I don't own neither Naruto or The Elder Scrolls series.
Beta: Duesal Bladesinger. AlmostElectric, Ekusukallybaa, cael05 and PyrothTenka also checked it time to time. We all beta for each other.
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Conrad slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing his mind registered was that he was not in pain.
The second was that he was not feeling cold.
That was a relief, actually.
The dark purple, constantly storming sky was not.
His nostrils were assaulted by how wrong the air felt, on an almost metaphysical level.
And by a foul stench.
"Qahnaarin, you've awakened," a deep voice resounded behind him.
Durnehviir.
Turning his head, he saw the putrefied dragon sitting on the grey dirt, in the arena where he had fought him so many years ago.
He was in the Soul Cairn.
Why was he in the Soul Cairn?
"Am I dead?" the Nord asked, rising slowly on his feet. He didn't try to hide the apprehension from his voice.
If it turned out that he had to pass the whole afterlife in such a terrible place, it would be a major case of rotten luck.
And something he would expect, given his lifetime's experience with it.
"No, Dovah. You are only mostly dead."
"And that's better… how?" Conrad asked, voice rife with sarcasm. The dragon was unperturbed.
"Your body, back in the Mundus, is not dead, yet. Should it survive, you will be able to return to it."
"My… body? You mean that I'm not here physically?" he asked, gesturing to their surroundings. "And now that I think about it, how did you manage to take me here? And why?"
"Our deal. When you summoned me for the first time, our contract was sealed. Since you are now very close to Dinok, to death, I was able to take your spirit here. Temporarily, of course. Unless you die."
"Well, I thankyou for informing me of this possible use of our agreement… a decade later," he deadpanned, not pleased by this revelation at all.
"You're welcome."
Did the rotting flying lizard just snort at him?
It was difficult to tell between the deep voice and decaying flesh.
"Would you just tell me why you brought me back with you?"
"I was asked to."
Now, that was not Conrad was expecting.
"You were asked?!" he asked, incredulous. "By who?"
"By him,"the dragon said, indicating with a single talon somewhere behind the Dovahkiin.
Conrad turned.
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When Namikaze Minato sealed the Kyuubi into his newborn son so many years ago, sacrificing his own soul to the Shinigami, he was expecting to experience either an existence of unimaginable pain, his very soul slowly consumed by the death god's stomach, or a complete, utter void with nothing for eternity.
Instead, it turned out that the bottom of the Shinigami's stomach was the resting place of this weird dimension, filled with strange ruins, lost souls, terrible creatures that preyed on them, reigned by those malignant beings that referred to themselves as the "Ideal Masters".
Masters who were apparently unaware of their being somehow similar to parasites, living in a god's belly.
Minato was still wondering if being consumed or existing in a complete void wouldn't have been a better option.
When he had gained awareness of his surroundings after his death, he was bewildered.
Not only was this strange world dark, dangerous, and terrible, it was also incredibly foreign. Alien, even.
Even in his dead and incorporeal state, he had to learn how to survive against the monsters that dwelled in the barren wastes.
Apparently, there were not a lot of souls that spoke his own tongue. He had actually met one once, but that shinobi had been in this place for so long that his sanity was in tatters.
Inwardly, Minato was utterly afraid of becoming like him with the passing of the decades.
But he would not surrender to his fate, waiting for that slow descent into madness, year after year, until there was just a husk with barely a mind inside.
He was, or had been during his life, the Yondaime Hokage of Konohagakure. He didn't like to boast his title, but if the creatures of this place and their masters wanted to destroy either his soul or his sanity, they would have to fight him for it.
The first years had been pure hell: there was no other way to describe it.
Followed, stalked, chased, even hunted down. He lived months of continuous conflict.
But he was dead. Not having to deal with mortal necessities like sleep, thirst, or hunger had their own advantages.
Then one day, the creatures stopped coming.
They still attacked him if he came too close to them, but they stopped hunting him like they had before. Apparently, destroying legions of them had made them realize that it was a waste of time and resources.
Even if the Ideal Masters seemed to have a neverending supply of them.
Having more time to do something else beside fight, run, and hide, he was able to interact with the other less-aggressive denizens of his new world.
Slowly, he had learned the language spoken from the majority of the souls that filled this strange realm. Learning a language from scratch was not easy, but he had time, after all.
It had been a long and tedious task, mostly because a lot of the souls in this place were cursing their fate or generally being miserable about it.
As his mastery of the language improved, he learned more and more bits of pieces of cultures and histories of what seemed to be another world entirely.
Who would have guessed that a whole different continent existed on the other side of the great ocean? Filled with lands, nations, people, traditions…
There were even different species. Races that weren't even human, with their own civilizations.
And nobody in Konoha… nobody in the Fire Country… no, scratch that. Nobody in the whole Elemental Nations knew about any of it.
He was eager to learn all he could, and speaking for a few days—or weeks—with the rare souls willingly to, helped him remain in good mental shape.
After all, he needed to think about something besides his family's fate.
Kushina… what had been her soul's fate? He prayed that she had gone to a better place. Surely, there had to be one.
And Naruto, his son…
Was he growing up well? Had he been taken care for? Was he fine? Was he safe?
Not knowing that, above all things...that hurt more than any torment he had suffered since he arrived in this forsaken place.
Being completely unable to change that, he had opted all the time his train of thoughts for a simple solution. Think about something else, because it hurt too much.
And for the longest time he had not strayed from that pattern.
It had continued that way, year after year, for the longest time, until a fortuitous encounter.
Since then, Minato had been given a ray of hope in this damned place.
He had formed a plan, and put it in motion. It had took a long time but now the older—who was not really older—man was standing in front of him.
It was a strange experience, like looking at a mirror that twisted the image reflected on it.
The older-looking blond had shorter hair, and broader shoulders, but that could have been an impression given from the armour he was wearing. A short beard covered his face and three long scars were etched into his right cheek.
And the eyes, even if they had the same shade of azure, were a little colder. And right now were completely widened.
But the resemblance was uncanny.
The only problem now, was how to tell him—
"Who the fuck are you?" the man snarled, his expression morphing to a scowl.
Well. That was a good way to start, no matter how blunt.
He scratched his head, thinking how to reply. Should he…?
Well, there were not a lot of ways to answer to that question.
"I," Minato said, pointing to his chest with his hand, "am your brother."
The man in front of him—his brother, he had to remind himself—just stared at him, blinking for a few seconds.
"Say what?" was the question he received, a little more than a whisper.
The great undead dragon was looking at the whole scene, apparently amused.
"I said, I am your—"
"I heard that! I'm not deaf!" his brother snapped. "What are you blabbering about?!"
Minato sighed. He had been afraid of a similar reaction.
After all, they both hadn't been aware of each other's existence, and Minato had learned of Conrad's only after his death.
In his brother's eyes, he was probably just a random ghost that somehow resembled his appearance, claiming to have some blood ties with him.
"I understand that it's difficult to believe, but—"
"FUCK OFF!" his twin snarled, interrupting him again. "If you think you can just tell me something like that and—"
"Vazah, Dovahkiin," the dragon Durnehviir said, with his deep voice. "It's true."
That stopped the outburst, and the man turned towards the great dragon, slowly, an accusing finger still pointed towards Minato.
"What? Durnehviir, don't tell me that you believe this—"
"I was the one who told your Zeymah, your brother's soul, that you're of the same Sos, the same blood."
There was a moment of complete silence, disturbed only by the winds of the desolate place.
Then, slowly, Minato's brother turned to face the dragon unable to die, his eyes slitted.
"How can you be sure of this?" he hissed.
"I met your Zeymah when I came back in this Dur Lein, cursed world, after the last time you summoned me."
"The last time, you said?" Minato's brother asked, looking pensive. "But that was...five years ago."
"Geh, yes. When you and your Aar attacked your enemy's stronghold. It was a good fight."
"The Blades are not my servants, dragon," the man said, bitterly. "I'm not their master, and I don't want to be."
Minato was a little confused by his brother's statement. From what he had learned in these years, he was supposed to be some kind of champion, a leader of men. And even some mer, too.
That was how he had been told about, at least. So why was he denying that?
"They follow you in battle, Dovahkiin. They follow your orders, that makes you their In."
"Whatever. I don't want to talk about my position in the resistance with you. I already have Delphine pressing me about it," the not-yet-dead man said, sighing. "Just keep going with your tale, Durnehviir."
"As I came back to the Ideal Master's dominion, I saw him. He soon proved to be a Bahlan Kendov. A worthy warrior. We fought quite often."
"It was just a random encounter," Minato said sheepishly, thinking that he should add his own account to the dragon's tale. "I was just travelling on the plains, and Durnehviir appeared from nowhere, and attacked me immediately."
"We fought and fought for months, because he was a good adversary. He met me blow for blow. A distraction from my cursed existence."
"Yeah, well… I was not really happy about it, actually," the Yondaime said.
Durnehviir ignored him.
"Grah Pruzah, we had. I usually won."
Minato rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reveal the real wins and defeats ratio. He had learned that the dragon had an ego bigger than his body, and often liked to boast his power.
He suspected that the same could be said for all the others of his kin.
"But as time went on… I started to have my suspicions," the dragon continued. "Even if he was a just a Sillesejoor, the soul of a mortal, he was able to resist me. Even beat me, a few times."
"You know, you're still not telling me why—" the Dragonborn tried to say.
"He resembles you very much, Dovah—"
"A lot of Nords resemble me! We've all blond hair and beards, or so the stereotype says. Get to the point!"
"And his Sil, his soul… even if it is a human one… he smells like a Dovah."
For the second time, silence filled the great arena before Minato's brother interrupted it.
"Are you saying… that he was Dragonborn, too?!"
"No. His soul is a Joor's, a mortal's, of the Jul, a human soul…" Durnehviir spoke, slowly. "But he had been close to a Dovah when the souls entered both of your bodies. In his… and yours… Monah. When both of you were in your mother's womb."
"You think that he is my brother because… his soul… smells funny," the other man deadpanned.
"Actually—"
"You, shut up. Dragons are speaking here," his brother said, waving his hand at Minato dismissively. The Yondaime was taken aback. This was not going how he had planned. "Are you sure that you're not just bored and making stuff up to entertain your—"
"I AM SURE!" Durnehviir thundered, causing the ground to shake in the face of his fury. "I HAVE LIVED FOR MILLENNIA, DOVAHKIIN! I SPENT MY CURSED EXISTENCE HERE, SURROUNDED BY SOULS. I RECOGNIZED YOUR DOVAH ZIIL WHEN I LAID MY EYES ON YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME! IF I SAY, THAT THE SIL OF A JUR SMELLS LIKE A DOVAH FRON, THEN I AM SURE!"
"You… have a point. And the only way for his soul to 'smell' like a dragon's one would be..." the Dragonborn said slowly, turning towards Minato.
The blond Hokage tried to offer a reassuring smile.
"Aaah, I can't deal with this!" his brother yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "I find out from and undead dragon that I've a brother… and he's dead! Oh, and I'm dying too!"
Apparently, his smile had not been as reassuring as he had hoped.
"Look, I know it's not exactly something you find out every day, but—"
"Wait a moment," his brother interrupted him. Again. Seriously, it was becoming a habit and they had met just ten minutes ago. "If you're here… that means…"
"That my soul is trapped here?" Minato asked rhetorically, shrugging. "Yes."
"Who did this to you?" the older-looking blond asked, growling.
That was another question that Minato was expecting. And once again, there was no other way to explain it without being blunt.
"I did," he stated.
Minato had expected the silence, the visible shock, and the open wide mouth.
He hadn't expected the punch sailing towards his face. Which he easily dodged anyway.
"You idiotic, imbecile, moronic, stupid FOOL!" his twin snarled, without stopping to try to hit him.
His movements were not sloppy, and far above the level of a civilian, but they were not what had been expecting when he'd heard of his brother, the great warrior of an unknown land.
Even a genin would have a fair chance against him, if the fight was a only-taijutsu—
"FUS!"
Minato felt the violent push, and used it to put some distance between himself and his enraged brother, landing gracefully.
So this was the power of the Voice of which Durnehviir had spoke. Impressive, and even faster than a jutsu.
His brother had started to slowly advance towards him, cracking his knuckles.
"Please, nii—Please, brother! Calm yourself! I had good reason to—"
"WULD NAH KEST!" and the enraged Dragonborn was right in front of him, snarling, a fist raised.
Minato barely dodged it. Whatever that shout was, it was more or less on the level of a shunshin.
"Reason?! What reason could you possibly have? POWER?!" the fuming blond hissed, still pressing his attack. "Did you hope that making a deal with the Ideal Masters would increase your magical might?!"
Alright, that was enough.
Minato punched his still-living brother in the gut, knocking the breath out of him.
The Yondaime didn't know how that was possible, since the man was not physically present inside the Shinigami's stomach, but he didn't care.
"I did what I did because I had no choice. There was no option left," he said coldly, with just enough remorse in his voice.
His brother just growled quietly as he gasped for air.
"No choice? No other option but to condemn yourself to this?!"
There was a flicker around the man's hands, and a spray of lightning was aimed towards Minato.
But the Yondaime was not in front of the Dragonborn anymore. Tendrils of electricity zapped at the ground, throwing up sand wherever they hit.
"Calm down," Minato said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. He had shunshined behind him as he had started to prepare that jutsu—no, not jutsu. Spell. He had to remember the difference. Spells were much faster to use, not requiring the more complex handsigns that jutsu did.
There was also the difference between chakra and magicka, but this wasn't the time to delve into that.
"It's true, I condemned myself to pass all my afterlife in this place," Minato said in a gentle but firm tone, hoping to finally tranquilize his long-lost sibling. "But in doing so … I saved thousands of lives, who otherwise would surely be lost."
For a moment, his twin's stance became more tense. Minato wondered if it was because of his explanation or a reaction to his speed.
"That," the man said, turning his head towards him, "is a good enough reason. But what happened to force you to such a choice? A siege?"
"Not exactly… you see—"
"Oblaan? It's over already?" the dragon demanded, with a bored tone. "I was enjoying seeing the Dovahkiin beaten."
"Beaten my ass," the man said, turning to face Minato with a slight grin. "So… you are my brother?"
"Yes, I am," Minato said, happy that the hostility was now gone.
"I'm Conrad, by the way," his brother said, offering his hand.
"Yeah, I know that," Minato replied, shaking his sibling's hand. "Durnehviir and some other souls told me that. I am Namikaze Minato."
"Na-mika-ze?" Conrad said, slowly, trying the unfamiliar sounds. "Well, Namikaze, why have you asked our rotting friend to take me here at the first chance he could?"
"I am here, Dovah," the dragon said, not liking being ignored.
"Err, Namikaze is not my name, it's the surname," minato said sheepishly.
"What? Why did you introduce yourself like that, then?" his brother asked, confused.
Right. There were various cultural differences between them… how to explain this…
"You see, in the place where I grew up, it's customary to introduce yourself using the surname first."
"That's… a strange tradition, you know," Conrad said, blinking. "Where did you grow up? Who gave you that name? I've never heard of such a thing, and I've travelled a lot."
"A land far away from Skyrim. Actually, far away from Tamriel."
"What?" Conrad asked, flatly. He seemed torn between incredulity and confusion.
"I'm not sure how, exactly, but I was found in a shipwreck that washed up on the shores of the Elemental Nations."
"Never heard of them," his brother said. The confusion had won and was clearly visible on his face.
"They're very far, far across the ocean. Don't ask me which ocean because I haven't figured that out yet. As for my name, well… it was given to me at the orphanage, I presume."
"Orphanage?" Conrad asked, his face falling.
"Well, yes. I passed my childhood in one and… wait," Minato trailed off, realizing that something was wrong from his brother's eyes. "You too…?"
"No, no… I lived with Father until I was… seventeen or something. But he never talked about our mother, he refused to," Conrad said, with a mournful tone.
"How is our father?" Minato asked, with a pang of jealousy. True, he could feel that Conrad had hoped to know about their mother, but at least he had known one of their parents.
"I don't know," Conrad whispered.
"What?"
"I don't know! When I came back to Skyrim, two years after I left, Helgen...that was the village where we lived...was burned down," Conrad replied, hastily. "I've met only three other survivors from that day. I have no idea if Father is still alive."
"I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "How was he? Was he… a good father?"
"Yes," his brother replied, after almost a full minute of silence. "Yes he was. Is. Whatever. He's just… not an easy man to live with."
Minato wanted to ask more questions, so much more, but the pain in his brother's eyes made him hold his tongue.
"What kind of spell did you use to get behind me that fast?" Conrad asked, probably to change the subject. "I've never seen anything like it."
"Oh, that was not a spell. It was just a shunshin, a jutsu—"
"A what?" his brother asked, confused once again.
"Please Conrad, stop interrupting me. It's a… look, it's complicated to explain, but you basically you pump your chakra into—right, you don't know what chakra is… it's like magicka… only it's not. You don't die when you run out of magicka right? And you can't restore chakra with a potion," Minato rambled "But now that I think about it, shinobi never tried to create potions. Only poisons. And antidotes for the poisons. We got only those soldier pills, and they're dangerous—"
"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."
"Are you always that vulgar?"
"You should see me when I drink."
"You should avoid doing that, you know. It's not good for you," Minato scolded.
"Great. I get a dead brother, and not even half an hour later I'm already receiving a lecture about—" Conrad started, before trailing off, looking at his hands, freezing with widened eyes.
They were fading.
"Durnehviir!" the Nord called. "What's going on?!"
"You're waking," the dragon said, apparently not really interested. "Your Kopraan, your body is not dead. Your Zii is going back to it."
"What?!" Minato shouted, panicking. "Already?"
Conrad was now fading quickly, he was little more than a floating torso, but that didn't seem to cause him physical pain.
The brothers met each other's eyes, knowing that they would probably never see each other again.
There were so many things Minato would have wanted tell his brother, so many things that he wished to learn, but he knew there was no more time.
He flashed through a quick combination of handsigns, required for the jutsu he had prepared especially for the occasion, and slammed his right hand on Conrad's face.
There was a burst of energy, and Conrad screamed as the tendrils of chakra burned a picture inside his mind.
"What the FUCK?! Why did you—"
"There is no time!" Minato interrupted him. "It will help you find the place I'm from. You must go there! Tell them about the masked man that attacked the village twelve years ago! Help them! Help Konoha! Help—"
Before he could finish his request, there was a blinding light, and what was left of Conrad's spiritual form soared to the sky, like fireworks in a summer festival.
"—my son…" Minato whispered, fully knowing that his brother had not heard it.
Silence descended once again on the arena, now occupied only by a dragon unable to die and the lost soul of the Yondaime Hokage.
"FUCK!" Minato's voice thundered in frustration, at such volumes that even the spirits far away from the place heard its echo.
"You should have asked your request at the very beginning, Joor," Durnehviir remarked after a few of minutes of silence where the Yondaime had just sat in the grey sand.
Minato looked at the dragon straight in the eyes, flooding the area with killing intent.
All those years… for probably nothing. There was no guarantee with his brother would follow his request, after all. He had not given him enough details, or reasons to.
"Do not direct your Rahgot, your rage towards me, shinobi. It was your own fault."
Yes, it was. The dragon was right.
Such an opportunity, wasted, and all because he had to get so emotive instead of—
"No Paak, don't feel shame. Every Joor would have done the same. The Dovahkiin will grant your Waan, I know this."
"How can you be so sure?" he asked, staring into the dragon's general direction.
"He had always been… curious. Vomindok, the unknown, had always fascinated him. It still does. It is because of his curiosity that his Laas has been so… interesting."
Minato said nothing as the dragon slowly got up, but inwardly he was relieved.
For the first time after his death, he had hope for his son and for his village.
"Now, the pact among us is over. I granted your request, and now I demand my payment."
"That would be… what? Six months of battle, without stopping?" he smiled bitterly.
"Eight," Durnehviir corrected. "Come now, Yondaime Hokage. Show me what you can do when your fury is unleashed!"
Minato's grin was pure evil. If the dragon wanted a real fight, he would give him a real fight.
He needed to vent, after all.
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Conrad woke up.
This time, he was hurting over his whole body, and and he was feeling cold too.
Even under the thick layer of furs.
Wait. Furs?
He moved groggily his head, disturbed by the loud, constant noise of something moving. The ground itself felt like it was bouncing and rolling, sending flashes of pain all over his back, irritating the bruises where the warhammer had hit him.
He opened his eyes and saw the sky moving in front of him. The sudden light and the ache of whatever Minato had done were doing a mess of his head—
Wait!
Minato!
Was that just a dream? Could it have been true?
Or had it been just a weird, really weird near-death experience?
… Maybe he could summon Durnehviir again and ask him, just to be sure.
"He's awake!" someone shouted. He didn't recognize the voice, but from the tone he could tell that they were actually happy he wasn't dead.
"What? Now?" another voice said. This one was familiar, but he couldn't put a face to it.
"There's a patrol coming from behind the hill. Cover him!"
He felt something heavy being pulled over his body and his head. Darkness.
"Now be quiet," the familiar voice hissed.
Conrad had no idea what was going on, but he realized something when he heard the sound of the horses being forced to slow down.
He was on a wagon. Someone had found him and saved him.
He wondered if, had he died, he would have remained in the Soul Cairn.
If he hadn't hallucinated the whole thing.
He heard someone ordering to the wagon to halt, and once they stopped, someone started to ask questions.
"Who are you? What business to you have on the roads of the Whiterun hold?" a gruff voice said.
Whiterun hold? But he had lost consciousness in the Hjalmarch. How much time had he been knocked out?
"Me and my wife are trappers, good sir," the familiar voice said, changing his voice to sound the most uneducated as possible. "We're going to sell our pelts to Whiterun. See? They're good pelts. I can't make a lot for them in Rorickstead."
"And why are you escorted by four armed mercenaries?" the gruff voice asked, suspiciously.
"Well, sir, it's a lot of pelts. Bandits could try to steal them, yessir. And kill us, too."
Other questions followed, but Conrad could feel his mind getting foggy again.
He tried to focus, but his body was really in bad shape, he was tired, and he was hungry.
The Dragonborn slowly but surely swept back to into the blissful unconsciousness.
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He woke up to the smell of stew and sweetrolls.
"Hey! Give it back!" someone shouted.
Conrad opened slowly his eyes, and noticed that it was night, the stars were greeting him. He felt the heat of a campfire in his proximity.
Somewhere, someone snorted.
"What? Are you really going to say that someone stole your sweetroll?"
There was a collective laugh at that. Not too loud, but it was clear that the joke had eased the tension of the people in the camp.
Now, where in Oblivion was he? And who saved him?
He rolled onto his side. His legs hurt like two Riften bitches, and he grunted in pain. He had forgotten about that wound.
"Oh, welcome back, boss," the familiar voice said. "How sweet of you to join us."
Conrad's head snapped in the direction of the speaker. He immediately recognized him.
"Haming. I'm not your boss," he said, nodding towards the young hunter.
The young man shrugged, and Conrad knew that he would just ignore his protest. Again. Haming was one of the few survivors of Alduin's attack at Helgen, along with Conrad and other two people that they knew off. Maybe that, and the idea that the Dragonborn was from his own, now destroyed and almost forgotten village, had sealed the archer's loyalty towards the older Nord.
After all, people tended to be loyal towards those that killed the dragon that had killed their parents.
"Where are we?"
"An old bandit lair, between Whiterun's and Falkreath's holds," Haming replied, filling a plate with steaming stew. "Not exactly one of our most fancy hideouts, boss. But it's safe."
Cornad grunted, and looked around.
They were in a cave, one wide enough to have a nice living space for all of them.
The air was cool, and even the faintest sounds echoed through the place's walls.
Conrad hoped that they had chosen a good point to hide the wagon and the beasts they were using to drag it, otherwise their presence would have been much less discrete.
Besides him and Haming, there were other five people.
One of them, to his surprise, was the innkeeper that had tried to poison him. The woman was sitting in an angle of the cave, eating alone.
He had no problems with that.
The other four, though…
They were looking at him with those eyes.
Those eyes, almost bulged out, that were looking at him like he was some kind of fucking god descended on the Mundus to save them all.
And he had saved them all.
The problem was that now they were expecting to be saved again, and had chosen to fight at his side.
Unlike most of the continent, actually. Poor bastards.
That didn't ease the Dragonborn's worries. The resistance against the Thalmor didn't need fanatics ready to rally behind his shadow.
No matter what Delphine said.
Haming passed a portion of stew towards him, and Conrad accepted it with a nod, before starting to practically devour the dish.
"Our… partners discovered the mole, and dealt with him," the archer started.
Conrad nodded. Among the group inside the cave, only him and Conrad were aware of the Blade's existence, with Conrad being actually a member of the order.
The others were instead 'resistance fighters', which was a term used by the Blades to describe their allies in the fight against the Thalmor. Organized a little better than bandits' bands, and sometime with a little more morality than the raiders.
It was necessary, because their struggle against the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion had to be fought with guerrilla tactics, on all the provinces.
So the fighters could not know about the Blades' existence. It could have been a disaster. Every group of fighters was not aware of the other groups, for security reasons.
Every Blade agent supervised a bunch of this parties, coordinating their effort in the territory.
Haming was one of those agents, Conrad himself had recruited him.
"So, we were sent to fetch you before the Thalmor got you, but they had days of advantage," the hunter kept explaining. "The Thalmor won our race."
Conrad snorted at that, watching the bandages wrapping his palms, where the Justiciar's blade had cut deep.
"By the way, boss. Nice work with that," the young man smirked "News about how an entire company of Thalmor soldiers disappeared spread fast. There are patrols everywhere, scaring the jarls shitless."
Great. Just great.
He had given the Thalmor an excuse to put more troops into the Imperial Province.
Maybe in the other ones, too.
The archer kept talking, pointing towards the woman sitting alone at a brief distance away..
"It was her, Feida, that saved you, you know."
Conrad turned towards the woman, arching an eyebrow curiously.
"I waited, and waited," she started, "until the battle outside was over. And after that...I waited more. Once I was sure that nothing was moving out there...I peeked through the door. There were so many bodies…"
For a few minutes the only sound in the cave was the cracking of the flames. It was clear that the woman was not used to violence.
One of the armed men placed a log into the fire.
"I found you, barely alive," the woman continued. "You were laying in a pool of your frozen blood… your legs were a mess. I gave you one of your potions, and dragged you inside the inn. It wasn't easy. You're quite heavy."
"We arrived a few hours later," Haming started again. "We loaded you on a wagon we stole and took you away from there, the fastest we could."
Conrad massaged his temples, having finished his stew.
"What about her?" he asked, motioning towards (what was her name?) Feida.
"She saw you, and us, so… we gave her the 'join or die' option," the archer said sheepishly.
"We don't have a 'join or die' option, kid."
"She didn't know that," Haming replied, smirking.
"It's fine," Feida interrupted. "After that fiasco, the Thalmor would have hunted me down anyway. Either I stay with you guys, or I'm dead."
"Whatever," Conrad snorted. Only to add something quickly when he saw the annoyed look Haming gave him. "We'll find a use for you, I suppose."
"I'm a good cook, and—"
"Stop it. It's not my job to find what you can do," he interrupted, ignoring the woman's offended expression and turning towards the young archer. "Where is my stuff?"
"We hid your bags and your metallic junk under the pelts and—"
"Junk?!" Conrad exclaimed, indignant. "My nordic carved armour is not junk!"
"With all those scratches and dents, it looks like a piece of junk, boss," the archer smirked. "Oh, and I've managed to save your axe, too. And your walking stick."
"It's not a walking stick, it's a mage's staff! A mage staff carved to look like a walking stick, to not be recognized for what it is!" Conrad seethed, tired of having to correct his self-proclaimed minion about the nature of the totem pole. Again.
He winced, his head was throbbing now. At first, when he had woken up, he had thought it was because of the exhaustion, his wounds or both.
But when he closed his eyes, he could vividly see… something.
Four symbols, exotic-looking and with an unknown meaning, gleaming in the dark of his closed eyelids.
The encounter in the Soul Cairn had really happened. And Minato had done, or given, something to him.
"Just admit it, boss. Sooner or later, you'll have to—"
"Paper," he interrupted harshly. "And ink. Now."
Haming looked at him for a few seconds, confused from this unusual reaction during their traditional banter, but gestured towards his subordinates neverless.
He heard someone rummage somewhere as he kept massaging his temples.
"Here it is, boss. Do you have to write a message or—"
"Later," Conrad hissed, snatching the pen and paper sheet. He started scribbling furiously, slightly put off by the unfamiliar symbols.
"Whatever you say, boss," Haming sighed, before getting closer to him and starting to whisper. "Look, I've received orders from Delphine. I'm to take you to the ruins of the Cloud Ruler Temple, in Cyrodiil, before the borders will become impassable because of the checkpoints—"
"Shush, Haming. You're distracting me," Conrad said, discarding the paper sheet, unsatisfied with the result.
"But—"
"I said, shut up, Haming!"
Haming fell silent, knowing that whatever he was doing, was somehow important.
Once Conrad was finished, he examined his handiwork. Scribbled on the parchment, the four symbols were almost gleaming, the light of the fire reflected off the fresh ink.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do with this. But he would find out, with time.
"I won't go there, no matter what Delphine says."
"But… they're looking for you everywhere! You're gravely wounded, you have to hide—"
"I will hide, but I have stuff to do, and I know where I have to go to do the necessary research. And you'll take me there."
"Delphine won't be happy about this, boss."
"Like I care about what the old hag thinks—" he said, only to drift when he saw Haming's worried face.
"Alright, alright! I'll write a letter to her and tell her that it's not your fault, boy. Happy?! Now gather your things and give the orders to your men, and whatever her name is. We're moving."
"Moving? To where?"
"To Winterhold."
:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:
A\N: And that's all for this chapter.
What's your opinion so far? Did you like the twins' reunion?
Please let me know and review! Every time you don't review, a soul is forever trapped in the Soul Cairn!
I've already ideas for the future chapters, but I have to think to DSTN and RitS, too!
So, see you as soon as possible!