Chapter 1
Abduction
After darkness fell, the son of the Dragonborn found himself climbing the steep steps to the Cloud District. Dragonsreach towered before him, its wooden columns creaking in the strong wind. Music and laughter was coming from inside. Eoghan's belly soared with excited: he has never been to a Jarl's feast before.
Once again, he pulled at the collar of his tunic that he considered rather tight compared to the others he'd worn. Arí was dressed in respectable attire; fine, leather boots, a light grey tunic that reached his knees, and a dark, red surcoat. His usually messy, brown hair was combed, and his beard trimmed to a subtle. Eoghan sensed he found his clothes uncomfortable and itchy too.
The great, wooden doors opened and they stepped inside. The hall was filled with Thanes, Jarls and other noblemen and women from around Skyrim. Arí sauntered from one end to the other, many voices calling to him and shouting his name. He retained from blushing like his son earlier that day.
Balgruuf stood from his throne and greeted his friend and ally with open arms. Eoghan stood closely behind as the two exchanged words and his father introduced him to the Jarl. Luckily for him, Balgruuf didn't fall onto his knees and worship him like a god. He merely smiled and rustled the young boy's hair. Eoghan noticed how thick the Nord's blond beard was.
"Master Eoghan, I have heard many things about you. It seems like you will be as great as your father one day," he said, looking down at him. The boy pursed his lips and nodded.
"Hopefully, Balgruuf. He's already capable at handling a sword," Arí nearly shouted over the noise.
"Come. Sit, Dragonborn." Balgruuf gestured to two spare seats to his left. Eoghan sat furtherest from him, beside a young Nord with red hair. They stayed silent as Eoghan filled his plate and cup with food and mead.
"So, you are the Dragonborn's famous son," the red-headed Nord said after several moments of awkwardness.
"Yes," he replied after swallowing down a piece of his cooked pheasant breast.
"I am Nelkir, youngest son of Jarl Bralgruuf the Greater."
"A pleasure," Eoghan said while reaching out and shaking Nelkir's hand like the Imperials do. Nelkir stared at his grease-stained hand, unsure whether it was a compliment or insult.
"Have you a good arm, Eoghan?"
The boy looked at him, confused with the question.
"Well, it isn't broken if that's what you mean."
The son of the Jarl bellowed with laughter. His red hair was drawn across his face as he pressed his index finger and thumb to his temple.
"No, no," he continued to laugh, "Are you good with a sword?". Eoghan grinned, finding what was so funny. "Indeed, I am."
Moments later, he was in friendly battle between the Redguard girl he saw that afternoon with the blacksmith. Her dark eyes were full of bloodlust as they circled around the area that was for those to prove their strength. Eoghan tightened his grip around the hilt of the light, steel sword given to him. Nelkir and a dozen other Nord, Redguard and Breton men and women enclosed the circle, cheering either him or the girl.
She made the first move, slashing her sword down onto him, but he sidestepped and kicked her backside as he skipped away from her. She turned to face him, her jaws locked with annoyance and fury. Eoghan was light on his feet as he danced around the girl, clearly dodging her blade and tiring her out. His father had thought him to use stealth rather than power (in most cases).
He tripped her with a flash of his sword and she knocked flat onto her back. Nelkir and some Nords yelled. The Redguard rolled out of the way as he lashed his blade down onto her. She struggled onto her feet, barely able to deflect Eoghan's blows. Beads of sweat were beginning to gather at her brow.
"Eleven summers, you say, Arí. Well, I certainly wouldn't believe it if I haven't seen it with my own eyes. He's a talented swordsman," Balgruuf commented as he, Arí and Maven Black-Briar watched the Dragonborn's son fight a Redguard girl.
"Neither would I but I wouldn't say talented, Balgruuf. He was trained by the best swordsman in Skyrim by a young age, I presume," Maven replied. Arí nodded. "Once he was able to walk and run, he had a wooden stick in his hand. Kelda wasn't too happy about it but she was always more of an archer than swords-woman." The two agreed with him.
They continued to watch Eoghan for another five minutes as he used tactics that he obviously learned from his father. By the sixth minute, the Redguard forfeited and he was claimed the winner.
"Who is she?" Arí asked pointing at the girl. Maven snorted. "Some peasant from Markarth. I heard she's that youngest daughter of a silversmith there and came to Whiterun to prove herself worthy or something like that."
"Yes, Adrianne has taken her as her apprentice and has put a roof over her head. Girl arrived last spring after travelling through the winter to reach my city. Starved, tired and sick she was when the guard allowed her into the city," Balgruuf said. Arí said nothing and gazed at the girl as she walked back to her seat, humiliated and hungry.
Nelkir smiled and placed a tankard of mead into Eoghan's hand. "Now THAT was a fight, young Dovahkiin."
"Thank you, Lord Nelkir. But such a title is not to be bestowed on me as I cannot Shout or absorb any dragon souls."
" Have you ever seen a dragon, Eoghan? Have you ever slain one?"
No, he has never slain one. But once, just once he saw a mighty dragon. Every two months or so, Arí and Kelda travelled the short trip to Dragonsbridge. He went with them every time, enjoying the Haafingar countryside and fresh, crisp air. Kelda and Eoghan would remain near the village, heading down to the river to fish or across the land to hunt. He really loved those times as he saw who his mother truly was.
But Arí... Arí headed up to the mountains north of Dragonsbridge and Shouted. He could wait for hours but he was a patient man. Just once, Eoghan was sitting on the grass when he saw a dragon on the horizon. White and mighty, it flew right over Dragonsbridge and to the mountains. He asked Kelda about it and she replied that his father was a friend to that dragon he saw. The dragon had helped him defeat Alduin.
He told this to Nelkir. Not caring who heard or not. And Nelkir believed him.
"You are truly a remarkable boy, Eoghan," he said and smiled back at him.
Eorlund gathered the last of the Skyfkrge steel weapons he had forged earlier for the Companions and made his way down to Jorrvaskr. Leaving them with Ria, he walked past the Shrine of Talos, stopping to pray and thank the god for another safe day. The noise was booming from Dragonsreach. Eorlund was invited to the Jarl's feast, but declined as he heard rumours that the Battle- Borns were also attending.
He strolled to the curtain wall that overlooked the plains of Whiterun. Wolfs, deer and mammoths roamed the land. All had a purpose: born, live and die. That was how the blacksmith saw life. It was the last two that really mattered though.
"Eorlund Gray-Mane?"
He hearda voice with a strange, funny accent behind him and turned. An Altmer with snow white skin and silver hair stood there, along with several others. They all wore black robes that clung to their bodies. Two were clearly women.
"I know him. Who's asking?"
"I am Faeron. You must come with us."
Thalmor! He almost shouted the word out.
"Did you see me pray to that shrine? Is that why you're here, because I prayed to Talos?"
The elf frowned. "I have no care about your religion, Nord. And I certainly do not know who this 'Talos' is. We only seek your service." Eorlund slowly stepped back from them, hitting the wall. "My service? What do you want with my service?"
"We want you to craft some armour and weapons for us. We will pay very nicely also."
"Ah! Don't give me that cheap crap! I will NEVER forge for any Thalmor!"
Faeron sighed, somewhat regretting what he was about to do. "Very well." He nodded to one of the other elves and within a blink of the eye, Eorlund was on his knees; hand bounded behind his back and hood over his head.
"Come on, I want to be back by the end of the week."
Then, Eorlund fell into a deep sleep.
"Is the young lad tired already, Dovahkiin?" Balgruuf asked as Arí was beginning to leave the palace with a sleeping Eoghan on his back.
"All warriors need their rest," replied Arí wisely. The Jarl nodded, bid them farewell and thanked them for coming. As he left, many called his name as a guard opened one of the doors for him.
Walking down the steep steps and into the Wind District, Arí noticed several black figures coming towards him. He stopped, laid Eoghan on the bench beneath the tree and approached them.
"Good evening, gentlemen-"
He saw the recognisable body of Eorlund Gray-Mane slung over one of their shoulders. He looked at their leader in shock, and he was even more shocked when he realised what species they were.
Snow Elves! He never forgot when he encountered the supposed last Snow Elf, the Knight-Paladin Gelebor.
"Move along now, Nord, as our business is done here and we wish to return home," said the leader quickly, like he was as anxious to leave. Arí drew his sword. "What do you want with Eorlund?"
"Merely his services," replied the Snow Elf, smiling. Arí striked the Elf, but the blow deflected off a hidden bracer the Elf had. He summoned a Fireball and blasted back the Dragonborn back, crushing his body against the trunk of the tree.
"Father!"
Eoghan, having awaken, scrambled to his father. Taking up the sword, he pointed it at the elves. The leader raised his hand to him, building up the fire.
"Faeron," warned one of the Elven women behind him. Faeron lowered his hand, smiling at the boy. "I believe it is against our law to harm a child. Fortunately for you, the same law applies in Mereth." He turned on his heel and left, the others following him with Eorlund.
Eoghan fell onto his knees. He had never been so terrified in his life. The sword dropped beside him, clattering on the stone. Who were those Elves?
