Chapter 17: An Unrelenting Force

The draugr charged and I screamed. The sound was entirely drowned out by the grunting barks issuing from the draugr hoard. I did as Faendal commanded, as I had been for the entire expedition, and I ran, back toward the spider's nest.

Faendal flew past me. At first, I thought he was running, too, but then he crashed into a wall beyond me, and I saw that he had been facing the wrong way to run. I raced to him as he scrambled up to his feet, and saw no arrows, or anything, sticking out of him.

"FUS!" I heard, uttered by one of the draugr behind us; the sound raw and gravelly, pushing a hand of somehow determined air against my back. I shielded Faendal from the effects as I toppled onto him, as within my mind, once again, the word force echoed between my ears.

With a jolt of dread, realised that Faendal had been thrown back by a draugr shouting FUS at him.

There was no time to be horror-struck in the knowledge that the draugr, or some of them at least, possessed the same power that Ulfric Stormcloak did. Faendal was back on his feet and had hauled me to mine, and we ran around a corner in the path, grasping onto each other's arm, fleeing at a pace that I ordinarily would not have been able to maintain. The clamour of the draugr tearing along the path, stopping to shout occasionally, followed us like a surreal, horrific nightmare, echoing around the enclosed spaces.

Faendal and I plunged into the dimness of the spider's lair, and I was almost relieved to reach it. We skirted around the massive hole in the centre, and leapt through the hole on the other side, that Faendal had originally created in the web, before we had encountered the lair's mistress.

I gasped and shuddered, leaning hard against the ground as Faendal released me. "What are we doing?!"

Faendal turned at once and drew an arrow in a fluid motion, with his eyes and aim on the gap on the other side; the one we had created by cutting the Dunmer bandit down; the hole we had just run through ourselves.

"They will be forced into single file," Faendal told me in a rush. "Stay out of sight. I'll take care of this."

I crossed my brows at the Bosmer, staring up at him from my hands and knees, vexed and at a loss for how to reply. Of course, there was nothing I could do that would be of help to him in this situation but obey, and ready the potions in case he needed them.

Hastily rising up onto my knees, I pulled my pack around in front of me and did just that, taking out a green bottle and unstoppering the cork. "Drink this," I ordered.

Faendal's eyes flickered to the bottle, and he grimaced.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Quickly," I prompted.

He snatched it, and no sooner had he swallowed down the stamina potion, than the first draugr; a moving, grunting shadow; lumbered into the spider's nest.

Faendal shot it immediately, and it fell with a screech.

I threw the empty bottle aside, shuddering at the noises coming from the spider's lair as Faendal fired arrow after arrow into the room. I wished that I could see what was happening within the webbed area, but after each grunt and shriek I was also utterly relieved that I couldn't.

So I watched the mer in front of me, tirelessly fighting for us. He never faltered, not in plain sight of the army of undead that were clamouring to reach us and tear us to pieces. Occasionally he would leap out of the way, to rest his back against the inside of the webbed wall for a second, and on those occasions sparks of energy or gusts of ice, or age-worn arrows, soared through to occupy the space he previously had, and crash loudly against the wall of the opposite passageway.

But the ranged attacks never lasted for long, and Faendal always returned to his post and resumed silently taking out each and every draugr that approached our position.

I had another potion ready for him, but didn't dare distract him to take it. I waited and watched, and eventually, mercifully, the grunts of the draugr ceased, and Faendal lowered his bow.

He was grimacing when he turned to me, and I palmed him the stamina potion without a word.

"Ugh," he grunted in disgust as he regarded the bottle. "This is all the reward I get? Don't you have any mead?"

Despite his protests, he upended the contents into his mouth at once, so despite his unaffectedness, I knew that he must have been more tired than he appeared.

"Sorry," I tilted my head apologetically, glancing into my pack. "I have some food from Sigrid, though? That might take the taste out of your mouth."

Faendal's eyes widened at the prospect, as he threw the empty bottle aside and wiped his mouth with his arm. "Yes," he choked back a laugh. "Food from Sigrid will do nicely."

The elf sat down beside me, and I offered the wrapped parcel to him, easing myself into a sitting position as well as he unwrapped it between us.

"Of all the places to rest and feast," he sat back, glancing from the dumplings to our immediate surrounds; a dark, dank, web-encrusted passageway between the spider's nest and another passageway.

I laughed, motioning for him to help himself. "Not a suitable place to bring Camilla for a date, then?"

"Perhaps not," Faendal picked up two dumplings, grinning as he bit into one. "No privacy," he added, through half a mouthful of food.

I glanced away, musing over the absurdity of our sudden mirth and impromptu picnic, and let Faendal take his fill. He deserved it, and while I was hungry, I felt ill at what we had endured so far, and in knowing that there would be more draugr before us yet. If I ate, I would likely bring it back up the next undead we saw.

I leaned back further, dragging my longbow off my shoulder, and practised drawing the string, as Faendal had suggested I do whenever there was an opportunity. Fatigue seeped from every muscle, making my arms shake as I tried to hold the tension, and then released it with a sigh.

I heard Faendal swallow noisily across from me, and glanced up to him.

"You saved me, from the spider, you know," he spoke kindly. More kindly than I had ever heard him speak, I thought. "Thank you."

I gave him a half smile. "It was a fortunate fluke," I admitted. "And certainly nothing to dwell on. You have saved me countless times today."

Faendal shook his head with determination, as he took a swig from his water skin and swallowed again. "I'm used to firing a bow, Celeste. I can't remember a time in my life where I didn't have a bow within reach," he sat back more comfortably, extending his legs and leaning back on his hands. "You should never dismiss what you have achieved, based on comparison to others around you," he raised his eyebrows sagaciously. "That's a path that will always find you wanting."

I flushed and lowered my eyes, but was unable to stop from laughing softly. Praise, particularly when I didn't believe I deserved it, always made me nervous, and laughter helped me to hide it.

Faendal returned to eating, and while I was relieved he didn't continue his lecture, I couldn't deny that I felt a prickle of pride, beneath the cacophonous flutter of nerves.

I sat back as well, finally, and adopted a pose similar to Faendal's; legs straight, leaning back on my hands, to stretch my aching muscles out a bit before we continued on again.

Before I could stop myself, I realised I was humming quietly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, telling myself that everything would be okay. I could hum here; we had cleared this space of its foes. Besides, music always calmed me.

I felt the vibrations of the song I'd randomly chosen ripple through me, and smiled more easily. It was The Summoner, a little tune about Faindor the Prodigy, but I realised as I hummed that with a few simple tweaks the words would serve me, here and now. I inhaled, and sang with a curl of amusement on my lips;

"Faendal the Bosmeri,
Used his expert archery,
To bring an end to the draugr mass,
For the whims of this silly bardic lass-"

Faendal snorted into his water skin, and I grinned at him, leaving my take on the lyrics there, and simply resumed humming.

Singing did make me feel better. Deciding that I was ravenous, I reached forward and took a few of the dumplings, which were just as good cold as they had been warm the night before.

Neither of us were in any particular hurry to press on into the crypt, but once most of the food was finished, Faendal rose with a bit of a groan, and held his hand out to me. "We'd better collect what we can of the arrows I fired before. I'm nearly out," he grimaced.

Wordlessly, I packed away what remained and let him help me up with a sigh; our moment of calm over. There was nothing to say, so for some minutes we silently crept around the spider's lair, pulling arrows out of the mass of fallen draugr. A few draugr had quivers of their own, and I collected their arrows as well, in case they could be of any use. A couple of draugr wore ancient circlets and necklaces. It felt wrong to take beloved treasures from the dead, but I didn't want Faendal to tell me off again, so I collected and threw them into my pack hastily and reminded myself that they would better serve us in the living world than on these twice-killed corpses.

With an armload of arrows held like firewood, I rose and looked around for Faendal, spotting him standing before the ginormous frostbite spider, his head tilted speculatively to one side as he stared at it thoughtfully.

"What is it?" I asked as I stepped up beside him; the first words we had spoken to one another for some minutes. I stared at the spider myself, repressing a shudder as venom dripped down its fangs and made a little splat noise on the ground.

"Have you any containers or empty bottles?" he asked quietly, not looking at me as he asked, but nodding at the spider. "The eggs of a queen such as this would fetch quite a price, to the right alchemist."

"Really?" I asked uncertainly, nudging him with my elbow and passing him the armload of arrows when he regarded me. "I'm not sure. I've been throwing the bottles away. Oh – wait!" I remembered, running to the hole we'd cut in the web and picking up the empty stamina potion bottle that Faendal had thrown away in there before we'd taken our meal.

"Thanks," Faendal had already put away the arrows, including the ancient Nord ones, and held the empty green bottle aloft. He drew his dagger from his hip, and angled the blade toward the spider's flank. "And yes. Just as with thistle and garlic, you'd be surprised what use can be made of a little thing like a spider's egg," he sliced, with swift precision.

"Ugh," I grimaced, as tiny, sticky speckled eggs flowed out of the gash Faendal had made with a wet splurt.

I turned away, letting him complete the grisly task on his own, and heard the mer snort at me.

"You'll regret not harvesting them when you see all my beautiful, shiny gold."

I chill ran along my spine and I shuddered, holding my hand back to him in refusal, though still couldn't make myself watch. "I would rather stay poor," I swallowed back bile rising in my throat.

Faendal barked a laugh, and before long he had stepped up next to me, the bottle of goopy eggs out of sight. I wondered what he had used to stopper it, and shook myself, deciding that I didn't need to know. Probably a wedge of the spider's own skin, or perhaps one of its legs? Better not to ask.

"Shall we proceed?" I asked him, nodding toward the tunnel we had fled out of, not even an hour earlier. "You have achieved your goal, but we are yet to achieve mine," I reminded him.

"Yes. Let's get this over with," Faendal nodded, stepping past me with his bow lowered, and I saw that he had an arrow nocked and ready in it. "Remember to keep hold of your bow."

I rolled my eyes at his back, un-shouldering the longbow and stepping through the tunnel after him. "Yes, boss," I muttered in a sing-song voice.

–

The tunnels were eerily silent as Faendal and I shuffled through them. We encountered no walking draugr for a long while, owing to, I assumed, the sheer number Faendal had woken in one go earlier.

So for a time, Faendal and I were free to look around the labyrinthian crypt and collect the odd bit of loot from urns as we passed them by.

Eventually, Faendal grabbed my arm to stop me in my tracks. I glanced to him swiftly, and then looked in the direction his eyes were trained. He let go of my arm, and raised his bow, aiming at what looked like just another unmoving draugr, lying on its deathbed.

What was he doing? I glanced back to the Bosmer, crossing my brows in question, but his focus was determined. When he loosed the arrow, a disgruntled shriek sounded from the prone form's direction, and my eyes snapped back to it. The arms of the draugr had sagged off its chest; one of its long arms trailing out from the resting place with its fingers brushing the stone earth below.

"How did you know that one would wake?" I hissed at Faendal, wide-eyed. "It looked like any other draugr!"

Faendal smirked smugly and shouldered his bow, striding toward the draugr he'd shot, retrieving the arrow. "Come and look for yourself," he replied openly, placing the arrow back in his bow to use again next time. He drew his free hand along the side of the draugr with a sweeping motion.

I cautiously stepped closer, my eyes now narrowly regarding the Bosmer. This was clearly not the first time he had encountered draugr. Perhaps grave-robbing wasn't such a new experience for him. Either that, or he had some sort of in-built draugr detector.

"See how the arms and legs are corded, as though its been re-building muscle instead of decaying this entire time?" he whispered.

I glanced down, my eyes roving over its arms and legs. I supposed they did look a little...fleshier, than the average unmoving dead. "How do they do that?" I asked, unable to mask my awe.

"How do the dead revive?" Faendal confirmed. I nodded.

He shrugged, frowning. "Nobody's really sure. There's probably a scholar or two, studying the phenomenon from the safety of their libraries, but I doubt we're meant to know the truth of it. It seems like a curse, if you ask me," he stepped back from the draugr we were observing, and indicated that we keep walking, before continuing. "Those who rise have been cursed to serve someone or something, for eternity, and as with most curses, it's dual-edged. I suspect that the curse enables them to regenerate while they slumber, and its merely their age that makes them appear so...crispy."

We stepped back onto the path in contemplative silence. I kept my eyes peeled for signs of sleeping draugr, while I chewed over what the mer had said. If the draugr were under a curse, serving someone else, did that mean their souls had never ascended to Sovngarde – that they had never, truly, died? Were they really undead, then, for a walking, fighting creature with a soul was, in my opinion, still alive? Or had their souls been trapped elsewhere upon their deaths, committing their flesh to serve their eternal sentence?

I sighed over the riddle, determining that Faendal was right; we were probably not meant to understand it. Whatever had passed to create them had occurred eons before.

We pressed on. Time and time again, Faendal spotted the draugr before us, and dispatched them before they became aware of us. Sometimes he shot his arrows into hanging lanterns, making the flames fall and scatter over pools of glistening oil, and other times he shot at a trap, to catch a patrolling draugr unawares in it. More often than not, though, he merely shot them while they slept.

I had little to do but watch and learn. I practised tensing the longbow, during the brief stretches of time where we encountered no foes, though didn't think it wise to try my luck again and shoot an arrow, even at a sleeping draugr. Faendal's sharper eye and sure-footedness saved us many a time from springing traps. He was so fleet that he was even able to dash through a perplexing tunnel of swinging blades to deactivate them from the other side, without breaking into a sweat.

After I hastened through the tunnel, casting a wary glance at the now motionless blades, I glanced up at him with wide eyes, but said nothing. I had to admit that I was growing a little awed of the mer, and a little envious of his invaluable and varied skill set.

He flashed me a half-smirk. "Before you ask; no. I have no idea why anyone would install swinging blades in a passageway, either."

I huffed a bit of a laugh as we continued on, climbing a set of stairs in his wake and walking across a high bridge. Yes, much about what we had encountered was perplexing, not to mention the traps almost inherent to the architecture. What had the ancient Nords been protecting, when they had set this place up? A simple treasure, as the Dunmer had stated before he had fled to his doom?

We stepped into the next chamber; a long, darkened passageway. The walls seemed to be carved, but Faendal didn't delay long enough for me to look at them. He paused in the entrance, briefly, to ensure there were no foes before us, and then ran along the length of the chamber, toward the far wall.

I fell into step behind him, running to try and keep up, my bow still clutched in my hand, though I could feel the beginnings of blisters developing on my palm. I switched hands as I slowed to a stop beside Faendal.

The mer was inspecting the wall blocking our path, with his chin raised and his hands on his hips.

I turned to examine it for myself. It was carved quite beautifully with all manner of looping, swirling arcs and spirals, and in the centre was a large, circular structure; a series of rings with golden seals set into them at intervals and a larger, golden circle in its centre.

Faendal stepped closer to the wall, running his hand over this inner golden plate. "There's holes here. This is a lock," he murmured.

I joined him, smirking when I recognised the footprint-like claws at once. "What was it the Dunmer said it was? Key to the Nord's treasure?"

Swinging my pack over my shoulder, I retrieved the golden claw that Camilla had sent Faendal after, and the elf laughed when he realised what I had. I handed it to him swiftly, and let him place it into the three holes. The sound of stone scraping against stone echoed around the quiet chamber as he placed it, but nothing else happened.

We frowned at one another, and Faendal stepped forward again, wordlessly turning the stone rings around, placing his ear against the panels occasionally. He shook his head, stepping back to observe the rings again with another thoughtful frown.

I removed the claw and peered at in, then rolled my eyes when I noticed the carvings set into the smooth surface on the underside; tiny, circular, seal-like depictions of a bear, moth, and owl.

Faendal was already back at the wall, turning the circular rings again, and the stone scraping stone sound amplified as it echoed off the walls of the low, long chamber.

"Faendal, wait," I placed a hand on his arm to stop him. When the mer turned to me questioningly, I merely held out the claw by way of answer, with the symbols facing him.

He crossed his brows and peered at the animals with a tilt of his head, before he nodded and set to work turning the rings with more purpose. "It's simpler than I thought it would be," he turned the first ring with a groan, letting it clunk into place when the bear set into the ring was at the topmost position.

"I wonder how Camilla's family came upon such a thing," I mused, turning the claw around to get a proper look at it. It couldn't possibly be made of solid gold, or I wouldn't be able to hold it, and those couldn't possibly be diamonds set into each protrusion, as claws.

"Who knows?" Faendal shrugged but continued moving the middle ring, until the moth was in position under the bear. "What's the last one again?"

"Owl."

The smallest ring was set into position, and Faendal stepped back and motioned with a sweep of his hand for me to proceed. "You may do the honours," he said grandly, clearly pleased with our progress.

I reached out with the claw, set it into its holes, then turned it.

At once, the ground shook, and the wall before us started to sink into the floor.

We grinned at one another victoriously.

"Now we get to find out what this treasure is that the bandits were after," Faendal rubbed his hands together greedily.

I rolled my eyes and pressed the claw on him, which he chucked into his pack while we waited for the wall to completely fall.

Faendal was the first to step into the room, and I peered through after him. I felt immediately confused, for the wall had been blocking a natural cavern, and not simply a doorway to same crypt.

"What is this place?" I whispered to Faendal as I stepped onto a moss-covered rock, placing my next step more carefully, so I wouldn't slip.

Faendal half-turned toward me, and I could see he'd raised his finger to his lips.

I nodded, wincing at myself. Had I learned nothing during our journey? Walking into a space and speaking aloud immediately was the fastest way to get one killed.

While Faendal picked our way across the expanse, and I walked in his footsteps, I glanced around the cavern with interested eyes. There were creepers and stalactites hanging from the roof, and the sound of a waterfall nearby. The air felt moist, too; the water source must have been very near. Ferns poked through between the boulders littering the place, and moss and lichen clung to the surfaces, making their facades speckled and textured. Shafts of harsh, white sunlight broke through the gloom from an impossibly-high ceiling, and a swarm of soft, peach-coloured moths fluttered by us as we neared them, ascending in an arc and disappearing from sight.

We crept through the frankly beautiful cave silently, and eventually, Faendal rose to his full height and lowered his bow, evidently deciding that nothing was waiting in here to attack us. "We're at the end. Look," he extended his arm, pointing to something in the distance.

I looked; a grand, stone coffin and some burial urns on a well-lit platform surrounded by large, stone braziers. Beyond it, a curving stone wall, made of lighter stone than the boulders around us, rising high above the platform.

I nodded, and we made our way across a little streamlet, climbed a few boulders, and were then on the smoothed surface before the tomb.

"This must contain the treasure the bandits were seeking," Faendal told me, his eyes still on the prize. "I don't like this," he mused with a baffled shake to his head. "A closed coffin means draugr, but, it hasn't woken yet. Why not?"

I took a step back then stilled, suddenly wary that any movement I made might wake the sleeping ancient. Faendal didn't seem to require a response from me, anyway, and stepped forward. I held my breath as I watched him nonchalantly lean over and push against the stone top of the coffin in an effort to shift it aside.

Nothing happened.

I sighed with relief, and relaxed. "Maybe there is no draugr," I posed. "We're merely meant to think there is one," I glanced around the platform, confident enough to take my eyes off Faendal's efforts. "Perhaps the treasure is hidden elsewhere?" I posed, peering into one of the open burial urns. All that seemed to be inside this one was dirt.

Faendal grunted with exertion as he tried pushing again, then stood. "Have a look around, then," he suggested, his eyes still on the sealed tomb. "But," he suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to, and swivelled to stare at me. "Be careful. And – don't touch anything."

I could hear the humour in his tone, and rolled my eyes as I smirked back at him. "Whatever you say, boss."

"Hah," Faendal went back to the task before him, leaning the full weight of his shoulder into the large, stone coffin lid and what he considered, his goal. "I could get used to this 'boss' business."

"Don't let it go to your head," I mumbled and turned away, eyes roving around the large, curving wall behind the platform. When I had first sighted it, I had thought it to be smooth at its base and only carved at the top, but from this new position even the lower section seemed to have little gouges taken out of it. I crossed my brows and stepped closer, realising that it was some form of ancient writing.

Another step toward it, and a flash of blue caught my attention. I froze and my eyes snapped to the blueness; worried that somehow, it was the eyes of a draugr. But it wasn't a draugr, and I saw that it was simply bright, clear blue light, emanating from a series of scratches in the wall.

Magic, I told myself cautiously, remembering how Melaran had cast runes on the windows and doors of Proudspire with a similar effect. Only, this was smaller than the mage's protective runes, and somehow, brighter. What manner of magic was this?

"Faendal?" I called out over my shoulder, unwilling to take my eyes off the flaring script.

Through the grunting groans of the Bosmer's attempt to open the coffin, I made out a, "what?"

"You have got to see this," I called out again, taking another step toward the glittering lights.

I grinned. Maybe this was the key to the Nord's treasure? Faendal had told me not to touch anything, though, so I repressed the urge swelling within me to reach out and run my fingertips through the blue brightness.

The elf was by my side in a matter of seconds, and I smiled up to him and said nothing, waiting for him to see it for himself.

He was panting; the first signs of exertion I'd seen exhibited by the mer; and his eyes roved over the stone before us. After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he turned to me. "It's a wall," he deadpanned.

I frowned at him. "Not the wall, that," I pointed to the fluttery, glittering blue, still shining from some source beyond the script on the same little scratchings.

"What?" Faendal asked again, an annoyed edge to his question this time.

"That!"

"It's just a wall!"

"Open your eyes!" I stepped closer to the blue light, placing my fingertips on it in frustration. "This!"

A roaring, whooshing gust of air encircled me, and the blue light underneath my palm was suddenly everywhere. I gasped as the blue brightened until I was blinded by whiteness, and swayed as the storm consumed, and then became part of me. At once, the air that had clawed at my skin and whipped at my hair flowed through my veins; hot and terrifying, but powerful, and intoxicating.

A word; sonorous, victorious; was poured into me, as clear in my mind as a bell.

FUS.

There was no translation supplied. I had heard FUS in the past and my mind had caught up to the word of power, supplying the translation force by way of explanation, but now? There was no need for translation. The word thrummed through me, enlivening my soul like a beloved song; one I had always known, but never had the range to sing.

I fell, unable to hold my paltry mortal flesh up any longer; uncaring of where it toppled.

When the song stopped, the world went black.

–

I was aware of a cool roughness against my face and opened my eyes, to find myself splayed out on the rocky ground on my belly, with my cheek pressing into the stone. I could see a pair of crossed legs, and raised my eyes, cheek still to the ground, to realise Faendal was sitting beside me. There was a frown on his face, and his eyes were trained on something beyond.

The stone became uncomfortable and I pushed myself up onto my hands, groaning. "Faendal," I spoke, then gasped. My voice was dry and crackly.

Faendal's garnet gaze shot to me; his eyes worried and shocked for a fleeting moment, before they grew more measured. "Here," he passed me the water skin that he'd been holding in his hand.

I took it gratefully, gulping down mouthfuls of the precious liquid.

"You're going to make yourself sick," he reached for the skin. I relinquished it, coughing and spluttering as some of the water tried to drown me.

"See?" he said pointedly, then rose, extending his hand. "Can you stand?"

I nodded, unable to speak as I continued to cough. Faendal 'tsked' and thumped my back a few times, until the coughing fit passed. "Yes," I supplied needlessly, reaching up to take his offered hand, relieved to hear that I sounded more like myself again. "I can stand."

Once on my feet again, I stared around the cavern. It looked just as it had earlier. Beams of light, grey stone wall, ferns, moss, open coffin and fallen draugr, burial urns-"

I grabbed hold of Faendal's arm; my eyes widening as I turned back to look at the change; the crumpled draugr before the tomb Faendal had been trying to open.

"There was a draugr?" I spluttered. "Faendal – what happened?"

Faendal steadied me, looking grim. "You tell me," he drawled, casting me a wary sideways glance.

I blinked a little; my eyelids feeling scratchy and fluttery, and carefully turned around to regard the grey wall of ancient script. I could make out the scratchings between the others, where the blue light had emanated from, only it was no longer glowing. The word FUS stared up at me as featureless as the words around it.

I shook my head, raising my fingers to the dull scratchings, and heard Faendal intake a hiss of breath.

"What are you-!"

"It's all right," I cut him off, pressing my fingers to the marks. "See? It's...gone now," I didn't know how to explain what had happened, and truthfully, wasn't certain I should. The ancient Nord magic I had been seeking; the way to use Ulfric's words against him; seemed suddenly, ridiculously within reach, though I still felt as though a part of the puzzle was missing. I understood FUS, with a greater certainty than I had before the wall, but I didn't know how to use it.

"Fus," I whispered the word experimentally. As if to confirm my feeling, nothing happened.

Faendal reached out and drew my hand from the wall carefully, with his eyes on my face the entire while.

"Celeste," he turned me to him, grasping both of my shoulders so I had to look at him when I didn't drag my eyes from the wall straight away. "Tell me what happened to you."

His tone commanded an answer, but I had nothing, really, to give him.

I gaped for a moment, blinking again at the roughness behind my eyes, and shrugged my shoulders in his hands. "I don't know, I felt..." I uttered in a small squeak of a voice. "Wind. Strong wind, and I was blinded and then, nothing. What did you see?" I implored, expecting the worst. Had he seen the swirling blue that had become white light? Had he heard the word FUS as it had impacted on me and possessed every fibre of my being?

Faendal released my shoulders, taking a step back and glaring sideways at me. "You saw something that I didn't, insisted on touching it, and promptly fainted. Probably some kind of magic."

"Oh," I looked down, flushing.

"Oh, it didn't end there. Whatever you touched activated the tomb. It opened and that monster," Faendal threw a frustrated hand out toward the crumpled draugr, "crawled out and started shouting at me," he turned his eyes back to me.

I glanced over Faendal fearfully, noticing what I hadn't before; blood. Ruby trails, trickling down from his hair to mark the side of his face with thin red lines; his leg with spidery-trails of dried red splayed upon it.

"You're injured!" I reached for my pack, then realised it wasn't there.

"I've already helped myself to what potions you had," he swooped down to pick up my pack, then passed it to me with a wry tilt of his head and a smirk. "You should have seen me before the potions."

"Oh – Divines Faendal. I'm so sorry," I stammered, feeling wan. "We have to get you out of here," I glanced around the beautiful, accursed placed, searching for an exit. "You need a healer."

Faendal paused for a moment, staring at me as though to check I was sincere, then laughed a little, shaking his head. "Don't worry yourself about me," he patted me on the back suddenly, then stepped down to the platform and gave the crumpled draugr a solid kick. "With all the loot this beast was hoarding, I'm sure I'll be able to afford a few potions when we get back to Riverwood."

I relaxed a little at his returned, more easy demeanour, and gingerly stepped toward him, expecting my legs to wobble and my tread to be unsteady after my...episode.

It wasn't. If anything, I felt more sure-footed than I had earlier, as though the wall had revived me. I hesitated, frowning at myself, and looked down to my palms. The usually pale ridges were full of grime, and there were red welts; the beginnings of blisters, at the tops of my palms, where my fingers began; where the handle of the bow had been rubbing while I gripped it. But there was nothing unusual there. They were still my hands. I patted myself down; feeling the soft wool of the coat Sigrid had loaned me. I was still me.

Then I remembered why I had agreed to come to the Barrow in the first place. To find out if I was Dragonborn.

Did whatever had happened at the wall confirm it? Is that why Farengar had insisted it be I who made the journey – because he knew of the wall, and could hardly bring it to me to test his theory?

What about the dragonstone?

Yes, surely it would have more answers for me than the strange wall of foreign, magical words. I turned around and looked for my longbow first. It wasn't far, lying on a smooth jut of rock, and I jogged to it, picking it up in the hand that had the least amount of blisters.

"Did you find the dragonstone?" I called out to Faendal, turning to walk back to the platform where he was still lingering.

Faendal gave the crumpled draugr another kick. "Yes," he waved toward the now-open coffin. "But, I didn't touch it."

"Thank you," I was relieved as I stepped to the coffin and peered inside, glancing around the dirty base until my eyes rested on a slab of dusty, carved grey stone, sporting similar designs to the arced wall that bore the scratchy writing behind me.

It was cracked and severely age-worn around the outer edges, but it wasn't glowing blue anywhere so I felt confident that I could simply reach in and pick it up without fainting.

Is this it, I wondered? I grit my teeth and heaved it onto the edge of the coffin, to look over it. Does this thing say that I'm Dragonborn?

I blew the dust from its surface, allowing some of the cracks to become more visible as the particles left the raised surface but clung to the etchings.

Faendal was by my side then, leaning over my shoulder to look at it. "What is it?" he asked with evident interest. "And why would your client send you after it?"

I took in the carved lines with interest, realising suddenly that I recognised them. "It's a map," I told him, startled even as I said it. "Just a map of Skyrim. Why did Farengar want me to retrieve a blasted map?" I turned to Faendal for answers as an indignant frustration swelled within me, threatening to burst.

The elf held up his hands, taking a step back. "You tell me."

My anger ebbed, and I felt my shoulders fall a little. "Sorry, Faendal. It's just..." I shook my head, turning back to regard the form of the familiar plains and crags. "I expected some answers..."

The elf didn't answer me, instead leaning back on the coffin and waiting for me to be ready, in silence.

I inspected the map further, tracing my hands around its edges. The only thing setting it apart from other maps of Skyrim were the star-like etchings at seemingly random intervals.

They must be a code, I decided, wiping some of the dust out of the little star close to Solitude. With some effort, I turned the stone over, and faced the same spidery script that littered the wall behind me.

"Ah," I huffed, feeling foolish for growing so frustrated at Farengar's quest before I'd inspected the whole dragonstone properly. "There we have it," I whispered. This must have been what Farengar needed.

Faendal glanced down again, then I felt his eyes back on me. "Can you read what it says?" he asked carefully.

I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "But I think I know somebody who can. Come on," I balanced the stone with one hand while I retrieved my pack and swung it around next to it. "Help me with this a moment. Then we can leave."

Faendal hesitated before assisting me, and I noticed that he tried to touch as little of the stone as possible as we eased it into my pack. When it was secured, he helped me to shoulder my pack, and we fell into a subdued silence, as Faendal led our way out of the Barrow, and into the cold brightness of a clear afternoon.

I breathed in the clean air with relish, closing my eyes as snow dusted my cheeks.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Faendal quipped, with an added sigh of relief.

I grinned at him, agreeing.

Little had I known then; retrieving the dragonstone was just the beginning.

A/n: Cake-san, agreed; Faendal is the best ^_^ writing him has been more fun than I could have expected.