The Apologist of Men: The tale of Äelberon of Dusk [NO COMMENTS, PLEASE, NO COMMENTS!]

[Skyrimnut]

It has come to my attention that some of you who have been following this thread...

http://steamcommunity.com/app/72850/discussions/0/613937943004326954/?tscn=1415690659#p1

wanted to read the story straight through without the commentary posts. I value the commentary, but I completely understand this position as well. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to post this thread which will contain the complete tale. Believe me, no easy undertaking as the Word document that has Äelberon's tale is currently 130 pages of single-spaced madness. I ask that people in the forum be respectful to my subscribers and refrain from posting comments on this thread so as to not interupt the literary flow for the subscribers of this thread. If you DO want to make comments, please click on the link provided above and enjoy THAT thread. It is also current, but there, commentary is allowed and we often engage in lively banter and discussions of lore and plot development. I will be actively updating both threads, so don't feel that you are missing out on anything. You are not.

Be warned. Any comments posted in this thread will be reported and asked to be removed. Don't take it personally, please. It is simply done to maintain the flow of the narrative. If you do want to chat with me, please, by all means, message me, leave a comment on my profile, or post in the thread linked above.

Many thanks to Bethesda for creating an amazing game and fueling my imagination. And many thanks to modders for making the game even better with their tireless work.

Now, let us begin...

[Skyrimnut]

1st of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

Kodlak Whiteman woke with a start, covered in sweat, breathing heavily. He lay there in the dark for a few moments, processing everything he had just seen, while his pounding heart steadied itself. He did not want to lose the memories, the details. He got up and walked the halls of the living quarters, taking in his dream. He could hear the loud snores of the twins to his left and smiled. He checked to his right; their doors were open. He frowned. Skjor and Aela were not there. Many nights they did not sleep at Jorrvaskr and Kodlak worried. The blood of the beast was strong in them. Would it be their undoing? He walked back to his desk and rummaged through the drawers; taking out a quill, an inkwell, and a small book. He tried to sit at the desk, but grew restless. He needed fresh air. The Beast blood stirred in him too. He donned a heavy bear cloak and went outside.

It was cool and the sky was clear. Masser and Seconda shown bright in the sky. It was still quite dark, but it would be dawn soon. He sat at one of the benches close to a flaming cauldron. There was plenty of light and the fresh, cool air brought clarity to his thoughts. In the distance he heard the howling of wolves and his suspicions were confirmed. He closed his eyes wearily. He was getting old and his dreams of Sovngarde were becoming more intense, more vivid. But this dream was different. He gathered the cloak about his wide shoulders, drew ink from the well and opened the book, pausing a moment to collect his memories before setting the quill to the blank page.

I stood at the gates of Sovngarde, last in a line of Harbingers that began with Ysgramor. It was as if I was shrouded in a mist and could see, but not clearly. The sky glowed with stars and vibrant auroras and the landscape consisted of mountain meadows, covered with flowers and grasses. It was as if I was in Paradise. The Hall of Valor loomed ahead and Tsun, mighty and tall, stood at the great whalebone bridge, granting passage to each of the Harbingers. I eagerly watched, until it came to be Terrfyg’s turn. I watched Tsun cross his great arms to his chest and deny him passage. Then there was a rumble that brought Terrfyg to his knees and sadness to my heart. A large, savage wolf charges into the line of Harbingers and pulls Terrfyg toward Hircine, who laughs welcoming him with open arms. Terrfyg seems regretful, but also eager to join Hircine after a lifetime of service as a beast.

Then I see every next Harbinger turn away from Sovngarde and enter the Hunting Grounds of their own accord. Until it comes to me, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, his battleaxe glistening in the perpetual twilight, beckoning me. It appears I have a choice. And then, I see a form in the distance. At first my visions are clouded. I do not know if it is man or beast, only that it is surrounded by light. At first it is winged, as a dragon, then it takes the form of a grey wolf, and finally the form of a great snow bear. Then the forms merge and become obscure, taking aspects of all three. Only the eyes remained the same. Wise, sharp, knowing eyes, orange-red, yet with their gaze I was instantly comforted, the sadness in my heart turning to courage. As the form drew closer, I see that it is no beast at all, but an Altmer, an elf, bearing shield and sword. He stares first at Hircine in defiance and then his keen eyes meet mine, he slowly nodded, and together we turn to face the same wolf who dragged away Terrfyg, and he and I draw weapons together.

I realize this is only a dream, but a strong enough dream to inspire a man like me to take to writing, so it must be of some import.

Kodlak put down the quill, closed the journal and stared out into the training yard, lost in thought. He sighed and felt his blood stir. He would give in one last time and shrugged off the bearskin cloak, his heart beginning to swell, feeling the transformation come on, as the night slowly lost its daily battle with the dawn.

[Skyrimnut]

3E 431, 15th of Midyear

Rynandor and Lilandtar stared at the warriors sparring in the sunny courtyard as they settled down to an outdoor lunch, the stone work of the courtyard displaying the colors of the glass towers above them. In the heat, the kaleidoscope of color and pattern was almost dizzying and Lilandtar was uncomfortable. He was also unclear as to why Rynandor had dragged him all the way to Alinor's training center. They were guest lecturers from the Crystal Tower, a training center for warriors was not where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be writing lecture notes for a lecture to be given at the lecture hall for the Office of Provencial Studies, not sweating profusely watching warriors try to kill each other. But when his friend was set on doing something, there was no saying “no” and Lilandtar sat staring at the warriors as he picked at his salmon. He didn’t have to like it, though.

“So why are we even here?”

“I think it is time we chose a pair of knight guardians,” Rynandor answered.

“Oh, you have been harping on this for months! Why? What’s the threat? Rynandor, there is nothing wrong and it’s hot outside and frankly, they kind of smell. Though nothing can possibly smell worse than the trolls that currently guard the Tower."

“Don’t be such a naggy she-elf,” retorted Rynandor with a smile, because the troll remark was indeed true, “Just trust me, friend, I think having two knight guardians watching our backs is a good idea. I’m sure nothing will happen and this will merely be an exercise in being extra prepared. You and I have neglected to take knight guardians and what better day than today to select them? When we're already here. Just bear with me for a few hours, enjoy a fine lunch, and then you can go back to your lecture notes, Lilandtar.” Rynandor smiled and raised a glass of wine, gesturing to the warriors training in the courtyard. He smiled, but in his mind, there urgency. His nightmares were getting worse. Visions of vast Daedric hordes and then the unthinkable, the razing of Crystal-like-law in a cloud of dust and smoke, the skies red with fire, the cries of his people filling the air, the smoke burning his lungs... Rynandor put those images out of his mind. It could not happen. It would never happen.

The friends finished lunch and then walked towards the training warriors. Lilandtar’s mind was focused on his classes, while Rynandor watched the warriors with interest. Two, in particular caught his attention. He had seen them before…

“Äelberon! I think we’re being watched.” Said Vingalmo as his sword struck Äelberon’s shield.

“Yes, and it’s distracting you,” Äelberon laughed as he easily shrugged off the blow with his shield.

“They look like mages, I think they are with the Crystal-like-law. Let’s give them something to watch, eh?” And Vingalmo began to circle Aelberon.

Äelberon easily blocked another blow. Vingalmo needed to pay more attention to his swordplay, not to the staring of mages. Vingalmo was the quicker of the two, clad in Elven armor that glittered in the sunlight, dancing circles around Äelberon. He was showing off, casting firebolts. Äelberon blocked them with his shield.

“That one looks very impressive,” observed Lilandtar, “he moves very quickly and he knows some magic. Can I pick him and then we can be done with this?”

“Don’t you want to observe more?”

“No, I like that one, he is fast, don’t we need fast?”

“Well, yes, but there are other factors to consider---“

“Fine, it’s settled then, YOU! The one who dances in his armor, come here!” Ordered Lilandtar.

Vingalmo and Äelberon stopped fighting and Vingalmo approached the two mages.

“Yes, my Lord?”

"Name."

"Vingalmo"

“Well, Vingalmo... You seem quick enough and excellent with a blade, and you even know some magic, I think you’d make me an excellent guard. How would you like to be a Knight of the Crystal Tower?” smiled Lilandtar. Of course the warrior would jump at the chance, who wouldn't want to serve one of the Master mages at Crystal-like-law?

Vingalmo’s jaw dropped. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, to serve as a knight of the Crystal tower would open many opportunities for career advancement. Äelberon whispered in his ear.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Yes, my lord, of course, it would be an honor to serve you.” The young Altmer quickly replied. Äelberon gave him a pat on the back and grinned. What a boon! Vingalmo had been waiting for this moment since he had arrived to train last year. Äelberon had been assigned to show him the lay of the land and the two became fast friends. Vingalmo had great ambition and Äelberon was proud of his friend.

“Well then, be at my study at the Office of Provencial Studies tomorrow morning at 7am, just ask for Master Lilandtar, I am known by all there. There, you will wait until my fellow mage Rynandor and I are ready to make the trip back to Crystal-like-law.” Fine, he was done, he could now go back to his lecture notes and get out of this oppressive heat. The two warriors left the courtyard, still in shock at Vingalmo’s good forturne.

“Are you coming, Rynandor? Because I’m finished here.” Asked Lilandtar, tapping his foot, impatient to leave.

“No, I will stay and observe some more, but by all means, go on ahead. Lunch was a pleasure as always. See you back at Provencial Studies, friend.” Rynandor replied as Lilandtar walked away. Which is where he wanted to be in the first place, Rynandor sighed. Lilandtar was an exceptional mage, but impatient, loathe to do important things at times, especially when it caused him inconvenience. Rynandor was often called “The Bold”, by his people, but he was far from it. He was the opposite actually, taking time to plan his actions and he was always prepared. Of course, that approach resulted in success so it gave the people an impression of boldness. It really should be Rynandor "The Overly Prepared", but that lacked the ring of "The Bold". At any rate, he was not finished at the training Center.

For a few more hours he sat at the courtyard and observed as young, able-bodied warriors sparred. All of them were extremely capable, very much like that young fellow Lilandtar picked, what was his name? Oh, Vingalmo. Quick on their feet, wielding bound weapons and destruction, clad in light armor. If this was the force that would defend The Isles from attack, Rynandor was pleased, but something held him back from picking any of them. It was the other, the one who sparred with Vingalmo that captured his attention.

He was very different from the others. While they pranced around in Elven armor, he was clad head to toe in heavy in an old, worn set of Steel plate, moving slower, but still with speed. While they used bound weapons, he seemed to not use magic of any kind. Was he incapable? Rynandor had been observing him for a few days before he brought Lilandtar this afternoon. That one got up early, often before dawn, and first practiced with a bow, an actual bow, not a bound one. This he did for some hours while the other warriors filtered in, blurry-eyed from the adventures of the prior night. Rynandor assumed he was friends with Vingalmo as the two frequently sparred together. Vingalmo was brilliant to watch, but Rynandor long sensed a pattern to his fighting style. With the other, there was no such pattern. He often switched weapons mid fight, favoring either a sword or an axe, but daggers were also used, as was a bow. What was very interesting was his use of the shield. Almost unheard of among Altmer warriors, as most preferred to wield two weapons or use a spell along with a blade. This one used a shield, and he used it well, blocking all blows with ease. He even used his shield as a weapon; frequently disarming his sparring partners with it or knocking them to the ground. Something about that one grabbed Rynandor’s attention. That the young warrior could think on his feet and improvise could be a great asset. Rynandor smiled, he had made his selection. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, he would approach the young elf.

[Skyrimnut]

3E 431, 16th of Midyear

Well confounded! Where was he? Rynandor scratched his head, puzzled as he continued to wander the training center looking for the elf. He had spent the better part of the morning looking for him and if he didn’t find him soon, he was going either abandon his search or miss Lilandtar’s lecture and that was going to make Lilandtar quite angry and Lilandtar angry wasn’t the best way to experience Lilandtar so that was just not an option. He approached a group of sparring elves and stopped. They all looked the same to him, but he was 90% certain he had not asked this group of warriors. The kaleidoscope pattern reflecting on the stone floor wasn’t the same, so this was a new area of the training center.

“I am looking for a warrior?”

“Well Master, if you’re looking for a warrior, you’ve found quite a few.” One Altmer smirked, as his friends smiled. “How can we help you?”

“He wears heavy armor?”

“Oh, you mean old Steel Plate? Really, you want him?”

“Just tell me where he is.” Rynandor was growing annoyed. These Altmer were a cocky bunch.

“He isn’t here.”

Rynandor’s heart sank.

“He doesn’t train today, he goes to the temple of Auri-El instead. Spends the whole day there. Dunno what he does.”

“I know,” Chimed a warrior, “Prays for the god to send him some decent armor!” The others erupted in laughter. “Or for the wit to use a bound weapon!” Cried yet another.

“Does he do well against any of you in battle?” Retorted Rynandor.

The crowd then fell silent. Their laughter turning to embarrassed shrugs. So he had probably beaten the lot of them in combat. This warrior was growing more intriguing every moment. Rynandor had to meet him.

“I thought so. Thank you for your help. I will take my leave but not without some wise words from an old mage of the Crystal Tower... Sometimes it’s not the trappings of a warrior or his weapons that makes him great, but the warrior himself.” He didn’t have much time, he’d find the elf later at the temple, now, he had a lecture to attend. It was a long trip from Alinor to Crystal-like-law, and an angry Lilandtar would make it miserable…

WHY was he fidgeting so? Thought Lilandtar as he gave his lecture to an attentive crowd at the Office of Provencial Studies. It was on the Metaphysics Relating to the Application of Enchantments by Bending the Law of Firsts and he was, as always, brilliant. But Rynandor didn’t look like he was paying ANY attention and he even seemed itching to leave! He may be confidently giving his lecture on the outside, but inside Lilandtar was sulking. Of all the people NOT to pay devoted attention to him, his dear friend. He must have some reason. He would wrestle it out of him over dinner. He didn’t feel like dwelling on it though when he heard the thunderous applause as he uttered the last word of his lecture. It was, of course, completely warranted. Lilandtar smiled, he was brilliant. He stepped away from the podium and was immediately greeted by his fans. Asking him all sorts of questions about Bending the Law of Firsts, what was the Crystal Tower like, numerous invitations to dinner. It was all very tedious after a while and he was growing tired of so many elves. He was surrounded by a particularly inquisitive group of fans when Rynandor approached, grabbing him by the elbow and gently leading him away from the crowd. YES!

“Pardon me, but Master Lilandtar and I have some important matters to discuss before we journey back to Crystal-Like-law.”

Lilandtar leaned toward Rynandor and whispered in his ear, “Thank you, I never thought they’d stop pestering me with silly questions. I love it, but it gets so tedious after a while. I was brilliant, though. I must admit, some of my best work.”

“You were excellent as always, friend. You have the gift to deliver lectures.”

“But I’m sulking, you weren’t paying attention.” Accused Lilandtar.

Rynandor sighed. “I was paying attention. I just have something important to do. Or rather someone to see. We need to go to the Temple.”

“Of Auri-El? Really? At this hour? No dinner? I just gave a brilliant lecture; I’m entitled to a fine dinner and copious amounts of alcohol. You owe me that much for not paying attention.” Lilandtar said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine, first the temple, though, please, I really need to go there. Then I’ll take you wherever you wish to go and buy you a fine dinner and all the alcohol you can drink myself. Just indulge me first. Trust me, please.”

"FINE." Groaned Lilandtar. This better be quick. He was starving.

The two mages walked along Alinor’s streets reaching the Temple of Auri-El just before sunset, its golden emblem on the heavy double doors glowing in the waning light. They entered the Temple and saw the giant statue of Auri-El standing sentinel over his people, bathed in the golden light of sunset as it filtered through the large crystal windows. While Rynandor saw splendid architecture and holy relics, Lilandtar saw multitudes of very, very sick Altmer. Sick Altmer with diseases, diseases he could catch. Ugh, he hoped they didn’t have to stay long. Yes, they were being healed by priests with Restoration magic, but Elves were still coughing… On him… Ugh! His wife would need to thoroughly disinfect him when he returned to the Tower.

He tapped Rynandor on the shoulder and whispered, “Why are we here?”

“I’m looking for someone, but I don’t see him.” Whispered Rynandor, his eyes scanning the breadth of the temple, searching… Where was he? There was no elf clad in steel plate anywhere? Did the other Altmer deliberately deceive a Mage of the Crystal Tower?

“See who?” Lilandtar insisted.

“The one who was with Vingalmo.” Replied Rynandor impatiently, his voice rising.

“You don't have to raise your voice. I can hear you just fine from here. You're making a scene and people are staring." Rynandor scowled at his friend and Lilandtar, undaunted, continued, "Him? The one in steel plate? Seriously? You’re looking for a warrior in a Temple? You’re mad.” His own voice increasing in volume. A priest stared at the two mages arguing for a moment and then left for one of the smaller chambers adjoining the main temple. The two mages continued to search for some time, scanning all the rooms for a glimmer of steel plate.

Frustrated, Rynandor threw up his arms in exasperation.

“His fellow warriors said he would be here, but confounded, I can’t find him! How hard can it be to find an Altmer in steel plate?!”

“It is far harder to find him when he is not wearing any…” Replied a voice.

Rynandor whirled around and came face to face with a tall Altmer, clad in the robes of a priest. His long hair was sliver-white and painted on his face was the simplified emblem of Auri-El in white.

“One of my brothers mentioned that you were searching for me. My apologies, Masters, I was healing in one of the chambers and did not see you come in.” He gestured, “Please, would you like to enter one of the chambers to discuss the reason for your visit, or perhaps you are hungry? I am finished for the day, we can step out and eat if you wish.” Lilandtar imploring looked at Rynandor. See, even the priest wants to eat. Lilandtar was liking him better already.

“We will eat, but I insist that I cover the meal. I had promised my fellow Mage. He has just finished a brilliant lecture at the Office of Provencial Studies." Lilandtar beamed.

“I will not protest.” Smiled Äelberon.

“Your name?”

“Äelberon, and you, Masters?.”

“Master Rynandor and Master Lilandtar, of the Crystal Tower.”

“I am honored, Masters. Vingalmo has spoken of nothing else since your visit yesterday. He is very excited to accompany you to Crystal-like-law.”

“We are not from Alinor, is there a place you recommend?” Interrupted Lilandtar, his stomach growling loudly.

“Yes, just a short walk up the road, it is not crowded and the food is quite good.”

They entered a quiet tavern, humble by Altmer standards. Lilandtar wrinkled his nose. This place better be good or he'd take back the part about liking Steel plate. Their status as Crystal tower mages was immediately noted and they were provided with a private room to consume their meal. Food was quickly served and the trio settled down to eat. It smelled delicious. Fine, he liked Steel plate again. Bloody elf knew a good tavern. While Lilandtar noisily drank wine and ate, Rynandor asked.

“Are you really a priest?”

“Not yet, but I am close to taking my orders, a few more years of study.”

“Then why do you train at the training center?”

“Because I was sent there by my patron over at Dusk." Aelberon then continued to explain. "That is where I am from, Dusk. My family does not hail from a long line of mages or princes. My father is a retired soldier and my mother is a blacksmith. When they saw I could wield a weapon and fire a bow with some skill, they wished me to train in Alinor as they had before me. But, a soldier’s life, especially an honorable one’s, is not a life filled with wealth. They could not afford to send me. Enter the head priest of Dusk’s Temple of Auri-El. My parents were part of a force that saved it from a horde of vampires when I was very young. The priest never forgot their service. When I came of age, he offered to sponsor my time in Alinor, if I offered service to its Temple of Auri-El as an apprentice healer in exchange. I was more than glad to do so. It was difficult to master some of the spells at first, but with his help, I managed. When I was ready, I was sent to Alinor. Five days out of the week, I train at the Center. Two days I devote to healing the sick at the Temple. I have done this for four years. I’m no Master healer, but think I do my part to help, and I hope to continue to do Auri-El’s work; both at the temple and at the battlefield. If a bow and a shield were good enough for Auri-El to use against Lorkhan, then those weapons are good enough for me as well.”

"And the shield?" Asked Rynandor.

"Oh yes," Äelberon smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Once when sparring, my fellow warriors played a prank on me and took all my weapons before I began the fight. They left the shield. It was their mistake. A shield can be a formidable weapon too. Afterwards, I was no longer the subject of pranks. I count Vingalmo as a close friend, though. He arrived just last year. I was assigned to show him around and we became fast friends. I'd trust him with my life."

“Did you make that steel plate yourself?” Asked Lilandtar, looking up from his roast goat, a bit of wine dripping from his chin.

“Yes, my mother taught me the basics of crafting. I make my own weapons and armor, though the armor is difficult to do.”

“Well no offense to the good blacksmiths of Summerset, but isn’t it just easier to conjure a weapon?” Pressed Lilandtar, “It’s not a hard spell, I’m sure you could manage it with some training.”

Äelberon’s eyes narrowed. “And summon Daedra to this plane?” Rynandor looked up, intrigued by Äelberon’s response.

“It’s only a weapon, we’re not talking dremora lords here, just weapons. Weapons that I’m sure are far superior to anything you could whip up at a forge.”

“With all due respect, Master Lilandtar, I would prefer not to. A daedra is a daedra, even if only in the form of a weapon, and subject to the rules of Oblivion, no matter how we may think we can control them. Yes, my weapons may be weaker, but they are solely under my control, not vanishing from one plane to another or falling under the command of another being.” Ugh, Lilandtar didn't like Steel plate again, how can one disagree with summoning? Clueless. Completely clueless.

Rynandor, however, was not a summoner. His own religious convictions caused him to focus mainly on Elemental magic, Alteration, and Restoration. Lilandtar was the summoner of the pair, calling forth powerful Elemental Atronachs to his side in battle, in addition to wielding powerful Elemental spells. Rynandor wasn’t going to lie, the summons helped quite a bit. With their combined magicks, that of the other mages, and, of course, the trolls, they had collectively thwarted several attempts to raze the Tower. The culprits were a group of dissidents known as The Beautiful, but in light of his recent dreams, could there be truth to Äelberon’s words? Could their very own summons turn against them? No, that could not possibly happen, that would shake the very foundation of the summoning school. Rynandor was lost in thought when Äelberon spoke.

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course, Äelberon. I'm sorry my mind was elsewhere.” Rynandor replied.

“Why does Rynandor the Bold dine with me tonight?”

“Why do you think?”

“It is your wish that I serve as your knight guardian at The Crystal Tower.”

Lilandtar stopped eating and looked up in surprise. Rynandor wanted THIS elf? Of all the elves in the training center, he wanted this oaf in heavy armor, using puny weapons, and shunning magic except to heal sick peasants? What? What was Steel plate going to do in the heat of battle? Get on his knees and PRAY the enemy away?! Rynandor was off his mind. He stared at Rynandor in disbelief.

“And do you accept, priest?”Asked Rynandor. You have got to be kidding me, thought Lilandtar.

Rynandor noted his friend's disapproval of his choice as he glanced at him. Then he shifted his gaze to Äelberon. At that moment Rynandor caught a flash of profound sadness in Äelberon’s eyes. Rynandor knew that look. It was the look he himself had after one of his dreams. What did Äelberon know?

“Yes, Master Rynandor,” Replied Äelberon, looking him straight in the eye, fully aware of what he was getting into. “I will serve you at the Crystal Tower.”

Ah bother, thought Lilandtar, rolling his eyes in disbelief. Fine, Rynandor, your call. You want Steel plate, take him. He can pray while an enemy is bashing your head in. But don't worry, I've got Vingalmo. I'm sure he'll watch both of our backs.

[Skyrimnut]

26th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 201

A young Altmer foot soldier, his Elven armor dusty from travel and his face weary from lack of sleep, walked into First Emmisary Elenwen’s study at the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar Hold, Skyrim.

“Emmisary?” He asked nervously.

“Yes, what is it?” Elenwen replied, not even looking up from the pile of papers on her desk.

“I have an important message for you.” He handed her the letter and stood silently as she opened it and read, mustering enough will to remain awake. He had not slept at all to deliver this message. He was told it was of utmost importance to the Thalmor and that he would be greatly rewarded for making this delivery. He was eager to advance in rank and though utterly exhausted, he was excited.

“First Emmisary Elenwen,

My apologies for not giving you my usual niceties in this correspondence and for its brevity, but my news is far too important. Also, please dispose of any evidence after receiving this news. It is for your eyes alone and I do not trust couriers. My party is being followed. My scouts tell me it is a small Stormcloak outfit with none other than Ulfric Stormcloak among their ranks. Now prepare yourself, because there is more. An opportunity for both of us within the Dominion! Tracking close behind the Stormcloaks, also in pursuit of my party, is the known dissident Äelberon of Dusk. All these years and he still seeks to kill me. What blind revenge will do to a mer!

I am steering my party towards Darkwater near the Border in Skyrim. This is where you come in. The pass is treacherous and if you can muster Imperial troops in time, it is an ideal place for an ambush. Time is of the essence. I await your reply.

Your loyal Thalmor Servant,

Justiciar Vingalmo"

Elenwen turned to a Thalmor guard standing next to her desk and nodded. The young Thalmor messenger then felt a cold Elven blade sink deep into his chest and with a gasp, fell to the ground, dead. Elenwen calmly took a sheet of paper and began to write...



29th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 201, Nightfall

Vingalmo fed greedily, grunting with pleasure, as the life slowly ebbed from the Thalmor courier, the poor elf’s throat torn wide open, eyes wide with horror. Sated, Vingalmo wiped his mouth and let him drop with a thud on the grass, grasping his throat and attempting to crawl away, but Vingalmo only smiled as he stared at the soldier. He hadn’t fed on fresh blood in days and he could feel the rush of power and the warmth fill his body. Damn it, it felt good. He pulled an iron axe and looked at the soldier. The soldier could only stare in utter terror as Vingalmo brought the axe down with a powerful blow, severing head from body, masking the true reason for his death. He had to maintain appearances, they were, after all, being pursued by Stormcloak soldiers and iron is the customary weapons for these Barbarians. He had spied the courier approaching camp and strayed from his party just long enough to intercept. He was positive there would be a message from Elenwen and sure enough there was a note in the courier’s satchel. Vingalmo tore it open and read, walking slowly back to his camp.

Justiciar Vingalmo,

Your news is impressive indeed and your instincts, as always, are excellent. Continue to lead both parties towards Darkwater pass. Stay just ahead of them to maintain their interest, but do not engage. We want them to follow you. I have already sent correspondence to General Tullius and to an Imperial legion in the area and rest assured a large party of Imperial soldiers will be present to give the Stormcloaks and their leader Ulfric a warm welcome. As for the dissident Äelberon, I have also arranged for his capture, even though his name does not appear on any of the fugitive lists. His remaining assets in Alinor have already been seized. You have done the Aldmeri Dominion a great service by informing us of his location. We have been hunting him since his final appearance at a Vampire symposium at Alinor twenty-one years ago, where he was responsible for the brutal deaths of 10 citizens in a violent attack against the Thalmor. He has thus far, proven elusive. When word is sent of their capture, I myself will make the journey from the Embassy.

Your continued devotion to the Thalmor will have great returns, Justiciar.

First Emissary Elenwen



2nd of Evening Star, 4E 201, early morning.

“Your honor will be your undoing...” He remembered Rynandor’s words of warning in their final moments together, as Rynandor boarded a ship bound for Anvil. Honor was the only thing he had left, if it was to be his undoing, then so be it, Äelberon thought as he stared at the pine tree lined road, interspersed with scatterings of snow berries and blue mountain flowers. He had no regrets. He did the right thing for both the Imperial soldiers escorting them, and the Storrmcloaks in the cart with him. He had expected to return to Cyrodiil, but with General Tullius' appearence a day ago, the party turned unexpectedly again toward Skyrim, going West away from Darkwater. As mournful as his predicament was, he still had enough life in him to appreciate the beauty of the land. It was lovely, dense forests and steep, fern-covered ravines gave way to snow-covered peaks lined with pine trees as they turned towards the mountains in the South. Skyrim was pretty country, very different from the rolling hills of Cyrodiil and vastly different from Summerset. The breeze was a sharp one, though, biting hard, from the North. The cart jostled and groaned on the uneven road, and every once in a while, a stray snowflake fell. Äelberon sighed as he continued to stare down the path. No regrets.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake…” A voice interrupted Aelberon’s thoughts.

Äelberon shifted his gaze from the road to Ralof, a young Nord, also with his hands bound. His face caked with dust, but his bright blue eyes clear and focused.

“Yes. I am awake.”

“You were trying to cross the border, right?”

“I was trying to catch someone who had crossed the border.”

“Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

Äelberon turned to his right and exchanged a knowing glance with Ulfric Stormcloak, who had been gagged since his capture. Though they did not exchange words, they recognized each other from their shared time as “guests” of First Emissary Elenwen during the Great War, who served as their interrogator. The events of two days ago that resulted in this cart ride, was no Imperial ambush. This was a Thalmor ambush with Imperial trappings. Äelberon knew the workings of the Thalmor well. He remembered his time under Elenwen’s “gentle” care. Ulfric had broken under their torture. These were some of the strongest Illusion mages in Tamriel, even a Nord noble, well-educated and proven in battle, did not stand a chance. They could make anyone believe anything. Even that he had obtained information crucial to his cause. The poor fool. He sighed, the Thalmor had been fooling his own people for centuries, that they tricked this poor Nord was of no surprise to him. What they had not banked on was that after the Thalmor set the stage for Ulfric's "escape", Äelberon managed to convince the Nord to free him too, and the two then did some damage, and Elenwen was grossly humiliated. Afterwards, he was a wanted Mer, a full-blown dissident, until Lilandtar’s son, Lillandril, who had by then grown into a powerful mage and an influential member of the Wise, petitioned for his pardon under the grounds of Äelberon’s exemplary service during the Great Anguish and his service to Lillandril’s house. He, having his father's silver tongue and great gifts with speech, argued successfully that Äelberon was unjustly targeted by the Thalmor, and the people of Alinor would not stand to see their beloved Pale elf, the Slayer of Bet's, reputation sullied. It was the last time Lillandril would be able to play those cards for Äelberon. There was no petitioning for Äelberon’s release now. It was doubtful word would even be sent of his capture.

"Damn you Stormcloaks.” Interrupted the thief angrily. “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell. You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Äelberon smiled slightly, with bitterness, the thief was clueless. The Stormcloaks weren’t the only prize in the wagon. He had been on the run from the Thalmor off and on for over 40 years and he was a person of interest for much longer than that, subjected to numerous interrogations in the decades after the Great Anguish when the Thalmor met with Altmer resistance as they tightened their grip on Summerset Isles. They killed Rynandor the Bold, the great mage who saved scores of Altmer from a fate worse than death for disagreeing with them on how the Great Anguish ended, for wanting proof of the Thalmor's claims. Later on, for publishing his manuscript, Rising Threat, Lathenil of Sunhold, met a similar fate, when he openly warned the Empire about the Thalmor. It was only a matter of time before they would seek out and destroy everyone who had survived the razing of Crystal-Like-law and who knew the truth of how the Great Anguish ended.

It was two days ago when he was finally captured, a little after the Imperial ambush. He gave Vingalmo credit, he had been outsmarted by that damn vampire. The prey knew the predator as well as the predator knew his prey. He expected no less from Vingalmo. He had wanted to confront Vingalmo directly with his vampirism; expose him to the Thalmor for what he truly was. He was told by numerous vampire hunters to simply shoot him in the back with a silver arrow when the target was clear. But Äelberon didn’t want it to be that way, like an assassin in the shadows. Vingalmo had been sitting at the Imperial camp, away from the other soldiers, and Äelberon seized the opportunity. It was stupid and he made a poor judgment call, but his emotions were high and Vingalmo had so much to answer for. Scores had died under his vampiric bloodlust thinly disguised as the Thalmor “Racial Purges” that went through the Isles after the Thalmor took control. Including Äelberon’s own family. His family had carried Falmer blood, but they were no more mixed than an Altmer with Red hair could claim Breton blood, and they were ignored for centuries. It was only when he learned of Vingalmo's vampirism that the Falmer blood of his family needed to be "purged". He had confronted him, thinking he could help him cure his affliction, offering his support as his friend, even after years of estrangement and disagreements over how the Thalmor were running the Isles. Only to learn in horror that THAT was what Vingalmo had always wanted. And Vingalmo had called her "mother"... He walked away from the safety of the woods towards Vingalmo, head held high, plate armor glistening as it caught the sun’s waning rays. Koor attempted to follow, but Äelberon bade him stay at the forest’s edge. Vingalmo smiled when he saw his old friend approach.

“Ah Äelberon, it’s been years.” He said sarcastically as he motioned his Thalmor soldiers to stand down their weapons. “What brings you to Skyrim?”

“You.”

Äelberon drew his weapon, a silver scimitar well-proven against vampires, but stopped dead as he saw the sun disappear into horizon. He was too late. Time stopped and he thought about what he was about to do as the auroras began to dance in the sky. It was obvious Vingalmo had just fed and Äelberon had lost the sun’s protection. Vingalmo would be at the height of his powers and while Äelberon was confident that he’d be able to kill him, he gazed at the Thalmor and Imperial soldiers that had now begun to take notice of the two former friends, and the bound Stormcloak soldiers that also watched the growing crowd from the campfires. How many would die to protect this monster? They didn’t know what Vingalmo really was. To them, he was just a Thalmor Justiciar, an Altmer of importance to the Empire, an Altmer to be protected, lest the Aldmeri Dominion get wind of his death and shatter a weary peace. And if Äelberon lost, how many more would die so that Vingalmo could guard his secret? They were oblivious to the danger. No one deserved to die that way, be they Imperial, Stormcloak, or even Thalmor. This was the trap Vingalmo had sprung and it was indeed Äelberon’s honor that would be his undoing. The value he placed on the lives of his fellow Mer and Men...

“Really? Little old me?” Vingalmo smiled, barely concealing his fangs, shrugging his shoulders incredulously. “I’m impressed!” He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention as he stood up. “Everyone, come, meet Äelberon, a former Knight of the Crystal Tower!” His voice mocking and cruel. “Come closer, everyone, and see what honor truly is.” No, Äelberon would not sacrifice these people for revenge and Vingalmo knew it. Vingalmo smiled to himself. Once a priest, always a priest. He had him.

Äelberon slowly stared at Koor, who waited at the woods, and their eyes locked.

May his family and ancestors forgive him for not avenging them…

“Go,” mouthed Äelberon, barely a whisper. The dog hesitated, shifting his feet nervously, trying to comprehend his master’s unusual request. Go?

May Rynandor forgive him for not listening…

May Auri-El forgive him of his sins…

“Go,” Äelberon repeated, his gaze softening as his eyes darkened and his shoulders stooped, head bent in prayer. The dog reluctantly disappeared like a shadow into the dense pine forest as Äelberon of Dusk, the Knight of the Crystal Tower, dropped his scimitar onto the damp grass and surrendered…

Äelberon’s eyes again scanned the path as a light snow began to fall. The thief was now beginning to realize his predicament.

“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.” Said Ralof.

No regrets, thought Äelberon.

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, continued.

As he continued to watch the path, he noticed the thief and Ralof arguing over the thief’s informal treatment of the Jarl, but he didn’t pay much attention until Ralof spoke again, after asking the thief where he was from.

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

“Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.” Stammered Lokir. Ralof then turned to Äelberon.

“High elf? Where do YOU go when you die?” Äelberon was scanning the distance behind the cart. In the distance, there! He saw it. A flash of black and white and the twitch of a tail. It was Koor, the dog was following. Keeping a safe distance. He turned and faced Ralof.

“If we have lived well, and are lucky, we go to Aetherius. Otherwise, we are sent back to Mundus to try again.” Äelberon managed a wry grin. “I am fairly certain, I will be sent back to Mundus.” That made Ralof smile. This elf did not fear death. Unusual.

The cart hit a hard bump as they approached the gate of a small Imperial settlement. A soldier called out to the General informing them that the Headsman was waiting. The thief then proceeded to pray to every Divine, while Äelberon, Ralof, Jarl Ulfric watched as General Tullius spoke with First Emissary Elenwen, who was on horseback near the Northern gate, flanked by her Thalmor guards.

Ralof muttered angrily, “Look at him. General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

“I am quite certain the Thalmor had something to do with this.” Replied Äelberon. The carts drove past the town's citizens who had paused their daily activities to watch the proceeding. It wasn't every day a Jarl of a major hold was being escorted to his death and it wasn't every day so many high elves were seen at Helgen. They were met with shouts of both sympathy and hatred. This was truly a province divided. The cart stopped and Äelberon could sense the thief’s growing fear. He was going to run. Äelberon could see the signs well enough. The last act of desperation when one is no longer rational. Lokir pleaded to Äelberon…

“You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” Äelberon was about to speak when they began the role call for the prisoners. The Jarl of Windhelm was called first, followed by Ralof of Riverwood. Then they called the thief. Äelberon was right, Lokir, in an act of utter desperation, attempted the impossible; to run. He was struck down before he even reached the gate, close to where Koor was hiding, spooking the dog in the process. He responded by retreating to the shadows to observe the proceedings, shifting positions nervously as he was prone to do when conflicted or agitated. Äelberon felt sorry for the damn animal. He had served him well for 3 years since he was a young pup. Hopefully he would venture to a nearby village and find a home.

“Wait.” Spoke a young Nord Imperial guard, scanning the lists. "You there. Step forward. Who are you?” Äelberon straightened his shoulders and looked forward, easily adding to his already impressive height. There was no fear in his voice when he spoke. Ralof really liked this one, brave. He would’ve made a fine Stormcloak. It seemed that Jarl Ulfric held him in high regard as well.

“Äelberon of Dusk.” Was the low-voiced reply, unwavering, spoken with great pride.

The Imperial guard looked questioningly at the Captain. This tall Altmer didn’t seem like a criminal? Was this a mistake?

“Captain. What should we do? He’s not on the list?” For a brief moment the Captain also looked confused as she checked the guard’s lists. She then gave a quick look to General Tullius, who then looked at Elenwen, who was observing the proceedings from some distance away, still on her horse. Unemotional, cold; almost like a Dwemer construct in her brilliant golden armor. Äelberon caught her gaze. Enough of these games. He dared her. Do it, he glared, defiant, his eyebrows furrowing in disgust. She caught his hard glance and then nodded to the General, who finally nodded to the Captain. It was done. Äelberon squared his shoulders, unbroken by the Thalmor. He was ready.

“Forget the list,” She snapped back. “He goes to the block.”

“By your orders, Captain.” The soldier turned to Äelberon. “I am sorry, I will make sure your remains are returned to Summerset Isles.” Äelberon managed a small smile, surely Elenwen must have heard that little dig. No Alinor for Nords, it was still being called Summerset Isles here. Sure enough, as he glanced towards her in the distance, she betrayed the slightest frown at the incorrect nomenclature, but then resumed her composure and signaled her guards to follow as she turned away and rode away from Helgen. Her job was finished. He was dead. She exited the city gates where she was joined by Vingalmo, who was wearing a heavy black cloak. They rode calmly towards Falkreath, after a few moments of riding, she asked.

“So it is my understanding that you will be retiring from your service to the Thalmor?”

“Yes, with the execution of Äelberon, my work is sort of done, isn’t it? I do not think there is anyone left.” He was tired. He had just fed, but it was morning and he was weakened. If Äelberon had been delayed mere 12 hours. He would not be having this conversation with First Emissary Elenwen and Äelberon would’ve eluded them, yet again. But that is not the way it turned out. With Äelberon’s death, the last remnant of the Crystal tower survivors that did not support the Thalmor would be forgotten.

“Oh yes, there is no one left, but you will still maintain your connections with us? Your insight will still prove most useful for the interests of the Thalmor in the provinces and you have so much experience. Will you be returning to Alinor?”

“Eventually, I have friends in Haafingar that I would like to spend some time with first. An old Nordic family. Very powerful in the region. They have an estate on an island off the Northern Coast”

“I’m surprised I’ve not heard of them, I know everyone in Haafingar.”

“This family prefers to keep a low profile. They fully support Thalmor interests, however, I assure you. I will accompany you to the embassy and then make my trip, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, take the time you need to rest at the Embassy. Its doors are always open for you, Justiciar Vingalmo. I will also enjoy the travel company. Skyrim is so provincial, I loathe traveling here.” Vingalmo laughed and the two joked as they rode quietly to Falkreath unaware of the terror they just escaped at Helgen…

Äelberon joined the other prisoners as they approached the executioner’s block and watched as General Tullius condemned Jarl Ulfric for his actions which led the province to war and chaos. The voice? That sounded familiar. Äelberon had read about that phrase somewhere. Nordic. The Voice is Nordic in origin. Something about shouting spells. A very different form of casting than what Altmer traditionally use. So that is what he did, he killed the high king of Skyrim. Interesting.

An unnirnly roar shook Äelberon out of his thoughts and caught the attention of the entire party. It was dismissed by the General, but Äelberon noticed something in the wake of the roar. The birds, the insects, the sounds of nature. Gone. It was strangely quiet. As if a fear had engulfed the beasts of the land and thrown them into silence. It seemed to come from the sky. He scanned, searching but finding nothing. A sharp invocation of Talos by one of the Stormcloaks brought Äelberon out of his search. A red-headed, burly Nord, unapologetic for his actions, demanding to be executed. As his head rolled, Ralof commented.

“As fearless in death as he was in life.”

“Next, the High elf.” Commanded the Captain. Another roar shook in the distance. Closer this time.

“There it is again.”

“I said, NEXT PRISONER.”

“Alright to the block, nice and easy.” Äelberon walked to the block. It was his time and after 243 years on Nirn, he was ready. He bent his head and as he whispered a prayer to Auri-El, he knelt to the ground, placing his head on the chopping block, his long, silver hair stained with the blood of the Nord who went before him.

May his people find peace…

May his soul find favor in the eyes of the gods so that he may know Aetherius, and if not, may the gods grant him the wisdom and strength to learn from his past mistakes so that in his next life, he may gain their favor…

The Headsman lifted his axe into the air, preparing for the blow when black as night, a great form appeared from the sky.

“What in Oblivion---“ Cried the General, as a great beast landed on the top of the tower. Äelberon looked up from the block and saw its form. A great scaled beast, colored almost in the fashion of Daedric armor, like burning coals. Two great horns and a cruel hooked mouth lined with vicious teeth. Its massive wings providing support as it leaned its head forward and uttered a sound unlike anything Äelberon had ever heard. And the townspeople of Helgen then knew true fear. For Äelberon recognized the word they screamed in terror. Dragon!

The bringer of the end times. The World Eater. He had studied Nordic literature and culture in earnest when he learned that he would be going to Skyrim to pursue Vingalmo. Dragons were an integral part of their history. Alduin, was his name, the self-proclaimed “Firstborn of Akatosh” and he remembered a verse from a book he had read.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

And then of all things, the dragon spoke.

He spoke. Words. Words in a language Äelberon didn’t understand, but it was definitely a language. At the uttering of those words, the headsman crumpled to the floor, dead as Äelberon remained paralyzed to the block, unable to move, his eyes wide in awe. Alduin spoke again, and visions of the Great Anguish raced through Äelberon’s mind as the sky was torn asunder, churning into a gaping vortex, from which molten rocks of flame emerged. And then there was fire and Äelberon lost sense of where he was as the members of the execution party were scattered about the courtyard.

When his vision cleared, Äelberon saw Ralof motioning him to follow. His hands still bound, he quickly stood and followed Ralof swiftly to a damaged tower. Jarl Ulfric was waiting inside, tending to injured Stormcloaks. The three agreed that they need to move, as Alduin was seemingly drawn to their location. If they went up through the tower, perhaps the rocks could be cleared. Äelberon began the climb, nimbly negotiating the steps as the tower shook against the beast’s mighty roars. A Stormcloak soldier motioned Äelberon to the top only to be killed instantly when the beast broke a hole through wall of the tower, melting it away with his molten breath. Äelberon felt the searing heat and it singed his hair as he barely escaped, pushing Ralof out of the way. They ventured back up the tower once the flames died down and Äelberon lept to the damaged inn below, and lost sight of Ralof and Jarl Ulfric.

When he cleared the inn, he saw a small crowd of people gather amid the burning rubble. The Imperial guard was trying to coax a young child away from his injured father as Alduin began to land. Äelberon raced towards them to provide assistance. His hands were bound, but he helped herd the boy away from the Dragon just as it spewed a jet of intense flames, killing his father instantly.

“Still alive, prisoner?” Asked the Imperial guard.

“It would seem so.” Answered Äelberon, as the two made their way to the Keep, dodging both Alduin and the mages attempting to kill the Beast. As they neared the keep entrance, Ralof emerged from the other side just as Alduin snatched an Imperial archer from the Keep’s wall, dropping him to his death. Äelberon sensed that they knew each other. He had a decision to make, which one to follow to the keep. Both had qualities that were admirable and both were beckoning him to follow.

But the ground suddenly shook violently behind Äelberon. He whirled around and came face to face with Alduin and again time slowed. Under the fiery sky, the stench of death and smoke in the air, the Altmer faced down the dragon and did not flinch, his hands bound, clad in only a roughspun tunic and footwraps, his hair blowing in the breeze, his face scarred and grim with the weight of his years. He had been ready to die long before Alduin arrived at Helgen. The dragon sensed his lack of fear and paused, leaning his head toward the elf.

Äelberon didn’t hear Ralof’s frantic cries to enter the keep. He was entranced by the ancient beast, his black scales catching the morning light, clouds of smoke puffing from his notrils, stinging Äelberon’s lungs with their sulfur burn. Alduin was surprised by this. Fosro daar? What’s this? Yuvonfahliil... Such arrogance! Grik pahlok! But there was no denying… Dovahkiin… In words that sounded like thunder, the World Eater faced Äelberon and spoke.

"Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar!"

Äelberon stared, was the beast speaking to him? It was… The dragon began to throw back his head, preparing to shout at Aelberon when was snapped back to reality by Ralof’s cries. He turned around and entered the Keep just as Alduin released his shout…

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, continued, in the Keep

It took a few moments for Äelberon’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the keep. He could still hear the muffled roars of the dragon. He wanted to get back out and help, but with his hands still bound, he would be useless. He needed to get out of these bindings.

“We’ll meet again in Sovengarde, brother.” Spoke Ralof as he knelt at the body of another Stormcloak.

“I am sorry, Ralof.”

“He knew the risks of war, we all do. It is good that you made it, I was worried when the dragon landed. A dragon, after all these years! Surely a sign of the end times. But right now, we need to get these binds off, come closer.” Äelberon approached and Ralof cut his bonds. Äelberon stretched his hands, getting the blood flowing again.

“There you go. You may as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it any more. You don’t have a problem taking loot from bodies, right?.”

“Ralof, when you have roamed the wilds as long as I have, you learn to improvise. Let us see what he had.”

There was a second body though, from the looks of it, an Imperial mage. He had a grisly axe wound to the chest. Äelberon assumed Gunjar stumbled across the Imperial as he entered the keep, and later died of his own injuries. The mage yielded some heavy gauntlets, boots, a shield, sword, and the best find, an Imperial bow with a small quiver of steel arrows and a single silver arrow. Äelberon sat on the floor of the keep and put on the gaunlets and boots. Äelberon grimaced as he put the boots on.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Ralof.

“The boots,” grunted Äelberon, as he stood up with some difficulty, “They are quite tight. Let me see what Gunjar has. Help me with his Cuirass.”

It was too small. Despite their best efforts, they eventually sat on the floor of the keep, frustrated. Ralof attempted to try to lace Äelberon’s Cuirass again, but Äelberon stopped him.

“Ralof, this is not working. I will use the gauntlets and Gunjar’s boots are a better fit, but Nords and Altmer are not built the same way. If there is a smelter in one of the villages when we escape, I can work this equipment into armor that will fit.”

“But you have no protection? How will you manage?”

“I wear these robes. It will do for now.”

“Let’s see where this leads.” Ralof walked towards a barred door.

“Damn it, locked. Perhaps the other way.” He walked towards the gate as Äelberon gathered the rest of the gear and studied the bow.

“Imperials! Take cover!” Äelberon, almost stood next to Ralof, but then he had an idea.

“Ralof,” he whispered, “I will cover with the bow and attract their attention, keep your distance, and just make sure I always have a clean shot.”

“Will do.” Ralof wielded two axes and crouched near the gate. Äelberon retreated to the entrance of the keep. He readied his bow. Two Imperials approached on the opposite side. The Captain and another soldier. The other soldier was probably an archer, as Äelberon readied his bow. He’d be taken care of first. He waited, and watched as they opened the gate.

The Captain emerged first and immediately headed toward Äelberon, who quickly readied his bow and fired at the other soldier, instantly killing him with the bow. He had just enough time to raise his bow and block the Captain’s first attack, backing away, as Ralof headed towards the Captain from behind, his axes ready. Ralof swung the first blow and the Captain was momentarily distracted, long enough for Äelberon to quickly load another arrow as he continued to back away. The second shot missed. Damn it, Äelberon’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed another arrow from the quiver. Ralof was on his knees, and the Captain, her face contorted in rage, raised her sword, ready to strike. Äelberon let his arrow fly and it hit her directly. She fell to the floor dead. Äelberon ran to Ralof and helped him up.

“See if she has the key to the other door. Can you use anything of hers? Ralof asked. Äelberon ♥♥♥♥♥♥ his eyebrow and gave Ralof a look, making him laugh. “You really think something of hers is going to fit me? Now, the steel I can use…” he continued to search the Captain, “And yes, we have a key! Wait here, Ralof, I’m going to double back and see if there is anything I can use in the room where they came from.” Ralof waited, taking a moment to rest while Äelberon disappeared into the other room. Äelberon would have to show him the technique with the bow. Using it as a shield like that. Smart fighting.

Äelberon returned out of breath. “There is plenty, but I cannot carry it all. I will return for it another time. If I can. For now, I will just take enough to make some armor. You sure there is a smelter where you live?” Äelberon asked as he attempted to put on a steel helmet he had found in the other room. With difficulty, it fit, but he found it too difficult to breathe, so he removed it. The room, however, yielded a far stronger steel shield, more arrows, and a sword.

“I’m ready, let’s go.”

Ralof and Äelberon made their way down the stairwell. Ralof first, followed by Äelberon, his bow ready. Rounding the corner, he caught a flash of two Imperial soldiers before the wall collapsed between them. Same make as the last pair, one in heavy armor, one in light. Both male this time, so perhaps he would have more luck finding gear he could use. Ralof and Äelberon approached the door, and nodded to each other, same battle formation as before…

As soon as he entered the room, Äelberon sighted the light armor soldier and let his arrow fly, instantly killing him, as Ralof ran towards the soldier in heavy armor. Äelberon tried to shoot this soldier, but his arrows were bouncing off his armor. It only angered the soldier and he made his way towards Äelberon, while Ralof tried to heal himself. Äelberon quickly switched from a bow to a sword and shield. A quick bash staggered the soldier and Äelberon managed to then kill him with his sword.

“Are you alright?” Äelberon asked Ralof between heavy breaths, as he helped Ralof up.

“Yes, let’s see if there is anything useful in this room. You also better try on his armor.” He grinned, and patted Äelberon on the shoulder, “Should be a better fit this time.” Äelberon laughed. He needed to. After some effort, it was a bit short and there were a few gaps in the cuirass along the ribcage that exposed his flank, but the cuirass was wearable. He would just need to watch his left flank. At least he no longer needed a helmet. He preferred hoods or nothing at all. The boots were better too. This Nord had larger feet. At any rate, he would still have to make some armor when they escaped. Ralof stood at the door.

“Ready?”

“Aye.” And the two headed out the door and followed a stone corridor that led to a flight of heavy stone steps. That’s when Äelberon smelled it, the burn of electricity. And then the sound of fighting...

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, continued... Escaping the keep, Part II

“A torture room!” Cried Ralof as he rushed ahead, Äelberon close behind. Two Stormcloaks were fighting with the Torture master and his assistant. While the Stormcloaks were heavily armed, the Torture master was doing serious damage to the pair with his shock magic. Äelberon squared his jaw and entered the fray. The jolts of electricity were extremely painful, but Äelberon pressed on with his attack, helping the two Storcloaks corner the mage. They had the upper hand when Äelberon caught sight of Ralof’s fight with the Torturer’s assistant. The Assistant was attacking Ralof with a mace and Äelberon readied his bow, ignoring the Torture master. He aimed his bow at the assistiant as he was about to crush Ralof with his mace. Suddently, He felt a sharp pain in his flank, causing him to misfire. Damn. Ralof managed to block the mace with his shield, but it broke, leaving him defenseless. The Torturer fell to the ground dead at Äelberon’s feet from a fierce battleaxe blow from one of the other Stormcloaks, and Äelberon readied another arrow, as the assistant brought down his mace. This shot was true. Ralof was safe. Äelberon let out his breath and he and the Stormcloaks made their way to Ralof, helping him up.

“You’re bleeding,” Ralof pointed to Äelberon’s side.

“Someone decided to give me a little memento of my visit to Helgen.” Aelberon quipped as he stared at his flank. A nasty gash; the blood already seeping into the fabric of his cuirass. A bloody dagger lay next to the Torture Master’s hand.

“A lover’s bite,” Joked one of the Stormcloaks. The group laughed. Äelberon winced as he laughed. A painful bite.

“Was Ulfric with you?” Asked Ralof after catching his breath.

“No,” replied a Nord named Jyta. “We thought he was with you.”

“No, we were separated. We need to get out of here and find Ulfric, but first let’s see if there is anything we can use in this room.”

The room consisted of three cages and a sealed off area with bars. Äelberon assumed it was designed to watch the prisoners as they were being tortured. Inside the sealed area were two cages with dead spiders. Torture tools were scattered about and each cage housed a prisoner in various stages of decay; their bodies covered in cuts and bruises from the instruments. The stench of death was heavy in the air. Äelberon furrowed his brow in disgust. He had survived numerous torture attempts, but he understood why so many broke. He paused at a small table. A book.

The Torturer’s Guide, glancing at the title. Äelberon frowned. This man was a monster. And two viles of poison. He opened one of the viles and took a wiff, wrinkling his nose in revulsion. Bah! Noxious fluid! The gods only know what he did with these, but perhaps they would fetch a decent price. He had no use for poison. Poison was not Auri-El’s way. He was searching the Monster when he spied the Stormcloaks at one of the cage doors, attempting to pick the lock. It was not going well and Jyta was beginning to get frustrated. He walked over and gently moved Jyta out of the way. The door swung wide open.

“The torture master had the key.” Said Äelberon, tossing a small key into the air and catching it with his hand. He hated looting the torture victims, but they confiscated everything of his when he was taken prisoner. His horse, with supplies, was somewhere in the wilderness and probably already stolen or worse. Koor was missing. He had nothing. The Stormcloaks didn’t seem to mind that he was searching through the bodies of their brethren, so he looted, briefly saying a prayer of gratitude for each of the victim, while Ralof and the other Stormcloak were checking their weapons. Jyta heard him praying and turned to him.

“Are you a priest?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“A priest who can fight?”

“Sometimes even gods need defenders.” He replied. She nodded. She would know, they were defending their right to worship Talos.

“Are you ready? Interrupted Ralof.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then!” The quartet left the torture room and traveled a corridor. Hmmm, Äelberon wondered what else that key opened? He tossed it into the air again and caught it, making his through the various cells. In the second cell, a skeleton guarded his hoard of gold. In the third cell, he felt his foot strike something metallic and sure enough, hidden in the hay was an ebony dagger. They proceeded through several corridors and another smaller room that contained suspended cages with more victims. Äelberon sighed as he warmed his hands by the fire. He grimaced, the pain was getting worse. When he and Ralof escaped, he would have to treat himself.

The party was traveling a dirt tunnel, when they heard voices.

“Orders were to remain behind and wait for General Tullius.”

“But I don’t want to die here!” Imperials. By the sounds of it, a larger party. Äelberon looked at Ralof and he motioned the group to gather together. Erald asked.

“How do we want to do this?”

“Weapons?” Asked Ralof, taking inventory of their skills.

“Battleaxe.” Replied Erald.

“Warhammer.” Replied Jyta.

“I have axes, but we need a marksman.” They turned to Äelberon and looked at his bleeding flank.

“Can you still shoot straight?” Asked Ralof. He looked concerned.

“I’ll be fine.” Replied Äelberon, though the pain was getting worse. He gritted his teeth as the others turned their backs and began to walk to the chamber, weapons ready. This wasn’t normal. Something was wrong. But now was not the time to dwell. They needed a marksman. He overtook them and headed into the chamber, a large chamber overgrown with plants and scattered with waterfalls. It was as if Nature was retaking this fort one room at a time. Take out the archers. He readied his bow.

They saw him first and that was the plan.

“Stormcloaks! Attack!” The Imperials rushed to their party and Äelberon lept over the railing, and began to target the archers. They were near the exit of the chamber and the most deadly. One went down, but as he was shooting the other, an Imperial swordsman had just slain Erald and was making his way towards Äelberon, sword in hand. The sword swung, and Äelberon blocked the blow with his bow, and pain shot into his side. He mustered his strength and gave the bow a hard swing, groaning as the bow struck the soldier across the face, staggering him hard. It gave him enough time to equip his sword and shield. The second blow was blocked by his shield and more pain. With a loud cry, Äelberon swung his sword and made contact, killing the Imperial. An arrow whizzed by his head and he turned his attention again to the second archer. He tried to draw the bow, but stopped short, staggering in pain, gasping. He squared his jaw and tried again, aiming carefully, holding his breath. The arrow flew on his exhale, and the soldier collapsed. He put away his bow and put his hands on his knees, bending his head. Why was he suddenly so dizzy?

“You alright?” It was Ralof, face streaked with sweat. Jyta was at Erald’s body, her blond head bent.

“Yes, just let me catch my breath.” He breathed deeply and the dizziness quickly passed. He joined Ralof and the two began to head to the exit, but Jyta lingered, her head turned toward the corridor where they had entered, holding her left arm, looking very weary.

“You two go on ahead, I’ll remain here and see if Jarl Ulfric comes.” Äelberon understood and bid her farewell, putting an arm around her as she leaned her head on his shoulder. The hard pounding of her chest seemed to slow and calm down as he held her.

“He was my brother.” She whispered, her voice tired and low.

“He died an honorable death, Jyta. And he will wait for you in the mead halls of Sovengarde.” Äelberon whispered in her ear, squeezing her shoulder gently. She sighed and closed her eyes, finding comfort in his words. This was an Altmer, he was supposed to be the enemy, yet, he showed such compassion? This was no Thalmor monster. She spoke.

“Go, and thank you for comfort, Priest. I’ll be fine.” Äelberon gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to Ralof.

The pair continued, activating the lever lowered a bridge, and they exited the chamber. A loud dragon’s roar shook the walls as they exited the ruined fort into a cavern, filled with mosses and ferns struggling to grow in the small pockets of light that penetrated from holes in the cavern ceiling, the air heavy with moisture. They heard the rumble and moved quickly as the entryway collapsed, the force of the debris knocking them to their knees, scattering dust and small stones into the air.

“There’s no going back that way now.” Commented Ralof as he helped Äelberon up. They ventured into the cavern and came across two paths; one blocked by rubble, the other open. They turned right and followed the cleared path, the stone giving way to a heavy brown dirt intertwined with heavy root growth. They must be under woodland. There was another cavern just ahead, but something made Äelberon stop.

Spider webs. He pulled Ralof backwards and gestured to the webs and egg sacs that scattered the cavern. They had not noticed them yet. They crouched low he whispered to Ralof.

“How do you want to do this?”

“Let’s try to keep our distance. Their venom is deadly. Let’s focus on the large ones first. The little ones aren’t so bad. Bows, definitely bows.” They stood up and readied their bows. Äelberon changed to steel arrows. He needed to hit and hit hard as he was less mobile than Ralof. He took aim and held his breath. The first spider was just coming into view. He could feel his sweat on his brow and he set his jaw as pain shot up his flank while he aimed. The aim was everything. He exhaled and let the arrow fly. Direct hit! But the spider didn’t go down. He aimed again and let his arrows fly, Ralof following suit, as they dodged the spiders’ dangerous fangs and putrid spittle attacks. The spiders lay dead, but Äelberon again felt dizzy. Ralof was worried, he was very pale, but Äelberon dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

“No, no, no. I’ll be fine.” He managed, between heavy breaths, hands on his knees, head bent, his face clammy. ”I just need a moment or two. I’ve not eaten for several days. It is probably getting to me.”

“There’s another path ahead,” replied Ralof, “And feel that?”

“Feel what?” Asked Äelberon, looking up.

“Here.” Said Ralof as he led Äelberon to the path. Äelberon then felt it. A breeze. It felt good and cool on his skin and he breathed deeply, letting the fresh air seep into his lungs.

“Better, eh?”

“Infinitely.” It did feel good.

“Good then,” Replied Ralof, giving Äelberon a strong pat on the shoulder. “I think we’re almost out of here. Let’s move!”

They entered the path, which led to another cavern, this time with more light and the air did feel less stifling. Äelberon saw a potion in the distance and headed towards it, as Ralof crossed a small stone bridge and then headed right. Äelberon checked the potion. No, nothing he could use at the moment. He turned and headed to Ralof. He was crouched, axes ready.

“Wait!” Whispered Ralof, and Äelberon crouched. “It’s a bear. I really don’t want to cross her right now, so we can try to sneak by. Or, if you’re feeling lucky, you can catch her by surprise. I’ll cover you, whatever you decide.” Äelberon doesn’t sneak. He strode to the bear, tall and proud, and drew his bow. Wow, thought Ralof, this elf doesn’t mess around. He readied his axes, just in case, but he already knew how Äelberon was with a bow. If he didn’t kill the bear in the first hit, then, by Ysmir, he’d beat her to death with it. Sure enough, it was over in two quick shots from his bow. No bow beatings were necessary. Äelberon turned and smiled. But Ysmir’s beard! He looked terrible, as he caught a glance at Äelberon’s face in the dim light of the cavern. Granted High Elves aren’t known for their looks, but under the dirt, he was very pale and his light orange red eyes looked bright with fever and were punctuated by dark shadows. Was he ill?

If he was ill, however, he certainly wasn't acting it. With a surprising amount of energy, Äelberon knelt on the floor near the bear and took out a dagger he had looted from one of the bodies, tossing it into the air and catching it by the hilt to get a better grip. He then began cutting into the bear's tough hide, ignoring the blood and gore from the carcass.

"Ralof," Äelberon spoke between cutting, "help me skin this thing, I have an idea." Together they skinned the beast, the blood caking in their fingers and staining their uniforms. They both looked terrible now. When they finished, Äelberon began roughly breaking apart the long bows he looted from the Imperial soldiers. His eyes narrowed in concentration. He discarded the wood and kept the bow strings. With the bow strings, the hide, and an iron battle staff he found early in the keep, he began to fashion a rough sack that attached to the staff with the bow string. It was very sturdy. He looked up at Ralof when he finished.

"Let's gather some of this gear and we can carry it in this sack together. Weapons too," Äelberon gestured to the weapons lying in a scattered pile. They had dropped them carefully when they first saw the bear.

It was a brilliant idea. Each could grab an end and it was easily dropped if they ran into trouble on the way. They even doubled back to the spider's lair to gather more weapons.

"Do you think you have enough to make armor out of this?" Asked Ralof as he supported his end, testing its weight.

"I've worked with a lot worse before,"Replied Äelberon, hoisting his end onto his shoulder, stooping a bit to balance his height with Ralof's. "This will fashion me a decent set of steel."

“Well, then! What are we waiting for. This seems like the way out." They each grabbed an end of the sack and headed down the path and ahead of them was light…

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, heading to Riverwood

In all of his days, rain never felt so good. It was a heavy storm, but Äelberon didn’t care. As his eyes adjusted to the daylight, he let the rainwater fall cool and refreshing on his face, soaking his hair, streaking his warpaint, rinsing the blood and grime from his body. Alduin’s roar brought him back and Ralof pulled him down behind the rocks, as Alduin’s black form covered the sky, his great wings bearing him North. When he was no longer in view, Ralof spoke.

“Looks like he’s gone for good,” Ralof scanned the distance ahead and pointed Northeast as he continued, supporting the staff with his other hand as he slowly stood. “My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill in Riverwood. I’m sure she will help us out.” It looked like mid-morning to Äelberon, judging by the look of the sky and the temperature. Incredibly bright still, despite the storm clouds and heavy rain. It was hurting his eyes a little, causing him to squint. The rain continued to pelt them hard, weighing down their equipment, making the journey slower. At least the rainstorm was doing them a service and cleaning them up as they walked. Äelberon could only imagine if the two showed up Riverwood looking the way they had looked when they first emerged from the cave. Along the way, Ralof pointed out a large barrow that dominated the mountains to the North. Bleak Falls Barrow. As they neared the riverbank, they came across three pillar stones on a platform. Ralof motioned to put down the bag and then pointed to the pillar stones.

“These are the Guardian stones. Part of the group of Standing Stones that dot the landscape. Go ahead see for yourself.” Äelberon approached the stones. He knew the signs; Thief, Mage, Warrior. There was no question which one he would take.

"Warrior, good! Those stars will guide you to honor and glory." Ralof patted his shoulder as they picked up the supplies. They were getting extremely heavy and Äelberon was feeling dizzy again. He put it out of his mind. There was too much still to do. He needed to get himself situated and then begin tracking Vingalmo again. And there was also the matter of the Alduin, he had to warn the local authorities, even if it meant possible recapture. They continued on the road as Ralof spoke again.

“Listen, this isn’t Stormcloak territory. If we’re stopped by Imperials, let me do the talking, okay?” Äelberon suddenly stopped, turning towards Ralof, his eyebrows raised.

“Take a good look at what I’m wearing versus what you’re wearing, and I’m an Altmer, I think I better be the one to do the talking.”

“Eh, you’re right, I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

“We both are. How much further?” Äelberon stared at his hand, while Ralof scanned the road ahead. It was shaking. He clenched his fist, but to no avail, it still shook. He shifted the staff to his other shoulder and tested his left hand. It shook as well. Exhaustion. It had to be. He sighed and quickly grabbed the staff with both hands as Ralof faced him.

“Not much further, just up the road.”

Along the road, they came across two dead wolves. They put down the sack and investigated.

“What did this?” Asked Ralof. Äelberon bent over the carcasses. He lifted the neck of one of the wolves, its throat was torn open. An animal did this. A dog… A dog! Äelberon lifted his head and looked ahead, hope building. Did he survive? He lowered the wolf’s head and looked at Ralof.

“Can you carry a bit more?”

“If you can.”

They each bore a wolf carcass on their shoulders. His side hurt with the extra load, but pelts could be made into leather and he noticed that Ralof’s cuirass was splitting on his right shoulder, the straps fraying. At least there was a break in the clouds and it had stopped raining. They continued to walk.

He heard children playing in the distance and the sounds of wood chopping and the roar of lumber mill’s saw. And then Äelberon smiled as they entered the town of Riverwood. Close to a campire where two villagers were drying fish, lay Koor. He looked worse for wear, sleeping fitfully near the fire; thin and muddy, with a wolf bite on his leg.

“Ralof, let’s put the sack down near the campire.”

“Why?”

“A friend.” They walked to the campire, causing the dog to wake up. Weak as he was, the dog could not contain his excitement, knocking Äelberon hard to the ground in joy, licking his face, as Äelberon rubbed his ears, fighting the searing pain in his side.

“A fine animal. I saw him at Darkwater. Has he been following this entire time?” Ralof bent down and petted Koor, rubbing the dog’s neck, as Koor looked up, tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted. He helped Äelberon up, watching his friend grimace in pain.

“He must have. He’ll watch what we put down, let’s get to your sister. Koor.” The dog eyed his master, as Äelberon pointed to the sack. “Guard.” Koor barked and sat up. Ralof and Äelberon, crossed the small bridge onto the little island that housed the mill. They found Gerdur at a table, reading the orders for the day.

"Gerdur!" She turned around.

"Brother! Mara's mercy, it's good to see you!" She hugged her brother, but then broke from him and continued.

"But is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured..."

"Are you hurt? What's happened?" She looked extremely concerned, scanning her brother for injuries.

"Gerdur... Gerdur, I'm fine. At least now I am." She stared at the Altmer clad in Imperial heavy armor next to him and narrowed her eyes.

"And who's this? One of your comrades?"

Not a comrade yet, but a friend. I owe him my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials..."

"You're right. Follow me." They followed Gerdur to a secluded section of the mill, underneath a large pine tree, where she then called her husband Hod and her son Frodnar, who she later sent to watch the road to the South. Ralof sat on a stump and recounted the events of the past few days. Äelberon sat as well, his head bent, fighting waves of nausea, his side throbbing in pain. He had managed to cast a protective spell before he and Ralof met the first wave of Imperial soldiers in the keep, one that healed over time, but he could not cast anything since leaving the keep and the spell was not working. Perhaps some rest? Ralof had finished and looked at his sister, his face betraying worry.

"Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but..."

"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials. Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." Gerdur then faced Äelberon. Her brother couldn’t go to Whiterun, he would be arrested on the spot, but this High elf, already in Imperial armor, perhaps he would help? She turned to Äelberon.

"The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless... We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt." Äelberon got up from the stump slowly, using it to support himself and rose to his full height. Ralof saw his hands shake and furrowed his brow. Äelberon clenched his fists, when he caught Ralof’s stare.

“I will deliver the news. You need not worry, Gerdur.” He stood and placed a hand on Gerdur’s shoulder, reassuring her. “You have my word.” Gerdur hugged her brother and walked back to the mill. Ralof looked at Äelberon, he was in no condition to travel now. He stopped the elf.

“Friend, friend, rest. You need rest. C’mon, let’s follow Hod to the house. At least eat something, please, besides, you need to repair my cuirass.” He smiled, pushing his finger onto Äelberon’s chest. “You promised. Let’s grab the sack and head there. We can have some mead…”

“I don’t drink.”

“That’s only because you've never tried real Nord mead.”

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, continued

“You can go on ahead, but first help me get this sack to the smelter. I promise, I’ll be there soon. Koor will follow you inside. Koor, come.” Aelberon said, looking at the dog, who immediately obeyed, following Ralof and Aelberon to the smelter, where they placed the sack.

“Now Koor, follow Ralof. Go, Ralof, I’ll be back.” He began loading weapons into the smelter, melting the weapons into ingots of iron, steel, and corundum. Then, he went to the tanning rack and tanned leather. He grabbed a small book from his satchel and began scanning it as he leaned on the railing near the forge. He found the book at the keep, in a loft in one of the rooms, while he was looking for food. He read intently, he had fixed his weapons in the past, but forging an entire suit of armor that fit his body was something still new to him. His last armor was a gift. He had just taken his orders as a Priest of Auri-El. It was forged by his mother and Rynandor himself enchanted it. It was a gift fit for a king and for over two hundred years it had served him well. It was gone now. The book shook slightly as he held it and he put it down. The trembling was getting worse. He couldn’t forge an entire suit now. That would take days and if this condition persisted, longer. They may not have days, Aelberon thought. The dragon was a real threat. Patching the armor was all he had time for. He approached the smith, who was working the forge, a sturdy Nord with dirty blond hair.

“May I use your forge?”

“Of course, if you have the skill.”

He heated two ingots of steel and used the hammer to beat them into two thin panels of metal. As he hammered, he could feel the wound opening again and he felt the blood drip down his side, he winced, but ignored the pain. He would use those then to extend the width of the cuirass, lacing it tightly to the original metal with leather strips. That would at least allow him to get to Whiterun by tonight with a cuirass that could protect him decent enough. Using the hammer and an iron dagger, he punched small holes along the vertical length of each panel. He would need to do that to the cuirass as well. Hmmm, he needed to remove it to punch the holes for lacing. Without thinking, he began to unlace his cuirass when he heard a small voice.

“My father is Alvor, the blacksmith. I'm his assistant. I mean, apprentice.” She smiled. It caught him by surprise.

“Your name, little one?”

“Dorthe. Are you a soldier? My cousin is a soldier. His name is Hadvar. I haven’t seen him today. Did you see him today?” Aelberon stared at the little girl not knowing what to say. Hadvar… Memories of Helgen flashed through his mind. Last he saw of Hadvar, he was entering the Keep. Alvor was now looking at him, he had heard the question.

“Dorthe! Be a good apprentice and go inside for a moment and fetch me those extra pair of gloves so this elf can smith without burning his hands off.” Dorthe disappeared into Alvor house and Alvor directed his gaze at Aelberon.

“Was Hadvar at Helgen? I heard you talking to Gerdur.” He asked, “Answer me.”

“He was.”

“Is he... dead?” Alvor whispered, his voice quiet, knowing full well he could be staring at his killer. This was no Imperial soldier, but he was no Stormcloak either.

“I do not know, Alvor." Aelberon replied, his face grim. "When I entered the keep, he was very much alive. I’m sorry I cannot give you any more comfort. I truly wish I knew more.”

Dorthe scampered back to the forge, gloves in tow.

“Does he know about Hadvar? Does he?”

“Hadvar is safe, and YOU are a great apprentice.” He laughed, drawing the child to his lap and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Now, give the elf those gloves so he can work in peace and go spend some time with your mother in the garden! Go!” Dorthe gave Aelberon the gloves and ran off. Alvor peered at Aelberon’s work.

“Good work, reminds me of when I was first starting off. You work fast and the steel is consistent. You plan to lace the panels with leather, extending the girth of the cuirass?”

“It’s not the best option, but it’ll get me to Whiterun tonight. I need to get to Whiterun. The Jarl needs to know about this dragon.” Aelberon answered as he began to make the strips to lace the cuirass. He made enough to repair Ralof’s cuirass as well. “I need to go fetch something, will you watch my work until I return?” Alvor nodded, and Aelberon headed toward Hod and Gerdur’s house.

Aelberon slowly opened the door. Koor was already settled by the warm fire, asleep. Ralof was at the table, eating.

“Ralof, take off your armor.” Ralof looked up from his meal.

“You’re a mad elf, you know that, right?”

“I am most certainly not mad. I made the strips, now give me your armor, so I can fix it. Unless you want your seams to split right when you’re greeting Jarl Ulfric at Windhelm. That would be embarrassing.” Aelberon leaned against the wall of the cottage, crossing his arms over his chest; waiting.

“You don’t have to. You are in no condition to fix any armor.”

“I want to, now give it to me, please.” There was no convincing this elf. Are all of them this stubborn?

“Fine. Help me unlace this thing.” Ralof handed Aelberon his cuirass.

“I’ll return.” He was about to walk out the door.

“Hey elf! Catch!” An apple flew in the air and Aelberon caught it.

He walked some distance away from Riverwood, after retrieving his supplies from Alvor. Just a bit up the river. It was a good spot, the water was calm and shallow; reflecting the sun’s late afternoon rays as orange and blue dartwings hovered over the water. He sat on a bank at the river’s edge, on the damp grass and tried to eat the apple. But within minutes he gagged. He tried to cast a healing spell, but he was so tired, he couldn’t muster the energy. If he was going to make it to Whiterun, he was going to get there as a warrior. He had borrowed some Elves Ears from Gerdur’s home and in a wooden bowl, he ground up the leaves, making a paste. He gently unlaced his own cuirass, gasping as it finally came undone. The roughspun tunic underneath had chaffed his skin raw under the pressure of the tight cuirass. He stepped into the cool water and first washed his face, removing the remaining traces of war paint and then allowed himself the luxury of a good soaking. It cooled his skin, which was burning now with a slight fever. Feeling a bit refreshed, he then turned his attention to the wound on his side. The blood was caked in and the dirty fabric clung mercilessly when he tried to peel it away, making him wince. It was infected, but the cut, when washed, was minor. He gently dried the wound and coated it with the Elves Ear paste, instantly numbing the wound. It was the only plant he knew. People used it to cause frost damage, but by accident, he found it numbed pain. He wrapped the wound in linen and put the tunic back on.

He sat on the grass lacing the extender panels to the cuirass. Alvor had given him a hammer to beat the panels into shape and to punch holes in the original cuirass. When the armor was laced, he washed it by the river and set it to dry in the sun as he began work repairing Ralof’s cuirass. That job was easier, as all it needed was relacing. His hands trembled as he worked, and he noted that his vision blurred at times. He squared his jaw and fought his symptoms. By the time he finished, his own cuirass was dry and warm, and it fit. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t nearly so tight. He stood up and almost lost his balance. He was running out of time. He needed to get to Whiterun. He picked up his materials and placed them in the bearskin sack, lifting it with difficulty.

Aelberon placed the hammer on Alvor’s workbench. “Thank you.”

It was nearly sunset when he arrived back Hod and Gerdur’s house. They were not back yet, so Aelberon helped Ralof with his cuirass.

“This is fine work,” said Ralof, running his finges over the straight lacing, “thank you, friend. Now rest. Gerdur extended her invitation to you as well, and I think you need it more than I do.” Aelberon looked around the meager house and shook his head.

“They are extended enough as it is, Ralof, and they have already given me too much. You are her brother, I cannot stay. Please, where is Whiterun?”

“You intend to go then? It is just Northeast, just follow the road and you’ll see it.”

“The Jarl needs to know and you’d be arrested instantly. From what I learned from Gerdur, he is neutral, but leans Imperial. They’ll see my cuirass and we both know, I’d at least get into the city.” Ralof bent his head and frowned. Aelberon was right. The candlelight outlined the elves’ features. Grim and tired, feverish. Both men now knew he was struggling with the effects of poison. There was no other explanation for his symptoms. Slowly, Aelberon got up from the chair and headed to the door. “Koor.” The dog immediately got up and followed his master.

“Ralof,” Aelberon spoke, pausing at the open door. “I will not forget your kindness today.”

“And I will not forget yours, elf.” Aelberon walked out the door.

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, close to sunset


The air had turned brisk as Aelberon left Riverwood, following the road Northeast towards Whiterun. He had modified the bearskin sack into a large bindle to make carrying it by himself easier, but it was still heavy, and it slowed him down. It was close to sunset and he did not want to lose what little light remained. Koor kept pace with his master, his nose to the ground, tracking. They heard howling in the distance, and Aelberon dropped the bindle and readied his sword.

The wolves came from a small rock outcropping at a bend in the river. They were no match for his blade, but he needed to take a few moments afterwards to recover from the dizziness before he could continue, hoisting the bindle to his shoulder with difficulty. He cleared the falls and headed North along the road; the sunset coloring the tundra in vibrant hues of orange, purple, and yellow, competing fiercely with the sky which put on its own display of burning orange against a blue backdrop. It was breathtakingly beautiful and Aelberon stopped to marvel at it. So different from the forests. By the gods this was glorious country! There were farm houses scattered about the outskirts of a large, walled city. The farms were quaint, with a distinct yellowish wash to the walls and a teal-colored one for the doors. The carvings that decorated the farms were Nordic in design. Wheat and vegetable farms dotted the landscape and villagers were running. Running? Why? Then he heard a loud stomp and a low bellow. He and Koor followed the sound, quickening their pace.

Three warriors had cornered a giant at one of the farms. Two women and a man. The man, of dark complexion, was clad in a dark heavy armor, his helm featuring a wolf motif, while the two women seemed to prefer lighter gear, though upon closer inspection, one of the women was clad head to toe in what looked like Draugr armor. He had seen illustrations of it in his research of Nordic culture. He could only imagine where she had obtained it. She was shooting the giant with arrows while the other two distracted it with sword and shield. Aelberon thought quickly, putting down his bearskin bindle. He lept over the fence, got on one knee, and drew his bow with full force, inhaling sharply as the pain shot through his side. But time always seems to stand still when he is aiming. His mind focuses solely on the target, forgetting everything else, even pain. His target selected, he blinked slowly and exhaled... His arrrow easily found its mark, piercing the giant's eye, devling deep into the brain. It fell to the ground, dead. Koor circled the carcass as the female in Draugr armor approached as he stood up. Her hair was auburn and she had green war paint; three bold slashes that dominated her face. She looked as though she belonged in the hunt, and her countenance was fierce. She looked Aelberon straight in the eye, her gaze proud as she spoke.

“You handle yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Brother.”

“Shield-Brother?” Asked Aelberon, his eyes questioning. He had read this somewhere, but his memory was failing him. Confounded fever! It made him lose focus and he was already breaking out in a terrible sweat. He hoped the warriors had not noticed. He put away his bow and hoisted the bearskin sack over his shoulder. This, at least, hid the trembling, which was now constant.

"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions?" She raised her head haughtily and continued. "An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.” That was it, the Companions. Similar to the Fighter’s Guild in Cyrodiil. He had done some work for them off and on, especially when they needed extra pair of hands to hunt vampires and Daedra. It earned him coin and right now, he didn’t have much. If memory served, they usually provided their members with room and board. Hmmm, it seemed a likely place for him to go; where he could earn his keep until he could resume tracking Vingalmo. He cleared his throat.

“May I join the Companions?”

“Not for me to say.” Replied the woman. “You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck.” She and her companions nodded as he turned away from the group and headed back toward the road. Their eyes followed him for a bit as he paused at the Stables.

“Is that a High Elf?” Asked Ria, turning to her Shield-siblings, “Aren’t they usually mages?” Farkas shrugged, this was the first High Elf he had ever really seen up close. Usually it was only the Thalmor Justiciars who passed by the city and they never stopped for conversation. Not that Farkas wanted to talk to them.

“I have heard of them being pure warriors before, but it seems rare." Replied Aela. "Usually, while tall, they are slight of build and are barely able to wield anything but the lightest of weapons, yet alone wear heavy armor. That is why they wear their Elven design, it is much lighter. Bah! They make poor warriors. Weak. But this one is different." Her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Aelberon's form, “At any rate, he can certainly use a bow. It’s really up to Kodlak to decide. Best we head back to Jorrvaskr now, the giant has been taken care of and we'll have coin to collect.” The trio began to walk along the road as well, Watching Aelberon from behind. He was tall, she noted, with long, silver hair.

“Koor, come.” The dog followed, as Aelberon continued to Whiterun, passing the stables. That's when she caught his eye. Now that was a fine steed, he stopped and admired it, as the trio of warriors passed him. A large black mare snorted loudly and looked straight at him, stomping her foot. That one had some spirit, he smiled; a real fire in her eyes. If the coin from the Companions was good enough, he’d buy her... He groaned softly as the dizziness suddenly returned and he teetered a bit before he steadied himself against a barrel and was able to resume walking. It had grown so bitterly cold, yet he could not stop sweating.

The trio of warriors had already disappeared into the city when Aelberon approached the heavy doors to Whiterun when a guard stopped him. The Guard studied the High Elf and frowned. Hmph! A High Elf. A bulky one at that, clad in Imperial heavy armor, with a large bindle swung over his shoulder. And his face looked terrible. An older elf, his lined face grizzled with silver stubble; his complexion drawn, clammy, and pale, with profound dark circles under his red-orange eyes that were glazed with fever. Intense, bright, Elven eyes, unatural. He never liked their eyes. The glance was always too sharp. The elf's breathing was labored and his knuckles were white; his large hands trembled as they barely supported the weight of the bindle. His body shivered uncontrollably in the cold, despite his large frame. The guard crossed his arms over his chest, puffing himself slightly to look bigger. He wasn't going to let him in, who knew what pestilence he carried? The dragon attack at Helgen was a good enough excuse as any, best use that and send the sick elf off to another city. Let them deal with him or let him die on the way. The Talos hater.

“Halt." Commanded the Guard. Aelberon stopped in his tracks and waited. "Whiterun is closed to visitors with the dragons about.” Fool, did he LOOK like he was making a social call?! He was losing his patience. Aelberon steadied himself and spoke slowly, between breaths, staring hard at the guard.

“I have... news... from Helgen... of the Dragon attack.” And he waited, while the guard slowly processed the information. Come on, let me in, you fool, please, Aelberon thought, as he blinked hard and exhaled, fighting the dizziness. Not now, damn it. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, thinking of something else. Of golden tundra fields and tall pine forests. Of snow-covered peaks and lazy river banks. Of the good people that so desparately needed him to deliver this news... It helped and the dizziness subsided as furrowed his brow and then slowly opened his eyes, gaining strength.

“You may enter the city, but we will be watching you.” Warned the guard. The heavy doors opened and Aelberon entered the city, nodding to the guard in gratitude, Koor following close behind.

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, Dragonsreach, sunset

He entered the city, the cobblestone streets and heavily-carved buildings, despite his pain, made him smile. This was a true Nordic city. The noises of children playing, people hustling about their daily business, readying themselves for their evening meal, filled the air as he walked. The warm fires comforting and smoke stacks spewing from each building. They stared at him as he walked past, not angrily, just curious. Most had probably never seen his kind. Bosmer and Dunmer were common, but Altmer, no. Only as the Justiciars. He paused at a market square. He had to, he needed to put down the sack, he couldn’t carry it anymore and leaned heavily at the edge of the large stone well that was the center of the Market square, as he fought another strong wave of dizziness. He removed a waterskin from the sack and was about to draw water from the well, but his hands trembled and he was having difficulty.

“New to Whiterun?” A friendly voice asked.

“Yes,” Aelberon turned. She was a young Nord maid, with cropped red hair in a light blue dress with a tan laced bodice, carrying a basket of mountain flowers. She put down her basket on the edge of the well, took the waterskin from his hand, and began to draw water from the well. It was a kind gesture and Aelberon managed a weak smile. He could feel the cold sweat building on his forehead and the back of his neck.

“You can use the water whenever you like, the river feeds the well, and the water is always fresh.” She continued as she filled his waterskin, “It has never run dry… here.” She handed him his waterskin and he brought it to his lips.

He had not drunk since the morning and the cold water was like a soothing balm as it traveled down his parched throat. He could feel some strength return to his body as he drank. He wiped his mouth with a grateful sigh and turned to the maid.

“Thank you.”

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders, “It’s no problem at all, but may I ask you a question, traveler?”

“Aelberon.”

“What?”

“That is my name. I don’t think you’ll want to call me “traveler” or “stranger” whenever we speak. I certainly do not wish to call you “Maid who carries a basket of flowers.” His tired eyes twinkled a bit. The water was helping and he was feeling more himself.

“Oh,” The Nord smiled, a sincere one, “I’m Ysolda, I help out Hulda at the Bannered mare, the inn just across from us.” She pointed. “You may want to spend the night there.” She leaned closer to Aelberon and whispered. “But if you chop wood for her, she’ll give you a room for free.”

“Duly noted and thank you again, Maid who bears flowers.” He whispered back a she again smiled, understanding his joke. “And your question?”

“Sorry! I get carried away sometimes. Did you seen any khajiit traders outside the city when you entered?”

“The caravans?”

“Yes”

“I’m sorry, Ysolda, I did not see any. But they do stop at Whiterun?” He asked.

“That they do. They are not allowed in the city, though.” She paused, “What brings you to Whiterun?”

“I have important news for the Jarl.” His tone was suddenly serious and his face became grim.

“Oh,” She replied, noticing how his face changed expression. “Something terrible must have happened, because when I tried to leave the city today to check for the caravan, they would not let me past the gates. Follow me, the Jarl is in Dragonsreach. I was just heading there myself when I saw you at the well.”

Aelberon nodded, hoisting his bindle to his shoulders. “Thank you, Ysolda. Let us go.”

The pair walked up the steps and entered a courtyard in the center of which was a great tree, surrounded by lavender and benches. The tree was dead. Aelberon knew the tree. The branches were unmistakable even in death. In its day, this was a child of the great Eldergleam. The sanctuary was in Skyrim. If he survived, he make a pilgrimage to see its parent. What had killed its child? They continued to walk and to his right, he spied a strange-shaped building, shaped as a boat that has overturned in the water, he paused and asked Ysolda, gesturing to the building.

“And this?”

“That is Jorrvaskr, Mead Hall for the Companions. Grand building, isn’t it?” She continued, “If you look left, you will see the Temple of Kynareth and the Hall of the Dead. We’re in the Wind District. Whiterun has three. The market we just passed is in the Plains district, and Dragonsreach, well, that’s the Cloud district.”

They started up the steps to Dragonsreach. The city was bathed in the warm light of sunset, enhancing the glow of the cauldron fires and catching the light of the waterfalls that cascaded throughout the city. There was a nip in the air and Aelberon could see clouds building in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning. Thunderstorm. Probably common in the plains due to the flat terrain.

They approached the great carved double doors of Dragonsreach. Ysolda stopped and turned to Aelberon, noting the terrible state of his armor and his travel-worn face. He was so pale, she could sense his sickness, but she also sensed strength.

“Here we are.” She spoke. “I know you have made a difficult journey to reach the Jarl.” She knelt her head down, looking worried, “Whiterun thanks you. In these times with the war and all, most would’ve just walked away. When we enter, I’ll leave you to deliver your message. I don’t want to hear it. I’m afraid.” She bent her head and sighed, clutching her flower basket close to her.

Aelberon slowly put down his bindle, and faced her, lifting her chin gently with his armored hand, tilting her head to meet his gaze. Against the bright flames of the cauldrons, she saw the lines on his face more clearly. He was much older than he appeared at the well.

“Ysolda, my dear child," He said gently, "It is always darkest before the dawn.” He said, his gaze kind. She didn't know what to say, but his words gave her sudden hope. Without thinking, she took a blue mountain flower from her basket and gave it to him. She didn't know why she did it, it was silly. What would a warrior do with a flower? But instead of laughing at her, he took the flower and nodded, smelling it before placing it at his belt. It had a fresh, light scent. After all the ugliness of today, the violence and urgency, the flower was a thing of beauty, and he appreciated the gesture. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, out of respect and gratitude.

"Thank you, flower maiden," He said, his tired eyes warm.

And then with surprising strength, he threw wide open the great wooden doors to Dragonsreach, hoisted his bindle onto his shoulder, and stepped inside, letting the waning light of the sun into the Hall.

Irileth heard the doors loudly swing open and saw him approach as the Jarl spoke to Avenicci. They were arguing, they frequently did lately. She didn’t pay attention. She was in charge of Balgruuf’s person. What was an Imperial soldier doing in Dragonsreach? She narrowed her eyes. Too tall for an Imperial. An Altmer! What Thalmor trickery is this? She readied her sword and began her approach. Balgruuf caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, as he spoke to Avenicci.

Aelberon noticed the Dunmer, clad in Ebony, a kingly armor. She approached him without fear and the two came face to face, her sword drawn. He dwarfed her. She looked up, her chin out in defiance. An Altmer for sure, but no Thalmor. This one had the presence of a warrior and the lines betrayed his age. At least 200, perhaps more. She narrowed her eyes and spoke, her voice commanding. No Mer intimidated her.

“What is the meaning of this? Visitors are not allowed with the Dragon attack.” So they had heard then, thought Aelberon as he put down the bindle.

“Riverwood is in danger.” He replied.

“What is the nature of the danger?”

Aelberon tilted his head to the side; he could sense she was throwing rank a bit. Bah! There was no time for her insecurities. If his intention was truly violence, she would've been dead already. But that was certainly not his intention. His voice took on an air of authority. “My message is for the Jarl.”

“Any news you have for the Jarl, you can share with me first.” She tightened her grip on her sword. Aelberon squared his jaw and spoke slowly.

“My message… is for the Jarl.” His eyes gesturing to the Jarl. Irileth stared down the Altmer who responded in kind. Hmph, this was no mere brute soldier. Who was he and why did he want to speak with the Jarl? Irileth grew even more suspicious and began to raise her weapon. Assassins had been targeting the Jarl lately and she would take no chances with this elf.

“It’s alright Irileth. I want to hear what he has to say.” Interrupted the Jarl.

She relaxed the grip on her sword. “Come with me.” Aelberon nodded and followed the Dunmer to the Jarl’s throne, letting out a small sigh of relief when her back turned. He had not wanted to hurt her, but he would've defended himself.

Balgruuf the Greater sat upon his throne and watched the Soldier approach. An Altmer, yet not a Thalmor. His ill-fitting Imperial uniform caked in mud and blood; his long, silver hair was matted in spots and his lined face was travel weary. But his gaze was unwavering, a warrior’s gaze mixed with the sharp, keen eyes characteristic of his people. Despite his apparent exhaustion, he carried himself nobly, straight back and square shoulders. He was certainly spirited enough to not allow Irileth to intimidate him. She would have done her best if it had come to blows, but she would've been no match for the tall elf. He looked as if he had seen many battles in his day; more than he and Irileth put together. The Altmer stopped just short of the steps leading to his throne, one foot placed on the first step and bowed slowly before him, hands empty and palms towards Balgruuf. Hmmm, respectful, the Jarl noted...

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, Dragonsreach

"So. You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?" The Jarl asked… He saw the elf’s eyes sadden as he bent his head and let out a sigh.

Where to begin, Aelberon thought. Should he tell them about the sky being torn asunder, the screams of the people as Alduin obliterated an entire village? Would the Jarl even be able to comprehend such destruction? This was a very different sort of conflict from the Great War. This was the coming of the end times. How would the Jarl comprehend the end of the world? No, it was too much and the Civil War ravaging Skyrim did not make matters easier. Causing panic and terror would not help these people. He chose his words carefully, giving the information needed without delving too many details.

“The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak. Then the dragon attacked.”

"I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this." The Jarl leaned to his Steward, a thin Imperial who stood at the Jarl’s right side.

"What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon…”

As they spoke, debating the merit and consequences of sending troops to Riverwood, Aelberon felt the dizziness return with a vengeance. He was barely able to maintain his balance. He crossed his arms over his chest, head slightly bent, and slowly paced, his eyes following their conversation. They were taking too long to make this decision. Send troops, these people are defenseless. The Jarl raised his voice and Aelberon looked up.

"Enough! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." Aelberon closed his eyes and felt great relief. Help was coming, Gerdur, as he had promised.

The Steward protested, but the Jarl put him in his place quickly. Before the Steward left, he whispered something in his ear, which caused the Steward to disappear briefly up a flight of stairs behind the throne room. The Jarl then turned to Aelberon. The elf’s eyes were closed. Was he ill?

"Well done.” Began the Jarl. Aelberon opened his eyes and gazed at the Jarl.

Ah, no, probably just in need of a night’s rest and some warm mead. Seeing as he now had the elf’s attention, Balgruuf the Greater continued. “You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it.” The Steward emerged from the stairs and quickly handed something to the Jarl. Balgruuf the Greater then beckoned Aelberon to him and continued. “Here, take this as a small token of my esteem." He stood and bade Aelberon hold out his hand. In it was placed a flawless amethyst. Aelberon nodded in respect and closed his hand over the stone. The Jarl sat upon his throne again and stroked his beard.

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” He stood up again and beckoned Aelberon to follow. “Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

Balgruuf led Aelberon to a room to the left. In it was an alchemy lab, an enchanting table, and another larger table, scattered with rolls of paper, scroll, quills, and ink.

"Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps."

“Most mages don’t. The magicka tends to keep them awake for long stretches.” Commented Aelberon. They were greeted by a Nord mage with prominent sideburns.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details."

Farengar wrinkled his nose. This was the person to fetch the Dragonstone? He looked terrible, he wouldn’t get past the first chamber. He glanced at the Jarl about to protest, but the Jarl crossed his hands to the chest and waited. The Wizard cleared his throat.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

“What does this have to do with dragons?” Asked Aelberon, his eyes narrowing.

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar? You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities.” Aelberon was feeling nauseous, as he listened to Farengar. The wizard certainly took his time to get to the point. “One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?" He opened his mouth to continue, but Aelberon cut him short.

“So what do you need me to do?” In another time or place, he would have relished the opportunity share knowledge with another scholar, but now was not the time.

"I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Aelberon frowned. It was painfully obvious that this mage had never once fought an undead; a draugr. If the tomb was filled with them, the former servants of the dragon priests, then it would not be “Simplicity itself” but a dangerous mission not to be taken so flippantly. Weapons of silver would need to be crafted and he would need far better armor than what he currently had. He would need time to prepare. The Jarl spoke, interrupting Aelberon’s thoughts.

“Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.” Aelberon closed his eyes. He could not abandon these people, not after they had shown him such kindness. They did not know what they were up against. The Civil War was nothing.

“It will be done.” He didn’t know how, but it would be done. He had given his word. He left Farengar’s lab and made his way to the double doors, stopping to pick up his bindle.

Koor was waiting for him outside, his breath visible in the night air. Aelberon heard the sounds of thunder and looked up. The storm was getting closer, ominous. He sat at the steps and packed the amethyst into the sack, and removed the waterskin. The water didn’t help this time and he threw it back in. Koor rested his head on Aelberon’s knee and he rubbed the animal behind the ears.

“Where do we go now, Koor?” The dog looked up at his master. “The Bannered Mare or Jorrvaskr, eh? You tell me?” The dog put his head back on his master’s knee and snorted. "Yes, I'm tired too." The Bannered Mare was the safe choice. A few strokes of a wood cutter’s axe and he’d have a free place to stay, a warm fire, and food.

“Ne...” He said softly, shaking his head. He was no wood-chopper. He put his hand on his head, rubbing his forehead in a futile attempt to stop the throbbing pain. This was new. He stared at his hands which trembled almost continuously now, unless he was holding something heavy. First his extremities, now the core of his body. It was getting worse. Confounded poison. “Come, Koor.” He hoisted the Bindle and headed to Jorrvaskr.

PS: Ne is Aldmeri for "never".

[Skyrimnut]

2nd of Evening Star, nightfall

The doors at Jorrvaskr opened slowly, yet no one paid attention as a tall stooped figure in Imperial armor walked in. The inside of the building was dominated by a roaring fire surrounded by large, heavy wooden tables. Shields and swords decorated the walls, while food covered the table and the smell of mead and food, metal and leather dominated the air. Red banners bearing the image of a golden battleaxe lined the walls. Aelberon guessed that they were partaking in their evening meal, but none were at the table, instead they had gathered at the left end of the hall and the hall was loud with their boisterous cheer. He found a secluded corner near the entrance and placed the bindle on the floor, kneeling on one knee. Searching through sack, he grabbed the Craftsman’s Manual and opened it. He removed Ysolda’s flower from his belt and gently laid it in the middle of the book and then closed it, smiling. He placed the book carefully back into his sack.

“Koor,” he whispered. The dog sat on his haunches and looked at his master, head tilted. Aelberon pointed to the sack. “Guard.” Koor licked his face and whined softly. Ah, he knew, thought Aelberon as he rubbed the dog's ears, pressing his forehead to his faithful companion’s, looking deep into the dog’s clear, blue eyes. He was actually feeling better, but he knew what that meant. He had seen it in many soldiers before and all dogs can smell death. With one more pat to the head, he left Koor to guard, the emotion building in him as the dog stared back forlornly. “Don’t do this to me, dog.” He whispered, his voice breaking a bit.

Aelberon stood, containing himself, and faced the source of the raucous. It was a fight. A fist fight. It was a mead hall, after all. A Nordic woman was fighting a Dunmer as the crowd cheered. All were watching. Some seemed to enjoy the combat, laughing and goading the warriors on. And then he saw her; the Huntress. He called her that, he didn’t know why. There was a wildness about her, like she belonged in the forest. The one by the farm. Her face was marked with disapproval.

An old woman was attempting to clean the floor in front of the table. She looked haggard. Aelberon was sure cleaning up after a group of drunk warriors was difficult. He approached the woman.

“Madam, where do I join?” She leaned on her broom and answered. Her voice weary.

“Oh, dear, I’ve been tending to the mead hall of Jorrvaskr since I can remember. You will want to speak to Kodlak Whitemane. You won’t find him amongst the crowd, though. He is down below in the living quarters.” She sighed, “Come dear, I’ll show you.” She leaned the broom on a wooden pillar and beckoned Aelberon to the right, where there was a flight of steps leading down. But to his left on the way down, something caught his attention. Mounted on the wall were the fragments of an axe. A battle axe. He leaned closer and touched the blade fragment. Still sharp and his hand recoiled as he felt a slight sting. His eyes narrowed and he scanned his finger for cuts. Nothing. What sort of enchantment was this? He turned and noticed the old woman had already disappeared into the doors at the end of the flight of stairs.

He entered a large, stone corridor. Directly in front of him was a room with beds. He felt someone touch his arm. Ah, the old woman. She pointed him in the opposite direction, down the long main hall. At the end of the hall he spied two warriors talking. He assumed one was Kodlak, his white beard and long hair betrayed him. The other warrior was of the same likeness to the man encountered at the farm. Twins perhaps? All three wore the same dark armor with a wolf motif and capes that matched the banners that hung from the walls. They were seated and in discussion. The young one looked tortured and spoke in a whisper.

"But I still hear the call of the blood."

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome." Answered Kodlak.

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

"Leave that to me." Kodlak opened his mouth to continue and then stopped, his mouth open. Vilkas stared at the Harbinger and then found the source of his stare. There, in the shadows of the corridor, he stood. A high elf with long, silver hair. How much had he overheard? Vilkas narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the stranger. He was extremely pale and looked travel weary, but his reddish eyes burned bright. The sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him, this elf was sick. Yet, he emerged from the shadows and addressed Kodlak.

“I wish to join the Companions.”

No “May I” or “Can I”, not a question, but a statement. Kodlak was for a moment taken aback, it was the elf from his dream, but how he had changed! This was not the great snow bear who joined him in battle, but an elf haggard and worn, with one foot already in Aetherius. Yet he was here and there was still such strength left. He could sense it. It was the eyes, they showed none of the fatigue of his body. They were the very eyes in his dream. If he had such will, he’d have a fighting chance.

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you. Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit." Vilkas stared at Kodlak. Was he mad? The elf was nearly dead.

Aelberon watched as they debated letting him in. Of course, the young one was correct, he was no fool. But Aelberon watched Kodlak.

“How are you in battle, boy?” Kodlak asked with a twinkle in his eye, knowing full well that he was not addressing a youngling. Aelberon managed a slight smile. Boy? He hadn’t been called “boy” in over 200 years.

“I have much to learn.”

Hmmmm, humble? That was not like his people thought Kodlak.

"Vilkas, take him out to the yard and see what he can do."

Vilkas stood and beckoned Aelberon to follow. But Aelberon turned too quickly and felt dizzy, catching himself by quickly by placing his hand on a small table to steady himself, knocking a bowl of apples to the floor in the process. Vilkas turned around, his eyes narrowed. Aelberon took a deep breath and followed the Nord down the corridor. Kodlak followed them with his eyes. Despite his condition, the elf still moved with the grace of his people. Perhaps there was still hope? If he survived the night. Kodlak sighed.

When Aelberon entered the mead hall the second time, the other Companions then took notice. Never in their time had they seen his kind enter the mead hall. They watched intently as Vilkas and Aelberon disappeared out into the training ground. Some with curiosity, some with prejudice. Koor watched his master and whined softly.

The thunder was louder as the two warriors entered the training circle and the wind was blowing in gusts. Their destination was a flat area of stone, with some sand, surrounded by training dummies and cauldrons of flame, casting an orange glow against the night sky. It was dark, Vilkas observed, but not as late as he thought, for he could still hear Eorlund’s hammer pounding at the Skyforge. Ah, a beat to dance to thought Vilkas. They arrived at the center of the circle, and Vilkas got a good look at the elf. Definitely ill, but there was something to him. It was obvious this was no whelp, but a seasoned warrior, with the scars to prove it. He noticed the one across his face. He was a full head taller than Vilkas with the bulk to match. Aela had been correct in her description. She must have told Skjor as well, for he was watching from the tables with Nadja. He rarely observed a training, but there he was watching.

"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this. Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it."

Aelberon nodded slowly and allowed Vilkas to arm himself first. Vilkas readied his sword and shield. Aelberon readied his weapons, testing the weight of the sword in his hand. They began to circle each other slowly.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Cried Vilkas, annoyed. This elf was playing tricks or lacked the energy to fight?

“The order that I belong to demands that in honorable combat I wait until my opponent strikes first. It is a sign of respect.” Aelberon replied.

“Suit yourself.” And with that Vilkas swung his sword hard.

Aelberon blocked it with his shield. He felt the pain shoot up his side, but ignored it. By Talos, what an arm, thought Vilkas.

“Now you will come at me?” He yelled.

“Yes,” He replied calmly. Aelberon made ready a strike, the form was excellent, quick and full of power. Vilkas managed to block the blow but it staggered him. This was no weak elf and if he was ill, he did not betray it in battle. Hmmm, it was time to show him what he could really do. He gritted his teeth and rushed Aelberon.

“He has a better arm than you, Nadja.” Observed Skjor.

“I know.” She responded, annoyed. The two continued to observe the training. They were evenly matched. Steel crushed brutally against shields. It was a long dual, their feet kicking up sand as the first drops of rain began to fall. By the time the rain hit, Athis, Tovar, and Ria were also watching.

“By Azura, he’s giving Vilkas a thrashing! Noted Athis, "Impressive!” The rain grew worse and the warriors were now dealing with mud. Their hair clung to their faces and the water dripped from their armor, weighing them down. Vilkas was more powerful with the sword, but the elf’s advantage was his shield arm. It was strong. He was also a bit faster, though occasionally he almost lost his balance. He regained it quickly enough that it did not cost him, but it was only a matter of time. It was during the last mistep that Vilkas managed to knock the sword out of the elf’s hand. Haha, thought Vilkas, he had the upper hand now, but really there was no question. The elf had proven his mettle and could certainly be counted among them. He had not had this much fun training in a long time. He’d give him a little something to remember him by though and readied his sword, smiling. He brought it down hard. It was a blow that surprised him. A brutal swing of the elf’s shield, knocking him flat on his back. The other Companions stood up in surprise. Vilkas lay down for a moment, getting his wind back, the rain falling on his face. The elf walked up to him, the face was kind as he looked down at Vilkas lying in the sand. The elf offered his hand. This was no sore winner.

“My respect, Vilkas.” Aelberon nodded and Vilkas grabbed his hand while Aelberon hoisted him up.

"You might just make it.” Vilkas spoke as he stood up, “But for now, you're still a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you. Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."

Aelberon nodded and began to walk towards the sound of a hammer striking metal. It was coming from above. He was exhausted. That took everything he had. He leaned heavily on a stone wall and irrupted in a fit of coughing, trying to catch his breath. He sighed heavily. Vilkas was incredibly strong. Almost too strong. He had fought many Nords in his day, this one was different. Perhaps it was his illness speaking. He took out the weapon and admired it in the cauldron light. It was fine, the steel even and solid. Of simple design, yet extremely strong. He had to meet this smith, Eorlund.

He walked up the steps where a giant forge dominated a stone platform, now soaked from the rain. He didn’t really feel the cold anymore. Above the forge was an immense sculpture of an eagle about to take flight. Near the forge, a white-haired man was busy at the grindstone, sharpening the metal of a sword with a keen eye.

"What brings you here?" He asked as he worked.

“I have Vilkas’ sword,” Replied Aelberon. “It needs sharpening.”

"I'm guessing you're the newcomer then?"

“Does Vilkas always send newcomers on errands?” Aelberon asked, inspecting the tip of the sword with narrowed eyes. “Hmmm, there is also a chip in the blade, near the tip.” He handed the sword to Eorlund.

“Oh don’t worry too much about it. They were all whelps once.” He inspected the sword, “You are right, I see the chip. You’ve got good eyes.” He gestured to the chip, “I heard the sparring, did you do this?” Aelberon nodded. “Not everyone can chip a sword in battle, impressive. I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I’d be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me.”

“Of course,” replied Aelberon, taking the shield. Another exquisite piece. Aelberon would need to spend some time and learn from this smith. He had ideas about weapons. A blend of steel and Elven. Strength and speed.

“That’s a good man.” Aelberon turned and walked down the steps of the Skyforge. Now to deliver this shield. He walked back to Jorrvaskr, the rain actually felt good, though cold. It no longer mattered.

The Companions stared at him as he walked in, but it was no longer stares of contempt and arrogance, but of respect. He had bested Vilkas in a display of strength and seeing his physical state made it all the more impressive. He ignored their stares and headed again down the stairs, water dripping from his cuirass, his hair plastered to his head.

He heard the Huntress as he walked down the corridor. She was speaking to the man who had observed the training. She saw his shadow out of the corner of her eye. He blocked the door. She turned to him as he handed her the shield. In the light she saw him better. This was the elf that bested Vilkas? He looked like death.

"Ah, good. I've been waiting for this. Wait... I remember you. So the old man thinks you've got some heart, I guess."

"You know this one? I saw him training in the yard with Vilkas." Mentioned Skjor.

"Ah, yes. I heard you gave him quite a thrashing."

"Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that." Skjor replied. She turned to Aelberon. "Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?"

“I do not care for boasting.” was the reply.

“Ah, a man of action, Here, let’s have Farkas show you to your quarters.

It was the man from the giant encounter. He must be related to Vilkas. Yes, definitely twins. He followed Farkas down the corridor. He felt good, languid and calm, and his gait was now steady. Had he finally beat the poison? Seemed likely. He was very tired, though, he needed sleep. His lids felt so heavy. Farkas spoke, but Aelberon wasn’t paying attention. Something about whelps… He was not a whelp, he furrowed his brow, he was four times older than the eldest of them… He had seen great battles and the fall of the Tower… Hoardes of Daedra and hoards of Undead… It started to darken around him, ah, they were turning out the lights. Must be late. Yes, sleep would feel good. He followed Farkas, but Farkas was walking so slow. Why so slow? The end of the corridor was so far away… More talk of whelps. Bah! He was Aelberon of Dusk and no whelp… He spoke… His mind racing yet calm…

“Zu'u los nid kiir…” (I am no child…)

Farkas turned around. “Huh?” The elf was deathly pale, his body began to teeter, but he spoke again, in hushed tones, his eyes glazed over.

“Zu'u lost nun zuk grah fein pah do hi …” (I have seen more battle than all of you…)

“zuk sos…” (more blood…)

“zuk dinok…” (more death…)

What was this elf babbling about? The elf’s gaze intensified and he stared straight at Farkas. Something about the elf’s gaze frightened him, and Farkas was not one to fear. The words were slow and deliberate, barely audible, but Farkas didn’t understand.

“Zu'u fen ni vos Alduin al…” (I will not let Alduin destroy…)

“Kodlak! Vilkas! Hurry!” Farkas yelled loudly as Aelberon fell hard to the floor.

[Skyrimnut]

3rd of Evening Star, 4E 201

Kodlak heard Farkas’ cry as he was removing his armor to retire for the night. He rushed from his quarters and his heart sank. The elf lay on the floor, skin waxen, his eyes closed, hand outstretched, limp. Farkas kneeling next to him, trying to support his head. Vilkas emerged from the great hall, and found his brother first, pausing when he saw the elf. Kodlak ran to the twins.

“What happened?” He demanded. Farkas just stared.

“Farkas!” Bellowed Kodlak. Farkas snapped out of his shock.

“I was showing him to his quarters. He started jabbering in a strange language. I’ve never heard it before, and then he just fell. I don't know what happened.”

Kodlak knelt and felt Aelberon’s forehead. It burned to the touch. He opened an eyelid. The eye blazed bright with fever, the pupil contracting sharply, reacting to the light, but unseeing. “Vilkas?” He looked up.

“Master, he was standing when we finished. He agreed to take my sword to Eorlund and everything. The sparring was difficult, but we were not injured.”

Kodlak touched Aelberon’s forehead again. He leaned forward and listened. The elf was still breathing, but very slowly. Kodlak whispered in his ear, laying his hand on Aelberon's chest. “Ah Snow Bear... On my honor, your Shield-siblings will help you." He regained his composure and looked up at the twins, his voice firm. “Quickly, wrap him in blankets and then each of you, grab an end. We go to the temple. It’s his only chance. Hurry!” They grabbed fur blankets, wrapped Aelberon carefully and gently carried him out of the living quarters.

They could hear the wind and the rain pelting outside as they entered the main hall.

“Cover his face, make sure he does not get wet.” He ordered.

Koor looked up when he heard the noises. He saw the commotion in the main hall, the warriors gathering towards the staircase.

“By Ysmir! Don’t just stand there blocking our path, MOVE!” Shouted Kodlak from the bottom of the steps.

The crowd dispersed and then Koor saw the focus of their attention. He saw the limp body of his Master being carried by two men and he began to bristle, a savage snarl escaping his throat. He lept up and ran toward’s Vilkas, on the attack, teeth bare. Vilkas did not want to drop the elf when he saw the dog running toward him. He froze and turned to protect the elf.

“Kodlak! The animal!”

Kodlak blocked Vilkas from the dog’s path, brandishing a torch. The animal snarled, gnashing his teeth in fury, his eyes wild. He circled Kodlak as Kodlak waved the torch, threatening. The fire would not stop this animal long.

“No Kodlak, he’s only protecting his master.” Cried Vilkas. It was Aela who diffused the situation. She snuck stealthy behind the dog and quickly grabbed the animal, locking it in a tight embrace as the dog struggled in vain against her tight grip. She held the dog tightly as the dog cried for its master.

“Shhhhh,” she whispered with uncharacteristic gentleness, holding the animal, “shhhhhh, it’s alright. We are helping him. Easy, little moon brother.” She rocked him gently, stroking his head and gradually the dog’s wild struggles subsided and only mournful howls remained as Aela held him in her arms. “Go,” she mouthed to Kodlak.

Kodlak threw open the doors of Jorrvaskr, the wind blew in violent gusts and the rain beat the ground.

“Vilkas, cover his face. We will risk the rain, it is not far to the Temple. Let’s go, quickly.” The trio made their way carefully to the Temple, crossing the Gildergreen. Kodlak first, with a torch to provide light, Vilkas and Farkas close behind, bearing their fallen Shield-Brother.

He was moving? Floating… He opened his eyes and saw the night sky against the branches of the tree. The rain hit his eyes and he blinked, letting out a weak sigh. He closed his eyes and was again lost to the world…

Danica Pure-Spring sat at her desk at the Temple of Kynareth, ready to enjoy her canis root tea when she heard the loud knocking.

“Acolyte, who is at the door at this hour?” Danica called.

“I will check.” The priest walked to the door but barely had time to clear the door when it barged open, and Kodlak Whitemane stood before him, torch in hand. His eyes fierce.

“Harbinger, what brings you to the---“ The twins followed quickly behind carrying a High elf. Acolyte stepped back.

“Danica! Come now!” He cried. The Priestess emerged from her quarters and saw the warriors. Kodlak approached her, his face drawn with concern.

“Danica, help us.” He whispered, gesturing to the elf. She approached. Ah, the face, like wax, so pale, the eyes sunken.

“Quickly, place him on one of the beds.” She ordered. The twins carried the elf to a bed and laid him down gently. She knelt close to the elf and listened. He still breathed and stirred a little when her face passed his. She could feel the magic. He was a healer too, she could sense it.

“Remove his cuirass. The armor will stifle him.” The twins knelt and began to unfasten the elf’s armor. “Acolyte, fetch water, quickly.”

“Yes priestess.” He nodded.

“It is finished.” Said Vilkas as he and Farkas backed away from the stripped elf. His body was dirty from travel, and his skin was chaffed raw as she approached. His body was covered in a rough spun tunic, a prisoner’s tunic. She then noticed the linen bandage wrapped around his waist. It was stained with blood along the flank and the smell from the bandage was putrid. Poison. She grabbed a small knife from her robes and began to cut the bandage. Kodlak watched. She peeled the bandage off the elf’s skin and then removed a greenish paste. She smelled the paste.

“Elves Ears. To numb the pain.” She observed aloud. “When he could no longer cast spells, he must have tried this remedy.”

“Cast spells?” Asked Kodlak, as Danica then gently turned the elf’s head to the side and gently moved his hair, exposing his neck.

“Come, look.” She beckoned to Kodlak. He approached. At the nape of the elf’s neck was a small sign, it looked like a sun with waving rays. Small, barely noticeable. She then removed her own hood and moved her hair back exposing the nape of her neck. She had a symbol at the nape of her neck to, but hers was in the form of a bird.

“This is the symbol of Kynareth,” She explained, ”Goddess of wind and rains. All her priests carry this symbol, but different gods have different symbols.” She covered her head again and continued. “He is a priest of Auri-El, an Elven god, we know him as Akatosh here. The dragon god of time. As priests, we devote ourselves to healing magic. I could feel he practiced the art when I was near him.”

A priest? Thought Kodlak.

“But he was in armor?” Questioned Vilkas.

She peeled away at greenish paste slowly, “Many priests take up arms to defend their god, Companion. “here. Oh no!” She exclaimed her face wrought with concern. “It is worse than I thought, this is a poisoned wound.” It was a small gash at his flank, but the flesh surrounding it was black and oozed puss. Kodlak stood over her. The wound smelled rancid. Danica sensed the Harbinger’s presence and turned to him, placing a hand on his old cheek.

“Harbinger,” She spoke, her voice kind but firm, “You have done all you can. Please, let me do my work. I promise I will send word, for good or for ill.” Kodlak sighed, he didn’t want to go. Vilkas squeezed his shoulder.

“Come, Master, let the Priestess heal. Come. She is right, she cannot be disturbed. She will be using magic and it is so delicate.” Kodlak turned to Vilkas and nodded. Farkas was not there.

They found Farkas in the rain sitting on a bench near the shrine of Talos. Vilkas placed a blanket on his brother.

“Farkas,” He called. Farkas looked up.

“I was praying. Is that alright?” He asked, getting the way he got when he was unsure.

“Of course, brother,” replied Vilkas. “Master, what do you suggest we do?”

“We wait. It is all we can do. You two go on inside to Jorrvaskr, I will keep vigil by Talos.”

“But Master, the rain?”

“Vilkas.” Vilkas knew that tone. He was not to be questioned when he had that tone. “Leave me,”

“Come, Farkas.” Farkas stood up and the twins walked away from their Harbinger, leaving him to brood in the rain as they made their way back up to Jorrvaskr. He sat in the bench and waited, as still as the statue he faced, the rain drops falling from his nose and his bushy eybrows, droplets on his beard, droplets running down his armor and his cloak, only his breath betrayed life, coming out in steady puffs. And he waited, keeping vigil.

Vilkas had watched the old man from the doors of Jorrvaskr the entire night, watching as the rainstorm raged with lightning and thunder. The morning light began to slowly filter through the doors of the mead hall, and the rain had ceased. No one had slept. Most had gathered at the mead hall and waited for their Harbinger to return from his vigil. Aela walked towards Vilkas, arms crossed over her chest, the dog not far behind, though his steps were heavy.

“He has been out there the entire night. What is this elf to him?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Replied Vilkas, “I’ve never seen him this way before.” Vilkas opened the door and the hall was flooded with the early morning light. The dog walked to him and sat on his haunches. Vilkas gently patted his head, it still cried softly.

“What do you see?” Asked Aela.

Vilkas squinted, his eyes adjusting to the brightness caused by the rain puddles reflecting the sunshine. The lavender were heavy with water and the Gildergreen showered crystal droplets whenever there was a light gust of wind. Numerous butterflies flew about the tree and the flowers, drinking the rainwater that had gathered. A flock of birds flew past the Temple, scattering feathers and wisps of tundra cotton in their wake. The opposite of last night in every way, peaceful. Across the courtyard, the doors of the Temple opened and Pure-Spring emerged slowly, her shoulders stooped as she walked to Kodlak. She sat next to Kodlak and faced him, her face worn. He did not move. Vilkas couldn’t make out their words and the Harbinger betrayed nothing. Was the elf dead or alive? He had no way of knowing. Wait. He saw Kodlak stand slowly, his great cloak drenched, and walk to the shrine of Talos. The Harbinger of the Companions then knelt at the shrine and kissed it before getting up again and following Pure-Spring into the Temple.

The elf would live.

[Skyrimnut]

3rd of Evening Star, continued

Ysolda was out early this morning. The morning air was fresh and the night’s heavy rains made the flowers heavy with water. Butterflies were taking advantage, pausing to drink. It would be a fine day today, she thought as she made her way to the market square, but she thought about Aelberon. Was he able to warn the Jarl? There was a small crowd gathered near the Gildergreen. What now? She thought. Brenuin drunk again? She walked up to the courtyard of the Gildergreen. No, not Brenuin, Kodlak Whitemane, drenched, slowly crossed the courtyard towards Jorrvaskr, followed by the two brothers, Farkas and Vilkas. They were carrying something, gently. She couldn’t make out what they were carrying. Olfina Grey-mane stood ahead of her.

“Olfina?”

“Oh, Ysolda, what is it?” Her eyes ahead, watching the Companions.

“What are they doing? I can’t see.”

“They are carrying one of their Shield-brothers from the Temple. Evidently, Whitemane had spent the entire night in vigil at the Shrine of Talos. The whole city is talking about it”

“Who? Who?” Ysolda insisted. Olfina turned to Ysolda.

“My father told me when he came home last night that a new Companion had joined last night, a High elf. He was surprised, he had never seen one join before. Father said he was sick, but that from what he had heard, he had proven himself in battle.” Olfina watched as Ysolda put her hand to her mouth, her eyes beginning to well with tears. “Ysolda, what’s wrong?”

“His name is Aelberon. He had traveled all day from Helgen, just to warn the Jarl about the dragon attack there.” Her voice broke, “Is he dead?”

“They say he survived the night." Answered Olfina, and Ysolda sighed in relief, "Ysolda, what is this about dragons?”

Kodlak opened the doors to Jorrvaskr. The Companions stood up, waiting. He acknowledged them with a nod. None had slept.

“Come Vilkas, Farkas, let us bring him downstairs. Tilma! Come.” The old woman followed close behind the men.

“Do we place him in one of the bunks?” Asked Farkas.

“No,” replied Kodlak, “Danica told me he needs quiet. Tilma, there is a bed in the far room to the right, yes, the room near the twins, with the alchemy station?”

“Yes, Master Kodlak, there is a bed there and there are doors to keep the sound out. I have prepared it already.”

“Then we’ll put him there.” They made their way down the hall of the living quarters and turned at the last right before Kodlak’s quarters, where the twins slept. “Tilma, get the door.” The old woman rushed ahead and opened the door, letting Vilkas and Farkas pass with the elf. They gently placed him upon the bed and Tilma covered him with a blanket of fur. They heard light footsteps behind them, and quickly gliding past them was the dog. It paused for a moment on its haunches and then slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb his master, it got upon the bed and lay near his left leg, his head resting on his hip, watching him intently. Aela appeared through the doorway.

“What is the news from the Temple?” She asked.

“He will live, but we must wait, the recovery will be long.” Replied Kodlak, sitting on a small stool near the elf’s bed. “He may sleep for days…” They all looked at the elf, some of his color had returned, but he moaned softly; his sleep restless, eyes moving rapidly under his closed lids... Dreaming of another time...

His silver plate armor caught the reflection of the fiery sky as he crouched from the ledge of his post near the top of the Crystal Tower, the part of the Tower that held the tombs of the great Aldmeri ancestors; the Tower’s “heart”. His hand braced against the wall as he leaned precariously forward to get a better look, keen eyes surveying the distant horizon, his silver hair blowing in the hot breeze, his face flushed in the heat, his mouth growing dry. He watched the hordes of Refugees against the backdrop of the burning sky. There was no sun now, there had not been for days. Only the red flames, the churning dark clouds, and the searing heat. They came in droves; some riding, some walking, some even crawling. From all parts of Summerset. From Cloudrest, high in the mountains to Lillandril on the golden coast. From Shimmerene, Skywatch, Dusk, Firsthold, Sunhold, and even their beloved capital, Alinor with its delicate spires of glass and crystal. The cities were now deserted, filled with the dead. The great temples lay abandoned, broken. At first they tried to leave by sea for the Tamriel mainland, but the sea swallowed their ships. The Tower was all that remained. The Tower was whole.

To the North they came, or across the shallow sea if from Firsthold or Skywatch. The great migration to Crystal-Like-Law. The last bastion of hope for their people. From all walks of life. Simple farmers, their meager possessions hoisted onto their livestock. To the grand ancient nobles, who road in carriages, sheltered from the burning heat. He watched them all enter the Tower. And the Tower took them all in, like a sheltering mother and fierce father all at once, welcoming droves of the Sundered children of Anu. It was designed for this. It was designed to hold all their knowledge, magic, and to protect everything that was Altmer. Including the people. His eyes then shifted to what lay beyond the hordes of Refugees. Their camps just visible, great portals of blackened flame. The Gates. The demon hordes of Daedra. Their commander was Molag Bal’s gift to Mehunes Dagon for a successful campaign; sent to Summerset while Dagon’s eyes closely watched Cyrodiil. The emperor and his heirs were dead and the Empire was in chaos. There would be no aid from the Empire. To the Altmer, Molag Bal’s “gift” was known simply as Bet. The Beast. He had heard tales from the Refugees of his vile deeds and he was every bit the issue of the King of Rape. A great, hulking dremora lord with armor like burning coals and horns on his head that spiraled like a goat. In his wake there was only ash and death. Rumors… For no one ever survived his onset. They fled. Bet… Aelberon set his jaw and bent his head, his eyes now on the masses of Altmer seeking refuge. He was coming.

“There are more and more of them every day, Aelberon. The Tower cannot possibly hold them all?” Aelberon turned, still bracing himself on the ledge. Vingalmo had joined him, peering over the ledge cautiously. He looked troubled. Aelberon nodded and resumed his watch. Vingalmo didn’t understand how Aelberon could lean over the tower like that. He glanced down, the height was dizzying.

“Don’t fall!” Called Aelberon. Vigalmo’s heart skipped a beat and he pulled back quickly from the ledge. Damn it, he wasn’t even in danger of falling.

“I hate you.” Vingalmo frowned, but then laughed as Aelberon also laughed before resuming his watch. Aelberon always knew when to break a somber mood with a bit of humor. It brought comfort. It was the priest in him, to bring comfort. In all of this chaos, he never lost his compassion for his fellow Altmer.

“Do you see them?” Vingalmo asked.

“Yes,” His tone grew serious again, pointing to the distance. “There, do you see the black fire? Near the horizon? Those fires are not in the sky, but on ground level. Those are the gates. That is where they are camping. It is closer than it was yesterday. They are heading this way.”

Vingalmo scanned the distance in vain, but he saw nothing.

“By the gods you have the eyes of an eagle. I see nothing.”

“Trust me, my friend, they are there.” He lept down from the ledge and faced Vingalmo. “I must tell Rynandor. Keep watch.” And he disappeared into the Tower, leaving Vingalmo to the watch. Aelberon hurried up the steps and entered a large room where the mages worked. Master Rynandor and Lilandtar were speaking with the other mages, their faces concerned. The stopped their discussion when they saw Aelberon enter.

“Aelberon? You have news?”

“Yes, Master,” Aelberon nodded, “The black gates are visible from the South. Closer than they were yesterday. They are coming.”

“Are you sure?” Asked Rynandor. He knew the answer, Aelberon’s eyes never failed him, but the reality of the situation was far too dire.

“I wish was wrong, Master Rynandor.” The Knight replied. “They are coming.”

“Then we must fortify our defenses and devise escape routes for the citizens.” Replied Master Lilandtar, holding his head high in defiance. “We have the best soldiers and mages in all of Tamriel. Let the Daedra come...”


“Master,” Vilkas whispered. Kodlak woke with a start. “Here,” Vilkas handed him a plate with cheese and bread and a tankard of mead. “Go and eat, and then go rest. It’s late and you’ve not slept. I will keep watch over the elf tonight.” The boy was right, he was exhausted. He smiled at Vilkas. Kodlak wearily got up from the stool, his old bones protesting in stiffness. He leaned toward the elf and took his hand in his.

He whispered in his ear, “This is your Shield-brother, Vilkas. You met him at the training circle. He will watch you tonight.” He squeezed Aelberon’s hand and placed gently on his chest.

“Master, do you know this elf?”

“In dreams, Vilkas, in dreams...” His face suddenly looked sad, “I will explain better later. You are right, I need sleep.”

Aelberon moaned softly and then spoke what seemed like words. It was incoherent and parts of it were in a strange Elvish tongue. What is "Bet", thought Kodlak. The elf's brow furrowed and his breathing grew heavier, his face flushed.

“Did you see that?” Whispered Vilkas. Kodlak nodded. The elf was dreaming and by the look on his face, it was turning unpleasant. He placed the tankard on the plate and patted Vilkas on the shoulder, as the twin sat on the stool…