The story so far:
Previously, Skavild learned a spell from a book written entirely in Ancient Falmer and covered in soup, despite not speaking Ancient Falmer or being able to see through soup.
Currently, he is in the Palace of the Kings, disguised as a Windhelm guard, trying to rescue Second Archivist Eldaline, a senior Thalmor dignitary sentenced to die in Windhelm's little-known but locally infamous wrestling pit.
Part of Skavild's plan involved arranging a romantic date for the real dungeon guard.
Eldaline was carrying the mysterious Book of Fate, which Ulfric Stormcloak has now read and does not like, as it claims that Eldaline will become Jarl of Windhelm.
"Cool head, cool head." Skavild said to himself.
"I'm your relief." Said Skavild. "What do I do?"
"That's good. I'm bored. Just get her to the Bloodworks at sunrise. Oh, and bang on the bars if you see her go to sleep. It'll help you pass the time and it's fun to watch her jump. Have a good shift."
"Good to finally see you again." Said Skavild, once the last guard had gone.
"I'm glad you came along, Valgar. It's lonely drinking alone." Said Ingrys the Fox.
"Your hair..." Said Valgar. "is like the moons, at night, when they're red and furry. In the Spring."
"This place is boring. Let's go somewhere else. I'll show you what a real drink tastes like."
"You all right, my girl?" Skavild said, trying to sound jolly. "We need to stay here for now. But I can walk you straight out of here tomorrow morning. I've got a boat hidden at Old Windhelm. Eldaline, say something."
"Tell me it's not good enough and you're disappointed and you're surrounded by fools, or something. By the gods, I should have got more potions."
Eldaline wasn't listening. In the absence of any loud noises, she was fast asleep, dreaming of treachery.
Despairing, Skavild looked around the dungeon for anything that could help him. There was no sign of Eldaline's opponent. They were probably keeping her in the pit itself. And Eldaline currently didn't look like she needed an opponent to meet an untimely end.
But the dungeon had one useful piece of paper. It was pinned to a rack and said:
Notes about the Thalmor in the far cell:
Do not feed!
Wake up every 10 minutes
Can't do spells - Collar of silence - don't worry - Wuunferth has the key
If you can't read, ask Ivan what this note says
"This is a greyskin tavern!" Hissed Valgar.
"Oh, sit down and don't be such a milk-drinker. I often come here. Reminds me of my grandfather's house, with the lamps."
"Your grandda was an elf?"
"Course not. He had an ancestor who was in the Imperial Legion in Morrowind. And he loved lamps. Try the Sujamma."
"Greyskin tavern..." Valgar was still mumbling under his breath. But Ingrys the Fox heard him.
"These Dunmer are people of Windhelm, just like Elda and Rolff are. And so are the Altmer from the stable, and the alchemist. And Ulfric's an honourable Jarl, and he'd make them feel more welcome, if he wasn't so busy with the war."
Ulfric was currently an insomniac Jarl. The awful book, the Book of Fate, was lying on his desk, and he had already got up to read it four times before midnight.
It always said the same thing, and the elf from his persistent nightmare was in the palace.
And while it was true that she may have been locked in a dungeon, awaiting death, she insulted him as long as that book was tormenting him.
He got out of bed and read the book again.
It still hadn't changed. Second Archivist Eldaline would take Windhelm from him and be Jarl. It was impossible.
Of course, Ulfric was quite aware that his rebellion suited the Thalmor and their plans to destroy the Empire. He knew well that most of his earliest successful Stormcloak recruitment literature had been written by Eldaline Alkinour and her various underlings.
It was just like the Aldmeri Dominion to enact an over-elaborate plan to humiliate him. Over-elaborate plans always failed in the end. That was one mistake he would never make.
And, he would be able to laugh at their expense tomorrow when the Thalmor's second most senior purveyor of malicious information was violently killed in the pits by the flower of Stormcloak womanhood, for all to see, prompting a surge in morale amongst the Nords of Windhelm, which would soon lead to the reteat of the Imperial Legion because the Thalmor would be furious and persecute ordinary Nords even more, which would lead to more Nords flocking to join Ulfric's cause, and then the elves would accuse the Imperials of neglecting their allies, then make some highly specific demands that would leave tactical holes in the Imperial defences. It was a psychologically complex strategy, and nothing could go wrong, at any stage, especially not the one right at the beginning.
Ulfric went back to bed.
He got out of bed and read the book again.
"Who are you?" Said the wizard Wuunferth, called The Unliving. "Ulfric want something?"
"Err. Err." Said Skavild, trying to think of a reasonable wizard problem. "You do magic, right? I just read a magic book, and the book exploded and I'm worried the spell's stuck in my innards. Can you get it out?"
"That isn't how it works." Said Wuunferth. "Do you feel ill? What kind of spell was it? Have you tried casting it?"
"Well, that's just it, Wizard, I don't know, 'cos it was in an old language and the spell just jumped in through my eyeballs and now it's stuck in my innards. Help, help."
The court wizard's shoulders slumped. "Now, calm down, young man. You're getting hysterical over nothing. You have to read and understand a spell before you learn it. Unless..." He frowned. "No. That's not possible. Only one spell works like that. And to know it, one must be elf-born. Congratulations."
"You mean, I'm going to grow floppy ears?" Skavild cried, now genuinely terrified.
"Don't be silly. You're as much a Nord as Ulfric is. No, it means you're of the line of the long-dead snow elf who wrote this tome of yours. And you're the first to understand it in the many centuries since it was written."
"What does the spell do?"
"You don't know?" The wizard said. "Well. That complicates matters. You're supposed to understand how to stop time."
"Can the elves stop time?" Said Skavild. "What if that one in the dungeon tries it? Are you sure she can't get out of the collar?"
"No. It's an uncommon talent even among elven mages. They don't recommend it, either. Leads to all sorts of problems. If it makes you feel better, I've got the key to the collar of silence on my desk. There's no way she can take it off."
"Well, let's hope I never stop time, eh? I wouldn't know how to start it again. I don't know anything about time. Or spells."
"You should probably start with something easy. I have a book somewhere." Said the wizard, and he searched his bookshelf.
"Here." He said. "This is a primer on the differences between the schools of magic. Now, get back to whatever you're supposed to be doing before someone has your hide."
"Your nose is like the sea." Said Valgar the Vulgar. "With a swordfish pointing out of it."
"How did you find your Sujamma?" Said Ingrys the Fox.
"I... I... just moved this flower pot. And there it was!"
"You're so funny, Valgar." Said Ingrys the Fox. "Who do I have to thank for swapping shifts with you?"
"Skavild." Said Valgar.
"But he's not cleared for guard duty, Valgar. He's strictly checkpoint-only, and wasn't supposed to come inside the city walls."
"Your eyes are... like pools of mead, after an accident. At a mead shop. Which is blue."
"Valgar, it's very serious. What if something goes wrong? You'll get the blame."
"It's all right, Ingrys. I told him to keep hitting the bars so she can't sleep. Do you like my muscles?"
"And if he kills her before tomorrow? The Jarl will blame all of us. Now, don't worry. There's nothing we can do now. We'll just have to hope that nothing spectacularly bad happens as a result. Let me think."
"Morning." Said Skavild. "At least you've been able to move. Come on, just a few steps out of the dungeon... a bit of jumping into the river, and a bit of swimming, and we're out of here."
"Wake up, Eldaline. I've got a big green potion for you. Looks like you'll need one."
"And look at you, walking by yourself." Whispered Skavild. "You'll feel better in no time once we're out in the fresh air."
"Don't worry, just keep walking straight through the guards. Don't stop, and don't panic." Skavild was now speaking entirely to himself.
"Stop." Said a real guard. "Aeslaf asked me to break one of her knees."
"Don't be stupid, man." Skavild explained. "Get out of the way."
"Let it be on your conscience, if she hurts Aeslaf's daughter!"
Skavild was right. The air was fresh, and smelled of frozen snow. The main gate to the city was ahead, but heavily guarded. The dock had a gate too, but the docks themselves were over a rampart and several rooftops.
"Left turn here." He said.
Eldaline thought for a second that she recognised a voice.
"... Breakfast?" She said.
"Nearly." Said Skavild. "Swimming. Keep going."
"Ah, rats." Said Skavild.
"Hello, Ingrys the Fox." He said. "How are you?"
To be continued