Chapter 10

Daal Wah Moro

"Return to Glory"

The room was silent, save the hum of the Heart. Bjorn could hardly believe what he had been told. Not only was a descendant of Ysgramor, but was also the destined reincarnation of the Champion of Atmora. His mind buzzed, tuning out the world around him, escaping into thought. Drenyir, Mariah and Ynullum noticed him drift off and moved quickly to support him in case he collapsed, letting him rest on their shoulders. It was then that Mariah realized just how tired she was. Just how exhausted they all were. She turned to Ynullum, who was looking over Bjorn with a meticulous intensity.

"King Ynullum," she asked, shaking him from his thoughts. "Do you happen to have room for us? Just for one night? Like Bjorn said, this journey has been rough. We could all use a rest, and fresh food if you have it."

Drenyir nodded in approval, shifting his weight to better accommodate the Nord on his shoulder. "Just the thought of a pillow is making me sleepy. I know you don't need mortal necessities, but we'd be grateful if you could provide us anything you have stored away."

Ynullum thought for a moment, stroking his beard. "I suppose the barracks are empty. I can dig up some old fur blankets, but for the most part you'll have to use your bedrolls." He laughed to himself as he walked back to the throne room. "It's been years since I visited the barracks. I've even forgotten what my own bedroom looks like."

Bjorn shook himself back into reality, steadying himself. He thanked Drenyir and Mariah for keeping him standing. Drenyir returned the gratitude with a smile and slap to the back before catching up to Ynullum. Mariah stood by Bjorn, walking with him back into the throne room.

The King led them back out into the hallway they entered in, pushing open the door to one of the many side corridors. Bjorn anticipated the signs of disuse and age, such as cobwebs and a heavy coating of dust, but the barracks appeared clean and new. This particular room had six beds, made up with thin fur blankets. Bjorn felt the beds, and despite the Nedes apparent hardy reputation, the mattress was soft and comfortable. The team removed their packs and set them next to their beds, feeling a huge weight lifted off their shoulders. For the first time, they actually felt safe. As Bjorn removed the Champion's armor, dressing into something more comfortable, Ynullum stood in the doorway watching them settle in.

Once everyone appeared comfortable, he called them back out into the hallway. As he led them back to the throne room, he talked with them. "Like I said earlier, I have no need for creature comforts. But the Heart of Atmora is as incredible as it is mysterious. If you don't mind a bit of magicka burn, the Heart will supply you with the food and drink you request. Just have a seat at the table and ask. The Heart know you're here. It will hear you, and answer accordingly."

They took their seats at the table, the same seats they sat in to get introduced to Ynullum. The table was set with silver utensils, large, empty plates and engraved goblets. The Candlelights created an inviting glow. Bjorn felt honored, like he was attending a dinner at the Blue Palace back home. As per Ynullum's instructions, they closed their eyes and called to the Heart of Atmora. When they opened their eyes, the plates were filled with food, hot and fresh. The group could hardly believe their eyes. Ynullum didn't exaggerate; the Heart really was incredible. Drenyir's plate was heaped with smoked boar meat and ash yams, something that grew easily in the harsh soil of Solstheim. Greedily, Drenyir dug into his meal, the first real food he'd had in weeks. Mariah's plate was more civilized, consisting of a steaming salmon steak and grilled leeks. She smiled, saying that whether is was the Imperial City, Ivarstead, or the College, a cooked fish was never out of reach. Bjorn ate heartily, like any Nord would, with grilled beef steaks and potatoes, served with a flagon of mead with juniper berries. The meal was quiet, with everyone too busy eating to talk. The feast was better than the rations they had been eating by far, and it settled their minds and stomachs.

Ynullum oversaw the meal from his throne with a smile on his face. After all these years of solitude, he wasn't about to let the laws of hospitality slide. After almost two millenia of being alone, he didn't see himself as a King anymore. To Ynullum, he was just a Nede doing what was necessary to protect his home. He leaned on his staff, thinking about the coming days. Could this visitor from the settled lands actually be the Champion? Would Akatosh tell him? Or was this all a big guessing game with deadly consequences? He let the thoughts sink back into his head, enjoying the company in his hall. This was right. It had to be.

When the meal was finished and everyone's hunger satisfied, they figured it was time to turn in for the night, knowing good and well how long tomorrow would be. Ynullum bade them farewell and goodnight as he returned to his study, letting them know the Cold Army would wait, so to take the time they needed. The group proceeded lazily to the barracks, looking forward to a good night's sleep safe from the howling wind they were so used to.

"I've never had a meal that good in my life," Drenyir admitted as he led the group down the hallway. "If that's how royalty eats, I could get used to it. At least I didn't have to kill my meat this time."

Bjorn laughed and clapped the Dunmer on the shoulder, who turned with a smile. "Don't get too comfortable," Bjorn instructed, waving his finger like a parent warning a child. "We have a long day ahead of us."

The Dark Elf dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand as he pushed open the door to the barracks. Drenyir took little time getting into bed, using his bedroll as a pillow. In a few minutes, he was fast asleep, snoring lightly. Mariah was sitting up on her bed, scribbling furiously in her notebook, occasionally glancing over at her pack where the Blessings of the Heart was safely stored. Bjorn was sprawled out on his bed, hands behind his head, thinking about all that had unfurled. First the Cold Army, then meeting the King of Atmora, and now he was caught up in some prophecy about a Champion chosen by Akatosh? He shook his head. This was some jumbled up situation he got himself in. He looked over at Drenyir, who was face first in his pillow, snoring loudly, muttering something about bad sujamma. Bjorn chuckled quietly, and when Mariah turned to see what was so funny, he smiled warmly.

"I still can't understand how he falls asleep so quickly. It must be an elf thing."

Mariah's eyes lit up with happiness when she smiled back at him. Closing her journal, she came over to his bed, sitting down next to him. Bjorn sat up, waiting for her to speak.

"So," she began, looking over at the Champion's Armor, "Bjorn Frosthammer, the Warlord of the North." She smiled wider, if not a little mischievously. "I like it."

Bjorn laughed, glancing over at the armor. "Yeah," he sighed, "I guess there's more to me than even I knew about."

She gave him a playful look. "But Bjorn," she teased, her voice gilded with sarcasm, "I thought you knew all the legends by heart?"

"Well... thats besides the point. I've never read anything about that."

"I suppose you'll have something interesting to tell the family when you get back. You're an interesting man, Bjorn Frosthammer."

Bjorn's head lowered, his voice losing it's jest. "If we make it back..." he muttered.

Mariah put her hand on his. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, giving him a worried look. "This whole prophecy thing? Do you think you can do it?"

"I'm alright, Mariah, I promise. And Ynullum didn't exactly give me a choice, did he?"

"He also failed to mention the army at his doorstep. How does he expect us... you... to get back to the antechamber with them in the way?"

"There has to be a way. If it is true, and I am the reincarnation of Akatosh's champion... then maybe things will go differently. Maybe they'll disperse. Maybe..."

"Bjorn, are you sure you're alright?"

"Mariah, I don't know what's going to happen. And I'm scared. I have enough pride to admit it. But I have to try. For the good of Atmora. Maybe if we do succeed, the continent will be normal again. Life will return to this wasteland."

"There's a lot resting on your shoulders, Bjorn. Remember that Drenyir and I are going to be with you every step of the way."

"We'll take it as it comes to us. We defeated the Snowstrider, for Talos' sake. We've been through worse." He smiled half-heartedly. Out of mortal danger and not completely bundled in furs, Mariah was even more lovely. Her soft features were accented by the candle glow on the nightstand, the flickering flame reflecting in her eyes. But beyond the caring looks, the fatigue was heavy in her eyes. This journey had been hard on her. On all of them. "You should get some sleep, Mariah."

She shook her head, "I'm not really that tired, Bjorn. Honest."

"I can see it in your face, Mariah. You need rest."

Without answering, she kissed him lightly. She pulled away with a little smile. "Your lips taste like mead," she joked. "Do you mind if.. if I stay with you tonight?"

She rested a hand on his chest, cuddling up against him. Bjorn wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in close. "No, I don't mind at all."

He kissed her forehead and sleep took him.

Bjorn roused sleepily the next morning. The events of the day dawned on him soon after, and his heart sank. He was worried greatly about the coming hours which would determine his fate, the fate of his friends, and the fate of Atmora.

Maria was still with him, holding him tightly in sleep. He peeled her arms off of him and approached the Champion's Armor. The gold lettering still swirled mysteriously, casting a faint glow. Same as the day before, he grabbed the gauntlets first, clasping them to his forearms. Next was the boots and then the armor proper, which he easily fit in to. He reached for the sword, closing his fingers around the hilt. The perfect grip was still unsettling to him as he struggled to come to terms with his destiny.

"Going somewhere, sunshine?"

The Dunmer had gotten out of bed silently and stood behind Bjorn, already in his armor with his new bow slung over his shoulder.

"No, Drenyir," he replied, turning to the elf, "I'm not going anywhere. Just seeing if it still fits." Bjorn managed a weak smile.

"This whole prophecy thing is ridiculous, but its nothing we can't handle, Bjorn."

"I'm not Dragonborn. I'm no hero. How can I stop an army?"

"You got the blood of Ysgramor flowing through you. Trust in the power of your ancestors. That's something every Dunmer learns eventually."

Bjorn sighed, sheathing Godbane.

"I think I'm ready. If this really is the artifacts of the Champion, I should be fine."

"Even if Oblivion itself freezes over, which seems to have happened here, we'll get through it together."

Drenyir nodded to Mariah, who still slept quietly in Bjorn's bed. "Now wake up your girlfriend. We have work to do."

Once the three of them were armed and armored, Ynullum opened the door of the barracks. A huge smile was plastered over the old man's face. "Friends! We have a very important visitor." The group exchanged puzzled looks before grabbing their weapons and following the King. Ynullum hobbled over to the balcony and pointed to the entryway.

"Just go down there," he instructed, his bony finger gesturing to the unfinished statue of Talos. "He specifically requested you, Champion."

Bjorn, Drenyir, and Mariah walked down the steps and stood in front of the Talos monument, facing the massive palace doors. There was not a whisper in the air or a soul in sight in the massive room. Ynullum shook his head, rubbing his temples. "Quit being bothersome and come forward!"

Suddenly the room grew cold and a mysterious wind picked up. The wind continued to howl and a thick fog filled the room. Bjorn struggled to see through the fog, but couldn't make out anything. Then, above the screams of the wind, came the clatter of hooves. Figures began to appear in the mist, first a few dozen, then hundreds, until it appeared that the whole room was full of the ghostly silhouettes. Bjorn smiled wide as the mist parted and a strange animal trotted forward. It's rider was wearing ornate steel armor, decorated with many medals. The gaunt face curled into a smile as he dismounted the steed.

"It is good to see you again, Bjorn Frosthammer."

Bjorn laughed loudly. "General Hyrandus!" he cried, approaching the phantom. "How is this possible?"

Hyrandus crossed his arms and issued a raspy laugh. "You banished the Strider," he said, his ghostly eyes shining with gratitude. "When she left the mortal plane, we found our way through the fog back home." He looked up at King Ynullum, who leaned over the balcony and waved to the General. He turned back to Bjorn, drawing his sword.

"We have been informed by our King that the Champion has returned. It is a glorious day indeed, Bjorn Frosthammer. The traitorous Cold Army is amassed at the doorstep." General Hyrandus mounted his steed and held his army at attention. "But the Wind Regiment serves the rightful ruler of Atmora. We will aid you in breaking the line. We will get you to Drogdoiiz. If our King Ynullum will allow us to return to redeem our honor."

Ynullum lifted his staff, which glowed with a mystical blue light. "By my right as Ruler and King of Atmora, I lift your banishment! May your ancestors in Sovngarde grant you victory today!"

The ghost army cheered, the wind dying and the mist dissipating completely. As if time moved backwards, the spirits lost their undead appearance, looking more and more like Nedes by the second. General Hyrandus, looking practically human once more, raised his sword high. "We will lead the charge at your command, Champion."

Bjorn turned to Drenyir and Mariah, his smile beaming proudly. "I guess we know how we're going to beat an army." He drew Godbane, the golden blade shimmering valiantly. "Are you two ready?"

Drenyir unslung his bow, the Everfrost glittering like snow. "Lets get started."

Mariah's hands became sheathed in flame. Her eyes became bright, glowing with magicka. "The Blessing of the Heart have given me incredible power. I can't wait to use it."

Bjorn smiled, turning back to Hyrandus. "Are you ready, General?"

Hyrandus grinned, issuing a deep, hearty laugh. "Champion, we've been ready for thousands of years."

Bjorn clenched Godbane tightly. "Hyrandus, lead the charge."

The steed turned to the door and bolted forward, Hyrandus rallying his soldiers as he rode. Bjorn, Mariah, and Drenyir followed behind the army, which thundered across the room like a stampede of horses. The doors cracked open and the Wind Regiment poured out of the palace, swords drawn. Sure enough, the Cold Army was rallied out front, their crude stone weapons flailing above their heads in a bloodthirsty frenzy. With a mighty battle cry, the Wind Regiment slammed into the Cold Army, the clashing of swords rising above the cries of valor. Rank after rank of the Cold Army fell away as the overwhelming numbers of Hyrandus' soldiers rolled over them. A few groups of Cold Ones fell on the rear, which Bjorn, Mariah, and Drenyir defended. Drenyir's Everfrost bow loosed arrows with incredible speed, the conjured projectiles soaring through the courtyard, piercing the Cold Ones before bursting in a vibrant magic explosion. Mariah engulfed the oncoming assailants with a devastating purple fire, no doubt something learned from the Blessings. The Cold Ones unfortunate enough to be doused in the flame were reduced to ash in seconds. Bjorn wielded Godbane like he had his own steel sword back. The flow of the weapon in his hands was flawless, the divine blade cleaving the Cold Ones in two whenever they were within his reach. As their diseased purple blood soaked Godbane, sparks of power leapt from the blade, as if the sword drank the blood of it's foes and in return made each slash more deadlier than the last.

Steadily, the Wind Regiment pushed the Cold Army across the courtyard, gaining ground away from the Palace. Corpses of the Cold Ones littered the ground, their blood staining the snow. The twisted beasts slashed at the phantom soldiers, but their primitive weapons phased through the spirits harmlessly. The bewildered assailant was immediately felled and the soldier proceeded to the next Cold One foolish enough to attack. Soon, much of the Cold Army had either fallen or routed, falling back into the building, pursued relentlessly by the tireless soldiers of Khartagyllum. General Hyrandus rode up through his ranks, approaching Bjorn and his friends, who still stalwartly defended the rear.

"Champion!" he called, grabbing Bjorn's attention. "We have cut a path across the courtyard to the tunnels to the antechamber! Follow me, I can take you there."

Bjorn turned to Mariah and Drenyir, calling them to his side. "Let's go!" he shouted, his feet carrying him behind Hyrandus' steed. "We have a way through!"

Drenyir and Mariah fell in behind him as they weaved through the battlefield, carefully avoiding the dead and dying of the Cold Army. At the end of the courtyard, the ground fell away into a tunnel carved into the ice and stone. In the walls were carvings of long ago battles, depicting soldiers locked in combat with a great dragon soaring overhead. As they ran down the passage, the final mural was that of a man in radiant armor standing over the dragon as it bellowed into the sky. The passage opened up into a large room, which only contained one massive steel door, reminiscent of those in ancient Nordic ruins. Above the frame were letters in the indiscernible language of the Nedes, which glowed with a fierce red light. Mariah stepped forward.

"It reads 'The Tomb of the God Child'. Beyond this door is the antechamber."

General Hyrandus turned to face the group. "Now that I've gotten you here safely, I must return to the battle above. The Cold Army is retreating, but we will pursue them across Atmora until all of the traitors bleed for their crimes. Farewell and good luck, Champion."

As Hyrandus prodded his steed forward, the steel doors to the antechamber crashed open.

"ENOUGH OF THESE GAMES!"

In the doorway stood D'nari, badly wounded in many places. He wielded a wicked bow that had a venomous green aura. Drawing it back, D'nari loosed an arrow before any of them could react.

The arrow screamed through the air past Bjorn, directly towards the General. The arrow connected with a sickening rip, buried in the General's ethereal flesh. Hyrandus grasped the arrow and removed it, and noticed the arrowhead dripped red blood. Hyrandus' steed vanished from beneath him and the phantom general fell to the ground in a puddle of his own blood before vanishing, his spirit leaving the mortal plane.

"How?!" Bjorn growled, turning to D'nari, Godbane crackling fiercely.

D'nari cackled, his smile contorted to the wicked grin of a madman. "You think you're the only one with a god weapon, Champion?" he bellowed, raising his bow high. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Drenyir had had enough and loosed an arrow towards the Cult leader. "No, I don't. And I don't plan on finding out."

Alarmingly, D'nari's hand lashed into the air and grabbed the summoned arrow from it's flight. With a ghastly smile, the arrow reappeared in his bow and was fired towards Bjorn, who rolled out of it's path. Drenyir's jaw dropped.

"This," D'nari began, "is the Soul Eater Bow. Bestowed upon me by the Lord of Ice to satiate his hunger as he slept. You will die today, Champion! And your blood will awaken our Lord and usher in a new era!"

The Soul Eater Bow loosed a single arrow, aimed at Bjorn, who was still struggling to stand. Mariah stepped in front of Bjorn, hands wreathed in golden bands of magic.

"Enough of these games."

An incredibly powerful ward was conjured in front of her, it's power shaking the room. The arrow from the Soul Eater shattered against the magic wall.

"Bleed for you crimes, D'nari."

The wall then exploded outward, the shockwave thundering towards the Cult leader. The wave collided with D'nari with bone-shattering force and sent him flying into the antechamber, crumpled against the glacier that imprisoned his master. Bjorn stood up and embraced Mariah, who was taken by surprise.

"Thank you," he whispered as he let her go. The magic faded from Mariah's eyes and she smiled. "We're in this together. To the end."

Bjorn nodded and approached the antechamber, flanked by Mariah and Drenyir. D'nari rose slowly, leaning against the icy tomb. He coughed violently, spitting up his own blood, which stained the floor below him a deep purple. D'nari's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, looking up at Bjorn with the same twisted smile.

"Are you going to kill me then, Champion?" he spat, still coughing up blood.

Bjorn stood over him menacingly, leveling Godbane on the Cult leader's neck. The sword crackled hungrily, waiting for the kill.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't cut you down."

D'nari laughed, the sound of his ribs cracking echoing through the room. "I couldn't give you one, Bjorn Frosthammer. Just do it. Dinok voth nid krosis."

Bjorn slashed Godbane downward, severing head from body. The deep purple blood poured out onto the floor and the head rolled away, still wearing the maniacal grin. Mariah translated his final words for the others to hear. "'Death without sorrow'... what do you make of that?"

Her thought was silenced by a terrible crack resonating through the room. The words on the Champion's armor swirled violently and Godbane crackled intensely. Drenyir pointed to the glacier, his eyes wide with terror. "Look! The Everfrost is breaking!"

The group backed away from the ice as it shattered piece by piece, freeing the dragon slowly. The ice splintered and fell away, the great wings of Drogdoiiz stretching, pushing away the fragments that still lingered. The beast turned to the group and studied them a moment. The Lord of Ice was enormous, easily twice that of any dragon seen in Skyrim. It's throat rumbled, and then he spoke.

"Dez Staadnau, Kaal do faal Barmah. Fate unbound, Champion of the Father. Hin suleyk mul. The presence of the Armor of Akatosh has freed me from my slumber. Have you come to give me my dinok? My death?"

Bjorn struggled past his speechlessness before addressing him. "Yes, Drogdoiiz. I have come to finish what the Champion started so many years ago. I will strike you down and free Atmora from your curse!"

The great dragon growled and took a few steps closer. "Sos do faal kruziik. Legendary power flows through your veins, Kaal. This land, Atmora, will have aan oblaan wah faal aus. An end to the suffering. I will gladly lift the curse when I have become the god of Nirn. The Lord of Ice will gladly meet you in aan lot grah. A grand battle."

Mariah and Drenyir readied themselves for the fight, but Drogdoiiz shattered their concentration with an earsplitting roar.

"NO! Revak zin vodahmin. You disappoint me, Kaal, bringing allies to your fight. We shall even the odds, and krif like the Champion and I did so long ago. VEN GAR NOS!"

The Whirlwind Thu'um thundered through the antechamber, and a fierce wind blasted Mariah and Drenyir back out of the antechamber. The door slammed shut behind them and a mystical barrier sealed it tight.

Bjorn turned back to Drogdoiiz, who waited patiently in the center. His grip tightened on Godbane, preparing for the fight. The Lord of Ice spoke again.

"Ah... peace at last. Now only you stand before me, Kaal. Will you succeed where your predecessor failed? Will you meet me in vukein, combat, Frosthammer?"

Bjorn exhaled, readying himself. "I challenge you, Drogdoiiz. You will be slain by my hand."

Drogdoiiz issued what could only be considered a laugh. "Aan sahrot hind, Kaal. I have learned that the Thu'um will be rejected by your scales, but I may still rend your sahlo slen, your flesh, from your bones!"

The maw of Drogdoiiz opened wide, revealing razor teeth longer than swords. His jaws snapped shut, Bjorn quickly diving out of the way before they closed around him. Sprinting to his side, Bjorn slid under the dragon's huge wing in an attempt to attack his flank. Godbane crackled as Bjorn slashed down, leaving a gash in Drogdoiiz's scales. The dragon howled in pain and turned, kicking Bjorn back out into the open.

"Krosis. My slumber has made me slow. You are ni kruziik, young, and agile. Still, this is a battle you cannot win!"

With one swoop, clawed wing tips crashed around Bjorn, carving channels in the stone as Drogdoiiz dragged his prey in closer. One claw pierced the skin of his arm, carving a deep gash. Bjorn screamed in pain, but ignored the wound, as there were more pressing matters. Arcing Godbane above him, Bjorn tore through the dragon's wing, escaping through the gap. Drogdoiiz recoiled, drawing his injured wing out of harm's way. With a great roar, the dragon's tail whipped around, colliding with Bjorn. The impact was powerful, and Bjorn clattered across the floor, winded. Miraculous, the Champion's armor protected him from any mortal wounds. All his ribs were intact. Bjorn rose slowly, dazed, trying to regain his composure, his injured arm bleeding. As he rose, the golden words swirled around the injury, mending flesh where it had been torn. When Bjorn finally stood up, the wound had vanished. Drogdoiiz exhaled and spoke in a condescending tone.

"Dreh faal Kaal mah? Do you falter, Champion? Will you face death when this old dovah has hardly begun?"

The hulking behemoth stalked forward, ready to devour Bjorn. Bjorn tightened his grip around Godbane, which dripped with the blood of Drogdoiiz. The dragon stepped closer and reared up, making himself seem larger than ever before. With wings at full extension, the Lord of Ice was truly terrifying.

"Any final words before Drogdoiiz du hin kopraan ahrk zii, Kaal? Before I devour your body and soul?"

Bjorn smiled to himself, his head bowed so Drogdoiiz could not see. Bjorn looked up defiantly. "Be still your beating heart."

Drogdoiiz brought his jaws downward, prepared to swallow Bjorn whole. But this time, Bjorn saw it coming. With a great lunge, Bjorn dove under the jaws of the great dragon and buried the blade of Godbane deep inside his soft underbelly. Drogdoiiz roared in agony, but Bjorn had not struck the killing blow yet. Swinging Godbane upward, Bjorn cut Drogdoiiz's chest open and with a fearsome battle cry, plunged the golden blade into the dragon's heart. Blood poured from the wound, staining the floor a deep red. Drenched in the blood of it's immortal foe, Godbane cracked with intense power, disintegrating the Lord of Ice from the inside out. Drogdoiiz threw his head back and roared one final time.

"Akatosh! Barmah! Dinok wah faal Thur!"

The great dragon collapsed, dissolving into dust as Bjorn walked away, triumphant. The magical seal on the door was dispelled and was immediately thrown open by Mariah and Drenyir. Upon seeing him alive, Mariah burst into tears and threw her arms around him.

"I love you, Bjorn Frosthammer," she whispered, just quietly enough for Drenyir not to hear. "Short as life can be in Skyrim, at least we'll have each other."

The three turned to the tunnel and were surprised to see King Ynullum standing there, leaning on his staff, clapping quietly.

"Well, Bjorn Frosthammer, Warlord of the North. You are the Qahnaarin, the Vanquisher, that the Heart had shown me. You really are the Champion of Atmora.