Middas, 9:31 AM, 1st of Rain's Hand, 4E 202
Whiterun Hold
Leaving the Reach was even harder than entering. They'd already defeated the enemy. The Silver Hand would never trouble them again, and neither would the Afflicted. They'd received quite a reward, unexpected as it was. And with that all done, it was now time to come back home for some proper celebration in Jorrvaskr's hall.
They just had to backtrack through a completely barren, ruined landscape first. The shock of it all wasn't any less on this trip. She still didn't feel like it was real. The Reach didn't resemble Skyrim anymore.
It was too bad she hadn't gotten a dragon for this one. They probably wouldn't have taken more than a day to go from Bthardamz to Riften. Getting to ride on Odahviing's back had spoiled her. Compared to that, the swiftest horse in Tamriel would have felt like riding on top of a horker.
That would've made for a funnier picture in her mind if she weren't traveling through the Reach. She wondered if they were going to keep calling it that now. It seemed unlikely—after all, Morrowind was still called Morrowind, despite it all. But the Reach that Aela had come to know and … if not love, then at least understand, over the years, that Reach was gone. This was a dead place.
She wondered if there would be any songs sung of the terror the Thalmor had brought upon this land. The Forsworn, vile as they'd often been, had put up a truly valiant fight, and they'd been crushed. The farmers and miners and craftsmen of the Reach had been slaughtered without a fight. Counting all the improvised mass graves, they must have passed by at least a thousand bodies on the way to Bthardamz.
And they passed by all those same bodies on the way back home. Aela had stopped feeling anything about it a while ago, but it was still a relief when they came over that last hill into the unburned plains of Whiterun Hold. They'd been looking at nothing but black ash and gray rock for days. It had almost started to feel real.
That was the thing Aela really wanted to get away from. The ash everywhere was unpleasant, but bearable. The bodies were disturbing, but she'd seen worse. In fact, the only thing that really got to her was that this was Skyrim. This was her homeland, and it was a lifeless ruin. And she'd been spending this whole trip feeling like it wasn't even real, like this whole landscape was from another plane of being, but it was slowly sinking in. This was a part of her world, the one she'd grown up in. It'd just been destroyed.
At least she'd managed to make it this far without saying 'I told you so' to the others.
Even now that they'd finished their job, the mood hadn't really changed. There hadn't been a lot of talking. It turned out that Brynjolf's friend in the Thieves Guild was actually a Nightingale, because the Nightingales were a real thing, of course, and the Skeleton Key was on loan from the Daedric Prince Nocturnal. In order to open a door. Aela hadn't really pushed for any more conversation beyond that.
Things got a little easier on the nerves once they were all back in Whiterun Hold. Not much easier, but at least they weren't riding through dead things all day. One thing was for sure: Aela had never been more relieved to see Dragonsreach. The Throat of the World had always been out there on the eastern horizon, growing ever larger as they traveled, but no landmark said home like the ancient keep standing over its open plains. In the distance, it looked almost like a little mountain itself.
Still, it wasn't until they were close enough to see the city's little smoke columns, and the ruins of the Western Watchtower, that anyone started talking again. After that trip through the Reach, there just hadn't been much to say.
Vilkas was the first to speak. No one had said a word for at least an hour. "We'd better find someplace to put that shield of yours, Aela."
Ever since they'd left Bthardamz, Aela had simply worn Spellbreaker on her back. It was an awkward, clumsy design compared to most shields. Fragile, too. If it weren't for the matter of it being a unique Daedric artifact, she would've just given it to someone else.
Still, unique Daedric artifact. She was sure someone would be happy to recognize it. And with her at the front of the line, everyone else got to just look at the shield's strange little patterns all day anyway.
"I was thinking my left hand would be a good bet," she answered over her shoulder. "Why, do you want to mount it on a wall?"
Farkas said, "Should've told me you wanted a wall trophy. We could've brought Orchendor's head."
"Outside a few cases of pact-binding hagravens, I don't think the Companions need severed heads for much," said Vilkas.
Brynjolf spoke up. "You do have a point there, Harbinger. What are we going to do with all these… These artifacts?"
"Well, shouldn't you know? You have one."
"Aye, lad, I got one. The Skeleton Key itself, no less. And it's in my saddlebag here right now. We just got two Daedric Artifacts all at once, and I've got no idea why. No explanation from Karliah, no explanation from Peryite."
At one point in history, the Western Watchtower had been an outpost and small garrison, sort of a midpoint between Whiterun and Fort Greymoor. It'd fallen into disrepair along with a lot of other old Nordic structures, but had stayed basically intact until the dragons' return. This was the location where the Dragonborn made battle with the ancient Mirmulnir. Aela wished she'd been there for that. All that was left was a half-collapsed pile of rubble where the tower had been.
"Way I heard it, Brynjolf, Peryite just wanted to get it off his hands."
"I dunno. It just doesn't feel right. Our luck can't be that good."
Farkas scoffed incredulously. "Our luck? Good? Our old Harbinger is dead and buried. The Silver Hand's been attacking us as often as the sun comes out. We had to make you into a werewolf so you wouldn't die. A couple fancy magic trinkets do not make things lucky for us."
"Well, obviously, lad, we need to all become Nightingales like Karliah. Luck just goes their way."
A black silhouette rose from within Whiterun's walls. It took a moment for Aela to realize that it was a dragon taking flight. It must have been actually inside the city. Maybe it'd been bringing some news about the war.
"Oh, look, we have a friend," Vilkas said flatly.
Farkas was still mentally a step behind. "Brynjolf, don't Nightingales serve Nocturnal?"
"Aye, souls bound to serve in the afterlife, that whole thing. You shouldn't feel too bad. We all seem to be tied to Hircine already, don't we? We can just let the two Princes sort it out amongst themselves."
"I don't… I don't think a Daedric Prince would let you serve them if you, uh… Belonged to another one already."
"Right, like that ever stops anyone from signing themselves off to ten different Daedra in a row."
While the others carried on talking, Aela kept her eyes ahead. The dragon was behaving strangely. Instead of just flying away in any one direction, it was making a lazy spiral outward from where it'd taken off. It really was a dark silhouette. Its scales looked to actually be all black. Apparently, that was possible for dragons who weren't Alduin.
That didn't really seem quite right. Maybe it was on a search mission? If so, they'd probably find out in a minute anyway.
Vilkas said, "I remember a time, not very long ago… A matter of months, really, where dragons were the greatest threat Skyrim had ever faced. And on one hand, I was terrified, because they are so far beyond our strength, but on the other hand… They were perfect to fight. No one could argue the point that they deserved to be our enemy. No politics, no picking sides, just them and us and honor on the line."
"Think you'd rather have it that way, still?" Aela asked without taking her eyes off the black dragon.
"I think they did less damage than the Thalmor have managed to. But then, the Dragonborn seems to have it under control in both cases. … And I suppose no one will argue about the Thalmor deserving to be our enemy."
Brynjolf had had a point with the artifacts. It might not have been simple good luck, but for them to come into possession of one Daedric Artifact would've already been extremely slim chances. A second one just didn't seem possible. Maybe they'd need to go to some other ruin and beat people up to get more answers.
"Well, hey, look on the bright side," she said. "If any of the Thalmor come for us, I have the perfect thing to block their spells with now. And if they hide behind any super-strong locked doors, I'm sure that other thing will be some use too."
"Look, lass, I don't know why she gave it to me, you just…"
"Don't feel bad! Not everyone has the chance to open so many locks in their lives."
The dragon looked like it had spotted them. It doubled back on its path, back towards them, and swooped down to land on the top of the ruined Western Watchtower—not fifty yards away. It'd just gone from being a faraway silhouette to staring right down at them.
Sure enough, this was an all-black specimen. Well, black-and-gray. It looked down at the approaching riders in total silence. Odahviing's landing behind Jorrvaskr had been much more impressive than this.
Aela's horse didn't like this one bit. She had to struggle to not be thrown off right then and there. Animals were so much harder to tame than they were to hunt.
"Hail, dragon," she called out. "What brings you to Whiterun?"
"My presence is by the command of my superiors," the dragon called back, in a low, guttural voice. It was so strange how these creatures could use the Cyrodiilic tongue so well. Aela was pretty sure their mouths weren't even shaped right for it.
In any case, that answer really didn't help. "Who are you?"
"I am Viinturuth. You are the Companions of Whiterun, are you not?"
Viinturuth. Aela had never heard of this one before. Then again, besides Alduin, she'd only even heard of three other dragons by name. One's skull was on display in Dragonsreach, one had died right here at this tower, and one was a friend of hers now.
One of the horses behind her suddenly whinnied and scuffled around on the earth. The next thing Aela knew, there was a thud, a grunt of pain, and the horse was running off past them with no one riding it.
She turned around to see Brynjolf laying flat on his back, face screwed up tight. Horses weren't fond of dragons, obviously. It didn't matter. Whiterun was basically right there anyway.
When she turned back, Viinturuth was still just staring impassively. It looked very dragonlike.
"Yes," she said. "Our horses obviously do not share our bravery. But, uh… No, I'm serious, is everything all right? Dragons generally don't come to Whiterun bearing good news."
Brynjolf was struggling back onto his feet behind her, mumbling obscenities to himself.
"Want me to go get that horse for you, Brynjolf?" asked Vilkas.
The thief grunted in acknowledgment. "You're gonna need to, lad. The key's in the saddlebags."
Vilkas took off after the offending horse without another word. It was galloping off towards Whiterun, almost out of view already. Maybe they could ask Viinturuth for some help.
"No, today I come bearing good news indeed," said the dragon.
Aela turned her attention back up to him. "Please do share. I am curious."
"It's very simple. Allow me to put your fears at rest."
Viinturuth took a deep breath in.
Aela had a split second to realize that she should have had Spellbreaker in her hand instead of on her back.