The Last Night

"Felwinter, a good morning to you." Captain Veleth grasped the forearm held out to him. Arano's hands remained folded behind his back but still, he offered a nod. Not necessarily a warmer greeting but more sincere than the ones from when they first met. Felwinter found the Dunmer men at the gates, looking over the repairs. Veleth's hand remained fixed to the hilt of his sword. Arano's eyes kept turning towards the horizon.

"You're alone." Arano's eyes left the skyline again to scan at Felwinter's back, taking notice at the lack of Nords rumbling after him. This man took a fort almost on his own. Arano wondered why he even bothered with bodyguards at all.

Felwinter twisted to look behind him, as if surprised to not see his housecarls there. But when he turned back, a grin graced his scarred face. "I let them sleep in. I challenged one of them to a drinking contest. He lost. I cheated."

Despite himself, Veleth snorted and even Arano managed a small smile, though it was quickly here and gone. "You head for the Temple of Miraak on the morrow, don't you? I trust you have a plan?"

"I do and I do." Felwinter trudged forward, stepping just past them and pointed out of the gate, towards the northeast. "The temple is smaller than Fort Frostmoth but better put together. Despite that, I don't believe I will actually be assaulting it."

"Did you find something of use in the scouting reports?" Veleth asked.

"There have been sightings of people in that ridiculous cultist getup, so I'm headed in the right direction. No Ash Spawn, at least outside. Like I said, I don't think I'll need to assault it. That's good because I'll most likely be breaching the temple on my own."

Confusion flashed in Arano's eyes for only the span of a breath. "The Tree Stone," he murmured, "They are not immune like you."

Felwinter nodded. "I'll get them as close as I safely can, in case I need them. Though, even then, I'd have to retreat towards them." The man shrugged, "In any case, it's what we've decided."

Veleth hummed and turned back to the town gate. He brought one of his arms and traced his hand down the metal-reinforced wood. "The blacksmith does good work. The gate's been repaired," he said, "And is prepared to drop on a moment's notice."

"I think it best you not leave things to chance. Close the gate at my departure. Put out the word that no one leaves the town until after tomorrow."

Arano's eyes narrowed. "Even if the gate could stop them, which it did not last time, did you not kill Falx Carius? The Ash Spawn are scattered…"

"But not entirely gone," Felwinter sighed, fingers running through his coarse black beard. "General Carius was controlling them but I don't think he conjured or sustained them. Nothing I've learned about him suggests he was a necromancer, let alone one powerful enough to raise an army. But someone is. They likely revived Carius and the Ash Spawn and they're likely still out there."

Arano remained as calm as ever but the effect on Veleth was visible, if not hidden. His shoulders had tightened, his breathing sharpened and his eyes flicked over and over to the lands outside the gate, as if he was expecting a blast of fire to come sailing over the horizon. "So they could attack again?" He asked, tone low.

"I doubt with as much strength as before…" Felwinter mostly said it to calm him. The look in Veleth's eyes when they swiveled over to him told him what he thought of the attempt. "But yes. It could happen."

"Then the gate will be closed on your departure," Arano declared. He turned his eyes towards Veleth and after a few seconds, the guardsman grunted his agreement.

"Figured you'd be more annoyed with me. I mean…" Felwinter gestured weakly in the direction of the closed mine, "Two weeks here and I never got into that mine for you." He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his leg. "Believe it or not, I do try to keep my promises. Except when I don't want to."

Crescius chuckled lightly, his chin resting on his fist and the arm below it resting upright on the table between him and the Dragonborn. He listened to Felwinter's apologies with a look of tickled confusion. "Since we're being honest, Felwinter." The old man shrugged, "I had forgotten about it. So much has happened in the last two weeks. Two Ash Spawn attacks, the attempt on the First Councilor's life and your little fight with the Severins. Nearly all of it has just made me glad that me and mine are still here, still alive."

"Did you ever meet your grandfather, Crescius?"

"Great-grandfather," he corrected. Then he shook his head and a small bit of sadness leaked into his eyes. "But my grandfather spoke well of him and often. Broke his heart as a boy, to lose a father such as he."

"My own great-grandfather died long before I was born. As did my grandmother. My grandfather didn't."

Crescius' lips curved into a smile. "You don't sound all too pleased."

"The man was a bastard," Felwinter said, "So was I but only one of us had a choice."

A bark of laughter escaped the older man, its suddenness and strength contradicting his age. "I will find the time," Felwinter tells him, "I promise you, I will."

Crescius looks him up and down, takes the measure of him. Not for the first time. The results keep changing. Then he turns to look behind himself and at the Earth Stone, the black spire in the distance. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed it yet but you've been the talk of the town since you arrived." He turned back.

"I've done a lot since I arrived."

"True but what truly got tongues wagging is what you did right before the Ash Spawn attacked." He twisted again and pointed, "You went up to that thing and easily came back down. The only person aside from that wizard to do so and it is well known he uses magic to defend himself. You're a stranger, a foreigner who had no deep insight into the Stone."

"Still don't."

Crescius turned back around and stood. "Point is, you're likely the miracle this town has been hoping for. The one who can free our people and put a stop to what threatens us. I appreciate the promise Felwinter but, I assure you," He put a hand on Felwinter's shoulder, "You have bigger things to worry about."

Felwinter looked up at him and then nodded. The old man pats him twice. "Save the town first. Then run my errands, huh?"

Felwinter's face broke into a grin. "Right, thank you. Priorities were never my strong suit." He sobered up though and brought his hand up to place over the Imperial's.

When Felwinter approached the smithy, Glover's head rose just barely as acknowledgement. He wouldn't meet Felwinter's eyes. Hadn't since the fight against the assassins, much less spoken to him at any length.

Felwinter doesn't come closer in. Instead, he goes over to the front door of the man's house and leans against it. He watched the Breton work for a few seconds more before asking, "Jordis and Gregor got their weapons over to you?"

"They did." His answer was immediate and muttered. He still wouldn't turn to look at him.

"The verdict?"

Glover shrugged. "Not much needed. I'll get it back to them in a little while." Silence followed again. By the way Glover's neck remained tight and his hands began moving faster, he could feel Felwinter's gaze boring into the back of his head. The man's entire body moved when he swallowed the lump in his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was as tight as the rest of him, "If there's nothing else…"

Felwinter's patience had come to an end just as quickly. "Do you and I have a problem, Glover?"

The grindstone kept grinding. "No problems."

"You take one look at the Thieves Guild uniform and suddenly, I'm a stranger again. Worse than a stranger, you at least spoke to me before. Which means you know of it. So instead of lying to me about what I already know, give it to me straight. What is the problem?"

The stone wheel stopped. Glover's grip on the weapon's handle adjusted and readjusted. "I've met members of that guild before," he said, his chin practically tucked into his chest. "Just thought you were something better than that."

"Circumstances led me to them, Glover," Felwinter said and found it odd that he was trying to justify himself to this man.

"I'm sure. Always does."

Felwinter let a sigh out through his nose. There was no point in defending the Thieves Guild to outsiders and even if there were, he had no right. "If that's how you feel, I understand." Felwinter put his hand to the door's wooden frame and prepared to push off. "I'll send Jordis and Gregor to collect their things in an hour. With your pay."

Glover gives an irritated, dismissive grunt and nothing more. Felwinter pushed away and then stopped. His fingers remained just barely against the frame. He could feel something there. Something small and hidden but too neat to be a simple blemish in the sanding of the wood. Felwinter's eyes flicked over to Glover, seeing the man's back still turned to him and then looked closer at the mark. Visible but nondescript and out of the sun. A circle encased in a diamond. It was almost painfully familiar.

Felwinter moves away, keeping his eyes on Glover's back for a few seconds before turning on his heel and walking away. Behind him, he hears the grindstone stop. After a few seconds, it picks up again.

Felwinter got to his feet and stretched, hearing several things pop and wondering if he would regret them later.

He had resumed work on the portal at sundown. It was well into the evening now and it was only nearly done. He decided then that it would be better off if he retired and finished in the morning. He never could sleep in before a battle, regardless of how well he did so.

Roughly and unnecessarily, Felwinter shouldered his way through the door. His sleeping leg still waking up, he waddled his way over to the cooking pot on the flame, low but still dancing. Felwinter willed the fire further into life and had helped himself to nearly three loaves of bread by the time it was bubbling again. With a filled bowl, two more loaves and the leg of a chicken in hand, Felwinter made his way to Jordis' room.

The chicken didn't survive the journey. Working the bone in his teeth, he rapped his knuckles against her door. He pushed it open when bid and found her sitting on her bed, running an oiled cloth down her blade. Like his own, her armor and shield were stashed away in the corner, meticulously checked and rechecked ready to be slipped on at first light.

Jordis looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow. "What've you got there?"

"Bowl of stew." Felwinter held it out.

"In your mouth, I mean."

"Chicken bone." His teeth broke through the bone's soft head, allowing Felwinter access to the marrow within.

She turned her eyes back to her sword. "And why are you still sucking on it?"

"Reminds me of my husband."

Her hand paused. She didn't even respond, she only looked at the door and let out a long sigh. Felwinter's low chuckle filled the room. "Since you're here, bothering me, I take it the portal is finished?"

"Somewhat." Felwinter took the bone from his mouth and stabbed the sharp, broken end into a piece of soaking bread. "I'll get a jump on it in the morning."

She nodded and turned her attention back to the blade. "You're set in regards to everything else then."

"I am." He leaned against the frame. "Get in, get this guy's head, get out and go home."

"Is it too much to hope that it will actually be that simple?"

"Yes but I've never let that stop me. Should probably check in on Gregor," he said, pushing off the frame with a grunt, "Get on his nerves a bit, relax him before the big fi-" He stopped when Jordis began shaking her head. She put one finger to her lips and then brought the same finger up to tap her ears. Be silent and listen.

Felwinter listened to silence. Then more silence. Then snoring. Felwinter huffed out a laugh. "Might go bother him anyway."

"He's doing better since Fort Frostmoth."

"Good on me for not breaking him as soon as I got him."

"You did good in keeping him," she went on.

Felwinter hummed. Then he put the bone back in his mouth, crushing more of the hard shell with the teeth on the side of his jaw. Then he asked, "How do you think tomorrow's gonna go?"

Jordis only shrugged. "If it's anything like our usual dungeon crawling, long and arduous, with some necromancer or such waiting for us at the very end. Maybe even near one of your Word Walls."

"There are always Word Walls, aren't there?" He laughed. She smiled with him.

Felwinter let out another sigh and felt the exhaustion finally start to set in. He turned to leave. "Almost home, Jordis."

"Almost," she emphasized.

"Almost," Felwinter agreed. He bade her good night with a nod and closed the door. Felwinter made back for his room, stopping only to grab the last leg of chicken on the table. This one didn't make the journey either. Felwinter paused near a bucket of water, waiting until he had drained the last of his stew to let the wooden bowl down into it, leaving it to soak.

Felwinter stepped through his doorway and pushed it closed, eyes on the portal, building itself upon the magic he had provided it. A slower process than normal but it meant he wouldn't have to sit and work on it for hours into the night.

Felwinter grabbed the neck of his shirt from the back and yanked it over his head. He had forgone shoes entirely when they had first settled for the night. The garment was tossed onto a nearby chair, his pants off a moment later, left somewhere for him to trip over in the morning. As he slid into bed, the fireplace dimmed slowly and gently for a while, before it fizzled out entirely.

The wind blew, sharp and frigid. Felwinter flinched backwards, away from Ser Castel and grabbed at his nose, trying to get the body part to stop hurting. He was nearly doubled over, using a sparring sword for balance lest he tip over entirely. Again, Ser Castel offered for them to spar someplace warmer. Again, with tears just barely held in check, Felwinter shook his head and refused. Places that were warmer were more crowded and what Felwinter wanted to ask, once he finally worked up the courage, he did not want other ears hearing.

After a few more minutes of trying to convince himself, he called, "Ser Castel?"

The man moved the rag he had to wipe the sweat from his head out of his eyes, silently beckoning Felwinter to continue.

"You knew my father, didn't you?" The eyes on him darkened. "Who was he?" Felwinter asked anyway, "What was he like?"

The massive Breton pulled the rag away and carefully asked, "What has your mother told you?"

"Not much," Felwinter said and it was somewhat true. Delilah didn't like talking about him. Upon questioning others who had been here for a lengthy amount of time, he learned that she was forbidding others to speak of it as well. "I just know he used to serve under Lord Drakon. Mother won't even tell me his name."

"If you're looking for me to do so, I will not," he stated, "Your mother and my lord gave me my orders-"

"What does Lord Drakon care?" Felwinter spat out before he realized he was, "Since when does he care? About anything?"

"Careful, boy." Ser Castel's tone dropped practically into the grave, "Even with me."

Felwinter broke away from his gaze and muttered an apology he did not mean. After a few seconds, he could hear Castel sigh. "Your father," he said, bringing Felwinter's head swinging back towards him. "He was...a fighter. A good one." Castel had lowered his voice enough that Felwinter unconsciously took several steps towards him. "Came here with little magic experience but your grandfather took personal charge of training him."

"Really?!" And Ser Roderin shushed him. Felwinter lowered his tone but the fount was uncapped. "What kind of magic? What was his preference? Did he become really good at it?"

The old knight's face was tight and his eyes rarely remained on Felwinter's brightened face, always darting to look around them. Still, he answered, "He preferred destruction. Fire. He very much wanted to learn fire. Outright demanded our lord that if he taught him anything, that he teach him how to wield fire."

"But...but wh-"

"That's enough, Felwinter." The man said his name but deep down, Felwinter knew the command wasn't aimed at him. Not truly.

"Ser Roderin!" A voice boomed across the courtyard. Only seemingly. In truth, the voice calling remained calm and even. But everyone and everything, from people to birds to the wind even, seemed to have gone meekly quiet.

Ser Roderin sank his blade into the soft ground and bowed towards his lord, as did everyone within the vicinity of his approach. Felwinter, remembering himself, quickly moved to do the same. Hand to his stomach, he remembered his mother's lessons. When he rose back up, his focus remained on the ground, if only to keep the older man's cold, dark eyes from piercing through him.

They were his mother's eyes. As were Felwinter's. The boy wondered if his lord, his grandfather, saw the same whenever Felwinter met his gaze. Felwinter believed he did, if only because of how quickly and how often his face twisted into a vicious scowl upon seeing him.

The comparisons mostly stopped there. Lucius Bastion of House Drakon was a man of middling height, diminutive next to the likes of Ser Castel, as was everyone, in fairness. He was lean but muscled, aged but didn't look it, his tan brown skin hiding most signs. Slicked back hair and a trimmed beard, both as black as ink with small strands of grey beginning to grow out from the temples and jawline. He strode up to them flanked by two guards, with his ringed hands clasped behind his back and his chin angled up into the air. Spine straight, face even and tempered; a noble's bearing through and through.

"How may I serve?" Ser Roderin asked him.

"The bandits that have been attacking the coastal villages," Lord Drakon said, his voice still never rising above normal volume. So used to those under him hanging off of every word that passed his lips. "Scouts have reported back with the location of their hideout."

Ser Roderin nodded and stepped away from his sparring blade, still trapped in the dirt. "Were any of our scouts seen, my lord? Do you know?"

"None were compromised," he replied easily, as if he had already asked the scouts themselves. "I've sent word ahead to the squires, they will have your armor and your weapons prepared," Lord Drakon went on, "Numbers give a maximum estimate of fifteen men, three of them mages."

"I will take fifteen then."

"You will take thirty," Lord Drakon commanded, "I suffer no lawlessness and I suffer no prisoners. Scouts also report the brigands spending more and more time around their hideout, possibly in anticipation of another raid. The village near them is small and the inhabitants are not fighters. Move with haste, ser knight." Fully dressed, Ser Castel bowed once more before taking off at a brisk, forceful walk towards the castle gates.

Felwinter's eyes stayed on the dirt beneath his boots for the entirety of the conversation and for a few seconds after, until Ser Castel left him alone with the lord. Lord Drakon remained silent, as still as stone and Felwinter could feel the burn of his gaze through the crown of his head.

Training was over. Ser Castel retrieved their weapons at the beginning and Felwinter's duty was to return them at the end. The boy turned away from his liege with a simple and mumbled, "my lord". He bent down to reach for his own shortsword first.

The weapon jolted, slightly out of his reach and surprised him enough to make him stumble. When he reached for it a second time, the blade bolted past him, its flat end swiping his hand in its flight hard enough to make him yell, clutching the limb and fighting back tears of pain for the second time that half-hour.

The sword landed perfectly in Lord Drakon's hand, one taken out from behind his back while the other remained. Hands with fingers that were gilded and deft but worn, with both age and experience; Lord Drakon was a man well-versed in handling blades. Those fingers held the hilt of the sparring blade up to eye level as he looked it over. His gaze returned to Felwinter and when Felwinter did dare to meet his eyes this time, he found nothing but contempt. He even felt it along his skin. Buzzing, like whenever his mother prepared to cast. But in noticing it, Felwinter noticed how different it was. Cold, severe, he felt it along his small frame, he felt it in his injured hand. Even the guards seemed uncomfortable. Even the birds remained silent.

"Ser Castel?" The knight stopped at the sound of his name, only his arms moving to strap on a set of heavy metal gauntlets. "I don't recall permitting for this one to be trained."

Felwinter's eyes fell back to his feet. "Forgive me, lord," he heard Ser Castel say, "It was the lady Delilah who ordered his training."

"Why?" He snapped harshly, "Because he is of her? He is of her body? So are the contents of her chamber pot, should I see them trained too?"

"The boy shows promise," Castel pointed out in Felwinter's defense, "He may prove himself a capable fighter. A guardsman, in service of your house."

That deep, cold stare finally slips away from Felwinter. Lord Drakon turned his head slightly towards Castel but not enough to meet his eyes. His face, for just barely a second, twisted. It transformed into something, something that was even more blood-curdling and wrathful.

But only for a second. "Be on your way, ser knight." Lord Drakon let slip the blade and its clattering made Felwinter jump. He stumbled to get out of the older man's way as he strode past in silence. Felwinter bowed again as he did. When he rose, it was only when Lord Drakon was out of sight.

Ser Castel remained but only until he caught Felwinter's eyes. He held the boy's gaze and gave him a slow, reassuring nod. Only then did he turn and resume his journey towards the gates. Felwinter trudged over to pick up the short sparring blade and returned it to the rack. When he went over to the greatsword his teacher had left stabbed into the earth, he hesitated. Keeping his injured hand close, he wrapped his other one around the guard of the hilt and managed to push it out of the dirt. It was all he could manage. When he had to pick it up, he did so with both hands, fighting through the sharp stinging that coursed through one.

With difficulty, Felwinter returned the last blade to the rack. He started for the inside of the castle, intent on seeking out his mother for help with his hand. The memory of last night stopped him just as quickly.

The memory of his mother working on his nose, from late day into the early evening, doing what she could to repair the small breaks that guardsman's knee had given it, even after shattering the entire thing.

Felwinter remembered the lines developing in her face, lines that made her seem so much older. The exhausted pallor to her skin when they were finished, her rushing out of his room to be sick where he thought he wouldn't hear, sleeping through the morning and only breaking her fast in the midday.

Felwinter backtracked, away from the door leading into Dragon's Ascent. He turned on his heels and started for the healer's hut, hoping they were not too busy to see him. A concern he would not have if they knew who his mother was and even more than that, who his grandfather was.

Morning had come. While most of the sun still slept below the horizon, the slightest pieces of its light cast themselves across the night, throwing stark shadows along the trees and the mountains.

"Why do we wait?" In the hills overlooking Raven Rock, a voice could just barely be heard.

A second voice responded to the first. "It is what has been commanded of us."

"He is right there." The first seethed, "He is vulnerable. The sun is still low. We could attack!"

"There is no such thing as a vulnerable dragon."

"We could take him." He was insistent. So painfully insistent. "We could take him."

The elf took his eyes off the town down in the distance below and looked down at his companion. Took in all of his barely contained rage and palpable bloodlust and smiled. "You will get what you deserve. As will he."

The human rumbled and shook like the bear he so closely resembled but he kept quiet. He kept quiet and still until he could just begin feeling the fist touches of heat on his back. Then a hand clapped against it and behind him, he could hear smiling.

"The day is new and she greets us." The elf crowed into the dawn sky, "To war, my enemy. To war."

I like to think of the Drakon family as one of South Asian descent, in case anyone wanted a reference for their familial traits. In our world, that would make Felwinter of Black/African and South Asian descent.