A/N and Disclaimer: Hello again! This is Blood and Ice, the final part in my Morrowind Trilogy. Probably best to go and read Fire and Ash and Heart and Stone first if you haven't! As with Tribunal, my vision of Bloodmoon will differ slightly from the game's version, and I may even incorporate a bit of inspiration from TES V: Dragonborn. TES III: Bloodmoon is Bethesda's, and Julan Kaushibael is Kateri's. I'm afraid updates may not be all that regular on this, but I intend to keep them coming as quickly as I can!


Prologue

Sun's Height, 3E 430.

His daughter's eyes. They swam before his own. His daughter's eyes were the last thing Geilir had seen.

He stumbled suddenly, throwing out a useless hand while the other clutched the rags that had been robes. The hard, cold ground bit into his knees as he raised his eyes to the sky, salt drying on his face.

They had been sitting in their cabin. The rocking of the boat made Geilir queasy, and it brought on his Sight worse than ever. His daughter would sit with him and help him through it, holding his hands as he gazed into her steady blue eyes. She would whisper to him while his wife watched, whisper to him and decipher the stutters that came back. The other passengers had taken to calling him Geilir the Mumbling.

His daughter had been sat with him that night, listening, muttering back, when her eyes went wide.

"He sleeps… he sleeps…" she said, quickly, urgently.

The boat shook violently, throwing them to the floor. His wife was tossed from her bunk, jolted into waking.

"What's happening?" she asked, grasping weakly at the cabin wall.

Geilir and his daughter stared at each other on the floor, their eyes widening simultaneously.

"The captain..." they whispered together.

They ran. All around them was the sound of cabin doors being thrown open, of passengers forcefully emptying their stomachs.

Up top the sky was black and the rain slashing at the deck was like a sheet of ice. Geilir threw one skinny arm above his eyes, trying to see what was happening, see in the here and now.

A flash of lightning illuminated the whole doomed scene.

Twenty foot waves were tossing the ship from side to side, twisting it, pulling it along. It was nothing but a plaything in their giant hands.

And at the wheel, the captain slumped.

Crates and barrels were snapping free of the bonds that held them, the great sails were spirits hurling through the air, and twice as incorporeal.

Another flash of lightning as the captain jerked upright, too late.

Geilir and his daughter were thrown portside as the ship slanted. It seemed a great hole had opened in the ocean before them. And beyond it, a great wave, rising twenty-five, thirty feet before them. A great wall of black that seemed to blot out even the clouds, thrown into sharp relief by a crack of lightning.

"Father, move!"

Hands pushed him firmly aside and Geilir stumbled, grasping at the balustrade. He turned to see the crate hurtling towards them, the crate his daughter had so narrowly saved him from, catch her full in the chest.

The last thing Geilir remembered, before the wave hit and pulled him under too, was the sight of his daughter's eyes, disappearing beneath the waves.

Somehow, he had washed ashore. Now, as the grey light of morning swept over the landscape, he saw that he was where he was meant to be. Solstheim. And he had lost everything.

Geilir began to stagger inland, when he stumbled again. This time his foot had connected with something soft. The soft thing groaned then rolled over and pushed itself upright. It was the captain, Thormoor Gray-Wave, his fur armour water-logged and crisping with morning frost but very, very much alive.

Geilir was seized by a rage like known he had ever known before. He seized the captain by his furs and pulled him upright, so that the men were eye to eye.

"You slept!" he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth into the other man's face.

"I-I..." Thormoor stuttered, his eyes lowered, trying to free himself from Geilir's grasp.

"You slept, and now they're all dead! You will never sleep again!"

As he dropped the trembling captain, Geilir felt the old magic burn within him and knew he could make it so. In a whisper, he cursed the captain, then turned on his heel and strode away without another world.

He made it barely three paces before the new Voice called out to him.

It was unlike the others that sometimes accompanied his Sight, all clouded and vague. It was crisp, clear, female and as loud as if someone had just spoken directly into his ear.

Come and find me, Geilir.

He stood still, and concentrated carefully, trying to still the trembling in his hands.

Who are you? he thought back.

I am Oddfrid. Come and save me. Save me from Kolbjorn Barrow.

And why would I do that? he thought bitterly.

Because of what I can show you.

And she showed him. For the second time that morning, Geilir the Mumbling was brought to his knees.

He saw a sky full of red. Crimson clouds, blood-red steam rising, and two scarlet moons. And now he saw that the land was red too, with great fires roaring through the taiga and blood on the ice. And great beasts, bursting forth, furred and fanged, scaled and clawed. And gaping holes to oblivion itself. And lava flowing, ash falling, dragons rising. And… and… and…

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.