7 th of Second Seed, 4E 203

Ruins of Riverwood

Second night en route to Ivarstead

The inn and the blacksmith's shop are the only buildings still standing in this wonderful town. I cried when I saw the ashen ruins, but thankfully had no encounters with any dead bodies. I forced myself to take it all in. Nothing of use is left, everything since taken by looters or squatters. But the inn is big enough to house all seven of us and we are thankfully spending a night indoors, away from the constant downpour of rain. I even got to take a (cold) bath in the basement, but with Yrsarald thankfully there to provide some heat (the small hearth in the bathing room also helped). The short relief from company was not wasted between us, either. Thank god. I was able to take my mind off all my stress for a while.

At the big meeting, both commanders, Rikke and Galmar, admitted that the amount of soldiers that deserted their posts was staggering. Apparently there had been too many instances of dragon attacks at forts (mainly to steal their livestock), but the main reason cited for desertion is the undead. Too many soldiers rose from the dead only to have to be decapitated by their own brothers and sisters, as Galmar put it. There is a strong superstition among Nords and Imperials alike, I learned, that when the dead rise, it means Arkay is angry, because when there is war too many people die without proper funeral proceedings. Without proper funeral proceedings, the soul can't enter Aetherius or Oblivion or any other realm, or at least won't stay there. But this hadn't happened during the Great War, something Wuunferth pointed out. The main cause of the undead problem, the mages all agreed, was the thinning of the veils between worlds, but they still agreed that Arkay was likely angry. Andurs, the Priest of Arkay in Whiterun, was brought in on the meeting that afternoon to speak to the matter. Through him we heard the voice of the god, and what he said gave me the creeps. Paraphrasing, as best I understood him, Andurs/Arkay said that "everything was as it should be" and that "souls walk Mundus to avoid the Destroyer". He added that "more deaths confirm the end". Andurs then looked directly at me and said, "Yours will be a false victory." I have no idea what that means. I asked Andurs what Arkay meant, but the god had already left the priest's mind. No one at the meeting knew what his last words meant either, but they certainly understood to the previous. He meant that the dead were walking for a reason, and that more people dying will mean our destruction. This new knowledge was argued as another reason to call a truce. Alduin, the ancient black dragon, was in Aetherius or Oblivion, eating the souls of the dead.

"You're writing a lot," Yrsarald noted, peeking over my shoulder. His arm draped around my shoulders. We were sitting, like the others, in the main hall of the dilapidated inn. The central, open hearth was lit. I was gloriously warm, even if several holes in the roof let some rain in, and heat, out. "What's the matter?"

I set my journal and quill down on the dining table. "I keep thinking about what Andurs… Arkay said. About the undead, and a false victory."

"And what do you think he meant?"

"I can't know. Meridia will not answer me. I am on my own. Did he mean a false victory against the undead? Was he truly speaking to me? Perhaps he meant all of us. Perhaps all of us will have a false victory over someone, or something." I turned to Yrsarald. "And do you think it's true, what they said at the meeting about the 'Destroyer' – that Arkay meant that black dragon called Alduin? The 'world-eater'?"

Yrsarald sighed through his nose and held me close. "It is not impossible. Dragons were mere legends until…. Well, if all dragons are real, then why not the World-Eater? I have heard the songs, but I never thought they were about a real dragon. It makes me wonder how many other stories I have heard are true, or were once true." Yrsarald stood from the table, kissed my temple, and pressed both hands to my shoulders. "I'm going to find a bed." He kissed the top of my head. I picked up my quill.

Elodie is right now traveling to Windhelm and then Winterhold with Stenvar, Jenassa, and Brelyna with her. She said that she was charged by these Psijic people to create an army of hunters. She is supposed to recruit mages, and Stenvar is supposed to recruit warriors. I didn't think much of this at first, but now I'm wondering if this is what Meridia meant by Stenvar being my greatest ally. Why him and not Elodie, I have no idea. But Elodie says that the army will be ready in three months. I don't know what that means, I mean, how she knows this. But she said that I should leave High Hrothgar after three months and go directly to Meridia's temple. I have no reason not to do what she says.

Before our two groups parted ways at the Whiterun stables, Brey and I had some time to ourselves to chat. Apparently love works really fast sometimes, because she said that she's completely in love with Jenassa, and claims that Jenassa is infatuated with her (something Stenvar made note of before then.) I personally would never have guessed those two would even get along as friends. Brey is the cutest, sweetest person I've ever met (maybe even more so than Yrsa!) and Jenassa is… dark. Not evil, just dark. Mysterious. But, to hear Brelyna talk about her, you'd think Jenassa was only hard on the outside, and all gooey (at least for Brey) on the inside. I'm so ecstatically happy for my friend. Even better, the two of them will be traveling together. Lucky.

Aside from some troops going to Markarth to try and gain back the city, other troops are off to Ormra, the ruin where Bromjunaar was. Is. Some of the apprentice mages are going as well. Joining the cohort was strictly voluntary, as no one has any clue what awaits them there. I was told that Onmund is going as well, and that he has continual help from Smolakap, or "Sanguine" as I now think of him. I wanted to join them, but I knew I had to go to High Hrothgar immediately. I feel it in my bones. I need to learn what it means to be Dragonborn other than hurting my throat from shouting foreign words.

. . . . . .

Three days ago…

Elodie had been explaining certain things to the Jarls while the documents were passed around, particulars about the Psijics, the Eye and Staff, and lastly, The Summoner. "The Summoner as the Thalmor call her is believed to be a former member of the Psijic Order. Altmer, female, hundreds of years old. Not many women are accepted into the Order, but there are some clues that she either was once part of the Psijics or has somehow taught herself to use the same powers as they do. First, there is her name, her title. The Summoner."

Bjothare, she was called. The name made sense. The woman had been summoning, calling to her fortress a bunch of undead people. The Summoner. The Caller. Unlikely that it was her true name, but it wasn't impossible.

"The Psijics have a power," Elodie continued, "not a spell but an ability, that they call 'The Summoning'." Bjotharig. "It is nothing more than the ability to communicate with other roniren by means of fjarskinun, or, speaking within the mind only and being heard by someone else. It is possible that The Summoner used this power to call to undead individuals from far away."

"I'm sorry," Siddgeir interrupted, "did you just say that these roniren can communicate with each other silently, within their minds?"

Elodie turned, stared, and blinked once at the Jarl. "Yes, that is what I said."

Siddgeir looked around to the other Jarls. "Am I the only one that is somewhat worried about this news?"

The room went silent for a short while, but Elodie quickly recommenced speaking about The Summoner. "Deborah and others, as well as the Thalmor, think that The Summoner can also fast-travel, something that even I can do now, and of course the other Psijics can, too." Elodie didn't give the crowd a chance to question her about her apparent ability to teleport – at least I thought that is what she meant by 'fast travel'. "The question of her connection to the Psijics is not what is important, however. At least, this is not of our concern. The Order will look into this matter. What we need to understand now is why The Summoner was interested in Saarthal, why she was experimenting on the undead, and if she is connected to those who have the Eye of Magnus. If she herself is wanted by the Thalmor, it may be that those who have the Eye and the Staff are no longer connected to the Thalmor. As for the man who was sent to collect dragon masks, well, he may very well be connected to the Thalmor, and that is a very big concern." Elodie made sure everyone recalled that the Thalmor, using the masks, were also traveling back in time to the Elven Age, something devious in its own right. "Until we have a solid answer, I propose this borga war be put on hold."

When Elodie finished, I stood. "I have something to say," I announced, loudly, asserting my intention to be heard. I had already told Yrsarald what I was about to say to the rest of those in attendance; he encouraged the disclosure of the information, despite that doing so would expose my true identity to everyone.

I opened with who I was, how I came to be in Skyrim, and what I did as a profession in my old life. After the brief introduction, wishing to avoid questions, I quickly segued into what I knew about my world's second 'Great War'. "I am not the best scholar for this time in history, not at all, but everyone knows what happened. Everyone learns about it. The war ended… more than fifty years ago – seventy, I think – and it ended in a good way. If it had ended in a bad way, I may not have ever been born, because my mother might have been arrested and killed, just as her father's family was arrested and killed during the war."

I couldn't think of an accurate way to describe the Nazis and their overall organization, so I simplified and used terms and situations my audience might have better comprehended. "There was one country, one army led by one man, and they wanted to do several things. One, everyone should worship their god and no other god. They wanted to kill every person who did not worship their god." It was a lot easier than trying to explain the differences between Christianity and Judaism and the reasons behind the purge. "Two, they wanted to kill people who did not look like them, because they were less… eh… like the gods." Again, I had forgotten the word for 'pure'. "Three, they wanted to kill men who loved men, instead of women. Probably women who loved women, too. Only because anything other than one man and one woman was seen as evil and against their god. By doing these three things, this man, his army, wanted to take over the world, and begin an empire that he said would have lasted one thousand years.

"To make these three things happen, this man and his army put everyone they wanted to be dead – to no longer make children, anyway – into camps with fences, used them as slaves or for experiments, or just killed them or let them starve. Because, they believed, that those people they wanted dead were lower than they were, not good enough to live on their planet. They also only wanted people born in their country to stay there – anyone not from their land, they wanted to push out." I turned briefly to Yrsarald and shot him a stern look. He knew why.

I continued. "Because my mother's family believed in a different god, they and people like them were hunted. Many, so many were killed. My mother's father escaped that country and found freedom, but…," I counted in my mind, "six hundred sets of ten thousand people died in the war, and that does not include the soldiers. I think the whole amount of people who died was ten sets of that number." I expected the gasps from the audience. Considering the population of Skyrim's biggest cities were apparently in the low thousands, I wondered if they even had a word for 'million'. I continued. "Do not worry, though, there are still more people than we can feed in my world. And the war ended well, so people like my mother's family still live today, in my world.

"The reason I say all of this to all of you now, I hope, is obvious. The Thalmor want this land, and other lands of the Empire. They attacked once, and all of you agree that they will attach again. Also, the Thalmor, or people who were once Thalmor, are doing something to this world with ancient artifacts, and going back in time. Add this to their documents – torture, and their hope that this war in Skyrim does not end…. I have thought about this, what it means, and I think these Thalmor or all Thalmor wish to do something to this world. They want to change it, or perhaps destroy it. The question is why they want the war in Skyrim to continue. Is it only because it is distracting? If Onmund had never found those documents, we would never be talking about the Thalmor. We would be talking about dragons and the undead. That is what the Thalmor want, I think.

"And, for what Ulfric wanted, it is now clear from the Thalmor document that his mind was shaped by the torture. The Thalmor made him think what they wanted him to think. They used him, and he did what they hoped he would do. He began a rebellion. He helped to do two things – distract everyone from what the Thalmor are doing with the artifacts, and make this country weak by fighting with itself." I quickly tried to recall the word for 'civil'. B… b… borga. "Civil wars always make a country weak. I know this from the history of my own world. If the civil war in Skyrim continues longer, I promise you the Thalmor will be waiting like a blocked river to flood the land. Instead of walking in and killing all people in Skyrim, like that army in my world did, they are hoping we kill ourselves. This is smart, because your Great War ended only thirty years ago. I am sure everyone is still hurting from this, the Thalmor too.

"I am not a military advisor. I am not a soldier. But I do know that the only way that the Great War was won in my world was because many countries joined together to make one big army. They did not make one empire, they did not need an empire, only a big army. They only joined for a short time with the hope of stopping this evil army, killing this one man. After the war, these countries remained friends, but separated, and no big war has happened since.

"I live here now. I am part of Skyrim. I do not want to see it burn. My fear, my deep fear, is that the Imperials and Stormcloaks will continue to kill each other because one side still believes an empire is necessary – as Tullius has said, necessary to fight the Thalmor and the Dominion. In my world, EVERY empire that ever was made is now gone. There are only countries. Some are joined very strongly, sister countries, but there are no empires, no emperors. Yes, there are smaller wars still fought, but none like in history when empires tried to rule many countries." I neglected to mention that some people cited an 'American Empire'. It wasn't worth the effort.

"You may not want to listen to me, and I will understand if you do not, but I am telling you, an empire of forever-joined countries is not necessary, and it is obvious that holding onto something that is already falling away only ends in unnecessary death, and distraction from other parts of the empire. I wonder, Tullius," I looked to him, "how safe is Cyrodiil, with part of its army here in Skyrim?" I turned away, and shifted my gaze to everyone, in turn. "A short agreement is the only thing needed to win a war. I do not think the Imperials or the Stormcloaks need to surrender. I think both sides need to stop. Just stop. Think. Ask yourself, 'who is the true enemy?' Thalmor. Forsworn. Dragons. Undead…. After, in the future, maybe everyone will want an empire. Maybe not. If yes, make a new empire with new agreements. Time flies forward and the minds of people change. Anyone who refuses to change with time will be left behind. That is one thing I do have knowledge about. It is a lesson from my world. And another… if we do not learn from the past, we will repeat it. When I saw a book that The Summoner had in the fortress, it wrote about the… Ayleids. The ancient Ayleids had human slaves. The Summoner and her necromancers were trying to learn from vampires how make humans thoughtless slaves. This reminded me of the second lesson from my world. What if the past is coming back, in many ways? The Thalmor will attack again, another day, you all say. What will you do differently that time, so that you win?"

I sat down and immediately poured myself a gobletful of wine. For a while, I avoided eye contact with everyone save Marcurio, who stood directly in front of me away from the table. Next to him, Wuunferth was smirking.

I didn't want to know what Yrsarald was thinking, let alone Galmar, Elisif, or Tullius. I finished my wine and ate a hunk of bread before looking to my side to Yrsarald. He wasn't frowning, but he wasn't beaming with pride either. Granted my speech may have been a bit preachy, 'this is how we do it', but I had to say my piece. I knew it was good advice. Perhaps not realistic, but at the very least it was accurate, and at least in my mind idealistic advice. Finally, I felt confident enough to glance across the table down to Tullius, the commander of the Imperial Army in Skyrim.

His head bobbed slowly up and down as he re-read some of the documents that Onmund had given to us. Tullius, who had leathery, sun-beaten tanned skin a shade lighter than Marcurio's, became more pale the longer he read.

I supposed it was bad enough that the Mage's Council had confirmed the existence of a teleporting super-necromancer called The Summoner who was linked to other necromancers and perhaps to artifacts that were possibly unmaking the world. It was even bad enough that dragons were essentially wreaking havoc across Skyrim, eastern Hammer-Fell and High Rock, and northern Cyrodiil, all areas that bordered Skyrim. When we passed on proof to the Jarl's Council and to Tullius and Galmar that the Thalmor were hoping to perpetuate the civil war, I had watched as Tullius visibly lost all previous resolve. Even Elisif, his main supporter, froze in her seat after that news, and after my speech was no less relaxed. All I knew was that I was infinitely thankful that no Thalmor representative was attending the meeting.

A paper in hand, Tullius quickly pushed himself to his feet, tipping over his empty goblet. He slowly left the vicinity of the long table and began to walk around, processing the information. A moment later, he turned to look at his second-in-command, a middle-aged woman named Rikke. She fought in the Great War with Yrsarald and the others. The woman made no expression to her general. I watched as Tullius then turned to Yrsarald and Galmar. No one spoke. No one moved. Tullius's gaze returned to the paper and he continued to walk, slowly.

He routed back to the table, but stood at the foot, looking down the length at all in attendance. "I believe that…," he spoke in his odd accent, "the matter of the Thalmor is indeed deserving of more investigation. Until the matter is closed, until the dragons are stopped, until my men no longer have to remove the heads of their risen brothers, it might be best for everyone if a truce is preserved. And, as I speak for the Empire, here, I will lead the handlings. Unless, of course, the Stormcloaks wish to surrender today and rejoin the Empire, let us discuss our requirements for a truce to happen."

Yrsarald stood immediately, not letting anyone else take the floor. Tullius returned to his seat; he was trying his best not to appear crestfallen. "I think," Yrsarald began, "that this requirement needs no explanation. We demand the arrest of the Thalmor Elenwen. She tortured Ulfric, that priest, and gods know how many others. She is targeting other Stormcloaks, Deborah, that Orc Dragonborn Torug, and those are the targets we know about. If Deborah and Torug are both…," he sighed – he hated admitting that Torug had a god-given job to do. "If Deborah and Torug are both arrested by the Thalmor, our land would fall to both the dragons and to the undead. I am not suggesting we arrest her tomorrow. I think we can all agree that this would mean war with the elves. What I am asking for is the future arrest of Elenwen, and that she be taken to Windhelm for questioning.

"As I speak for the Stormcloaks in Ulfric's place, I still demand the end of the outlawing of Talos worship in Skyrim, and suggest the law be unwritten in Cyrodiil as well, and indeed in any other country the Empire had or has claim. However, like the arrest of Elenwen, this will cause problems with the Thalmor. So, my requirements are this: lower all weapons against the Stormcloaks as we fight dragons, undead, Forsworn. The day all of this is settled and the country calm, we will meet again to further discuss the Thalmor and have new handlings if necessary. But, I think we all know that the Thalmor have spies in this land. We have to be careful. I suggest that the most important thing we agree to do today is to make it known to the Thalmor that our truce is temporary. I believe this is where Tullius comes into the plan." He sat down and immediately received whispering comments from Galmar.

"Lifthkine Tullius will speak with the Thalmor," Rikke said, standing with her fists pressed to the table, "be sure of that. But before we speak of what to tell them, we must agree on the handlings of this truce. If you Stormcloaks will not surrender, if you desire what… Deborah suggested – a temporary joining – we must agree on how long it will last, where our soldiers will go and who they will fight alongside, and what to do when the last dragon falls."

Before Rikke sat down, Galmar raised the commander a question. "So what, Rikke, do you suggest? It is not enough that our warriors simply tuck away their axes and return home. We need trigjen that they will not be arrested or killed."

"A trade, perhaps," Rikke suggested.

Galmar laughed coldly. "A trade…."

"Either a trade in the old way – gisen – or perhaps something bigger is required. A trade of cities." Rikke sat down, giving the audience a moment to consider her words.

I thought about what she said, and wondered what 'gisen' were. I knew that in periods of desired truce, hostages could be exchanged. At least once in Rome's history this happened – young Attila was sent to western Rome, and some Roman noble whose name I couldn't recall was sent to the Huns. I wondered if Yrsarald would agree to such a thing. I also wondered how cities were traded.

I could hear Galmar's incomprehensible, vibrating whispers to Yrsarald, whom we both flanked. My partner was nodding. "Better for the people," I heard Yrsarald reply.

"What say you, Jarl Yrsarald?" Tullius asked, clearly growing impatient, and evermore weary.

"One gis," Yrsarald began, "seems too little a thing. The trade of a city, too big. Gisen can remain easily protected within palaces. We suggest two, perhaps three gisen instead of one, with just as many guards, to be housed and protected in the palaces of Solitude and Windhelm."

"And who would these three gisen be?" I heard Elisif call from the head of the table. "Many of us do not have families to send away." Her tone was noticeably harsh.

"Three is a bit much, no?" Balgruuf chimed in. "Two, at most. One relation of the Jarl, and one more of some importance."

"Thanes, perhaps," Laila suggested. "Elisif has two Thanes."

"What about house-servants?" Idgrod wondered.

Elisif laughed. "One cannot separate a house-servant from his Jarl."

"Then perhaps officers from the opposing armies," Siddgeir posed. "If there is no war to be made, then there is no need for them out in the wilds."

"Officers will be needed at Markarth and Ormra," Tullius reminded us.

"Yes, but I am suggesting one officer," Siddgeir of the trimmed eyebrows replied. "Rikke can go to Windhelm, and Galmar to Solitude. Perhaps one of Elisif's Thanes can be her second, and… whomever Yrsarald has among his people, his. That is, if a second is even necessary. Officers and commanders are important enough, I say."

Tullius, Rikke, and Elisif were talking among themselves, as were Yrsarald and Galmar. I looked across the room to where Wuunferth and Marcurio stood. Neither of them appeared terribly concerned.

Still negotiating, Yrsarald added to the offer. "Galmar and Rikke, and at least one soldier of their choosing to accompany them as a guard. Naturally, any blood spilt will end with raised weapons." Raised weapons, I repeated to myself. The end of a weapon-rest. "I suggest each gis be allowed to return home, gather belongings, choose a guard, and then the trade will be made here, in Whiterun, in one week's time."

I watched as audience members around the room gave assent with silent nods.

Balgruuf stood, looked to Tullius, and then around the room. "Is everyone in agreement?"

. . . . . .

It's almost too much to comprehend, all of the crap that is happening now. Savos is convinced more and more that Akatosh has something special planned for me, something to do with dragons and Oblivion and Aetherius, and that is why both Meridia and Arkay are so interested in me. But I argued that it was Torug's job to take care of the dragons. I am Meridia's champion. I am a hunter of the undead, as Jenassa would explain it. I'm going to kill Torug, one day, but not yet. I'm not sure what this has to do with Aetherius, but I don't think I want to find out.

Apparently these other people wanted by the Thalmor, Delphine and Esbern, are in the business of hunting dragons too. From the documents, it sounded like Esbern is supposed to be particularly knowledgeable about dragons. I wonder where they are, if they are still alive, and if they are really helping Torug as the document about the Orc makes it sound.

I really hope that the "prophecy" the mages kept talking about is false. I remember it from that book now, the first Norren book I read, while I was living in Riverwood. The prophecy foretold all of the destructions of places around the world, and the next was Skyrim, which some people think is already destroyed. "Kingless, bleeding," it said. Indeed, Skyrim is kingless, and bleeding. "The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." By the Wheel apparently the prophecy meant Fate or something like that. Or maybe the gods. Apparently the gods DO want the Dragonborn to win….

I hope that Torug kills Alduin, the awful black dragon from Helgen, as he is fated to do.

. . . . . .

Three days ago…

Everyone in the main hall was staring back at me. I took a deep breath, and continued. "There is a story in my world…. Different countries tell it different ways, but in all stories, the world ends. Sometimes this means the entire planet dies or explodes or… I don't know. In other stories, the world is reborn, perhaps people think or behave differently, or there are different creatures. But the story I know more about is one very similar to the story of this Alduin dragon. One group of ancient people in my world wrote…." I closed my eyes, remembering as best I could the Poetic Edda which I had mostly memorized, in part, years ago, and did my best to translate it into Norren. Reciting slowly, allowing myself time, I concentrated on verses that reminded me of Alduin, and the end of the world.

"'He feeds on dead men. In the home of the gods he becomes bloody.'" I swallowed hard. "'Brothers will fight and kill each other…. War, wind, and wolf all come before the end... The tree of life shakes its ancient arms…. The sun turns black. The land falls into the sea. The stars fall from the sky. The land becomes hot, and the sun explodes. The dark dragon rises from the land of the dead, bodies of men on his wings.'" I sighed, and opened my eyes, staring down at the empty goblet before me.

I looked up. In front of me, across the table, sat Laila, the Jarl of Riften. To my right was Yrsarald, and to his right was Galmar. To my left sat Savos Aren, at the foot of the table, speaking for the Mage's Council. Everyone that I could see stared back at me with eyes wider than when I admitted that I was from another world. Under the table, I felt Yrsarald's warm hand embrace mine, likely with the idea to steady its trembling.

. . . . . .

There's no reason for these two prophecies, if you can call the Edda that, to mean the same things. As far as I know Ragnarok never happened. There are no dragons on Earth. More than having the same intention, I'm actually wondering if the prophecy from here, this world, somehow influenced the minds of people on Earth. Just like Tolkien. Meridia did say that she knew, or at least observed or spoke to the man. Maybe other gods from this world, using portals, sent ideas or dreams to people in mine. Maybe Norren isn't similar to Old Norse – maybe Old Norse is similar to Norren….

I took a long drag of spiced wine before continuing.

Tree of life: Yggdrasil, quaking. Gildergreen, struck by lightning. Balgruuf also mentioned "Eldergleam", which grows in a sanctuary somewhere in Skyrim.

Black sun = eclipse? Savos mentioned a huge volcanic eruption in his native land long ago.

Land falls into sea = "Great Collapse" in Winterhold? Or maybe a global flood?

Stars falling from sky = meteors… I hope. But are stars here holes in the heavenly canopy? The veil? Holes that let in magic? Is magic falling from the sky?

I gasped, and scribbled my tiny epiphany.

Magic is getting stronger. The veils are thinning.

My eyes were wide. Fatigue, overtiredness, and wine along with trying to interpret a prophecy like a conspiracy theorist were beginning to blow my mind.

Dark dragon: Níðhöggr the Malice Striker, eater of Yggdrasil. Alduin the Destroyer, eater of worlds.

Civil war: Brothers killing brothers. Imperials and Stormcloaks, Nords against Nords.

War, wind, wolf: Great War, Civil War; wind=dragons? change? upset? storm?; wolf=Ulfric? (names means "wolf power")… doubt it.

I tapped the dry end of the quill against my lips. Wolf, wolf, wolf, I thought before scribbling more notes.

Wolf: animal, beast, wild, hunt, meat, carnivore, pack, fur.

Werewolves?

Where? Wolves.

I am tired.

I set down my quill and stared at my last entry. War, wind, wolf. The analogies were loose at best, but one had to admit that the similarities between what had since happened here in Skyrim and what was written in the Edda were noticeable. I wasn't sure where a blackening, exploding sun came in. I thought back to my dream of two galaxies fading into blackness and wondered if that was my analogy.

I'll just have to keep my eyes open for a solar eclipse, I figured, and closed my journal.

I stood and cast my life-detection spell, looking for Yrsarald. The four downstairs bedrooms were all occupied, and none of the glowing purple shapes was large enough to be Yrsarald. Upstairs, two shapes were likely candidates, one of them being Galmar. I had been surprised that Yrsarald glowed purple and not green like Vilkas or Selina had, but after talking to him about it, I figured it was because he was born as a werebear, not made so by magic.

Thankfully, the inn was only partially destroyed. The basement was a bit flooded and part of the roof burnt and crumbling, but the bedrooms, bathing room, cooking pot, and staircase were all fine. A bit ash-laden in the upper level, but fine.

Not wanting to barge in on a sleeping Galmar, I cast my Clear-Seeing spell with the intent of finding Yrsarald, concentrating on the ring he gave me. The faint blue fog traveled up the steps and to the first door on the left. Fortunately, the magic was right, and found a sleeping Yrsarald and not Galmar. Unfortunately, the bedroom had only two single beds. I kicked off my dirty boots and crawled under the thin top blanket of the empty bed, robe and all. Yrsarald was chuffing away. Next to him on a night table two candles still glowed, illuminating his serene, tawny face. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to touch him, to hold him, and breathe in his manly, woodsy scent. Instead, I let myself wonder, for just a moment, what children of ours might look like.

. . . . . .

Three days ago…

I stepped into the small guestroom in the temple where the little girl, Fjotra, was staying. Stenvar escorted me there from the palace; the girl, Dibella's living vessel, requested to speak with me. It was no matter – I was already packed and ready to leave for the Stormcloak camp to the east. I had even already bought a new set of traveling clothes and writing supplies from a nice shop in the marketplace.

"Thanks for coming," the girl said without moving her eyes from the desk in front of her. I turned to Stenvar who nodded and then left, closing the door behind him.

I approached Fjotra, slowly. She was sketching something. Walking around to the side, I could make out trees and a lake, with mountains in the background. The foreground, which she was sketching at that moment, looked like it contained a house. I had to ask. "What are you sketching?"

"A nice place." Fjotra laid down her pencil and gazed up at me. "You have other things to worry about."

Fair enough. "Am I here because of the things I need to worry about?"

"Nope." Fjotra hopped down from her chair and zipped over to her featherbed before crashing into the fluff with a giggle. "Dibella wants us to talk about what happened to us."

"What happened?" Fjotra kicked her tiny foot toward the desk chair. I sat down. "What do you mean, 'what happened'?"

"My parents are dead and Uncle Stenvar says I need to talk to a woman who is not Dibella, someone who knows."

"Uncle?" I asked under my breath.

Fjotra giggled. "He's not actually my uncle, but I call him that because he protects me. He saved me from them, from the Forsworn. He and his friends."

I knew I was staring, wide-eyed and mouth agape. "He saved you? When?"

"Fourteen months ago, just after the spring ritual. The Mother asked him to find me."

"Fourteen months?" Forsworn. "One year or so…." Dibella statue. "You were… taken?" I swallowed hard, and lowered my voice to a whisper. "Raped?"

That was the first time I saw Fjotra look anything but happy. I had only met her once before, but she had been nothing short of cherubic. "They took me during the night, while I and my parents were sleeping. I tried to scream, but a hand pressed too tight on my mouth. They tied me in ropes and stole me away. They gave me a potion to put me to sleep, so I would stop screaming and biting. I woke up in a cell, with iron bars and stink on the floor. The room in front of me smelled, too. Like metal and flesh. The shaman was praying. She spoke old words that I didn't understand. She was naked, and she was bleeding. I watched her cut herself…. I couldn't see everything from where I was, but I knew, later, she had put her own blood onto the statue of Dibella.

"And then, I heard a whisper in my head, a woman, warm like my mama. She told me to be strong. She told me to wait for my hero, because he was coming. So I waited…. They took my blood. A lot of it. I was too weak, after that, to fight back. Before that, I tried. I tried…. I kicked and scratched but their knives cut me and I couldn't fight anymore. They painted me with my own blood and that's when he raped me. His body was cold and hard like ice and it burned. I was so tired when it happened, but I stayed awake because they kept using healing magic. I guess they didn't want me to die…. The voice in my head whispered for me to be brave, to wait, that he was coming and I would be saved. Stenvar came the next day, but he was too late to save all of me. I stopped counting after five."

"Oh, god," I blurted in English. "I…." I stood from the chair, needing to move around, to shake out of my bones what I had just absorbed. "Fjotra," I turned to the girl, "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

The girl shrugged. "I survived, and so did you."

I halted my pacing before walking up to her and crouching down before her. "Fjotra, what happened to me was… nothing, compared to….."

"You were held, too. You bled. But you never talked to anyone about it. Not completely."

Confusion knotted my brow, but I saw clarity and honesty in the girl's bright eyes. "Is that why I'm here? Because I needed to talk to someone about my past?"

"You're here for us to talk together. With someone who knows."

I sighed, and made myself comfortable on the rug before the girl's bed. I was certainly no counselor, but if all I had to do was talk, I could handle that. "Alright," I consented, nodding once, "let's talk."

. . . . . .

I couldn't sleep. The sound of Yrsarald's chuffing and the pattering of rain against the broken roof should have been calming, but I had made the mistake of recalling my meeting with Fjotra. I grumbled, sat up in the bed, and opened my 'To High Hrothgar' journal.

That girl Fjotra is amazing. I can't – no, don't want to imagine being ten years old and being bled to near death and then being raped repeatedly by men and undead men. I'm still not sure what a Thyrnrunn Heart is, but they are, like Yrsarald said, undead men of the Forsworn. From the sound of it, they are undead shamans, or warlocks, or something like that. And one raped Fjotra. I just can't. I can't.

I had apparently zoned out for a while, allowing black splotches to accumulate under the tip of my quill. I sighed, and blotted the hemispheres of ink with a rag.

These fucking Forsworn need to fucking die. I'm all for religious freedom, but not when your religion calls for the torture and rape of CHILDREN. There's moral relativity and then there's just…. I just can't. My hand is shaking as I write. The rage I feel whenever I think of my conversation with her, it's near debilitating. I can't even sleep now.

I wish I was there in Markarth right now. I want to slaughter the Forsworn with my own hands. I want to kill Torug for helping them. But I know I can't be there. I know I have to go to High Hrothgar. I just hope the city is taken quickly and that the Forsworn are annihilated. For Fjotra.

Notes:

Please note that this will be the last update for quite a while. I don't know how long. I am extraordinarily busy until September. Believe me, all I want to do is write chapters for this story, but I have so, so much work to do. Guh. In any case, consider this story to now officially be on a true, long hiatus with the full and complete intention to update as soon as humanly possible. This story will never, ever be abandoned. Never fear.

Ormra - Serpentine ("Labyrinthine" aka Labyrinthian)
Smolakap - Sanguine/Passion
Bjothare - Summoner/Caller
Bjotharig - Summoning/Calling
Roniren - Monks
Fjarskinun - Telepathy ("far-perception")
Borga - Civil
Gisen - Hostages