After spending another night in the Silver-Blood Inn, I get some breakfast from the bar and sit by the fire, going over my notes while I eat. The next places to check are the Old Hroldan Inn, Fort Sungard, then Fort Greymoor, on the road to Whiterun. The Boots are said to be hidden in the basement of a tavern, and all the ones in major cities have been checked already, while the Mace is said to be in a fort near the border of three holds. The carriage will take me to Old Hroldan, then it's not a hard walk from there to Fort Sungard, then to Fort Greymoor.

The carriage ride to Old Hroldan is uneventful. I have just gotten out when I hear a strange noise on the wind, from far away. I turn to the east and look up, squinting into the sun, trying to see if I can make out anything. The sound comes again, closer this time. It is hoarse, and drawn out, like the cry of some great beast echoing from a distance. The silhouette of a bird appears across the sun. It grows larger, quickly, and too late I realize it is not a bird at all. A jet of flame catches on my robes as I dive to the side, air rushing by me as the great beast swoops past, missing me by mere inches. The horse screams and bolts, dragging the carriage and its driver careening down the road in a panic.

No… That can't really be...

The dragon - for that is, impossibly, what it is - turns in the air, letting out another roar, ear- splittingly close this time, before coming in to land on the roof of the inn. The entire building shakes with the force of its landing, and the roof buckles slightly beneath its weight. It takes in a breath.

"yol TOR SHUUL!"

A torrent of flame erupts from its mouth, charring the ground where I stood mere moments before. I fumble with my magic, trying to remember how to cast a shield spell in my left hand while preparing a gout of fire in my right. I let loose the flame, the best I can muster, and it seems as but a flickering candle next to the raging bonfire this beast produces. My fire licks over its scales and is gone, accomplishing nothing as far as I could tell. I held my own against a tomb full of draugr, but this dragon is clearly beyond me. And so I do the only thing I can do: I turn and run. As fast as my legs can carry me I run, not daring to look back, knowing it is my only hope for survival but at the same time hating myself for being so weak, for leaving that inn to be destroyed by a monster, for letting the gods down, for letting myself down. I am an Altmer, gods dammit! I should not be fleeing a battle with my tail between my legs! But with death as the obvious alternative, I run. I run and run and run until my calves burn and my lungs ache and I know I can't go on, and then I run some more.

Finally I allow myself to stop, bending over with my hands on my knees. Everything hurts. Sweat drips into my eyes. My lungs greedily gulp for air. My heart thumps urgently in my throat. The rational part of my brain kicks in. That can't possibly have been a dragon, I think. Dragons have been extinct for eons, if they were ever even real at all, I think. It's just a legend. A myth. Ancient history at best, I think. Not. A present. Reality. I think.

But that was a DRAGON. I know.

How can there be a dragon? That's the real question. Protesting its existence is pointless when it nearly killed me, the reality of it is clear enough. The question is not "if", but "how?"

Didn't I just hear something about dragons? I try to quiet the pounding of my heart and make myself think straight. No, not dragons, Dragonborn. One of the legends the bard sang about two days ago at the Winking Skeever mentioned a hero called the Dragonborn. Could that be a coincidence? The fact that she sang that song is, probably, but that Dragonborn legend must have something to do with this dragon attack. Somehow. Right?

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let it out slowly as I let myself straighten. I still have a job to do, and it hasn't changed, dragon or no dragon. The Thalmor - and, it seems, the Divines themselves - have tasked me with retrieving the Crusader's relics, and that's what I'm going to do.

I allow myself a moment to puzzle at this, that the Thalmor and the Divines have both sent me for these relics, but the Thalmor sent me to destroy them, while the relics themselves are so obviously divine, the gods can't possibly have their destruction in mind… Maybe the gods plan for me to resolve this misunderstanding? To reclaim these relics for true glory, and wipe clean the taint of Pelinal Whitestrake they have somehow been stained with? Or maybe the Divines have sanctioned their destruction, as only they could?

But only for a moment. Both the Thalmor and the Divines are just and good. I can trust them. My job is simply to collect the relics; when the Thalmor see them I know they will do the right thing.

I look around, trying to get my bearings. I seem to have run east, in the direction of Fort Sungard. It would be a much shorter walk to return to Old Hroldan, but who knows how long that dragon will be there, or whether anything will even be left when it leaves. It makes much more sense to continue east to the fort and come back for Old Hroldan later. This decided, I set out, slowly on my aching legs, and in just a few hours I see crenellated battlements cresting the hillside. As I get closer, I realize this is going to be more difficult than I thought. The fort is at the top of a series of cliffs. I consult my map again. It looks like I can either try to scale the rocky walls, or take the better part of the rest of the day circling around to approach from the northeast. I must admit, it's a secure design for a fort. I sigh. There is no way I'm climbing anything after that prolonged sprint. What I really need right now is a rest and a good meal. But I resign myself to the walk, and set out.

The sun is touching the western peaks as I finally make my approach to the fort. It should be under Imperial control, and as I crest the rise leading up to the fort I see a man in Imperial armor manning a guard tower. Good. This should be easy then. As an agent of the Thalmor, technically I outrank any mere soldier in the Imperial army.

"Halt! Who goes there?" the soldier calls out.

"At ease, soldier. I am here on Thalmor business, let me pass."

"Of course, ma'am" he snaps his heels together and puts his fist over his heart in salute, then returns to his post. I smile. He's a good kid.

I head into the fort. The soldiers mostly take little notice of me, though I notice several nervous glances my way. I point to one of them at random. "You there, soldier!" She immediately tenses up. "I have been sent by the Thalmor to retrieve a holy relic. Have you noticed a silver-colored mace anywhere, or perhaps a stone chest with a strange enchantment on it?"

"Uh, yes" she stammers. "The fort has a small shrine to Kynareth, there is a stone chest there that may be the one you are looking for."

"Thank you. After I check on the relic, I will need a meal and a place to stay for the night. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"Yes ma'am. I mean no, ma'am, it won't be a problem."

"Good. Where is this shrine?" She gives me directions, and I take my leave. Are all soldiers so nervous around their superiors? Maybe it's a human thing. If all their soldiers are such cowards it's no wonder they lost the War. In any case, I'm not here to inspect legion decorum, I'm here to collect a relic. I enter the shrine and immediately see the chest, pushed up against a side wall. It looks identical to the chest I found in Solitude. I feel a twinge of worry, though I can't place why. I shake it off and approach the chest.

I reach out, and just like in Solitude, my hand stops mere inches away from the chest. I consult my notes, confirming that the mace was made by Zenithar, before bowing my head and praying.

"Come to me, Zenithar, for without you, like a child, I might fiddle and fret when only through struggle and labor may I craft a work worthy of your name. O divine crafter, I seek the power to retrieve your great work, that I may do with it what the Aedra have called me to do. Lend me your strength to open this chest and receive the relic within."

I feel a warm swirling glow deep inside myself, and I try the chest again. This time, I am able to open it. Inside is a flanged mace, weathered and worn like the sword but equally bristling with power. Its haft and head are silvered steel, the handle iridescent sapphire with a brilliant cut ruby pommel stone to match the one on the sword. It has a simple leather thong and iron loop for hanging it from a belt, so I do. Both of the Crusader's weapons and the Gauntlets are now in my possession. Satisfied, I head to the barracks for some food and rest.

In the night, the Forsworn attack.

I wake up to the sound of a bugle call, alerting the entire fort. At first I think it must be morning, but then I realize it is still dark outside. I see soldiers all around scrambling to put on their armor and grab weapons before running out the door to where the battle is. I groan. I am in no shape to deal with this. With a flash of memory I recall myself fleeing from the dragon, what a coward I felt. Wincing at the exertion, I get up, putting on my Thalmor robes. For some reason I feel compelled to strap on the Sword and Mace, and I also don the Gauntlets for good measure. I don't know what good they will do since I do my fighting with magic, but it just feels right.

I hit myself with a healing spell for a few seconds to soothe my pains, then prepare a shield spell in my left hand and a flame spell in my right.

Let's do this.

Nearly all the soldiers have left the barracks. I turn towards the door and make to join them.

Pain sears through me. I glance down in surprise, to see a bone blade erupting from my side. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" yells a voice, as the blade is ripped back out of me. The room seems to spin around me. At some point I realize that I am on the ground, footsteps running around and over me. Mercifully, I pass out.

"Easy there, stay calm. You were hurt." I feel the warm glow of a healing spell swirl over and through me. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light. A woman in Imperial armor is leaning over me, tending to me. I look around. I'm lying in a bed in a small wooden room. Next to the bed is a chair and a small circular table, and past the foot of the bed is a wardrobe and then an open doorway, through which I can hear a crackling hearthfire, and smell food and ale. Apparently I'm in an inn.

I try to sit up and the room spins. "Whoa, whoa, take it slowly. You were hurt pretty bad. I've been healing you up as best I can, but you'll still need time and rest to fully recover. Magic only goes so far, especially when you're an amateur like me." The woman gives a sheepish smile, and suddenly I recognize her. She's the soldier who gave me direction to the shrine in Fort Sungard.

"I didn't know Imperials were skilled with magic." I say incredulously.

"I'm a Breton, actually."

I feel dizzy. "You humans all look alike to me." And then I pass out again.

When I wake up, the light streaming in through the windows is tinged with the orange of twilight. I've been here an entire day. This won't do at all. I have a job to do, I can't afford these kinds of delays. I close my eyes again. I brought this on myself, though. I need to be stronger if I'm going to survive in this barbaric land where violence lurks around every corner. I need to learn some new spells, and get better with the ones I already know.

"How are you feeling" comes the woman's voice, a bit colder this time.

I sigh, then try to focus my magicka into a healing spell. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to hold it for a few seconds. "Better", I say, after releasing the spell. "Where am I?"

"The Frostfruit Inn in Rorikstead." she replies.

"What happened?"

She hesitates, then replies. "We were overrun. The frontal assault was just a diversion to pull all our troops to the front lines while their real force snuck in through a sewer tunnel. They came right into the barracks without any resistance, and that's where they found you. They put you down and swept right past you into the rest of the Fort. We couldn't handle their numbers, not from inside and behind like that. We were routed. In the chaos I doubled back to the barracks and found you. I snuck us both out of the fort the same way the Forsworn snuck in, and carried you to the nearest town where I could tend to your wounds."

I stay silent for several moments. "Why did you double back to the barracks?"

She hesitates again before replying. "I left something there. A family heirloom. It's not important. I mean, it's important to me, which is why I went back for it. I didn't want to leave it in an occupied fort. It's a good thing I did, or you would be dead."

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, good work soldier. But I need to be getting back to my job." I try to sit up again, but she pushes me down.

"Nuh uh. It's about to get dark outside, you're not going anywhere tonight. Let me tend to you until morning, then if you want to go off and get yourself killed again, I won't stop you."

I glare at her. "Remember your place, soldier."

She sighs. "Yes, ma'am. Now rest."

I lay my head back down. The room was starting to spin again anyway. She's probably right, I need the rest. I close my eyes and drift back into unconsciousness.

When I wake the next morning, the woman is gone. It occurs to me I never even got her name. Oh well. I try to sit up, and a dull ache throbs through my side where I was stabbed, but there is no shooting pain and the room doesn't spin, so that's a good sign. I slowly get up, and walk out to the front counter. I order some breakfast, then try to recombobulate myself while I eat.

I got the Mace in Fort Sungard, so I don't need to check Fort Greymoor. I never did check Old Hroldan, so I should probably double back there to make sure I didn't miss one. Speaking of which, I ask the innkeeper, "Does this place have a basement?"

"No ma'am, this is all I've got right here."

I nod, then change to a different topic. "Do you know where I could go to learn more about magic?"

He looks like he's about to say something, then notices my Thalmor robes and thinks better of it. "The College of Winterhold is where you would go to learn serious magic. Other than that, you could check with any Jarl's court wizard. The nearest would be Farengar in Whiterun."

I thank him, pay for my meal, then gather my things and prepare to set out. Fortunately the woman who brought me here also brought my backpack. Most of the things in it are easily replaceable but my specific concern was for my mission file. I look over it and my map again, and determine that, even though it's in the wrong direction, Old Hroldan is the closest location that might hold one of the relics, and I really should go back and check on it first. I've had some pretty good luck with finding relics so far, maybe it will hold up. I head outside.

It takes most of the day to walk all the way back to Old Hroldan, what with my injuries and giving Fort Sungard a wide berth. When I see it, my heart sinks. The southwestern wall and part of the southeastern wall are still standing, supporting a tiny section of roof, but the rest of the building is nothing but rubble and ash. The dragon is nowhere to be seen, fortunately, but neither is there any sign of survivors. Maybe they all got away safely and stayed that way, I lie to myself. With a heavy sigh, I start picking through the wreckage.

It's not too long before it gets dark enough that I have to build a fire to keep working. I come upon two dead bodies, both burned to a crisp. I wonder briefly if the dragon got them directly, or if they died in the building fire. Then I throw up.

I soldier on, leaving the bodies, looking for any sign of a basement entrance. If this place does have a basement it clearly survived the onslaught as the ground seems unbroken. I realize that doesn't bode well for me but I keep working anyway, sifting through ash, moving charred timbers, discarding burned remains of furniture.

Hours into the night, I finally conclude there is nothing here. The boots are in the basement of an inn, and this inn doesn't have a basement. I flop down near my fire, which is getting low now, and cry. This has been a disaster. I had an early run of luck and it made me complacent, I foolishly let myself think it would all be that easy. Why did they choose me for this job? I am weak and inexperienced, I am not cut out for adventuring across Skyrim. I turn my face to the sky and cry out:

"Choose someone else!"

There is no answer. I add some more timber to the fire so it will stay warm through the night, then I roll out my bedroll under the one piece of roof that is still standing in case it rains. I lie down, toss and turn for a while, before finally drifting off to sleep.

"...Deziil los hin, Rahheken."