Chapter Two

There was something about a war encampment, that stirred the blood in even the most domestic of soldiers. Alaas could feel his heart begin to race, as him and Sasere arrived at the hastily-constructed camp's gate, dragging an unconscious Drielanor in tow.

The guard, a hired mercenary, like many of the men who made up Alaas' army, was a black-scaled argonian, who sat in a chair on a raised platform, near the pulley on top of the gate.

"Back so soon?" He asked, in a velvety voice.

Alaas stepped to the side, to provide a clear view of the sleeping Falmer, netted behind him. "Thankfully so. Now, Falles, the gate?"

"Of course, sir, I apologize."

The gate opened with a creak, and bits of metal clattered off, while others clung to the patchy wooden framework. Behind the gate, the war camp was busy, as always. The noise level increased dramatically without the gate blocking the sound, and Alaas smiled, gesturing Sasere to follow him in.

"Oh don't worry," she said sarcastically, "I haven't been dragging this sack of flesh around for the past two hours, or anything."

But, she followed anyways, pulling Drielanor along as easily as a sack of wheat, into the bustling cavern. Near the gate, a ramshackle barracks had been constructed, filled with other mercenaries lounging about, drinking wine and laughing. In a pile near the blacksmith, on the other side of the cleared area in the center of the camp, were dwemer mechanisms, ready to be rebuilt. Two centurions had already been restored, and were laid out on the stone floor. No one had gotten up the nerve to activate them, although, as their allegiance was still unknown, and it was a possibility they could have retained their obedience to their long-dead masters.

In a cage in the center of the cleared area, were four frost trolls, that Sasere and some mercenaries had painstakingly captured in the Pale, just outside of Dawnstar. Numerous other cages circled the cavern, lining the outer wall, and filled to the brim with approximately three hundred Falmer. These cages were the source of the majority of the noise in the cavern, not a second going by without some sort of squeal, growl, or roar emitting from their filthy interiors.

"Just like Sovngard, eh?" Alaas said, looking at Sasere.

"Funny, you take me for a Nord, do you?"

"No, I take you for a woman with a sense of humor. Obviously that is not the case."

"Why you pointy-eared, little-"

"Relax, Sasere. Just put the Falmer in one of those cages on the east wall, will you?"

Sasere gave a quiet hmmph, and slung the net over her back, walking towards the eastern wall.

Alaas smirked at her retreating figure, and pivoted on his heel to walk towards the planning tent. One of the frost trolls clawed at him from the cage, but he merely sidestepped and continued towards the tent. Throwing open the flap, he stepped inside, the temperature becoming noticeably warmer, due to the large amount of bodies in the room.

A large table sat in the middle of the room, covered in maps and documents, and bending under the weight of all of the people leaning against it.

Alaas stopped, "My brothers."

Eight snow elves looked up from their war planning at the sound of Alaas' voice. A staggered cheer emitted from the group, and the tallest stepped forward to shake his hand.

"Alaas, it is good to see you. These past hours have been...difficult."

The speaker was obviously the oldest of the nine snow elves in the tent, and his serious face was stained with years of stress, a bright white, rather than the pale blue of the others.

Alaas frowned, "Why is that, Dorvar?"

Dorvar, the taller elf, sighed and turned back to the table. "We have been attempting to work a strategy that would be successful with the amount of men we have, but I'm afraid our army is just not sufficient enough, Alaas."

Another elf, one near the back of the table, spoke up, "Nonsense, it is perfectly sufficient. We have dragons, Dorvar. Skyrim shall kneel beneath the might of their frost breath, and the brute strength of our trolls."

Dorvar slammed his fist on the table, "Gods, Samael, we've been through this. We don't have dragons, let alone ones as strong as frost dragons.

Samael, the youngest of the elves, pointed to an "x" on a map in front of him, "And I've told you, I know a location where we can obtain some."

"Samael, I don't think it's a good idea for us-"

"Enough," Alaas interrupted, throwing a hand out in front of him, "I wish to hear of Samael's plan, without the petty squabbling."

Samael grinned at Alaas for a moment, before returning to the map, "Well, you see, since the Dovahkiin defeated Alduin, dragons have been running even more rampant, without a leader to unite them. But there are some dragons, all frost dragons, mind you, who have come together up north, on the ice caps, to form some sort of alliance."

"And I suppose you think it wise to attempt and capture a group of fully-grown frost dragons?" Interjected one of the other snow elves, standing next to Dorvar.

"Well, I hadn't quite, uh.."

Alaas sighed, "Well Samael, if you think this is a solid plan, we can discuss it later. But onto more important topics, Layle, is the serum nearing completion?"

A balding snow elf, wearing robes, stepped forward from behind Dorvar, "No, Alaas. I haven't been able to find a way to restore the eyesight or reverse the degeneration process, without killing the subject."

"Layle, we need that serum. Weren't the scrolls enough help with making it?"

"Yes, the scrolls were extraordinarily helpful, and without them, I wouldn't have been able to engineer the chemical base, at all."

"Then what's the problem?"

Layle swallowed nervously, "Well, Alaas, I...I require a pureblood snow elf to restore the Falmer completely."

"Well then that's no problem, is it? We have nine snow elves right here."

"Alaas, the process in which I would harvest the necessary compounds, would be, well, fatal."

The snow elves in the room sank into an uncomfortable silence, eying each other nervously.

"Oh.." Alaas muttered.

"Yes, oh."

"So what are we to do?"
"I'm afraid I don't know."

Dorvar spoke, "If I may speak, maybe this isn't something that could work."

"What are you saying?

"I'm saying, maybe the war effort is, well, pointless."

Alaas grew grim, his face taking on a dark demeanor that chilled his brothers to the very core. He walked forward, and looked Dorvar in the eye, their noses almost touching.

"Dorvar. The dwarves of Skyrim tortured our people for centuries, turning us into feral beasts that know nothing but hunger and killing. We live in the shadows of the underground, and the light of day is a rare privilege. As the dwarves of Skyrim worked our people to death and desperation, we will be worked again. Snow elves will never be free from it, and if we can't be free from it, then the people of Skyrim can no longer be allowed to live."

A shadow had fallen across the tent, and with this speech, Alaas became something new. He embodied the pain and fear of every snow elf that had ever died at the hands of oppression, and his voice cracked with the raw emotion and determination behind his words.

Dorvar straightened his collar, looking directly at Alaas without flinching. "So, brother, what can we do?"

Alaas was silent for a moment, pondering some unknown decision. After a while, he said, without looking away, "We take those dragons, and for once, a snow elf will look at Skyrim from above, rather than below. That, my brothers, is what we will do."