The ride to the border would take a day and a half, but Aldariel has Shadowmere, who is made of darkness and magic, shadow given physical shape and the speed of something unearthly. They arrive just as the sun begins its descent, a good half mile from the camp itself.
Aldariel sends out his hawk summons, sending them to settle around the camp, so that he may look through their eyes. It's easy for a master mage to use magical constructs in this way, and he's been using it for nearly one hundred years now.
He unsaddles Shadowmere, leaving her free to graze, but doesn't make a proper camp. If he needs to run, he wants to be prepared. He closes his eyes, looking through the eyes of the hawk at the southern edge of the rebel camp.
He stays that way for an hour, watching, making note of the patrols and the gaps in watch that inevitably happen when an army makes camp.
But he muses, watching a man dressed in the armor of a Stormcloak officer walk beneath the bough that his summons is perched on, this was no army. There were more gaps here, and thus more opportunities to sneak into camp.
He's identified a few wards, simple and thankfully easy to dismantle without setting off an alarm. He's also found the leader's tent, blending in for the most part with the rest of the tan and grey tents that litter the clearing. The banner of Ulfric's bear flutters in the breeze and Aldariel withdraws from his summons and banishes them. It will be suspicious if the hawks remain there for too long.
He sends out a few bats next, roosting in the darkness of the leaves, and places one large owl at the entrance of the camp.
It's midnight before he dares to slip into the camp, carefully avoiding guards and wandering soldiers. He enters the leader's tent, no one the wiser. The leader is passed out and snoring on his bed and Aldariel layers a sleep spell over him, and an alarm at the entrance to warn him of anyone coming in.
There is a wealth of information here, and he peruses notes, ledgers and maps, taking stock of the plans and movements that the rebels have made.
They are planning on gathering more to their cause. He takes the evidence, leaving no scrap of paper unturned.
He turns to the sleeping leader, still snoring.
Aldariel lets his emotions fall away, leaving behind quick-silver blankness behind, setting aside the duty-bound thane for the cold Listener of the Night Mother.
It is the work of a moment to slide his sword up through the man's back, into the soft flesh of his heart and twist the blade. The man dies without a sound.
Aldariel steps back, cleans the sword and casts invisibility before leaving the tent. He darts into the shadows, easily finding the sentries posted there and slitting their throats, leaving them to die, gurgling in the dark.
Twenty left now. He finds another set of soldiers, distracts one with a conjured rabbit rustling though the bush before shoving his sword through the other's neck, snapping the spine. The distracted man whirls around and loses his head to Aldariel's second conjured blade.
Eighteen.
Cries of alarm begin to rise from the other side of the camp. The dead sentries have been discovered.
Aldariel smiles and reaches out, pulling on the thread that stretches between Dov and Thuri, forged through conflict and shared battle.
Odahviing, child of the eastern skies, come to my aid!
A roar answers him, and great red wings whip the air as Odahviing lands, crushing a few soldiers under his talons.
"Thuri!" he bellows, the draconic tongue rumbling like thunder, drowning out the screams of dying men and women.
Aldariel walks from the forest, dodging a man half-dressed in armor, gutting him as he passes. The man collapses with a terrible scream.
"I am here," Aldariel calls, "Burn them all, my blood-soaked hunter. Leave none to carry news of what has happened here."
"As you command," Odahviing roars, and fire scorches the earth, the scent of burning flesh heavy and acrid. In seconds, the only sound is the crackling of flames and the deep rumble of Odahviing's breathing.
Aldariel looks about the clearing, finding nothing but carnage. Nothing living stirs in the forest about them, and a quick spell confirms the death of all the rebels.
"A short fight, thuri," Odahviing says, inspecting his talons.
"Yes," Aldariel replies. "A pity is it not?"
"You speak like a Dovah," Odahviing says, watching him now with dark, serpentine eyes. "Battle-hungry and ambitious."
"I am a Dovah," Aldariel reminds him, "mortal as I may be in body."
Odahviing nods his great head, shifting under the weight of his thuri's gaze.
"Thank you for your assistance, zeymah," Aldariel says with a smile, cleaning his sword and sheathing it. "I will call for you again if I need you."
"As you command, thuri," Odahviing replies, and the muscles at his shoulders bunch as he tenses before leaping into the air. In moments he is gone, circling once around the clearing then south towards the high white-capped peaks of the Monahven.
Aldariel watches him go and then retreats to where Shadowmere grazes contentedly, lifting her head when she hears him approach.
She nickers quietly at him.
"Good girl," he says, stroking her neck. "Come on, we've got more ground to cover."
She snorts, suffering through being saddled and accepts the bridle with little complaining.
He can find another place to camp for the night and return to Solitude in the morning. He swings into the saddle, making sure that his satchel with its notes and evidence is secure before nudging Shadowmere into a trot.
He finds a small grove of birch trees after an hour's ride north and Aldariel coaxes Shadowmere through the trees down into the hollow at its heart. She shifts nervously as her hooves are muffled by the damp grass.
"Easy," Aldariel soothes, as she stomps her hooves, the sound muted. "Easy, girl."
She snorts, stamping again. Aldariel frowns. It's unlike her to be so irritated with nothing to…disturb her.
He turns, looking around.
The moons are high still, just past two or three in the morning, he'd guess. Silently, he calls his magic up, curling about his armor as a secondary layer of defense.
Something is there.
A shiver runs down his spine. He's faced all manner of beasts and creatures that lurk in the darkness. He is not about to run screaming for the hills.
Several pairs of yellow eyes swim into view just beyond the circle of trees, hidden in the greater part of the forest.
Aldariel grips the reins tight in one hand, easing his sword from its sheath quickly and quietly.
"Shadowmere," he murmurs lowly. "Run."
She bursts from the grove with all the speed of a storm wind and hurtles up the road. Her hooves sound like thunder, loud and echoing as she races against the creatures that now break from the trees, howling like the Wild Hunt as it chases its victims down.
One manages to keep pace with Shadowmere, and Shadowmere just manages to dodge its raking claws. Aldariel slashes down hard and feels the keen edge of the blade tear through muscle.
The beast yelps and Aldariel pulls the sword free, slicing down again as the beast persists. Dark blood coats the sword's edge, dripping as Aldariel flicks the blade, narrowly missing taking out the beast's eyes.
The light of the twin moons helps to give a name to the creatures that now hunt Aldariel and Shadowmere.
Werewolf. Hounds of Hircine and loyal followers of the Daedric Prince of Huntsmen.
Few creatures on Nirn can keep pace with a horse made in the Void Itself, and daedric creatures are one of them. Aldariel curses his luck and urges Shadowmere faster.
The landscape is a blur past them and instinctively, Aldariel knows he's five miles from Solitude's main gate, having just passed the ward that marks the ten miles from the border.
It's then, that the werewolf lunges and suddenly all Aldariel can see is the sky stretching away, wide and bright, the stars shimmering like diamonds in the ebony fabric of a wedding veil.
And the ground slams into his back with all the force of a rampaging mammoth and something cracks. He can taste iron in his mouth, feel blood seeping through the tunic beneath his leather armor.
Shadowmere screams somewhere beyond him, and he can hear the meaty thwack of her hooves hitting flesh. He struggles to sit up, ears still ringing from the impact. His sword lies feet away, still coated with daedric blood, gleaming in the moonlight.
Shadowmere is a black shape with glowing eyes, rearing and plunging as she slams into a werewolf. She screams again, and the sound is blood-curdling, turning Aldariel's own blood to icy rivers in his veins even though he knows she is his ally.
The werewolf is howling back, claws raking Shadowmere's black flank and she kicks out, catching it in the jaw. There is a loud snap, the sound of a spine breaking from the impact and the beast's body collapses to the ground and all is silent.
Shadowmere's hooves clatter against the cobblestone roads and Aldariel finds her standing beside him. She nudges his shoulder, snorting. He looks to where his sword lies, summons it with a quiet murmur and sheathes it.
Aldariel reaches for the stirrup, pulling himself upright, gasping from the pain. He closes his eyes and swings up into the saddle. He almost blacks out from the agony that ripples through his body.
Lady Below, what had he broken?
He coughs blood into Shadowmere's black fur, almost bent double over her neck.
"Hurry to Solitude, Shadowmere," he manages to say.
She begins walking and smoothly, more smoothly than he's ever felt her give, she breaks into a run that does not jostle him.
He closes his eyes, knowing only the rush of wind and the deep aching pain that blankets him, wraps him tight in its wicked embrace.
It's the scream that jerks him back into some semblance of lucidity. A terrible, frightened, scream.
There's words following that sound, and it takes him a long moment to understand them, the meaning in that string of syllables that have melded into incomprehensible gibberish.
It's his name.
He forces his eyes open, head lolling back against some unseen hand. He's not on Shadowmere's back anymore. There's stone and firelight and-
Ilymnari.
He tries to speak, but there is blood and then the inky darkness drags him under its crushing waves and swallows him whole.
His dreams, if that is indeed what they are, are strange.
He sees the enormous black shape of Alduin looming, roaring flame coming to devour him. He sees the familiar, long-lost shape of his beloved husband, waving as he steps into a lake of green-blue water and vanishes beneath its surface. He sees the great temple of Auri-el, high in the mountains, decorated with the symbols of the Elder days, clear spring water flowing from its doors emblazoned with the burning sun.
He sees the Sanctuary, ablaze in flames, and dark murky waters and hears the roars of dragons in battle and sees a figure with a carved mask that he cannot make out clearly before he fades into the darkness where there is no dreaming.
Aldariel wakes slowly, painfully, clawing his way back to consciousness.
"Well, look who's awake," a voice says from somewhere across the room.
Aldariel blinks, trying to focus. He knows that voice, he's had enough arguments with it in the past ten years…
"I don't recall inviting you in," he rasps at the Thane of Swords who is seated at the foot of the bed that Aldariel is lying in.
"Your wife invited me in," she says, her dark eyes flicking over him. "You've been unconscious for nearly a week now. Did the rebels do this?"
Aldariel manages a snort. "No, it was a werewolf," he says with a soft cough.
"Hmm," she says, looking thoughtful, "I'll get some guards to look into that. In the meantime, I'll wake your wife. She passed out a few hours ago after I agreed to keep an eye on you."
"Did I need watching?" Aldariel asks, as the other thane stands and crosses to his side.
"Some," the woman admits. "It was touch and go for a while. Do you think you can sit up?"
"Possibly," Aldariel says and allows her to help him sit up. There is a dull ache of pain as he leans against the propped-up bed pillows and he winces. "What all was broken, Rielle?" he asks.
"A few ribs were broken, and your back is pretty bruised," Rielle says. "You're lucky nothing vital was pierced, but there was infection in the wounds that needed tending. You don't have lycanthropy, gods be thanked, but you were coming down with a case of the rattles."
"And that's all been taken care of?" Aldariel asks.
"Yes," Rielle says. "The healer said that you'd need a week or so to rest up and heal. No exerting yourself."
"Lovely," Aldariel says. "How did I get here?"
"Your demon of a horse galloped all the way up to the main gates, screaming like a mad thing," Rielle says, "and the guards helped carry you to the manor and called for a healer. Your wife was most distraught."
"I don't doubt it," Aldariel says.
Rielle looks at him, searching for something and apparently finding it, as she stands abruptly. "I'll just go get Ilymnari then. It's good to see you awake."
Aldariel smiles. "Thank you, Rielle."
The woman nods stiffly and leaves.
Moments later, footsteps rush towards the room and Ilymnari bursts in, her eyes red-rimmed and worried, her hands outstretched towards him.
"Oh, Aldariel," she cries, throwing her arms around him.
Aldariel winces, but leans into her, closing his eyes. "My love," he says softly.
"What happened?!" Ilymnari asks, her voice on the edge of tears. "The guards said only that your horse had bolted to the gates and that you were- "her voice hitches, then resumes softer and horror-filled. "I thought you were dead."
"I might well have been if not for Shadowmere," Aldariel says, his eyes sliding open just a fraction to find her face pressed into his shoulder, hot tears soaking the fabric of his tunic. "There were werewolves five miles from Solitude and one managed to knock me off Shadowmere's back at a full gallop."
Ilymnari gasps, pulling away only briefly to look at him, her gaze sharp despite the fading fear still visible on her face.
"I didn't think anything could keep up with her at a full gallop," Ilymnari murmurs.
"Daedra can," Aldariel says, stroking his fingers through her hair, "if they put their minds to it. The Hounds of Hircine are persistent, after all. The one that knocked me off was killed by Shadowmere, Lady be thanked."
Rielle appears at the doorway, and eases aside, allowing Neria to pass through.
Like his wife, Neria's eyes are red-rimmed from crying.
Aldariel's heart aches to see her so fearful and he reaches out with his free hand, beckoning her closer. He notices that Rielle nods to him and withdraws from the room again, giving them their privacy.
Neria circles around the bed to clamber in beside him and hugs him tight.
"Thank Auri-el, you're alive, Ata," she mumbles into his shoulder. She's crying again.
"I am rather stubborn, my little snow flower," Aldariel says. "I couldn't leave you and your brothers and your mother alone, could I?"
"You're not allowed to die, Ata!" Neria says forcefully.
Aldariel looks at her and sees the fear, anger, and sorrow written in across her face, hears the force of the elder blood that roars through her, giving strength to her words even as the tears flow down her dark cheeks.
"Only my God determines the hour of my death, my little one," Aldariel says softly, "And She did not claim me for Her halls just yet. Know this, my daughter," he continues, lifting her chin so he may hold her gaze.
"If I should die, know that I did everything I could to return, and that my love lives on in you, in your blood and in your heart. And that I always, always, love you," Aldariel says, leaning forward to press a kiss to his daughter's brow.
Neria sniffles. "It's still not fair," she says.
"The gods did not make the world to have it be fair," Ilymnari says. "Life is made to be difficult, for without struggle there is no meaning." She leans against Aldariel's shoulder. "Should your father die, my heart will ache for the loss, and part of my soul will go into that dark with him. But I will live, for I have children and I must be strong for them, for what kind of mother would I be if I abandoned my children to this harsh world?"
"The same holds true for me, as well," Aldariel adds softly, "if she were to pass into Azura's bright meadows before me."
Neria gapes at them.
"You've talked about," she makes a vague gesture," "this before?"
"Of course," Aldariel and Ilymnari says together.
"It's painful to think about, yes," Aldariel admits, "But we have. When we had you, war was a few years brewing, and I knew that as a thane I would be on the battlefield when war finally came. Death was a very real possibility."
"And then we had dragons," Ilymnari says with a snort. "Who could have imagined that?"
"Clearly, the gods were bored and wanted some entertainment," Aldariel says. "All of us, running around like chickens with their heads cut off, screaming about overgrown lizards with wings. Surely that was entertaining. Though, I suppose it is not for us to know the minds of the divine."
Ilymnari nods her agreement and tilts her head to kiss Aldariel softly. "Please don't do that again."
"I'll try my best," he says.
