Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder sprees, injuries, Daedric Quest spoilers
A/N: Late because exams screwed me over.
Last time…
"You might be right. Very well, I'll accompany your group, but I shall reserve judgement for now." I give him a broad smile. Good enough.
Chapter 27 - Seperation
Onmund seems enthused enough about the newest addition to our ragtag little group, soon engaged in a conversation about the Restoration school with Erandur.
When we're an hour out of Dawnstar the next day, I decide that their continuous chatter is starting to grate on my nerves – all three mages are involved in avid discussion, and as my own magical talents leave much to be desired, I'm unable to chime in.
It makes me feel rather idiotic and uncomfortable, being left out of academic discussion like this, and so I decide it's high time for a break. "Hey, how about we stop for a quick meal? I'm starving over here!"
"But we were having so much fun!" Marcurio whines, nudging my side unrepentantly.
"You can continue after you've stuffed yourself, Marcurio, you and your impossible chatterbox accomplices."
"…Chatterbox accomplices? I daresay that you denounce the value of my contributions to the discourse on Healing studies." Erandur chuckles good-naturedly.
"It's alright Fjaldi! I couldn't understand you when you were talking about dagger techniques back at the college, either!" I'm too done with the trio to glare at the smug blonde Nord.
Not that I could bring myself to glare at what must be the most innocent and underserving-of-cruelty person I've met in all of Skyrim.
Without wasting more words, I pass them all some dried meats for lunch, giving Erandur an apologetic look when Onmund starts gobbling his portion up happily. "Sorry, I didn't know what your favourite food was, so I only brought some extra sweetrolls."
Onmund likes dried horker meat, J'zargo was a huge fan of cooked Rock Warbler eggs, and Marcurio will shove a child into a river to get to a bowl of venison stew – at least, I haven't seen him do it, but he's told me the story.
Food is important for survival, any brat could tell you that. But on the road, where luxury doesn't exist and you're lucky if you get to stay dry when you sleep and warm when you bathe, someone's favourite food can really help their moods along. "I don't mind. I'll eat anything." The priest blinks serenely, accepting a second portion quietly, and I smile genially in return, "Sure, so do I. But that still doesn't change the fact that I'd kill for a boiled crème treat."
The remainder of the journey goes smoothly. When we arrive at the enormous ruin of Labyrinthian, I let out a low whistle. "Not bad… For Nords, they really put a lot of thought in the design. A pity that it had been abandoned." Moving up the staircases, we're all struck speechless when six ghosts appear out of nowhere, talking about an expedition – they enter Labyrinthian first. Onmund opens the doors, and so we follow in their footsteps. The fact that these are all ghosts, rather than living adventures, doesn't bode well for the rest of this trip.
It doesn't. The skeleton of a dragon is the first major sign of trouble. I've never seen anything like it, and I admit that the sight of it nearly distracted me enough to get hit by a skeleton – a single, pathetic, human skeleton!
Luckily, with Erandur's magical reserves being rather low, my efforts with weaponry are soon joined by his mace making quick work of the walking bones.
…It's not nice to know that that same dragon cost the life of one of the expedition members who were here ahead of us, though.
"Alright," I breathe, "Alright, so presumably, every single one of these ghosts died. If we're lucky, one got out alive – Savos Aren held the key, so it's likely that he survived. And if he can do it, so can we. Stay alert, everyone. This might prove to be one of the most difficult tombs to traverse yet."
If some bitch burns off the tip of my other ear I am going to start a riot.
It doesn't reassure them, or me, to know that only one member survived – the same one who was killed by the Eye of Magnus' power.
An ethereal voice, male, unlike Vaermina's, echoes all around me and I stop dead in my tracks – "Did any of you hear that?" Onmund frowns even as Marcurio and Erandur look all around carefully. "I heard nothing."
"Neither did I. Are you sure you weren't imagining it?" I frown at them, thinking on the specific words in… "Dovahzul." I mumble, more to myself than to my companions, "It spoke in Dovahzul. Perhaps that's why none of you heard." I'm not sure if I like hearing voices. I'm close enough to going mad already.
As we make our way through the ruins slowly, I hear the voice several times more while facing draughr, spirits, and magical runes – though I mostly let my mage companions deal with those. The spectres of the previous expedition here also show up several more times, and the way their number seems to deplete with each passing step makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
At least I learn a new Shout to slow time even further than I already could… after facing a Draughr Deathlord that will fuel my nightmares for days to come.
"Nivahriin muz fen siiv nid aaz het." What is that even supposed to mean?
"You do not answer… Must I speak in this guttural language of yours?" This… This is no dragon, right? No dragon would be down here, right? Whatever it is, it's intelligent. As intelligent as a human, perhaps even more so.
"Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?" Do I even want to know what the Arch-Mage has done for a likely enemy to call him friend?
"The voice is asking if I'm Savos Aren." Marcurio's gaze snaps to me, "Well, don't answer him, you idiot!" So, I stay quiet.
"Do you see to finish that which you could not?" To kill it? Him? To finish the expedition?
"You only face failure once more…" I'm not failing, for Onmund's sake, if anything.
"You… You are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?" I pause in my movements once more, gritting my teeth. "I think that our biggest enemy here is extremely intelligent and undoubtedly powerful. If anyone wants to back out, do so now."
Three incredulous looks – Erandur seems to be trying to hide how much he's liking this, the rush of battle and facing the unknown - even though all his talk is gentle and friendly, his bloodied mace tells a very different story.
Marcurio is… done with life. Or this ruin, at least. Oblivion knows what he's thinking once he puts on that stony mask.
Onmund is hesitant, but as before, he steels himself, that familiar Nord stubbornness rearing its head. "We're staying." He says firmly, and that's that.
"Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?"
"It's likely that he has a way of draining magical energy, so be on guard when using spells, don't conjure anything if you can help it." I caution my friends. We're almost there, I can feel it.
"Come. Face your end."
We come to a room with a magical barrier held up by all that remains of two wizards – Aren's last companions. Sacrificed, damned to a fate worse than death.
I look at the creature held captive. Tattered robes, almost a skeleton, but oozing power from every cell of his being. I take an involuntary step back even as I try to analyse the situation – "No good. Melee attacks are useless against this guy. I'm useless against this guy once I can't Shout." And aside from Unrelenting Force, I don't have many offensive Shouts in my repertoire that are over a single word long.
"It has the Staff of Magnus!" Onmund exclaims, pointing at said object. I bite back a curse – no way around it then, the thing has to die. Now, for a plan…
Erandur has little magical reserves, and that gash on his arm doesn't help. Onmund is inexperienced but in decent enough condition. Marcurio is our best bet, but he took a hit from that Deathlord and has broken ribs and can't move his elbow properly… Whereas I am covered in small scratches and have received a new dent in my armour, courtesy of the bone dragon, but otherwise fine when I ignore the stomach ache. I gnaw my lip.
"The barrier will disperse once these mages die." Erandur states solemnly, and Onmund nods in agreement. I glance between the members of my little group worriedly, mind working a mile a minute.
The Calling is useless against inhuman opponents. I can't even resort to THAT.
"I see. I think… I might have a strategy." Also, I'm going to find a way to add ranged attacks to my arsenal even if it kills me. "I'll be defence, and my Shouts can make the thing falter. Marcurio and Onmund, you'll be the main offense – he has a way to drain your magica, so duck behind me if you must to avoid being hit. I've barely any magica to speak off, so I should be fine. Erandur, keep healing spells and magica potions at hand. Also, kill the left mage, I'll take the right one. "
Easily said, less easily executed.
…
We stumble out of the room hours later - Marcurio leaning heavily on Erandur while clutching his side, grunting in pain with every step. Onmund, tired but triumphant, using the Staff of Magnus for support, and me? I can barely see straight, having been electrocuted painfully several times by that son of a horker and a hagraven and also there's blood seeping into my eyes, so seeing at all is quite problematic –
So, then the Thalmor walzes through the back door like he owns the place, all gloating and condescending and all-around irritating and, well…
I sigh heavily, but I don't even get a second to draw my axes.
Onmund grumbles and glares, unable to do much more as his energy is thoroughly depleted.
Marcurio manages a chortle, somehow seeing humour in this awful situation.
Then he's dropped to the floor by Erandur without any warning, the priest of Mara having dropped all pretences of peace, and I can see the Vaermina devotee in his movements as he draws his mace and snarls ferocious as a saber cat:
"I honestly have no time for upstart boot-lickers right now."
He proceeds to step forwards before the dumbfounded Thalmor can come up with a retort, and smashes the Altmer's face in with his mace not bothering to hear what the agent may have had to say. I barely have the presence of mind to blink at the priest, the surprise I feel dulled by the pain and sluggishness.
I guess we're all a little tired.
I find the energy to snicker softly even as the priest fumbles out weak apologies to a laughing Marcurio, who hisses and coughs as he's hauled back onto his feet because laughing probably hurts him with those ribs.
"Let's just camp here for a little bit, get some food and more potions." I slur, using the Thalmor's cooling corpse as makeshift seat. It's a testament to everyone's exhaustion that nobody says a word, just sitting down against the walls and breaking out the water skins, sweetroll treats, and Healing potions.
We climb the ladder with some difficulty some scant two hours later, only to find Tolfdir already there and waiting. "I had a feeling following that Thalmor was a good idea." He mutters under his breath, barely audible over the spells he's flinging at a frost troll raging about the entrance.
"Master Tolfdir, What are you doing here?" Onmund asks incredulously. The wizard, out of breath but no less dangerous, finishes off the threat before answering. "If you have the Staff, you must go to Winterhold at once. Mirabelle told me to go after you right when she – well. She sacrificed herself, to ensure that everyone else could get away safely. The college is surrounded by the force of the Eye. Onmund, You are one of my star pupils – I'm certain that you can help us."
Onmund straightens himself and nods solemnly, before turning to look at us. "I'm going back to Winterhold without you. You're all too injured and exhausted to fight since you covered me all throughout Labyrinthian – don't think I didn't notice, you overprotective dad-figures. You have my eternal thanks, but I should really do this by myself." To prove himself?
…Overprotective dad-figures?
Erandur looks away uneasily, Marcurio pats the Nord on the head as if to say 'good luck'. I give the young mage a fond grin. "Make sure that that protection wasn't in vain." I push the strongest stamina potion I have on me in his hands. "Just remember all the things you've learned, and give the bastards Oblivion." He grins, determination shining from his very being. "Thank you, I won't forget this, Fjaldi." I only chuckle and wordlessly shove him towards Tolfdir.
"Until next time, brat." Marcurio says, and the answering nod is a promise that there'll be a next time, before Onmund follows Tolfdir towards the two horses I hadn't seen before. "I do hope that poor chap back at that farm won't mind that I borrowed these." The aged wizard exclaims innocently, and Onmund snorts even as I shake my head in disbelief. Wizards are… weird.
Once they're out of sight and the sounds of galloping horses have faded, the smile on my face falls. "I do hope he'll be alright." Erandur sighs. Marcurio is already starting to walk away slowly, rubbing his shoulder. "It's out of our hands now, but..." He mutters, grimacing.
"…Overprotective dad-figures? I resent that."
I exchange glances with Erandur, both of us remembering just why the Imperial wizard was sporting a lovely set of ruined ribs. Then we burst out laughing, even though it makes my vision spin and blacken at the edges.
"Hey!" Now he sounds offended, too, as if he didn't take a few hard hits that would have caught the Nord mage hero-to-be fully unawares.
"Well, you were a bit of an overprotective moron back there." I snicker, before Erandur raises an eyebrow.
"Of course he was. And that dent in your armour is purposeful decoration, I'm sure. Not to mention the fact that you haven't stopped swaying dangerously on your feet since that monster died." I wince. When he puts it like that…
"You would both make excellent parental figures, though. Even Onmund could tell you that much and from what I have seen from you, I agree."
"…" Children, huh? I've not given it much thought. It seems far too dangerous with Alduin on the loose and possibly entire groups of people around intent to make my life miserable. But… Perhaps…
"So, where do we go now, Fjaldi?" Marcurio mutters sullenly after a pause, growing impatient and most likely uncomfortable with the subject, sending me a sideways glance.
I roll open my map, the mark of Labyrinthian a little smudged as I look for the closest human settlement. "Back to Morthal it is." The map vanishes underneath my clothes again.
"You've been to Morthal before then?" Erandur asks in a clear attempt to steer the subject away from Winterhold drama and children to something else, anything else.
As good a time as any to regale the priest with one of my more macabre adventures. "Aye. You see, when I first arrived, there'd just been a housefire…"
A/N: An Hour. It took me an hour and three tries before I managed to hand Morokei's ass to him with my 95% melee-based character. Thank gods for Onmund or I'd still be at it. I should have thought twice about what gear to bring into Labyrinthian. Seriously, fuck that Dragon priest.
Stay tuned for the next chapter!