Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age (Bioware) or the Elder Scrolls series (Bethesda). My characters are mine.
A/N: The amount of support for this story is staggering. Simply amazing. Thank you to all reviewers, those who made this a favourite and those who followed it. Your outpouring of love makes me inordinately happy and determined to improve and write more. Thank you for that. All reviews will be answered by PM.
Enjoy this next chapter, for your viewing pleasure.
Fallen-wolfborn
"Normal speech"
'Thoughts'
"Shouting"
"Daedric Speech"
Chapter 2
Nothing stings the soul like a powerful coincidence.
Yseabal Amell was a newly harrowed mage of the Ferelden Tower of Mages in Lake Calenhad. She had been indoctrinated as all mages of the Circle of Magi were in control, suspicion and hatred of her own not insubstantial gifts in magic. She defeated and avoided demons in the Fade before her Harrowing and was, by her own admission, ambivalent towards her powers. On one hand she could light a good sized fire for warmth in the winter, on the other she could have her body taken over by a wrath demon if she got too angry or a lust demon if she got too attracted etcetera... It was an irritating state of affairs, not that she didn't doubt the veracity of the templars' claims and put hope upon hope that Irving would back her corner should she get in trouble.
She was fairly talented, but she knew there was nothing special about her power. This was why it was strange to her that tonight, of all nights; she would encounter something that fitted snugly into her definitions of interesting and dangerous. It was a power source, not unlike the feeling of lyrium in the Fade, but with more ... bite to it. It was a mildly more oppressive feeling, as if she shouldn't be near it, but was drawn in by its fervent calling anyway. Jowan and Lily were understandably jumpy about touching anything in the rooms but something told her that the large dog statue held something of great importance and power.
"Come on Yseabal, my phylactery should be right through here somewhere. How are we going to get through there?" Yseabal turned away from the ancient statue for a moment and towards the bookcase obstructing their path. She scratched her head, looking at Jowan who was nearly as intrigued as she was by the stone hound. The bookcase was a sturdy structure, probably built in the previous Age by the sheer amount of dust on the shelves and the number of Tevinter books she could only recognise by the sigil on the binding. She would have liked to read them for a few hours but time was not only of the essence but essential to her continued existence. This was why her next statement worried her more than the others.
"Well I'm stumped. Anyone got an idea?"
'The statue.' Yseabal jumped, not that either of her companions noticed being so occupied with the bookcase. 'Use the statue, mageling.'
Yseabal, without really knowing why but knowing it sounded like a very bad idea, turned back to the stone hound. It looked old, very old. The designs carved on it looked different from anything she had seen before. It wasn't Tevinter, no matter what the plaque under it said. She knew some ancient Tevinter and that was not was not what the scratched writing on the forehead was. It wasn't Anders, Qunari or Orlesian. I didn't resemble any Elven script she had ever seen. It looked almost like... claw marks, but strangely she knew that it was a language and a written one at that. She moved her thumb across the marks and started hearing a pounding noise in her ears.
"Is that..." It was beautiful, hypnotic and sounded like "... a heart?!" Yseabal's shout made Lily shriek in surprise and not an inconsiderable amount of fright. Jowan jumped, startled and staring at his long time friend, who was shaking as if physically shocked, her hair on end. A few small blue sparks leapt up her arms and into the carvings on the head of the hound.
"Yseabal, what are you doing? Don't touch the statues!" Yseabal jumped back as she started to feel the previously cold stone get warm under hand. The candles suddenly flickered as the statue started to glow red, then white hot. "By the Maker, what have you done?!"
An inhuman howl echoed throughout the basement as the statue started to expand and crack, hairline fractures appeared with increasing speed and frequency. Blue and green vapour started to pour off the statue as the stone splintered. A humanoid shape was visible, and so were the outlines of armour pauldrons. The howl turned into a human scream as the upright human fell to his knee, dripping with sweat. Yseabal fell backwards onto her rear, bringing her down to eye level with the kneeling man. A loud voice seemed to reverberate around the room.
"DAAL! GOVEY! STIN! VALOKEIN WAH LEIN DOVAHKIIN!" "Return! Restore! Freedom! Welcome to the world Dragonborn!"
"W-What are you?" The man raised his soaking head, completely void of hair, with a vicious snarl on his face. His skin was dark like the natives of Rivain or maybe Antiva and his eyes a shocking blue unlike anything she had ever seen. They seemed to have slits for pupils and be leaking a kind of blue smoke similar to the vapour that had come from what she could now see had been his prison. His eyes softened slightly once they locked with her brown eyes, which were wide with surprise and fear. He exhaled suddenly and inhaled with some force, the blue smoke seemingly to flow back into his eyes which he shut quickly. When he opened them, the slits were gone and replaced with normal pupils, but the blue colour remained the same.
The armour consisted of a long padded chainmail coat, but it was black as the Fade's skyline and was trimmed in red material she didn't recognise. Underneath that she could she what looked like a thick linen shirt of a dark green variety and on his legs were leather breeches she would be more used to seeing on the blacksmith who made deliveries of nails and tools to the Tranquil. At his side was a curved blade, unsheathed which seemed to shimmer a little. Her eyes went back to his as he leaned forward a little and placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing an involuntary gasp from her which he seemed to ignore. Then he spoke. His accent was strange and came forth in ragged, painstakingly drawn breaths, as if he had been dragged from the lake, near drowned and his voice was deep in timbre, a pleasant sound to her ears. What he said on the other hand, completely astounded her. "Where am I Breton? Where is Alduin?"
X-X-X-X-DOVAHKIIN-X-X-X-X
The brown-eyed Breton girl was not a threat, he decided after seeing the puzzled and somewhat distressed look on her face. She didn't seem to understand the questions he had asked, but he put that down to a combination of confusion and shock at having him dropped into her lap. It was evident that he was for the moment, safe, and that he was among people who were as least neutral to his reputation and status, as the Breton dabbed at his brow gently with the hem of her long robe. He did not recognise the surroundings at all or the sigils or symbols on any of the wall hangings, but then again he had hardly been in every stone building in Tamriel, so it wasn't likely he would know where he was by a glance.
He stared down at himself, caked in sweat and a fine sheet of white dust, almost like that used in the Imperial Arena, and snorted gently to himself. He must look a right mess and no mistake. Even Mjoll would find this to be funny, humourless saint as she was. Looking to the two others in the room with he and the Breton, he found himself looking at a short Nord male and another Breton female who were staring at him with open eye filled with fear, which irritated him fiercely. He ignored their faces and scanned them for any clue as to identity their allegiance. The robes vaguely resembled those worn by College Mages, though the second Breton girl, a red head, wore different coloured robes which depicted the rays of a sun on the chest and neck which reminded the Redguard of those worn by the murderers of Uriel Septim, the Mythic Dawn. They were now extinct and the designs were noticeably different, but the rising sun motif was familiar.
If he was among the company of Mehrunes Dagon's favoured then something was very amiss in the world judging by his continued breathing, as somehow he doubted that anyone who served the Lord of Destruction would want anything but his death, no matter his ownership of the Razor. After all, Dagon was also the Lord of Change, so following the status quo did not really apply to his followers, especially not when compared with those of Jyggalag or maybe even Malacath. He locked eyes with the Breton girl again and asked again more slowly. "Where am I? Where is Alduin? Where is the corpse of the Worldeater?"
The girl suddenly frowned as if annoyed and then did something he did not expect after being questioned so seriously. She pouted and said in childish voice, "I asked you first." The frightened gasps of her companions went ignored as he raised a single dark eyebrow. It turned into a small smile and then a slow chuckle. He got up and pulled her to her feet as well, wiping off his sweaty palms on the yellow gold cloth belt that formed part of his armour, which he and every other member of the Elinhir militia was given as a gift by the Alik'r chieftain Ologayo following the successful defense of the city against the Thalmor during the invasion. Twenty years later at the age of thirty four, the Dragonborn still carried it as a symbol of defiance, of remembrance and of pride in what he and his kinsfolk had done to defend their homes from the Altmer. The people of Hammerfell knew what it meant and visibly straightened in his presence, a sign of pride in their own kin rather than respect for him, as it should be.
It was with this thought the Dragonborn gave the Breton girl a genuine smile and a wry smirk rolled into one. His voice was still rough from lack of use. "Have you never seen a Redguard before, Breton? Have the fumes of your alchemy addled your brain?"
Whatever answer Yseabal had been expecting, that was not it. "Have I ever seen a what?"
The tall man frowned. "A Redguard? The people of Hammerfell? You know those dark-skinned folk, the race of Men who bloodied the Aldmeri Dominion while the Empire capitulated in the face of adversity despite the insult to their founder and god? As you well know Breton, I am a Redguard. Now if you would be so kind, what am I doing here and where is that bastard lizard Alduin? I know he's dead, but where now are his bones? I wish to make a gift of his carcass to Queen Elisif. Tullius will not deny her a present as princely such as that surely?" The girl's eyes widened at the mention of the word 'dragon' so he guessed she couldn't be a complete dunderhead. Maybe she was merely surprised hopefully, or just a little bit of a dunderhead at worst?
"Dragons? Don't talk rubbish, they're only stories." The other Breton girl decided to speak up, both mildly surprising and irritating the Redguard. He glared at her a little in a mix of annoyance, insult and though he would never admit it, a little bit of shock and shook his head with a weary sigh.
"Tiber Septim must be rolling in his tomb, Nine Divines preserve me. Your 'stories' Breton are the talk and curse of an entire kingdom, the suffering and pain of all civilised peoples and were a threat to the existence of Nirn as we know it to be. The Worldeater burned Helgen and his compatriots have attacked towns from Solitude to Riften. Their arrival provided the catalyst for the Empire to win the civil war in Skyrim and take the fight to the Aldmeri Dominion and topple the power of the Thalmor, with or without Emperor Titus. There were the battles in Whiterun, at the Forts Dunstad, Greenwall and Amol, and the battle for Windhelm itself. The traitor Jarl Ulfric was captured and conscripted to fight the Thalmor and the murdering butcher Galmar was put to the blade by your truly on the field of battle, is none of this ringing any bells?" The three stared at him in bemusement and confusion. He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. What is the date? How long was I unconscious for? Where is the High Queen?"
The Nord boy looked sufficiently cowed, despite the fact that he was not the first target of the Redguard's chastisement. "The sixth day of Wintermarch 9:30. Queen Anora resides in Denerim with King Cailan."
He looked incredulously at the boy. "I understand little to none of what you just said save the time, and I think I'll act as if I think I know what you're saying about this ... Anora character. And what kind of name is Cailan? Even Torygg sounds better. Though he was a good man was Torygg, he made into Sovngarde after all, had to be good to join Shor's company."
The young man looked even more perplexed and was blushing as if scolded. Which he was but not by anyone who was an obvious authority figure to him. "I didn't say anything about the time ser. It's the 30th year of the Dragon Age. The Ninth Age."
The Dragonborn suddenly felt his heart go very cold and something drop in his stomach. It was the same feeling he had had upon hearing the news that Taneth had fallen from within during the Aldmeri invasion. "Ninth ... Age? It was the Fourth Era last I heard." He sat back down again heavily. "I don't recognise your calendar system, but it's clear something is completely amiss. Who are you whelp?" He looked at the Nord, who was now fidgeting under the suspicious gaze.
"J-Jowan. My name is Jowan. I am an apprentice here at the Tower." The Redguard nodded slowly and gestured to the two Breton girls.
"And your two lady friends here? Do they not receive an introduction?"
At Jowan's blush, the brown haired Breton gave a superior smirk that made the Redguard smile. Here was a friendship worth protecting it seemed. "The 'lady friends' can speak for themselves, good ser. My name is Yseabal and this is Lily, one of the Chantry initiates here at the Tower." The red head Breton gave a shy smile and wave that had the Dragonborn mentally feel less irritated at her. The bull-headedness of youth was not far behind him after all, no matter what Aela had ever said.
The Redguard frowned and rubbed his chin which was thickly stubbled. "The Chantry? The only Chantry I've heard of was that of the Snow Elves, and they're all but extinct. Not very likely to be the same thing, but explanations can wait until later. Where in the name of Akatosh am I and where is this ... Tower exactly?"
It was Yseabal who answered, despite wanting to ask. "You're in the basement store rooms of the Tower of Magi, home to the Ferelden Circle of Magi."
The Dragonborn smirked. "Hidden from the Thalmor's prying eyes eh? Good thinking. Mages you say? Very good! After Savos Aren passed away I was made Archmage in Winterhold. Then again, by the looks on your faces you've never heard of the College just like I've never heard of your Circle or this Ferelden either. I feel like I'm meeting Serana again for the first time, save that now the roles are reversed somewhat. Hmph, I take it you've never heard of the Thalmor?" At the shaking of heads in the negative he sighed, a little more at ease than before. "Good. Damned Altmer. No self-respecting Man is ever going to revere Phynaster, never mind worship him over Talos. Any Nord could have told me that, except you maybe," he pointed to Jowan, who somehow felt mildly insulted.
The newly named Yseabal shrugged. "I can't say I've ever heard of an Archmage before, but if you can do magic, you're safe with us. Two apostates to be and an initiate who's fallen into disrepute and darkness with them." Lily giggled a little, but also looked mildly put out by this comment, which the Dragonborn filed away for future reference. "First Enchanter Irving is our leader, if you can call him that, he's the most experienced of any of our number and the oldest by quite a margin." The smile on Jowan's face confirmed the Redguard's thoughts, but shook his head at the old man's title.
"An enchanter looking after conjurers and illusionists? What in Magnus' name were they thinking? Any man can enchant, but it takes strength of will and experience to teach Transmutation or summon a Dremora, not that enchanting ever prevented anyone with perseverance from learning the craft of course. What did the gods ever do to you though that you don't believe in them, or does apostate mean something else here? No, wait, we've been here for far too long, but not without an answer to the most important question here. You, whelp? Do you know a man called Sam Guevenne?"
Jowan shook his head, a sense of dread filling him. The Redguard as he called himself smiled a wry grin. "If you are not an acolyte of the Prince, then just what were you doing down in a secluded basement with two such lovely nubile initiates as these two? For shame whelp, for shame!"
The look of abject horror on the blushing apprentice's pale face made him laugh out loud, pleasantly surprised with the extent of the effect, especially on Lily. Evidently, the Circle mages were not as bawdy as the Companions, but then again it did seem that mages were a little more uptight than any band of adventurers. The Elinhir battlemages were certainly far more serious than any member of the militiamen. Yseabal was actually smiling. "As much as I disagree with tall and witty here as to our motivations and his casting aspersions on our character and respective chastities, we need to get out of here, with the phylactery or not." Jowan noticeably swallowed, making the Redguard frown.
His voice was gentle but firm as he inquired of the obviously upset young Nord, "What's a phylactery whelp?"
The young man's pale face registered shock before descending into a depressed state that the Redguard had only seen on a select few. Lokir of Rorikstead as he ran from the headsman's block. Sinding the werewolf as he sat dejected in the Falkreath Barracks jail cells. Tova Shatter-Shield when he asked her for the key to Hjerim to search for traces of the Butcher. It was still a jarring sight for the Redguard to see what he could see in the eyes of these people. It was the grim nature of someone who had nothing to lose and little to live for. In the eyes of one as young as Jowan, it was downright frightening.
"The phylactery is a device containing a Circle mage's blood," the Dragonborn's face froze still, "which allows the Chantry's templars to track the mage down should they manage to escape from the Tower." Jowan was a little wary of the snarl that appeared, contorted and angry on the Redguard's face. Yseabal swallowed as the slits returned to those shockingly blue eyes as a little bit of the dragon soul asserted itself in anger at the young Nord's confession.
"What do you mean 'escape' whelp? Who are these Templar bastards who keep you prisoner here?" The voice was clear in murderous tone and vocalisation, making the three apprentices freeze, never having experienced such obvious killing intent before. The Redguard almost seemed to realise his mistake subconsciously as he seemed to calm down into a cold, burning anger which made Jowan feel just as nervous.
"T-The C-Chantry's soldiers. T-They lock up mages away from their families so that they can't corrupt others around them. Templars can neutralise a mage's powers... w-we were trying to get to my phylactery so Lily and I could escape from the Tower. After all, I love her." At the tender look between the two, Yseabal coughed and gave Jowan a meaningful look, snapping the lovestruck Nord out of his stupor, returning him to his sombre state. "But now the bookcase is blocking the way and none of us are strong enough to budge it..." he trailed off as the Redguard seethed.
"By Malacath." He needed to out get of this prison. A mage prison no less! He had vowed to put a stop to such suffering when he took up a stave against the Thalmor Justicar assigned to Elinhir following the White-Gold Concordat. Thyrallis Nivenor, one hundred and six years old from Firsthold in the Summerset Isles. Responsible for the massacre of the Talos commune in Water's Edge near Leyawiin and the imprisonment and personal torture of the non-Altmer children who his soldiers had spared. The Redguard had come across him overseeing the beating of a ten year old girl with a metal wire flail. The stave had been snatched from the attending mage's hands in an instant and the full power of the flames unleashed with great anger and glee in causing the death of such a monster.
The Redguard pushed himself up off the floor and faced the bookcase with his face set in a determination unlike any other. "If the way to your liberation is blocked Jowan, then I will make one for us!" He waved the novices out of the path. "Stand clear." He inhaled and then exhaled. He inhaled and let loose with an ear-splitting roar, "FUS RO DAH!"
Whatever Ysabel was expecting to happen when the Redguard shouted at the bookcase, a wide and fast blue-coloured shockwave that ripped through the bookcase was not it. She was also most definitely not expecting it to smash a man-sized hole in the wall, sending stone bricks the size of fireballs ricocheting down the passageway, smashing into the next rooms. The three of them stood gaping at the sight of the sheer power he displayed. This was not any magic they had ever read of or seen. This was old. Very old. They could feel a legacy here as the Redguard visibly breathed to calm himself down once again.
The tall dark man turned back to them with the same deep frown on his face. "I will walk with you, my apprentices. I will help you retrieve every phylactery in the building and destroy them. Then afterwards, should any man of your templars stand in our way of leaving, I will destroy them with the wrath of the men of old. They will know fear before they pass on to whatever afterlife awaits such debased men. I will send them to Sithis myself. On this you have my solemn oath. My name is Reman Amir and as general of the Hammerfell expeditionary forces I charge myself to your aid and the utter, complete destruction of your enemies. In the name of Talos, this I swear to you."
Yseabal Amell didn't understand a lot of what he had said or what he had made reference to, but for the first time that day, she felt totally at ease. They would escape today, and the templars would pay dearly for their interference, in their lives and in those of every mage in the Tower. The Redguard would bring them victory and after that? Freedom would be theirs.