The Dragonborn felt unnerved as he emerged from the catacombs of Solitude. He'd fought a path through countless Drougr on his way to Potema's burial chamber, the reawakened ancient Nord dead. These particular Drougr were the servants of the Wolf Queen, buried with their ruler sometime after her death during the third age.
Potema was a direct descendant of the Septim bloodline, daughter of Pelagius Septim II, and eventually became the Queen of Skyrim. While she had always shown promise in her knowledge of the arcane arts, she would eventually succumb to the lust for power. She was perhaps most notably infamous for her practice of Necromancy – the enslavement of souls against their will. Some say that at the height of her madness, her only companions were the undead servants she had amassed over the years.
The grand irony behind her return to the living realm was that the necromancers seeking to revive her, also sought to enslave her. They would have succeeded had Archus not intervened at Wolfskull Cave, and instead, she was only partly revived. Her soul was still bound to her tomb, but she was rapidly regaining the power to break free. Archus had fought hard to thwart her a second time, drawing deeply on every power of his own.
But none of this was what bothered him. He had enountered some rogue vampires beneath Solitude as well, some of which were blatantly working to complete the revival of Potema, but others... they seemed to have simply been in hiding. Shunned and reviled, these vampires could do nothing but lash out at Archus once they had discovered his presence. It was all they knew, all they could do to survive. In retaliation, of course, he had to fight back. None survived.
These vampires had once been the sons and daughters of actual people, they were not born monsters. They were once children who'd had hopes and dreams, aspirations and goals. They once had a choice. Many of them had been forced victims of vampire feeding rituals, and one day, they felt a sickness boiling inside of them. Sanguinare Vampiris coursed through their bodies, infecting their minds with a hunger they could not understand, nor resist. They would have tried to live out their lives despite these otherworldly cravings for human blood until it was too late, and the disease had taken a physical toll on their bodies and minds. Their eyes would eventually glow bright yellow, and their neighbours would drive them out and hunt them down.
Perhaps living underground with easy access to Solitude's Halls of the Dead was their only means of surviving. They had shelter from the sunlight and normal folk, and they also had the freshly dead as a non-lethal food source. Lashing out at Archus was out of desperation. Exile was their only prison. No, it was their freedom.
"Freedom."
The word echoed in Archus' mind after he had collected his reward from Falk Firebeard in the Blue Palace. No one in Skyrim seemed 'free'. The Elves were oppressed by the Nords, who were oppressed by the Empire, who were oppressed by the Thalmor. No one was really free, not even the Dragonborn. His journey was governed by fate.
Once outside the gates of Solitude, Archus made a start for the carriage he would take back to Whiterun. It was about time he returned, he was their Thane after all. As he approached the guard watchtower the carriage was set next to, he saw a man clad in blue and gold common clothing. He had a dwarven short sword strapped to his belt, and was playing the lute to what seemed like an imaginary audience. A bard with a rare and exotic treasure for a weapon. Responding to Archus' approach, the man spoke in a strong Nord accent.
"Hello there, friend. How lucky for you to chance upon a bard on the road."
"You struck me as more the adventuring type."
"Aye, I have been on some travels of my own." the Nord grinned, brushing off what some would interpret as condescension. "The best tales are those of adventure. Who could truly write a tale without first experiencing such?"
Archus lowered his black leather hood and let the sun rest on his face, his age accentuated by the battle scar across his right cheek. "So you're a songwriting adventurer then."
"Aye. Some may find their inspiration tucked away in tomes, or by carousing in the cities. But I find it in the vast expanse of Skyrim."
The Nord let out a hearty laugh to which Archus couldn't help but smile. Perhaps there was freedom in Skyrim after all. He just hadn't been looking at it the right way. They exchanged a nod of mutual respect, and Archus turned to approach the horse drawn carriage. He removed and reached into his brown fur backpack for his gold pouch when the man spoke.
"I can take you to any of the hold capitals." the man clearly meant business, his stern look said as much.
"Whiterun, please." said Archus, brushing past some of the exotic jewels in his backpack to get at the gold pouch that had fallen to the bottom. He'd just reached for it when the bard startled him.
"You don't mind me coming along, do you? I am headed somewhere on the way to Whiterun." the bard seemed to have followed Archus to the carriage.
"Not at all." he responded, removing a pouch of 100 septims for the coachman.
Something about this man interested Archus. He seemed like a seasoned adventurer, yet his means were completely out of the norm. He was not of the Bard College in Solitude, he wasn't in it for the treasure or the glory, nor was he in it for powerful artifacts. Though, there was a possibility he was simply a wanted fugitive, only too proud to join one of the many bandit camps scattered throughout Skyrim. But that just seemed unlikely.
"My name is Talsgar," said the bard, unsheathing his weapon, "And you want to know more about this, don't you?" He has a knowing look in his eye.
"Its craftsmanship is of the late dwemer era, I've seen them before, but never in such good condition. That's not the kind you'd find in an old dwemer ruin."
Talsgar grinned. "Ah, but it is. I found it in Alftand, North past Solitude, through the mountains. It was simply laying there in wait."
"You didn't venture deep into the ruins?"
"Heavens no, wouldn't be much of an adventure if I was dead now, would it?" he sheathed the weapon away at his side. "There was a research camp just outside of Alftand before I left. I have since heard it was destroyed by a group of bandits."
Archus looked down at his steel plate boots, they shone magnificently in the sunlight. The two exchanged short tales of adventure, the bard explained how he had liberated the camp at Alftand in order to honour the dead. Archus briefly touched on his adventure through Wyrmstooth. He hadn't mentioned the dragon, the undead army, or Borgakh, however.
"Nasty bit of business that happened over there, I'd heard all about what happened to the East Empire Company. Had to halt their trade routes due to dragon attacks." Talsgar's Nord accent was strong, Archus remained quiet on the issue.
"I hadn't encountered any problems with dragons while I was there." Sometimes concealing his identity as Dragonborn had been necessary.
"You're probably one of the lucky ones, then!" Talsgar let out another hearty laugh.
Some hours passed by and the climate changed from being uncharacteristically warm for Haafingar, to a chilling dark overcast. They had just passed Dragonsbridge and were shortly crossing the border into Hjalmarch, a place Archus had never explored much of. He thought of Lydia, how good it would feel to be back at Breezehome for the first time in months. The fire, a full pantry, some mead. The warm climate was also a welcome thought. Setting his travel gear down for the first time in a while would surely be strange. He'd almost forgotten the feeling of regular clothes, regular boots, the feeling of his naked hands in the wind. These would likely strike him foreign, it had been a long, long time.
Since the dragon attack in Whiterun and his subsequent rise to Thanehood, he had met the Greybeards, and the last remaining member of the Blades, Delphine. Archus had been deeply honoured to climb the Seven Thousand Steps and learn from the masters of the voice themselves, but he had found their complacency daunting. In Borgakh's own words; "It's as if they'd rather wait for something terrible to happen before they are forced to continue your training. Like all the dragon attacks are not enough."
The Greybeards had simply given him the instruction to strengthen his Thu'um through meditation at the various dragon shrines scattered throughout Skyrim, and told him that they would summon him when the time was right. That was about a year ago now, but more concerning was Delphine's silence. The letters had stopped coming.
"Perhaps I shall pay her a visit in the next few days." he thought, glancing past Talsgar and out towards the spectre of Morthal on the horizon. It looked like the coachman had opted to take the South road instead of the East road, either of them would be fine.
"So, Archus, I wanted to ask you a favour." Talsgar raised a large nord hand to itch his chin. "I am looking for a place called the Bard's Leap."
Archus had heard of it, but had never journeyed there. "What about it?"
"It has been overrun by the Forsworn of the Reach, they have set camp there."
Archus preempted the rest, "Talsgar, I'm not the sellsword you are looking for."
"Oh, but yes you are," that telltale grin once again, "Yes you are, Archus the Dragonborn."