A/N: And this one is the wrapping up of part one, the end of the prelude to the Dawnguard questline. Yeah, nine whole chapters and longer than I care to think about to get here, but we're here. After this, the Dawnguard questline can start. Exciting isn't it? As it is, this one wraps up both House of Horrors and the Only Cure quests before bringing in the Volkihars. Warnings for violence, death, the brutal tortore of Logrolf, blood magic and Madanach really not being a nice man.

Summary: Kodlak doesn't trust Madanach and as the truth of the job he's been asked to do becomes clear, he finds his mistrust confirmed in full. Meanwhile Madanach has problems of his own, namely Molag Bal, and while he's got a plan, that doesn't mean he has no regrets. Not to mention that Molag Bal has other worshippers with their own agenda... and they have the Reach and its unlikely Dragonborn hero in their sights.

Kodlak had had misgivings about this job from the start. He'd even considered sending the twins away, but they'd both refused. He'd only got away with getting Ria to remain in Markarth because Vilkas and Cicero had both sided with him, and what with Vilkas insisting it was too risky for a non-werewolf, and Cicero whining and fawning about how he could not bear to see his only child sicken and die from a horrible wasting disease with no cure, and think of his poor nerves and all that Cicero has had to suffer in all his years, all this said with the most sorrowful pout Kodlak had ever seen on an adult, Ria had agreed to stay behind.

Then as they were leaving Markarth, Eola had appeared, resplendent in a set of robes that were apparently a replica of Miraak's, and announced she was coming with them.

"We werewolves must stick together, hmm?" Eola purred, and Kodlak just barely repressed the urge to growl at her. Werewolf she might be, his son's lover perhaps, but that didn't mean Kodlak had to like her. Still, Daedra-worshipping (probably) murderer she might be, but she was a capable mage, and while Kodlak wasn't exactly fond of magic, having mage fire at his back might be useful.

Also it occurred to him Madanach might not know she was coming, and the thought of the Reach-King's reaction to his little girl being involved had a way of cheering Kodlak up. So he put up with it.

The journey was uneventful, only taking a couple of hours to reach, Eola pointing out the Lover Stone (popular place for picnics and Forsworn weddings apparently) and Ragnvald Temple on the way (cleared out by Cicero during the summer – he'd recounted the tale to the whole of Jorrvaskr after, and taken great delight in waking up Vilkas while wearing the dragon priest mask he'd found in there, or at least he had until Kodlak had told him off anyway).

And then Bthardamz loomed into view, Dwemer domes gleaming in the sunlight – and Kodlak got his first taste of why this was a bad idea. It wasn't the sickly orange skin or even the vile green vomit they spewed. It was the fear in their eyes, a certain hesitance in their weapon wielding, and Kodlak realised they weren't that skilled, any of them. No match for three Companions and the Dragonborn's sidekick. Were they even Daedra worshippers? Or was Madanach just using them to exterminate his own diseased citizens?

Well, the Daedra worship question was soon answered – green vines twining around Dwemer pillars, and a vicious looking dragon shrine confirmed the presence of Peryite worship, as did the presence of black-robed cultists invoking the Daedra of Pestilence. It salved Kodlak's conscience... until he took a closer look at the shrine and realised where he'd seen it before.

"That shrine," he said, just about keeping his voice level. "The pillar with the dragon head on top. It's a shrine to Peryite, isn't it?"

"Why yes, of course," Eola said, raising an eyebrow. "The last thing you'd expect to find in a lair of Peryite worshippers, I know."

Kodlak ignored the sarcasm, in fact most of his energy was going into restraining himself from walking out of this job. But if he did that, Eola would likely just finish it on her own, or possibly return with Arnbjorn and that child vampire the Brotherhood had, recently seen in the Keep in fact, and Kodlak would never get the werewolf cure he wanted.

As if they're going to let someone into Sovngarde who's murdering innocent people infected by Peryite on the orders of... Kodlak didn't finish the thought. Best not to think on his suspicions. He just had a feeling that Madanach was not doing this to protect his people.

Hours later and the job was done. Orchendor was dead, and Kodlak was exhausted. It had been Vilkas whose sword had severed Orchendor's head from his shoulders, with Eola's magic pinning him into a corner, and Kodlak had forced a smile and congratulated Vilkas on a job well done. Let the dishonour fall on his shoulders alone.

They'd made their way back to Markarth in silence, Eola excusing herself once inside the Keep to go have a bath then track Cicero down. Farkas and Vilkas went to do likewise, and Kodlak took the time to at least clean his armour before confronting Madanach.

The man was in his study, heads of Nords who'd crossed him staring down from the walls, and in the corner, the artefact that had made him realise just what he'd got himself into. A small shrine to Peryite, identical to the last detail to the ones he'd seen in Bthardamz.

Madanach glanced up from the letter he'd been writing, pushing those wire and glass optics of his up onto the top of his head.

"Harbinger," Madanach growled. "Job done, I hope."

"It's done," Kodlak snapped. "But don't insult my intelligence, Madanach. You're a Peryite worshipper yourself! I recognise the shrine!"

Madanach tilted his head, before turning to glance at the shrine behind him, slight smile on his face.

"Yeah," he said, not a trace of shame on his face. "You deal with all the admin I have to on a daily basis, you would also be lighting a candle to the Divine Taskmaster."

"I assure you, I would do no such thing!" Kodlak shouted at him. "You... did you know Orchendor was working on a cure?"

Madanach barely even reacted, just shrugging.

"No. Although that would explain why Peryite wanted him dead," Madanach remarked. "Peryite sends a disease into the world, he tends not to react well when people start trying to eradicate it."

"They were innocent people, Madanach!" Kodlak roared at him. "They'd just had the misfortune to get sick at the hands of the Daedra of Pestilence, and you had me kill them all!"

"Which you did admirably, so thank you," Madanach replied, apparently unfazed by any concern for innocent lives. "Saved me paying Delphine's rates too. I'll make sure your payment's sent to Jorrvaskr, might even get a little bonus if Peryite's pleased."

"I do not want a bonus!" Kodlak growled, feeling the beast within growling, and he was this close to just transforming and ripping Madanach's head off, werewolf cure be damned, in fact he could feel the change starting...

Madanach's eyes widened slightly, and then a small sliver of metal appeared in his left hand, carving into the palm of his right, beads of blood dribbling out and then Madanach was casting some sort of spell that glowed with a red light... and the change stopped. Kodlak was forced back into human form again, beast form there but somehow... inaccessible. He tried to demand answers off Madanach, but found to his horror that he was frozen solid, not just unable to change, but unable to move or speak. Madanach the Witch-King had some way of stopping the change, taking control of Kodlak's very blood somehow. Kodlak had heard of blood magic, but he'd never yet encountered it before. It was said to be a rare and dangerous art practiced by few due to the cost being too high for most. Trust the damn witchmen to have a handle on it.

"I really don't like using blood magic, but you leave me little choice," Madanach sighed, sounding rather bored of the whole conversation and not at all like a man presently wielding dark magic on another human being. "Now, I have Argis on the way to this room right now, and you will be under this spell until he arrives. When he does, I strongly suggest you don't attack me in front of him. He will not react well, and he's a match for a werewolf."

Because you subjected your own son to the Briar Heart ritual, you bastard. But Kodlak couldn't fight the spell, couldn't fight off whatever Madanach was doing to his very blood. Damn witchmen – he knew from the start accepting Madanach's help had been a mistake.

"Now, seeing as you're Cicero's father and I do rather owe him, I won't actually be killing you for trying to attack me, not this time anyway," Madanach continued. "I'll send your payment to Jorrvaskr in the next two weeks, as promised for a job well done. And then I'll make the arrangements with Keirine to sort that cure out, and for a suitable drop-off for the heads of Glenmoril Coven – I presume you won't have a problem with killing them?" Madanach didn't even bother hiding the sarcasm, and he seemed to take Kodlak's assent as a given. "Good. And then we'll cure your beast blood and you can go back to Jorrvaskr, and we need never see each other again. That sound good to you?"

That last part at least was something Kodlak could agree on, and as the door opened and Argis the Bulwark strode in, icy glare turned on Kodlak, Madanach released the spell, wincing as he poured Restoration magic into his hand and reached for a cloth.

"You all right?" Argis asked, alarmed as he saw the blood pooling on the floor.

"Yeah," Madanach growled, sitting down and looking a lot paler than he had done previously, and Kodlak made a mental note that blood magic clearly exacted a price on the caster's health. "Negotiations just got a little heated, that's all – bion, stop that, I'll be fine."

"You'd better be," Argis snarled, face twisting into an enraged parody of his usual expression as he turned his attention back to Kodlak. "Admorin, you make one move towards him and I rip your head off, I mean it. I don't care whose father you are."

Kodlak had a feeling Argis might change his mind if Cicero were to learn Argis had killed him, but he said nothing to Argis, just nodding.

"Hold your end of the bargain up and there will be no further issues," Kodlak snapped. "But after that, we are done. Jorrvaskr will have nothing further to do with the Reach."

"Fine by me," Madanach shrugged. "Argis, see the Harbinger back to his room, in one piece and unharmed if you please. Neither of us need Cicero shrieking at us that we've damaged his father, and Kodlak does still have guest rights... for tonight. I imagine he'll be leaving in the morning."

Kodlak didn't argue. This country was wrong in some fundamental way, he was sure of it, and the sooner he got home to a sane city, the better. Repressing a shudder at being close to a dead man walking, he took his leave and followed Argis out.

"But whhhyyyyyy?" Cicero wailed on hearing his father was leaving already. "You have done the job, Cicero was hoping you could stay a few days, keep poor Cicero company! Cicero could show you the sights, buy you drinks in the Hag's Rest! Please stay! Pleeeeaaasssse! There is a New Life party planned! There shall be dancing!"

"I'm a little old for dancing," Kodlak sighed as he packed his things into his backpack. Truth be told he was starting to get weary of Markarth in any case and longed for Jorrvaskr's comforts – but a little more time in his son's company might have been nice and Cicero's genuine sorrow at seeing him go tore at him. One thing to choose to leave but to be essentially forced out? Hard to bear, and even the knowledge that Madanach would have been well within his rights to execute him for losing himself to the beast in his keep didn't help much.

He deserved it.

He's King here! I can't just murder lawful rulers!

Lawful? The man worships Daedra, knows blood magic, and just sent you to kill a base full of innocent people on Peryite's orders!

Yes. And your son murders for a living and would have done the job if not for the risk of contagion and lost no sleep over it, shall we kill him as well?

Kodlak needed to get out of this country. Maybe this was for the best. He'd see Cicero soon in Jorrvaskr, right?

"Also the Reach-King's hospitality is nearing its limits," Kodlak sighed, feeling a little of the truth was required to persuade Cicero let this one go. "You know he's no fan of Nord mercenaries. It's probably best I go home. Unless you were planning to offer hospitality at your own home."

Cicero's smile faded and he laughed nervously.

"Er... Cicero doesn't that would be wise. Also Listener must consent. Listener likely will not. Listener only let Vilkas and Ria in that one time because she needed their help." Cicero stopped talking and closed the gap between them, hugging Kodlak.

"Cicero will visit," Cicero whispered. "Cicero will come and see you in the new year! Maybe Cicero will spend time with you and Ria for longer than usual, a whole week maybe! Yes?"

"Yes, you'd be welcome," Kodlak said, patting Cicero on the back and returning the hug. "It'd be good to see you."

Cicero nodded and the two men hugged for a bit longer before Cicero let him go, and started assisting with the packing, exclaiming how his poor father should not have to carry all this stuff to the carriage by himself and where were the twins, hmm? Kodlak listened, and felt the dead weight in his heart shift just a little as he watched his son. All right, perhaps he'd fathered an assassin who consorted with an entire kingdom run by necromancers. But his son could also be very affectionate and caring when he wanted, and watching him did have a way of bringing a smile to Kodlak's face. And so Kodlak let Cicero escort him to the carriage, with the twins and Ria joining them, all three having had a good time but glad to be going home, even if Farkas did look a little wistful about leaving Kaie behind.

Had he but known it, it was probably for the best he was leaving. Markarth was about to be the scene for another Daedra-inspired killing, and Kodlak would have wanted to be around for this one even less.

The orders were sent, and Keirine obeyed, acidly telling Logrolf he was free to go, she supposed, but to stop preaching against the gods of the country that had been so kind as to give his co-religionists a home.

Logrolf growled out a rather ungrateful response and was later seen by the ReachGuard packing his things and running south on the King's Road to Markarth.

Within minutes of hearing this news, Keirine changed into a raven and took flight from her altar, arriving in Markarth ahead of Logrolf and announcing to her brother that the priest was on his way.

Which meant the ReachGuard guarding the house slipped away, taking the barriers with them and leaving the house unguarded... apart from a little girl with a shawl and basket who kept to the shadows and quietly warned off the unwary, including several Reachkin children who'd heard stories and wanted to know if they were true.

"Yes," Babette said without hesitating. "There's something in there that'll eat you up if you go in."

"So why's King Madanach taken his soldiers away then?" one of the kids asked smugly.

"Maybe there's someone he wants to get eaten," Babette murmured, smirking at them. "You've heard stories of the Witch-King. You know what he does to his enemies."

Wide eyes from the kids, and then little Adara, the Redguard silversmith's daughter, spoke up.

"What, he's just going to let them walk into a house with a monster in it?"

Babette just smiled.

"Never said this man was a good person, did I?" Babette shrugged. "And Madanach's not making him walk into the house. He's walking in of his own free will, and I'm even here to warn him there's a monster in there. He walks in after that, it's his own fault. He'll either win, in which case, the monster will be gone, or he'll be dead and it won't be Madanach's fault."

The kids exchanged glances, and the Reachfolk at least actually grinned, before one of them whispered "All Hail the Reach-King!"

"King Madanach's smart!" another, one of the girls, announced. Adara was the sole child left looking appalled.

"But he'll die!" Adara whispered. Babette smiled pityingly at her.

"Kings and Jarls have people executed all the time. Madanach's no different. At least this time he's offering the man a choice. Now go home, kids. He's coming."

Sure enough, as the sun set and Markarth fell swiftly into shadow, night coming quickly as it always did to a city set in a bowl with the Druadachs at its back, Logrolf the Wilful made his way up along the Markarth brook, robes swishing around his feet. The kids took one look at the black robes and stern glare and ran off... but they didn't run far, all racing up to the level above and hiding behind the stone railings to listen in. Only Babette remained behind, smiling calmly up at Logrolf as he raced up to the door.

"Stand aside, girl!" Logrolf snapped. "This is no place for children!"

"This house is no place for anyone," Babette said calmly. "You don't want to go in there. There's a monster inside. It'll kill you if you go in."

"I know what's in there, girl, and it's hardly a match for me," Logrolf snapped. "Run home to your parents, child, and don't stand in my way." Elbowing her out of the way, Logrolf flung the door open and strode in. Babette watched him go before turning up to the watching children.

"Still feel sorry for him?" Babette asked, knowing what the answer would be. Adara shook her head.

"He was mean!" Adara gasped. "He just pushed you out of the way!"

"Yes," Babette said, voice barely wavering from the same calm monotone. "And that's why King Madanach's letting him go up against the monster. You know, you really should go home. You don't want to be around for the next bit."

The children didn't argue, and minutes later, they'd all dispersed, heading for their homes. Babette finally let her smile fade and took a deep breath before heading in. She could definitely do without witnesses for this one. Pushing the door open, she made her way in.

"You don't scare me, Molag Bal!" Logrolf snapped, unafraid as he knelt in the cage. "I have won this battle before!"

Babette let her shawl fall back as she stepped into the light, making no noise as she approached the altar. Logrolf wasn't aware of her presence as yet... but Molag Bal had noted her.

"Ah, but I have my own champion now, Logrolf," Molag Bal purred. "Behold, one of my children, come to help her father."

"What? You?" Logrolf turned to see Babette standing there, basket clutched in her hands. The priest of Boethiah did not look impressed. "You bring a little girl to fight me? Your standards truly have fallen, Hated One."

Molag Bal ignored the insult, continuing to purr at Babette.

"Child. Take my mace in all its rusted spitefulness. Punish the unbeliever. Make him bend to me!"

"You can't even reach that mace!" Logrolf scoffed. Babette simply placed her basket on the ground and reached for two things: an ebony dagger and a bottle of a deep red poison.

"I don't need the mace," Babette said, coating the blade with practiced ease. Turning around, she made her way over, drew the knife and with one move, slashed at Logrolf with it. Blood poured from his arm, but Logrolf was barely wounded.

"Hah! Is that all?" Logrolf laughed. "It will take more than a simple cut to break my wi- aaaahhhh!" The poison had kicked in and Babette watched as Logrolf screamed in agony.

"That'll be the deathbell kicking in," Babette said calmly. "It's mixed with a blend of oils, salt and a chemical produced by this plant from Stros M'Kai. It's agonisingly painful on an open wound. Also quite lethal to your internal organs... eventually. Of course, it helps speed the process up if it's got more than one entry way."

Another cut and soon Logrolf was weeping. Babette slashed him again, and another time, and a fifth cut had him curled up on the floor. And then the poison finally overcame him and Logrolf went into a series of fits before gurgling his last and dying.

Molag Bal had watched all this in silence, but as Logrolf died, Molag Bal began to laugh, howling out his amusement as the sound echoed off Dwemer stonework.

"Oh well done! Weakling mortals with their frail, limp, pathetic bodies! Here, try again."

Reality whirled and blurred around her, and Babette sank to her knees until it stopped... and then she opened her eyes to see Logrolf sitting up, alive again and staring about him in terror.

"What... no. No!" Logrolf cried, but Molag Bal didn't seem to care.

"Again, daughter. Hurt him again."

Babette added more poison to her knife and set to work again, and soon she had Logrolf sobbing in pain once more. It wasn't long after that when the old man finally broke, crying as he gave in, surrendering to Molag Bal's will.

"You bend to me?" Molag Bal growled. Logrolf nodded.

"Yes," he whispered.

"You pledge your soul to me?" Molag Bal asked, predatory pleasure oozing from every syllable. A long pause and then Logrolf whimpered a reply.

"Yes."

"You forsake the weak and pitiful Boethiah?!" Molag Bal practically roared, disdain in his voice at even having to mention his rival's name.

An even longer pause here, Logrolf not quite able to let go of his patron goddess just yet... but as Babette's fingers flickered to her knife, Logrolf let the last barrier to damnation fall.

"Yes," he whispered, sounding utterly broken, and even a vampire assassin could manage a bit of empathy for someone so completely lost to hope.

A pause as even Molag Bal seemed to appreciate the enormity of the moment and then the Dark Lord spoke.

"You're mine now, Logrolf," Molag Bal growled. "Here. Daughter. Put him out of his misery. I'll deal with him myself in Coldharbour."

Babette said nothing, only drawing her blade and grabbing Logrolf by the robes, slitting his throat in one practiced motion and letting him bleed out.

"Is that it? Was that enough?" Babette finally said, silently hoping it would be, that she could finally leave and put this all behind her. Mercifully, Molag Bal granted her wish.

"Yes, little one. Well done. You did well. Here, take my mace, restored to its full power. Maybe your Listener would like it. She chose well in sending you after all. She is perhaps more formidable than I assumed. Tell her the Dark Brotherhood need fear no trouble from me."

The mace had transformed from a rusty brown to a gleaming green and black monstrosity, and the shackles holding it in place opened it, allowing it to float out, levitating towards Babette and hovering in front of her. Babette took the mace, thanked Molag Bal and placed it in her basket. It was heavy but a vampire could manage it. Just about.

"And now I must be going. I have a soul in Coldharbour to deal with," Molag Bal gloated. "Take care of the house while I'm gone!" Laughing ghoulishly, Molag Bal's voice faded away, and Babette felt the atmosphere in the house lighten considerably as his presence vanished. The spikes shrank back into the altar, which had gone quiet. It was inactive... for now. Babette had no intention of waiting around to see that change. Gathering her things, she headed for the surface.

The ReachGuard had descended as soon as Babette emerged from the house, Delphine and Cicero there with them to make sure Babette was all right. Possession checks passed, Babette was able to tell Delphine it was over, giving her the Mace of Molag Bal. Delphine eyed it nervously and promptly gave it to Argis.

Then it was all back to the Keep for a full debrief, after which Madanach shook Delphine by the hand, and Babette too, and large amounts of coin and jewels changed hands. Madanach even consented to a cuddle from Cicero, who'd been very excited to hear all the gory details and wanted to know if he could see the shrine. Delphine vetoed that idea, but Madanach did agree Eola could have the corpse if she wanted. He really didn't want to know what the experiment she was performing involved but if it made her happy...

Then the Dark Brotherhood were on their way, and if Cicero was a bit down over his kin having to leave so quickly, the assassins' guild had overall had a very good few days. Which just left Madanach clearing up the mess. The corpse had been carted away, and the rumour put out that Logrolf had been the cultist performing Daedric rites in the house and causing the haunting that had claimed Erikur's life. The citizens of Markarth didn't entirely believe this was the whole truth, but most were relieved to have an end to the matter. Madanach, however, knew better, which is why he was standing in the basement of the abandoned house, staring at the inert altar, his sister by his side.

"Well, it's inactive, that's a relief," Madanach sighed. "I don't want to have to go through all this again. Delphine's fees are expensive."

"Keep this thing here, and one day you will," Keirine replied. "If not you, your descendants. Do not think he's gone forever, Madanach. Alessia's blood sealed the Veil, but as long as there's a shrine here, Bal can come back."

"I know," Madanach said sombrely, staring at the hateful thing. Sacrificing criminals on it had been fun at first, but after a while it had started to weigh on him, and then he'd started running out of victims. In a way, the timing of the invasion had been something of a mercy.

"Then do something about it," Keirine hissed. "You know the rite, you were a worshipper once. Banish the shrine back to Oblivion and Bal is gone from the Reach."

"Yeah," Madanach said quietly, remembering rituals past, and wondering what Bal's reaction would be to the loss of his shrine. Molag Bal might not be able to do anything directly, but he could certainly manage indirect action. Keirine was not slow in picking up his reluctance.

"Madanach!" Keirine growled, feathers ruffling as she bared her pointed teeth at him. "You promised me! When you first joined that cult, you swore it was a means to an end. When you started the rebellion, you promised me you'd leave the cult once you became King, that maybe you'd even outlaw it! Now it's down to one shrine, you have the throne, and you do nothing?"

"Dammit, Keirine, I'd said I'd think about it!" Madanach snapped, and Keirine's eyes narrowed. Oh good, now he'd upset her. That was all he needed, his own sister reconsidering her loyalty. All the same, the risk to his kingdom... and then he recalled the kingdom next door and its pretty High Queen, awaiting him in Solitude. Elisif. Elisif, who'd told him in no uncertain terms that she could live with his past but it couldn't bleed into his future if he still wanted to be her husband. And he did. He very definitely did.

Madanach thought of Elisif's tearful, furious face if he admitted to her he'd let the shrine be, and he couldn't lie to her, he just couldn't. In the end, that decided him.

"All right," Madanach sighed. "Bring the goat and the soul gems. Let's get this rite under way."

Hreinn started up as the cell door opened, and the guards came for him. It wasn't that they'd treated him badly – he'd been fed, slops cleaned out regularly, his family visiting him daily, the guards being all rather nice to him, many of them even congratulating him on taking out a Nord thane. But they were still in service to King Madanach and despite their personal opinions, they'd follow his orders. That it had taken this long for the king to summon him... Hreinn wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not, but it had to happen eventually.

To his surprise, they bound his hands and took him not to the keep but to a small interrogation room in the barracks itself, sitting him down at a table with a magelight practically blinding him and telling him not to make any sudden moves around the King. Then the door opened and King Madanach himself strode in wearing his fine blue robes said to be a replica of those worn by Miraak the First Dragonborn. Hreinn couldn't help but shudder at the sight. Madanach might be getting old but he was still a very intimidating man, and Hreinn could feel his skin prickling at the magical power rolling off him.

"That'll be all," Madanach growled as he slid into the seat opposite Hreinn. "You're all dismissed. Not you, bion."

"Sir, is this wise..." one of the guards began, and Madanach glared at her.

"Do I need to repeat myself? You're. All. Dismissed. You and you can wait outside, feel free to intervene if you hear screaming."

Hreinn said nothing, waiting as the guards filed out, silently terrified and wondering whose screams might bring the guards running back. Once he'd have placed money on his own, but he'd killed a nobleman recently, hadn't he? Could he take on Madanach?

Hreinn felt fairly certain the answer was no. Madanach was older but a lifetime of fighting and manual labour had left him wary in a way Erikur hadn't been, and he had magic at his disposal. Hreinn really didn't like his chances, and while the guards had all laughed and joked and been proud of him for murdering a Nord, he knew without a doubt that if he attacked Madanach, it'd be death for him. So he lowered his eyes and waited for the King to speak.

When he did, his voice was far gentler than Hreinn had ever expected.

"Well, bion, how have you been faring? My guards have been treating you well, I hope?" Madanach asked, sounding almost kind. Hreinn could only nod.

"What are you going to do?" Hreinn whispered. "Is Queen Elisif very angry? Oh gods, am I being sent to Solitude for trial? What are they going to do to me?"

Madanach reached out and touched his bound wrist, making little soothing noises, actually smiling.

"In reverse order, nothing, no, not really - she never liked him anyway, and that's why I'm here. I've read your statement, boy, and heard from witnesses, and I know what you encountered in that house. I know you didn't have a choice. It wasn't your fault."

"I killed him!" Hreinn blurted out, remembering everything, a voice in his head, terrified he was going to die, prayers to the Eight but they did nothing, then Erikur coming at him, fists pummeling him, trying to fend him off, Erikur pinning him down and raising a knife, and only by sheer luck Hreinn managed to hit him with a nearby chair then grab a mace from the table and hit him again before he could recover... and again... and again until Erikur wasn't moving, and then that voice congratulating him... Hreinn felt nauseous at the memory, visibly shuddering... and then magic was pouring into his arm from the hands of the Reach-King. Hreinn felt his emotions settle, warm, calm magic filling him up and washing over him, and he couldn't help but gasp.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

"Calming spell, you look like you needed it," Madanach said quietly. "Yes, bion, you did, but I'm guessing you didn't have a lot of choice?"

Hreinn shook his head, but the guilt didn't ease. Mainly because he knew how he'd felt when Erikur lay dead at his feet, for those few seconds before horror and revulsion kicked in... the feeling of having triumphed and emerged the stronger.

"I think I liked it," Hreinn whispered. "Killing him, I mean. Sir, are you going to execute me?"

To his surprise, Madanach actually laughed quietly.

"Hardly. Hreinn, bion, I don't know if you realised this, but Thane Erikur was not a popular man. There are an awful lot of people who would shake you by the hand, and they're not all in the ReachGuard either. In fact, I heard from Elisif this morning and she's broken the news to his sister, who took it better than expected. As long as she inherits the main part of his estate, she's content and isn't seeking justice for his death. Of course, the Mournful Throne is paying compensation to her on your behalf anyway, and I'll be paying her a visit when I'm next in Solitude, but you don't need to fear legal repercussions for this. The Mournful Throne's satisfied you were acting in self-defence and to protect your sister. Here, read this. It's your official statement. You need to sign it, but once that's done, you're free to go."

"I... what?" Hreinn managed to get out. "You're just letting me go? But I killed someone!"

"And?" Madanach said, smirking a little. "You're not the only one in this city to have done that. You're not even the only one in this room to have shed Nord blood, boy."

Which was true but did nothing to ease Hreinn's guilt. Opening the leather folder Madanach had pushed across the table to him, Hreinn unfurled the scroll awaiting his signature... and realised this was not the statement he'd given a few days ago. His original statement had left nothing out, not the house, the voice, the orders to kill, nothing. This statement said only that Erikur, the worse for drink, had accosted Hroki, become violent when she'd objected, and Hreinn had gone to intervene. Then Erikur had attacked Hreinn, thrown him at the door of the nearby house with enough force to shake the door loose, dragged him inside and shut the door behind him, and then tried to kill him. Hreinn, with the door stuck fast and no time to wait for someone to break it down again, had apparently been left with no choice but to defend himself, with fatal consequences.

"This isn't how it happened," Hreinn said softly. "It all sounds like just an accident. But there was a voice, and the door wasn't rusty, it was magically sealed."

"Maybe, maybe not," Madanach countered. "People will talk and they can believe what they want. But the official version will be based on that statement, and the official version will have no talk of the supernatural. That's your official story and you'll be sticking to it. We clear on that, bion?"

Hreinn swallowed, not being the world's most natural liar. But seeing it all written down – reading this, he could almost believe it had been nothing more than a tragic accident. Maybe if he repeated it often enough, he'd believe it too.

Hand shaking, he signed the form, struggling a little with the bonds, but they weren't so tight he couldn't write, and Madanach took it from him with a smile, adding his own signature and a seal.

"Done," Madanach said, satisfied. "Oh, and bion, don't worry. The First Matriarch and I have cleansed that house. The source of the trouble's gone for good. I've no intention of allowing it to return to the Reach."

Hreinn nodded, saying nothing as Madanach produced that odd little rough knife of his and slashed Hreinn's bonds, setting him free.

"There is one other thing. If you're willing," Madanach said softly.

"What?" Hreinn whispered. Madanach sat back, actually looking hopeful.

"You did well," Madanach said, sounding oddly proud. "Thrown into a life or death situation and you emerged the victor. And that you were brave enough to stand up to a Nord noble to protect your sister, and do it successfully – you did better than me at your age. The Reach can use that, boy."

"Can it?" Hreinn asked, brow furrowing. It sounded like Madanach was offering him a job but surely not...

"Absolutely," Madanach promised. "See, Nepos has been on at me about increasing diversity in the ReachGuard, that the Nords of the Reach would feel more comfortable if there were Nords in the guards again. Me, I'm not so sure, and I'm definitely sure that my soldiers weren't ready for Nord comrades. But now there's you, Hreinn Thane-Killer they're calling you in the Forsworn. And they mean it as high praise. I have letters coming in daily from the camps wanting to know what happened and asking if you're getting a reward for your trouble. I'm presently having to disappoint them... but if you're willing, there's a place in the ReachGuard training programme for you."

Hreinn stared at him, wondering if he was serious – but of course he was, Madanach didn't joke around regarding his beloved Forsworn. The pay was good, he knew that much, and all the ones who came to drink in the Hag's Rest always seemed to be having a really good time and... him? In the ReachGuard?

"You mean I'd get to learn magic," Hreinn whispered and Madanach nodded, still smiling at him.

"Yeah, if you had the aptitude. But not everyone in the ReachGuard knows a lot of magic, skill levels vary wildly. Don't worry if you can't. Ability to shoot straight or swing a weapon will serve you if magic doesn't, and there's always a place for anyone with people skills. Protecting a city or community's different than fighting a war, and I've seen you in the inn, boy. I've seen you break up fights, talk drunks out of doing things they shouldn't, send people home when they don't want to go, and this Erikur incident's the first time anything violent's happened. You've got potential. Well? Fancy serving the Reach?"

Hreinn thought of working in the inn for the rest of his life, cleaning up spills, dealing with drunks, always putting a brave face on any slight, dealing with his parents' sniping... that last decided him.

"Yes," Hreinn said. "I mean, I'll need to tell my parents... and say goodbye to Hroki... and pack my things... by the Eight, I don't even know what to take!"

"Don't worry about that," Madanach said, getting up to take his leave. "You go home, enjoy the holidays, tell your kin. First Morndas after New Life, you go see Kaie at Understone Keep, she'll issue you with further instructions and get you signed up. All right, I've taken enough of your time. Guards'll be in here in a second to give you your things back. You have a good evening now."

"Thanks sir," Hreinn whispered, lowering his head as Madanach left, barely able to get his head round it all. He'd escaped. He was free to go. It was all behind him. Even better, he was getting out of Markarth. He wasn't entirely sure he believed Madanach's assurances that whatever had been in that house was really gone, but as long as he didn't ever have to go back in there, he'd survive.

As the guards came in and led him out to discharge him, Hreinn finally felt able to relax.

Meanwhile, in a castle far to the north, someone else's night was going less well.

"Master, accept this sacrifice, made in your name. Let me feel your presence, vouchsafe to me knowledge. Master, tell me of the Elder Scrolls!"

Candles flickered, and for once, Molag Bal made his presence felt.

"I am busy, Harkon. I have a new soul to torment and you are distracting me. Is this Auriel's Bow again? I have told you before, it is in a temple of the Aedra. I am prevented from detecting its location."

"I know, I know," Harkon gasped, raising glowing orange eyes from the sacrifice victim draped over Molag Bal's altar. "Forgive me, my lord, but... I was hoping you knew more about where the Elder Scrolls were..."

"SILENCE!" Molag Bal roared, voice echoing across the cathedral Harkon had built to his master. "You imbecile. You think to bribe me with the death of worthless fools when a vampire turned before she even reached adulthood won my favour with the punishment of a rival's priest? I should take my blood from you and give it to her, she might actually do something worthwhile with it."

"No, my lord, I'm sorry, please forgive me, I'll do anything!" Harkon cried, flinching back from the altar. Molag Bal went quiet, seeming to relent at least a little.

"Anything?" the Daedra purred, and Harkon had heard this voice before. That was the same voice he'd heard Bal use when he'd demanded Serana and Valerica be the next sacrifices, the price for the immortality Harkon craved. Harkon had paid it then. He'd not changed much.

"Anything," Harkon said quietly. Molag Bal laughed quietly.

"In that case, I can tell you a little. The Vigil of Stendarr are digging into what does not concern them. Find them. Stop them. Find what they're seeking and you'll know more. And as for the Elder Scrolls... the Dragonborn used one to fight Alduin. Find him, find his Scroll. You might start looking at the royal court of the Reach. The Witch Kingdom's gone apostate. When you have the bow, you might consider starting your rise to world domination there."

The dark cloud hovering around the shrine winked out of existence and Harkon knew he'd been dismissed. It didn't matter. He'd got enough to go on.

"My lord," Garan Marethi greeted him as the lord of Clan Volkihar stepped out of the cathedral. "Was your attempt to commune with Our Father successful?"

"For once, yes," Harkon murmured, mulling over what he'd been told. "It seems we have a few plans of action. The Vigil are up to something. Get agents out to their Hall, find out what they're researching. It may lead to one of the Scrolls. Follow it up and see where the trail leads. Oh, and Garan, when you've got the information, gather our best and kill them all. Loose ends and all that."

"Will do," Garan said, actually smiling at this. "What of the other leads?"

"Oh, now this is where it gets interesting," Harkon grinned. "You've heard of the Dragonborn, haven't you?"

"Gods, who hasn't," Garan grimaced, his mood immediately falling. "Gibbering little psychopath who leaves bodies in his wake and yet somehow managed to get into Jorrvaskr. Sire, please tell me we're not recruiting him. Or hiring him. Or fighting Jorrvaskr. The Vigil are one thing, but the Companions are werewolves and highly trained warriors. We'd take significant casualties."

"Yes, I know," Harkon mused. "They'll have to go eventually, of course, but they will keep until after the Tyranny of the Sun is overthrown. No, I was thinking more of the Dragonborn's other connections. He's involved with the Reach-King's daughter, isn't he?"

"Ye-es," Garan said uneasily. "My lord, making enemies of the Reachmen sounds even less wise than attacking Jorrvaskr."

Harkon's grin widened. "That's where you're wrong. Our lord indicated that they're presently in his bad books. They've abandoned worship of him. I think our lord would favour us if we were to start making inroads there. Get me a full report of goings on in the country, I think we might be able to use the Reachmen to get to the Dragonborn."

Garan wasn't entirely convinced this was a good idea, but he couldn't exactly argue. He just hoped Harkon knew what he was doing.

"Anything else?" Garan asked, having a feeling Harkon had something else still bothering him.

"Yes," Harkon said, eyes narrowing. "Molag Bal mentioned something about a child vampire having gained his favour somehow. The only one in Skyrim is that alchemist in Dawnstar, am I right?"

"That's her," Garan said, wondering what Babette of Dawnstar had to do with anything. "Sire, what's this about?"

"Eyes on her too," Harkon snapped. "A child vampire of a mere three centuries earns our Lord's favour while I'm left languishing and begging for scraps? That's an insult I'm not putting up with."

"Sire," Garan sighed, hoping Harkon would get over the slight and not order Babette killed for showing him up. He'd hate to have to be the one to explain to Feran that one of his major suppliers had been killed by his clanmates. But planning an operation against the Reach, one intended to ensnare the famously bloodthirsty Jester Dragonborn himself... now that might just be a campaign to go down in vampire legend. He couldn't have known how right he'd be.

A/N: And there's Harkon at last! In the story, it's going to take a while for his plans to bear fruit, but in real time, that means next chapter we get to see the questline begin in style. I'm deviating from canon slightly, mainly by adding extra bits, but who wants to read an exact rewrite anyway?