Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): Canon-typical murder, anger, stressful situations taking their toll. ANGST.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! Though if you're happy right now I'd wait with reading until after the hols, whoops.

Last time…

"You've been to Morthal before then?" Erandur asks in a clear attempt to change the subject from Winterhold drama 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 arrived, there'd just been a house fire…"

Chapter 28 – Duly Noted

"You took that things' mask with you?" Marcurio asks in disgust when he sees me fiddling with said Dragon Priest mask over the fires in the inn.

It's late in the evening, and Erandur has already gone to bed. The innkeeper was somewhat surprised when we only asked for two rooms – but Marcurio and I have gotten so used to sharing space that separate rooms just feels wrong, somehow. It also helps with the nightmares haunting both of us, but as far as anyone else needs to know, those late-night incidents - waking up drenched in sweat and having to be brought back from our own minds - never occur.

"Aye, I did. I sensed a powerful enchantment on it, so I brought it along for study... I was just curious."

The mage snorts derisively. "You were 'just curious'? Last time you were 'just curious' we got tasked with finding the White Phial in some draughr-filled barrow."

I hit him over the head with the dragon priest's mask, enjoying the satisfying 'thump' that follows. "My curiosity doesn't always get us close to death." I chide in a low voice, not wanting to disturb the other patrons at this time.

"No, no, only about ninety percent of the time."

Annoyed that I can't really deny the accusation, I move to take a swig of ale, finding the bottle in my hand depressingly empty. "See this?" I wave the bottle at my companion with a small grin, "That's my cue. I'm going to bed."

We rise in unison, and as usual, I take the left side of the bed, unlatching my armour with practised ease before collapsing in my tunic and boots.

Marcurio gives me one look and mutters something under his breath sounding vaguely like an insult. Even so, he moves to pull my boots off somewhat roughly and pulls the covers up over both of us.

"You really want to smell my feet all night? I haven't washed them since we cleaned up at Labyrinthian." I ask him humorously, my voice muffled by the flat straw pillows. Besides me, the mattress of the rickety bed sinks a bit lower as the mage settles in properly with a huff.

"You kick in your sleep. I'd rather not you kick with steel-toed combat boots."

"And you snore."

"Do not."

"Do too."

Silence falls for a few moments, only broken by the sounds of the lute and the fires in the next room. I frown pensively at the wooden ceiling, a little troubled by the things I refused to acknowledge for quite some time now. Soon, I'd have to face those fears.

Am I really ready for a shitstorm of such a great magnitude as the one I'm currently, unavoidably, running straight towards?

"Hey, Marcurio, you know where we're going tomorrow, right?" Something in my voice must have alerted him, since he turns on his side to face me better, leaning on an elbow and raising his eyebrow inquisitively, barely visible in the darkness of the room, candles long since extinguished.

"Yeah, Ustengrav. You still haven't said why or what we're doing there, not that I mind as long as there's no need to clean out a troll toilet in there."

My lip curls upwards slightly, but I know nothing about this is worth smiling about.

"We're going to find a horn. And once I give that horn to the Greybeards, they will officially acknowledge me as Dragonborn." I answer honestly, even though my voice is rather dull, flat and defeated whenever I think of being Dragonborn… And the endless duties and pains that come with the title.

Marcurio remains pensively quiet for a few moments. "You sound like it's the worst thing to ever happen to you. Can't you just… not retrieve the horn? Surely, you don't need it to cut Alduin down to size? I hardly imagine a loud horn-noise is going to do anything to the bastard, if it fazes him at all, I mean… Have you heard a dragon roar?"

I chuckle darkly. But even though I agree on the value of that thrice-damned horn... "I need the Greybeards, even though I really don't like them very much. I need their help, that is, with figuring out how to actually manage this whole… 'saving-the-world-from-the-End-Times thing'." I tilt my head to look at him, frowning.

"So that means following orders." Which is one of the things I hate most of all. Sinking into a discontented grumble so as not to start raising my voice and drawing attention from those outside the room, I continue:

"The Dragonborn is meant to defeat Alduin the World Eater, according to Dwemer, or really, any folks' legend. 'When the snow tower crumbles, the wheel will turn to the Last Dragonborn' - or something ominous and prophetic like that. I'm just… Marcurio, I'm scared." The confession both allows a weight to fall off my shoulders I hadn't even known was there, and makes me unable to look the mage in the eye.

All this time, I haven't let myself show more vulnerability than absolutely necessary. I roll onto my back and cover my face with my arm, the words, like vomit, not stopping now that I've begun.

Crap, I can feel a rant coming the likes of which I haven't vomited out since meeting Ulfric and I can't. Stop.

"I'm terrified of failing. Not just Alduin - what if I get you, or Erandur, or anyone I consider close to me – what if I have to bury you? I've lost so many, already… I don't think I'll be able to hold on to my sanity for very long if I lose anyone else."

Ma…Mellte… How I wish I had some sort of teacher or friend to guide me in being Dovahkiin… Oblivion, I'd even take a dragon as teacher at this point!

"…My race is known to be unfriendly to strangers for a reason, and I've been pushing that aside, been pushing away thoughts that aren't accepted and forced myself to play nice because everyone expects me to play their gallant damned hero. Truth is, I'm not. I'm not a hero. All the things I do – I'm floundering, a fish flapping about useless and panicking on dry dirt."

I let out a breathless laugh, growing a little hysterical. "Do you know how I only trust three people in all of Skyrim? Not to mention I -"

"Fjaldi, stop." The words are chopped, barked, interrupting me before I can continue my spiel of self-loathing and pity.

I fall silent, squeezing my eyes shut tightly and taking a shuddering breath. Did I go too far? I shouldn't have said anything.

"Sorry." I mumble. His eyes – like molten copper – I can almost hear them widen ever-so-slightly.

"Wait, no, not what I meant. You're – You've really been walking around with that for quite a while, haven't you? Uh, I could, I mean, I'll… ugh. Listen, I'm not good with this touchy-feely stuff, but I'll try. I'll listen if you ever need someone to talk to, even if you don't trust me, or something."

He sounds flustered, out of his depth.

That makes two of us. I never quite knew 'instant regret' could be so acutely horrible.

It's my turn now, to be confused and surprised at his words as they fully register in my whirling mind.

"Marcurio, err, 'Curio, I can call you that, right? …You are one of those three people I mentioned. The other two are a blacksmith in Whiterun and a high-ranking Thalmor agent, respectively."

I snort and cover my face with my arm in disbelief at my own sentence. 'A mage mercenary, a blacksmith and a Thalmor.' How is this my life?

"How is this my life?" The mage mutters forlornly under his breath, before promptly turning over and pulling me closer to him as if to bring comfort.

"We should sleep."

I hum in agreement, my heart hammering wildly in my chest because he's hugging me? Ugh, he must think I'm a such a child. Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing, the meditation exercises coming to me without ease, which is unusual in itself.

I don't even notice myself falling asleep, having a good night's rest for once.

…

I do notice myself getting soaked in muck up to my thighs. To Erandur and Marcurio, the waterways and swampy areas only come to their knees – Why is everyone in Skyrim so TALL?

As we wade through the mud north of Morthal, headed for Ustengrav to the sounds of buzzing insects on a sunny Sun's Height morning. There's barely a cloud in the sky, and the temperatures are pleasant, but that's where good fortune ends – since there's no faster path to the ruin than this, water, marsh, and small islands popping up everywhere.

We also found an abandoned shack, which was locked down tight, where we had a small break to check our position – too far northwest. So east we go, until finally, finally, we get to a decent spot of dry land and an abandoned camp in front of the ruins of Ustengrav – Jurgen Windcaller's tomb.

Sounds of fighting reach us when we're walking inside, and I quickly crouch behind a pillar, watching the battle ahead – it seems like some groups of mages are already taking care of the draughr for us.

I consciously avoid the undead monsters' cold, glowing dead eyes and duck deeper into the shadows, where my companions are already kneeling. "What do we do?" Erandur asks in a low whisper and I give him a conspiratory wink.

"We pick off the survivors once the fight dies down."

And so we do. As we proceed, it quickly becomes clear that nor the draughr, nor the conjurers and necromancers, nor the bandits are very strong opponents, and after a while, we're only facing draughr.

Those mages didn't get very far. Which is likely a good thing. Part of me is also really wondering why you'd put a feasting hall in a tomb.

It seems to be a common occurrence for the Nords. Maybe their dead like to… hold dinner parties?

I need to keep my thoughts light. They are treacherous today, and I can't afford to be distracted, so I shy away from what I really want to focus in and give my all in the dusty tomb.

I learn the second word of one of my Shouts – the Become Ethereal one – and try it out on the slightly stronger draughr that bursts from the waterfall, actually looking quite funny when the creature is entirely drenched and miserable.

Like my pants at the moment, which are only just starting to dry properly from our journey here.

Then we reach a puzzle. I look around the glorified hallway, more of a final part of the main chamber we'd crossed several times, blocked by several sets of thick iron bars. The upright stones start humming and glowing whenever I get near them. I also can't press my arm through the bars far enough to reach one of the chains on the other side.

Pursing my lips, I step up to the first stone, which starts glowing and opens a gate when I'm near. Marcurio and Erandur, meanwhile, are taking a small break, leaning against the wall and watching me experiment with the ingenious obstacle in bemusement.

Marcurio lets out a loud guffaw when I suddenly start sprinting like a madman – until he sees me run face-first into one of the gates when it falls down when I'm halfway through the passage.

Then he starts laughing, so hard that he has to double over and clutch his stomach, gasping for breath even as I pull chain after chain to get back to them with a scowl and a red nose.

"Oh, why don't you try?" I snap, and the challenge is set.

We take turns trying to run fast enough to get all the way to the other side of the passage, getting a little more frustrated every time until –

The palm of my hand meets my forehead with a loud slapping noise. "I'm such a fucking idiot." The imperial mage of our ragtag trio snickers.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that? Not sure I heard you correctly." Rolling my eyes, I step back up to the first stone.

"Why don't you do something more useful than pretend deafness? Such as if you'd step aside and watch." I start running.

"WULD!"

Going so fast I'm practically flying, I stumble out of the other end of the passage with a victorious cry. Now that I'm through, the gates behind me stay open, making for a very anticlimactic end to the problem as Erandur and Marcurio just calmly walk through after me. We move up a set of stairs, but just when Erandur wants to step ahead to take on the approaching frostbite spider, I spot the odd patterns on the floor and call out: "Wait!" The Dunmer priest steps back somewhat uncertainly, eyes still firmly trained on the quickly incoming spider. "But the spider will-"

WHOOSH.

Go up in flames, apparently.

We just stare as it activates some sort of pressure plate - no, it's the tiles. A dark tile? Are all the darker tiles traps? – and is besieged quite dramatically by sprouts of flame that roast the creature alive. Erandur looks down, at where his feet were centimetres away from one of those dark tiles, and he shudders and steps back.

"The tiles in the middle have a lighter colour." Marcurio comments, stepping on one experimentally and, to my relief, finding that it doesn't start spouting fire.

From there on, we watch our step a little more carefully. And the ruin becomes a breeze. In the final room, four statues rise from the water as I warily walk past them. Luckily, nothing strange happens, like the stone guardians attacking my companions and I.

But what we find isn't the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller – it's…

"A note?" Erandur asks incredulously. "We came all the way out here for a note?" I frown at it, before carefully removing it from its place. "Well…no. It seems we weren't the first to come here."

I wonder what they want. Money? A rare item? A lost artefact? Xrib's forge, don't tell me they want a Daedric weapon for the Horn..!

…Wait, how did they get past that obstacle with the glowing rocks and the timed gates without Whirlwind Sprint?

Ugh. Not important right now. Focus, damnit!

"Dragonborn, I stole the Horn because I need to speak with you urgently but I was too lazy to stand around and wait here, so please rent an attic room in Riverwood and pray I'm there?" I say out loud, changing some of the words for those I can spot hidden not-too-subtly in between the lines of the innocuous message.

The note is summarily crumpled up to a tight wad of paper in my fist and thrown into the water even as I seethe in anger.

"And they have the audacity to call themselves my 'friend'?! If they were, the Horn would still be here! Whoever wrote that damn note is trying to manipulate me into something for sure! I'm not an idiot!"

Marcurio coughs something that sounds awfully suspiciously like 'puzzle', but I ignore him in favour of starting to stomp towards the exit beyond the room, fingers twitching with the need to snap the neck of whoever had the nerve...

…

"Are we headed to Riverwood?" Erandur asks cautiously when we're back outside, the amount of treasures and trinkets we found in an unlocked chest right before leaving having mellowed my temper somewhat. We were running low on coin, and now that's at least one problem I don't have to list any longer.

I glare at nothing in particular, stalking off towards Morthal. "I do as I please, when I please. I'm not dancing to some manipulative bastard's merry tune if I can help it! Following the orders of people who are practically strangers to me is ridiculous enough."

If people keep trying to manipulate me… First the Greybeards, then Ulfric, now this -! I don't know WHAT I'll be doing, but heads will roll. "Morthal first." I say in clipped tones.

When we're back at the inn, I've calmed down enough to really think about the note and what it implied.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you like that." I mutter to Erandur as the aging elf takes another delicate sip from his warm drink.

I won't be surprised if you walked out of this inn and back to Dawnstar, since I keep getting you in danger and now I get mad at you for no reason, too. He only raises an eyebrow. "No harm done. I was rather expecting it, actually. In my younger years, I'd have likely done the same." I lean back in my chair, watching one of the patrons walk up to us nervously.

"Uhm, Fjaldi du Bet-hart-s? You're Fjaldi, right? I'm so sorry, I wasn't really listening when they told me your full name – the jarl is expecting you."

I give the man a charming grin, though I imagine it may have the opposite effect of 'reassuring', what with the amount of bloody splatters still on my armour and, probably, my face. "It's Bthardamz, Fjaldi dû Bthardamz. It's alright, really. I should go see the jarl, if she expects me."

Inwardly, I scream incoherently in tired frustration.

I am SO not in the mood for politics right now, but I suppose that since I'll be going to Riverwood after this anyway…

"Are you two fine with waiting here whilst I go see what's wrong?" My two companions shrug, Erandur flipping the page of the book he's reading and Marcurio taking a swig of mead. "I think we're good here."

I roll my eyes at the self-satisfied smirk on the mages' faces at not having to go back out in the frigid cold so soon again. "Suit yourself. Prepare to leave for any emergencies when I get back even angrier than I just was."

When I step outside and look at the sky, I concede that at least the weather seems to be on my side for a change. It's dry and sunny. Breathing in the moist, cool air reeking faintly of wood rot and herbs, I greet the people I pass by, holding Idgrod the Younger for a moment to tell her I'd delivered the message to Danica – what seemed like ages ago.

She smiles genially, tells me she already knew that, and promptly shoves a coin purse in my hands before walking on, saying she was running errands and had little time, but would love to chat later. Giving her a small, absent wave, I enter the jarl's longhouse.

"You called, my jarl?"

The old woman smiles like the cat that got the canary. "I've heard words of your exploits, the people of my hold seem to like you quite a lot… Rumour has it you saved one of our few remaining caravans from a dragon attack." I blink, sorting through my mind's library to try and remember which dragon attack involved a caravan – there had been two, right? One in Windhelm, and one on the road to - The jarl claps her hands, and her Steward steps up and presents me with a… what is it?

I accept the strange, small object, studying it. It looks a little like an elongated bead that can be opened... Have I seen something like it before?

"As it is, there is room for a new Thane in my court. My visions tell me that giving you a weapon or a piece of armour would be redundant, as you have no need of such with your skill set. Therefore, I had the blacksmith procure a more… modest accessory instead. I take it you are familiar with the privileges that come with being Thane of a hold?" I nod before her story even fully registers.

"Wait, Thane?"

She raises a delicate eyebrow, a knowing, smug smirk playing on her thin lips. "I would like to offer you the position of Thane of Hjaalmarch, yes. Do you accept?"

I look down at the object in my hands, finally placing it – a clip, to hold my hair out of my face. Well, I suppose it's been growing like weed lately. And… It can hold an enchantment. She put much thought into this. It would be incredibly rude to say no.

"It would be an honour, my jarl." I bow at the waist, hiding the small smile on my face. As Jenassa said – it IS supposedly an honour. Though I would not be shocked if a liberal amount of politics played into this as well. If Siddgeir bragged about having a 'special' new Thane…

"Well then, it's settled. Consider the hairclip a gift. I am glad to see you can put it to good use." Self-consciously, I try to fix my bird's nest of thick, black hair. Blushing as multiple people stifle giggles or cough unconvincingly as I no doubt make it all worse, I resolve to at least find a way to brush it.

Ma would be appalled at my state. Covered in scars and dried blood, with mud soaking the bottom of my pants and boots, and my hair a mess. Every inch a traveller, an adventurer.

I observe the simple, silver pin, a single emerald set in the middle over an angular star-like design.

It's… I'm a whole other world from the newly minted Forgemaster I started out as, aren't I?

I wonder if I can still be content as a simple blacksmith after the Dragon crisis is over and I've found out what happened, if not with my people, with me.

"Off with you now, I can see your mind has already left us." I give the Jarl of Morthal a sheepish grin and another swift bow before hurrying out the door, intent on telling my companions about the news.

I enter the inn. "Guys, I bring news: no running errands before the night's over." Are the first words out of my mouth when I sink back into my chair again, the Dunmer and the Imperial still in the same positions I left them in.

"You have more good news, I take it?" Erandur chuckles when I promptly wave for some drinks.

"I'm Thane of Hjaalmarch now."

Marcurio clasps me on the back in congratulations even as Erandur's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "You have my congratulations." I give them a beaming grin, before souring a little again. "Oh, and we're headed out to Falkreath tomorrow… whenever we're all awake and alert, that is."