Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): More Delphine, follows canon almost exactly, filler(?), most of this chapter is a letter.
Last time…
"Ysmir…" It's barely a whisper, but it feels… Nice, to say. I am a proud member of the Dwemer race. The last, according to some. I am a Forgemaster, and son of Saarimda and Kvaldi. I… am Dragonborn.
Chapter 37 – Letter
By the time we're back in Ivarstead, I still haven't spoken a single word to either of my Housecarls. Lydia seems… subdued. Still colder than a Winterhold night, but subdued nonetheless.
Rayya is plain worried about me, even though we met barely a week ago. It gives me a warm feeling inside but I don't mention it. Wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable.
Gods know I am uncomfortable enough for all of us.
A large part of me feels that everything that's happened so far was but a prelude, a year to get used to this new world, and that now, the real problems are only starting.
As if I don't have enough to be worried about already.
And speaking of problems…
"…Do either of you know how the Civil War is doing? I haven't had much news, and it's been a year since I've first heard of it. It might prove a problem if we want to solve the Alduin crisis, even if I haven't gotten involved so far."
Rayya shakes her head no, but Lydia gives me a cold look. "The situation isn't changing. Neither side has made progress, but every day more people die fighting for Skyrim's freedom… Thane."
I glance at her over my shoulder with a frown, a bit perturbed.
A Stormcloak sympathiser? Lovely. I'm sure we'll get along just… splendidly, considering the ones I trust either prefer or consider themselves part of the Imperial Empire.
…Or the Thalmor, in Ondolemar's case. Plus, I'm of the Mer races, which Ulfric wants out of 'his' country along with the beast races.
Not like that would cause the economy to collapse right down on top of his overgrown head.
Aye, this is a disaster waiting to happen. Not just Skyrim as a whole, but my relation with Lydia, also.
She barely even respects me. Probably heard what I did to Nelkir for Jarl Balgruuf to name me Thane in the first place. Exorcisms. Ugh.
I can't blame her for disliking me, not really. Which is why I stay quiet even as I observe Narfi's abandoned hut. The mad beggar was found dead weeks ago, apparently. I bet my new 'family' has something to do with that. Speaking of which, I ought to head to Solitude if I want to make it to the wedding Veezara mentioned in time.
I spot a vaguely familiar face – I'd seen the man in Whiterun and Markarth, and I think in Windhelm, too. When he spots me looking at him, to my chagrin, he doesn't turn away to go about his business but approaches me instead.
"Hello! I've been looking for you. I have something to deliver to you – your hands only, but you're a hard man to pin down." I tilt my head. A… courier? Who would send me mail?
"Let's see… No less than three letters, right here! A note from Calcelmo in Markarth… And these two both come from Winterhold. A letter from the new Archmage AND the Jarl, my, you have friends in high places." He hands me the three letters, all sealed with wax and indeed, addressed to me, before adding: "Oh! And Syglia from Shor's Stone asked me to tell you that she and her mother have recovered well, and that her mother has returned to… What was it? Darkwater Crossing. Well, looks like that's it. I'll be around here for a bit, so tell me if you have anything that needs to be delivered."
Being a courier in this time and place must take some serious courage. Or desperation. But he seems happy about all this, so it must be the former… Xrib's forge, Nords are insane.
The note from Calcelmo only references a Dwemer artefact he found and wants my opinion on whenever it's convenient for me. He also mentions that his book is coming along nicely, and he'd like me to come in to refine some of the points he mentions.
I guess I'll go see him next time I'm in Markarth. Not that I'm planning to go there soon, what with all the trouble I found last time.
The Jarl of Winterhold thanks me for my services again and asks me to find a helmet somehow important to Winterhold, since the 'useless mages are too busy keeping their college from collapsing in on itself, and you are someone I feel I can trust with such a task'. Of course there's also a handsome reward involved.
Again, I'll see it when I get there. He only mentions a location – how am I supposed to know where this 'Hob's Fall cave' is?
The thing of most interest here is the letter form the Arch-Mage. I suppose they've appointed a new person. Probably Mirabelle Ervine since she was, after all, the Master Wizard. But when I open the letter and skip to the end to see who's signed it, my jaw hits the floor.
Onmund? ONMUND is the new Arch-Mage? Quickly, I start reading the letter thoroughly. I simply must know how the brat managed THIS!
Hi Fjaldi!
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wasn't sure who to address it to at first since you, Erandur, and Marcurio seemed so close-knit, But J'zargo helped, telling me that you were some sort of leader of the group. So, here you are, with my letter. Say hi to the others for me!
The courier probably already told you this, but I still wanted to tell you that they've appointed me Arch-Mage. Mirabelle died getting everyone to safety, and Tolfdir, J'zargo and I somehow managed to defeat Ancano together. I don't see why I'm getting most of the credit, I mean, sure I got the Staff of Magnus to the college, but I never could have dreamt of doing it without your and Marcurio's help! If you get the chance, thank him for me, please. And I also want to thank you, for everything you did to help even though it didn't concern you.
Since I'm Arch-Mage, I've been trying to fix relations with the rest of Winterhold and make more contact with the outside world to get trade back to the hold, but it's going slow. Well, Cyrodill wasn't built in a day, I guess. Anyway, I've been trying to do a little more than the previous Arch-Mage. I haven't had a moment's rest since I'm also still continuing my studies to live up to Savos Aren's name and trying to find an artefact I… lost. What have you been getting up to? More trouble, I bet? Got involved into some other world-destroying crisis?
Oh, and you should know that the college will always be open to you. Feel free to finally come to the Arcaneum when you have the time. I know you're probably always busy. I'm sorry if this reached you at an inopportune moment… J'zargo thinks that Onmund should not apologise for it. This one also wishes to thank you. J'zargo managed to sleep a whole week after the incident. Sorry again, but J'zargo has been reading over my shoulder this whole time and he just plucked my letter off my desk. How does he do that so quickly?!
Also, since you were so hung up on the state of the bridge, I hired a team of builders to fix it. It's slow going, and will probably be put on hold during the winter, but the people of Winterhold seem happy about the extra business nonetheless. If this letter sounds like a mess, I'm sorry, I just have so many things I want to tell you! I don't have enough paper to write it all down…
Anyway, I hope you have time to come visit soon! I found something I wanted to give you, and J'zargo wishes to thank you in person (a rare feat, I know), as do I, and probably most other members of the college. If you find any prospective students, you can also send them this way… Even though Tolfdir told me not to bother you with that. We lost many good mages to Ancano's greed.
Until we meet again,
J'zargo hopes to see you soon as well, friend,
Onmund, Arch-Mage of Winterhold college (it feels so weird to write this)
J'zargo.
PS. Do not think we did not notice the way you and the other mage looked at each other all the time – expect questions. J'zargo you can't just TELL someone that! This one does what this one wants.
I snicker, then carefully fold the letter and put it in my breast pocket, right next to my fire-resistant amulet, where it's safer than in my knapsack. My Housecarls are standing behind me, talking in hushed voices, and they shut up the moment I look at them with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry I took so long, ladies. We're going to Kynesgrove next. There should be a dragon on the loose soon and I don't want to miss the party."
"I'm not exactly curious to see how a dragon makes a party." Rayya mutters under her breath, but they follow me, taking note of the new spring in my step. I think that letter was exactly what I needed. I guess I now know where I'm headed once the wedding is over.
…
"I can't believe you call this a party." The Redguard hisses, crouched right behind Delphine as we move up the hill towards the burial mount, where Alduin is flying over, undoubtedly seeing us since there's barely any cover even though it's 4 in the morning and the night should help us remain unnoticed. Lydia similarly curses under her breath as the top comes in view and we slip behind large rocks on either side of the path. The people down in Kynesgrove had understandably been terrified and had been more than happy to let a group of adventurers deal with the problem.
But I am in no way ready to face Alduin. If that huge, black dragon is Alduin as I suspect he is. Then he starts talking… in the Dragon Tongue, of course, because this shit cannot be made easy for me.
"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse." I only know the word 'dragon'. Gods, why am I so useless when it comes to the dragon language? I need a word wall or twenty.
"SLEN TIID VO!"
A Shout! With 'time' in it? To undo time? And yes – when the Shout takes effect, something bursts from the burial mount in a shower of dirt, letting out a deafening screech as it shakes the remnants of rest from its wings. I swallow thickly, entranced by the scene, even as Delphine hisses something I don't even try to hear.
But whereas Lydia and Rayya follow her lead, sinking deeper into the shadows, I stay rooted to the spot – in fear, horror, or awe, I do not know. Then the second dragon – Sahloknir? Is its name Sahloknir? – starts speaking, as well. As if it hadn't just been raised from the dead. Holy fucking shit, if this is Alduin's power, I want nothing to do with him, ever. Fate can find another idiot dumb enough to try and solve that problem.
(But inside of me, my soul roars in challenge, and even as I deny it to myself I know I will not back down from a fight, should it come down to it. My dragon soul, and my mortal pride, will not allow it. I'd make quite the pitiful Dragon of the North if I gave up now.)
"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" Okay, but what in Oblivion is that supposed to mean? If I had to guess it contains the phrase 'Lord Alduin, is it time for…'
"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." Alduin answers, and it sounds like 'Geh' might be the draconic equivalent of 'yes', from his intonation.
I bite my lip harshly, observing the two beasts closely. Then of course, the Destroyer of Worlds turns to ask me a question, and I'm stumped as how to answer since I do not even know what it means.
"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi."
Uh-huh, aye, of course, definitely, couldn't agree with you more... No, seriously, what is he talking about? It sounds important.
When I remain silent the dragon snorts derisively. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!"
I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. But my traitorous mouth is already opening.
"Such arrogance, to think you're so great to think I'd even WANT to take that name!"
Alduin snarls, but seems to deem me no threat at all. "Mouthy mortal, you will find your doom soon enough! SAHLOKNIR! KRII DAAR JOORRE!"
Kill the mortals.
It speaks of the nature of all dragons that that's the one sentence I can fully understand. 'Kill the mortals'.
It's still four to one. I've faced worse odds. Like two versus two, that time with Marcurio. I can do this.
Alduin flies off, turning his back to us in a show of unbridled arrogance himself, as Sahloknir flies up, and charges at us with a roar.
"HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ALDUIN THURI?"
I made it angry. Fuck. I should have seen this coming. I saw this coming. I'm a Sithis-damned idiot.
I draw my axes. "Incoming." Lydia calls out in a voice dry as dust, her bow in her hand as Rayya draws her scimitars and Delphine pulls out a sword with a design I've never seen before…
My inner smith wants to forget about the dragon instantly and quiz her about it, but I know full well now is not the time.
"How dare you come back from whichever plane of Oblivion he dragged you from?" I yell in return, grinning ferally as the dragon within me roars loudly in agreement, drowning out all other sounds around me.
I will pray to my Lady for advice later, if the Daedric Princes are so much more active in this time, she might even answer. But there's no time – and so I charge, Delphine at my side and Rayya supporting Lydia in the back.
Somehow, we manage to kill it in record time, Lydia's arrows piercing the beast's eye bringing it down to the ground almost instantly, allowing Delphine and I to get in some good hits – the blonde Breton almost beheading the dragon. I really need the design of that sword. As we stand around, panting, Sahloknir's soul races towards me and when the energy hits I let myself fall back onto my ass, tired and rejuvenated at the same time.
"So… You really are…" Delphine breathes. "Dragonborn. I owe you answers, don't I? Ask away."
A/N: Yes, Onmund as Archmage. Why? Because if my I-know-maybe-three-spells character can become that, so can any other novice.