalmor in Markarth supported by the jarl she couldn't use her fame as the Dragonborn. Hopefully, she could work something out that didn't end up with her getting tossed out on the streets. If worse came to worse, she could sell her new ring, but she felt oddly reluctant to part with it. "Six months of hard labor for being poor? That sounds rather extreme."
"That's Markarth. We're built on blood and silver." She stepped back. "Your hair's done. What do 'ja think?"
Daenerys took the mirror she was offered. Tight braids around the top, but her blond hair fell free down the sides. Different, but attractive. "That's lovely, thank you, Senna."
"I'm an acolyte of Dibella, beauty is what we do. So, are you ready to face the priestesses?"
Not really, but stalling would only make her look weak and afraid. "Yes, I'm ready."
When Senna led her outside the chamber in which she had awoken, she discovered that the Dibellans were not trusting fools. Two temple guards stood right outside her door. They were dressed in full armor made from dwemer metal. While dwemer metal wasn't as hard as steel, it was tougher than mere iron. Dwemer metal made for beautiful armor. It was a color midway between gold and copper, and like gold it neither rusted nor tarnished. The Dibellan guard armor was carved and decorated. Daenerys was amused by the sculpted muscles on the chest and belly as well as the oversized codpieces. She supposed since these men served the Temple of Dibella, they might have been chosen for their looks and the size of their cocks instead of skill at arms. They did wear open-faced helms and their faces were certainly attractive.
As she followed Senna the guards fell in behind her. Daenerys took in as much of the temple as she could. Like her room the stone in the hallways revealed signs of their dwemer origins. However, the origins of the temple were covered up by artwork on display. Statuary, tapestries, and paintings lined the walls. Clearly the temple was both rich and powerful to be able to flaunt this much wealth. Not that golden necklaces and amulets for acolytes and dwemer metal for their guards came cheaply.
However, she had more important things to worry about than admiring the wealth on display. This meeting was important. She was in a weaker position now than she had ever been since she was a novice at the College of Winterhold. She had no followers and no allies with her. She could still Shout or release the werewolf, but she couldn't overcome an entire city. She needed allies so she could return to the Dragonguard. Since Jarl Igmund had Thalmor advisors, she didn't have many options. Maybe these Silver-Bloods who supported the Stormcloaks, but her first and best option was convincing the Temple of Dibella to aid her. However, she was going into this audience at a severe disadvantage. She had desecrated their temple, and she could offer no excuse. I was drunk off my ass was an acceptable excuse for most things in Nord society, but it would still get you fined, thrown in jail, and required to pay for damages. Not to mention they'd want to how, when, and why she'd come to Markarth in the first place.
They arrived at a door that was elaborately carved and painted. The two guards took up positions on either side of the door and turned to face her. While their armor was pretty, they still looked imposing.
Senna gave her a smile. "Well now, here we are. Wait here will I go in and announce 'ja."
"Very well," agreed Daenerys. It wasn't like she had a choice.
Senna opened the door just enough to slip through.
Daenerys didn't see much, but she still caught a glimpse of sunlight and sky, so the door led outdoors. Judging by the artwork on the painted door it led to a garden. She took a moment to look over the painting. It depicted a pastoral orgy. Youthful men and women were depicted copulating in a variety of positions. Mixed among the debauchery were multiple women engaged in artful endeavors. Some were singing, some were playing instruments, and others were weaving or sculpting. The entire scene had been beautifully rendered, but Daenerys found it bewildering. Dibella was a strange goddess. In the Faith of the Seven the Mother had sexual overtones, but in the context of family. The Maiden did represent beauty, but the arts belonged to the Smith. There were gods for everything in Essos, but none quite captured the duality that men expected of women in one deity: beauty and grace mixed with wanton lust. This painting better expressed Dibella than anything she'd heard. Dibella was maiden and lust wrapped up in one goddess.
The doors opened and Senna emerged. "The priestesses will see 'ja now."
