CHAPTER 44: ORPHAN'S TEARS 1/2
Extra warning for suicide mentions and gore in this chapter
Forelhost.
With a charcoal pen, Gildarts Clive surrounded the name in the southeast corner of the map that covered the whole wall. East from Riften, half a day's ride away, secluded in the Jerall Mountains stood a location of great interest: a monastery dated back to the Merethic Era, the last great bastion for the ancient Dragon Cult. This was where they tried to flee and regroup in the aftermath of the Dragon War, when Alduin had been defeated by the Tongues, old Voice-Masters, and the cult worshipping him was being swept out the land.
Ever since retrieving the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from Ustengrav, Gildarts had been digging into the lost secrets of the Dragon War. He had hoped that whatever he'd find would be helpful now, as the dragons had returned to the skies, and another Dragonborn had been gifted to mankind. He was still yet to meet this Dragonborn. He had known the Greybeards would send them to Ustengrav – the monks were anything but unpredictable – and so, by taking the Horn before the Dragonborn, he was certain he'd eventually get into contact with them.
And now, he'd just have to wait.
For the last month, he had travelled around the Rift and made multiple discoveries. First, he was sure something was going on in Forelhost. He had ridden nearby for a few times, and each time he sensed enormous amounts of magic stored within the ruins. The entrances were sealed, but no seal or wall would be a match to his skill of Alteration, just as it hadn't been in Ustengrav. However, what truly kept him from further investigating the place was the risk of not getting out of there alive. Forelhost was said to be haunted, and he didn't like ghosts. Especially the ghosts of those who fell victim to the horrors unleashed within those walls thousands of years ago.
Since Gildarts discovered the presence of great, terrifying magic in Forelhost, he had contacted the Jarl and her court wizard, and asked for their assistance. Going there alone would be a suicide – he needed abled men and women, preferably mages, to go there with him. The Jarl had just laughed at him. The Dragon Cult was dead and gone, had been for thousands of years. All Gildarts had got was a dusty book found in the archives of Mistveil Keep, the journal of a warlord named Skorm Snow-Strider. It was supposed to be the proof of the cult's eradication, but after reading it over and over again, he was sure they weren't as gone as everyone thought.
In 1E 140, the last remnants of the Dragon Cult fled into the monastery of Forelhost, led by Rahgot, one of the eight most high-ranking dragon priests, who the dragons had granted with great power. He was said to have become a priest by his physical strength only, capable of wielding two warhammers as easily as if they were daggers. However, a legion of old King Harald's soldiers, commanded by Skorm Snow-Strider, discovered the hidden stronghold of the cult and laid a siege to it for several weeks – and priest Rahgot devised a horrendous plan to secure the cult's survival.
It had happened during the coldest months of winter. After pounding the walls for weeks in the blasted cold, the main gates had been eventually breached. Skorm found out that the cult had retreated into the interior of the monastery. He brought down all of their defences and managed to break in with his men. And when they finally entered the monastery, they found all of the cultists dead.
To the legion's horror, the cultists had purposefully collapsed the main stairway to hinder access to the refectory, then taken their own lives. Some had slit their wrists, and some were found in their beds with empty vials, most likely poisoned. But oddly, there weren't enough empty bottles compared to the number of the dead. As Skorm's men were worn out by the long siege, they decided to stay there for a night, and continue the search the next day. They still had to find an alternative way to the upper parts of the monastery and make sure all of them had met their fate.
And the next morning, Skorm found most of his men dead.
It had been a catastrophe. They had discovered a well within the monastery, and thirsty as they were, most of them couldn't resist a drink. That was a fatal mistake. The cultists had poisoned their own water supply as well! Those lucky few who didn't drink that water, including Skorm Snow-Strider, were too demoralized to carry on. If there were still some alive in the sealed sections, it just wasn't worth it to find out. Skorm let the gods-forsaken cultists drink their way to Oblivion and be done with it.
There weren't any additional details in the journal, but Gildarts figured out what had happened. Knowing that the walls would be eventually breached, the dragon priest Rahgot ordered his cultists to commit mass suicide in the main chamber, in hope that would deter them from searching for other survivors. As an addition, they poisoned their water supply, as if knowing the thirsty breachers would take a deathly sip. Of all poisonous plants, deathbell seemed to fit the description best. It was possible to grow that flower within the courtyard, so it seemed that the cult's alchemists had manufactured large amounts of deathbell, then prepared potent poison from that.
The plan was cruel, but cruelty was the main essence of the Dragon Cult – that was the very reason why men rose into a rebellion against them. Gildarts still struggled to believe how those poor souls were able to commit such a horrendous act. Maybe they believed that they'd be brought back to life when the dragons would return, as the Elder Scrolls had foretold, or maybe they thought it was better to die than fall into the hands of the heretics breaching into their sanctuary. Even the children were made to drink the poison, and those who opposed the plan were brutally murdered. And the plan had worked – Skorm Snow-Strider and his men never proceeded into the refectory.
And for that very reason, Gildarts believed that Rahgot, and the cult he led, had survived.
Perhaps only a handful of them was left alive of that ordeal, but a handful would grow into an army over generations. They might've been under the rock for thousands of years, but they would soon crawl out of their holes. The dragons had returned, and the damned Greybeards had to announce the Dragonborn's existence to the whole world. The Cult had to have heard that, too.
And Gildarts, the last member of the Blades, had to find the Dragonborn before they would.
Hundreds of years ago, the Blades were sworn to the protection of the Emperor, the mortal representative of the Dragon Blood of the divine Talos. They were once members of the elite Imperial order dedicated to the service of the Dragonborn Emperors of Tamriel, but since the entire bloodline was assassinated during the Oblivion Crisis, they withdrew into their temples to await the coming of a worthy Dragonborn. That time, after the Septim Dynasty was sundered, Titus Mede was crowned as a new Emperor, but he was no Dragonborn, and so the Blades never truly served him.
However, the Blades knew new threats were rising. The Thalmor of the Aldmeri Dominion, whose focus was breaking up the Empire to ensure elven supremacy on Tamriel, turned their predatory gaze on them. In 4E 171 on the 30th of Frostfall, an Aldmeri ambassador delivered to Titus Mede II the severed head of every Blades agent in Summerset and Valenwood, sparking the Great War. Gildarts had been ten years old, and seen his mother's head among the countless dead Blades. That sight never really left his vision.
During the war, Cloud Ruler Temple was besieged, and its centuries-old archives were mostly destroyed. With the Thalmor hunting down every last Blade, Gildarts and his father fled to Skyrim and took residence in the Ratway of Riften. His father always told him that a day would come when the Dragonborn would return, and for that sake, the Blades had to survive. Their purpose would come clear again when the time was right.
And now, it was.
Several places in his map were circled, with notes written next to them. Those were the locations he believed the other seven dragon priests were buried, but he wasn't sure about all of them. What happened at Forelhost was only an example of the cruelty they were capable of, and any leads could lead into Oblivion just as well. With the return of the dragons, they were stirring awake all across Skyrim, possibly in other countries too. He had heard reports of dragon attacks in Solstheim, eastern High Rock, and northern parts of Cyrodiil. Where there were dragons, people were worshipping them as gods as well.
Gildarts moved his remaining hand forward on the large map and marked two other spots with an x. Those were the places where he had sighted dragons on his scouting trips around the Rift. One dragon had certainly taken residence in Autumnwatch Tower south of Ivarstead. Lots of burned carcasses, both animal and human, were strewn across the area. Another dragon seemed to live in Arcwind Point, but Gildarts had no other evidence of that except for large footprints on the snow. Many villagers had claimed to have seen those dragons, some had even lost family members who went out into the forest for a hunt and never came back.
And before he'd meet the Dragonborn, all he could do was watch the things go from bad to worse.
Gildarts sighed as he put the pen down. Piles of papers and books cluttered the desk, some of them owned by his late father, some by him. The Candlelight spell hovering above him went out as he turned his back to the map, walked across the chamber and picked up a bottle of ale he had stored in a basket. He opened it and downed it with one long gulp, then tossed it to accompany the countless empty bottles on the table. This must've been how his father had felt during his last years. Hopeless.
According to his calculations, the Dragonborn should've visited Ustengrav by now and found his note, but until they were standing right before him in flesh and blood, alive, he didn't dare to get his hopes up. As he had absolutely no idea who the Dragonborn would be, he did not know their survival skills either. The Dragonborn could be a bandit, a Khajiit merchant, an Argonian skooma addict, a vampiric necromancer, or a mere little girl. Who the gods had chosen to be the champion of mankind was unknown, but Gildarts only hoped they had chosen well.
Finding his mead stash empty, he grunted. Then he found his gold purse empty too, and cursed. He'd have to bum another drink from Brynjolf, it seemed. Being the last member of the Blades didn't pay well, but it truly increased a man's thirst. An uneven balance even magic couldn't fix. He cast one last glance to the map on the wall and all his notes pinned to it, then decided he couldn't stare at it for a moment longer.
Gildarts left the chamber, emerged into the moist, dark tunnels of the Ratway. He turned around to lock all the dozen locks, then cast a double-layered defensive ward to seal it tighter, and just to be cautious, added an explosive lightning rune to the doorstep. Hopefully, that would keep any curious souls away from his miserable life's work. Especially that brat from Helgen, who they called Loke the Lockmaster, appeared a bit too eager to break into his study just to test the strength of his lockpicks. Gildarts had promised to shatter his skull with his ghostly hand alone if he'd attempt anything, but that only added to the boy's curiosity.
As he walked through the labyrinth of filthiest tunnels of Riften, familiar sounds echoed in the air. All kinds of lowlifes, madmen and -women lived there. He feared not for a dagger in the back, for he was one of them, and there was certain respect amongst the outcasts of society. As long as he'd mind his own business, everyone else would mind theirs. So, ignoring the cries of a blind lunatic, the cussing of a hot-blooded skeever-cook, and the rambling of one mentally deranged Great War veteran, he made his way to the Ragged Flagon.
Since the Dragonborn could arrive at any day now, he spent more and more time in the tavern. He had observed many outsiders stopping by for a drink, but not one of them had asked for Dragon's Breath Mead. Gildarts, lacking imagination, made the name up himself. There wasn't such a mead in existence, and so he would know who the Dragonborn would be. Or at least, the person the Greybeards had sent into the depths of Ustengrav. Just because the Greybeards thought they were the Dragonborn wouldn't mean Gildarts would believe it. He would want to see them slaying a dragon with his own eyes before he'd believe that.
Gildarts seated into the chair by the bar desk, going through his pockets for some last septims. He eyed around nervously as his hand only groped into nothingness within the fabric. The bartender, Vekel the Man, didn't seem to approve that.
"Come on, Clive, you better have the coin to pay for your drinks," Vekel said harshly. "You know there's no handouts there."
Gildarts exhaled out his frustration. "Has anyone asked for the mead today?"
"Nope. And as we agreed, I'll let you know if anyone does."
Gildarts nodded. Vekel didn't know why someone would ever ask such a mead, but he had understood it was a code that would signal the arrival of the person he was searching for. In the worst case, the so-called Dragonborn would be just a Thalmor agent, so he had to be careful. His father had taught him a thing or two about paranoia.
As he had no coin to pay a drink with, he just sat there in silence. This was where most members of the Thieves Guild spent their spare time. His eyes scanned for familiar faces, especially Brynjolf's, since he was dying for a drink, but couldn't see him around. Only the blue-haired rain-woman named Juvia was seated at a rounded table with her vampire bodyguard, Gajeel. The towering tall man with long, black hair gave him a murderous stare with his gleaming red eyes every time he glanced at the girl.
If Gildarts had understood right, that woman possessed a unique gift for bringing rain, and people had been determined to make her life difficult for that. Each farmer whose crops were suffering from drought would kill to have her as a water-bringing slave tied up in their cellar, and so she had sought out for the Thieves Guild's protection. She occasionally worked with some petty thievery, but most often she was spotted in the company of her undead companion. What kind of a deal those two had for her safekeeping, Gildarts didn't want to know.
An even, slow clatter of wood on stone approached from the Cistern. Gildarts turned his head towards the noise, even though he already knew what it was. Haming, the boy from Helgen who had lost his leg below the knee, walked across the hall with the help of his crutches. Gildarts always pitied the lad. He knew how painful it was to have a limb torn off by a dragon. Even more, the boy wasn't a mage and couldn't make a ghostly replacement for his leg. Haming had to rely on crutches until the wound would've healed enough to stand the weight of a wooden leg, but fortunately, he got his brother here to help him.
Loke, the young man in dark leather armour, walked by his brother's side as they headed to the bar counter. This lad had gained quite a reputation in the Guild indeed, and risen up the ranks astonishingly fast with his even more astonishing lockpicking skills. He worked hard to provide a haven for himself and his crippled brother. Even if his hands had been badly burned, he still managed to open any lock the Guild just asked him to. Therefore, he got titled as the Lockmaster. Perhaps fate had brought him to this. Even his name was an echo.
Gildarts had talked to them a couple of times. He could see the pain in their eyes each time Helgen was mentioned, and didn't want to bother them too much. He had learned everything he needed. They had been a lumberjack's sons, but lost their parents and the mill in the destruction. Loke had mentioned that he also lost a girl he was sweet on, as she had gotten trapped under burning wood when the dragon brought down her family's store. Gildarts had just said that there are plenty of girls still left in the world, and got punched to the face for that good.
"So, what about the job at the Goldenglow Estate?" Haming asked his brother as they seated down by the bar "Are you going to do that?"
Gildarts turned his gaze at them, watched as the lad prepared his tonic – a cup of milk with just a little bit of sleeping tree sap. It was expensive, but it helped with the pain. Haming had lost his eye in the dragon attack as well, and wore a patch on the empty socket.
"Yeah," Loke answered, chewing some dried bread with a sip of spiced mead. "I'll leave tomorrow, and be gone for a couple of days. It shouldn't be that difficult. Will you be fine meanwhile?"
"I'll be alright. Just be careful out there, okay?"
The gingerhead flashed his brother a wide smile. It was good to see him smiling, even after all the horrors they had gone through, Gildarts thought to himself.
"I always am."
Something about them, perhaps the brotherly bond or the flash of a smile, reminded Gildarts of certain young mages back in the College. It had been years since he had last been there, but he still remembered them. How were Natsu and Igneel doing now? Were they still wreaking havoc like in the good old days when dragons didn't soar through the skies? Natsu had been just a brat when Gildarts left, but now he would be man-grown, assuming he was still alive. Gildarts wanted to hope he was, even if he should know already that getting his hopes up in the current state of the world was foolish.
He had been supposed to get back to the College a while ago, but this Dragonborn business had messed up his plans. He had things to arrange in Winterhold, too, but mostly he just wanted to catch up with everyone. Here, where he was known as Clive and not Gildarts, he was nothing but an old drunk searching for his lost purpose. But in the College, he could've been more. A scholar, a teacher, a father figure to some youngest apprentices. He missed that.
Living a double life was exhausting.
"Don't look so grim, old man," said the young lad, Loke, to pull him out of his thoughts. Gildarts lifted his eyes from the desk to the mead bottle held in front of his face. "Here, have a drink on me."
"Why so happy, lad?" Gildarts asked, suspiciously eyeing at the mead before receiving it.
"I finally got to get out of here, so I don't have to see your miserable ass in a while."
Gildarts snorted as he opened the bottle with his teeth. "Leaving your brother at my mercy? That's cruel."
Loke scoffed. "Just why are you still here, anyway? Everyone's getting tired of you bumming drinks from them. Go get a job."
"I'm waiting for someone," Gildarts answered.
"Death?"
"Exactly."
"There are faster ways to die, you know," Loke said. "Even if you lost some limbs to that dragon, you're still alive. Not everybody's that lucky. You shouldn't take that for granted. You gotta keep moving forward, all legs intact or not. It's pissing me off to see you just sitting here all day doing nothing but drinking."
Gildarts chuckled. There was only so much the young ones could see. When he had been young, he had said those exact words to his father, when he had left to the College to pursue his dreams as a wizard. Only after his father's death, he understood the weight and importance of his duty. "Sometimes those who seem to be just sitting still are the ones who're doing the most."
"Not on a time when the dragons are burning cities to the ground," the boy grunted, then turned his back to him, and continued chatting with his brother. What they talked about, Gildarts didn't listen.
'No, lad. Especially then,' Gildarts thought by himself. 'Especially then…'
Two days after passing by Fort Amol, Natsu no longer wondered why Clavicus had banished the insufferable mutt.
It never stopped talking.
"So have you heard this story behind Rueful Axe?" Barbas began. It sounded always as excited when it started a new story. "One of Clavicus's little jests. A wizard named Sebastian Lort had a daughter who worshipped Hircine. When the daughter became a werewolf it drove Sebastian over the edge. He couldn't stand to see his little girl take on such a bestial form. The wizard wished for the ability to end his daughter's curse. Clavicus gave him an axe."
While Lucy had been more than happy to share discussions with the dog, Natsu's head was already exploding. Maybe it was just the early morning sun that was rising above the horizon, the rays that filtered through the snowy trees already giving him an extra-painful headache. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples as they sat in front of the fire, gathering strength for reaching Ivarstead, and then Clavicus Vile's shrine. By nightfall, they'd finally be rid of the accursed dog.
"And what did the wizard do with the axe?" Lucy asked, her tone genuinely curious. Natsu couldn't understand how.
"Killed his daughter, of course. What else could've he done?"
They had been supposed to arrive at the village last night, but a furious snowstorm had forced them to stop. When the snows came in the Rift, they came all at once. Yesterday morning the grounds had been covered only in frost, but today, when Natsu had woken up and crawled out of the tent, his boots had sunken completely into the snow. As a fire mage, it wasn't a problem for him to unleash a little flame here and there to dig out their campsite. Finding dry wood for the fire had proved out to be a bigger struggle. But eventually, after threatening to set the whole forest aflame, they found enough deadwood to build a campfire.
Not that it was cheering him up so much.
It seemed that their horse, that Lucy had now named Sagittarius after some children's fairy tale she once read, was bothered by the dog's presence too. Well, Barbas was a Daedric creature, after all, half of Clavicus Vile's being incarnated in the form of a dog. It was just natural to dread it. Each time the dog spoke – which was all the time – the horse flinched, as if the voice originated from an outer realm the poor creature wasn't even aware of.
The horse stayed at a distance, trying to scoop some grass and leaves under the snow. Fortunately, the river they were following up to the hills hadn't frozen over, allowing the horse to drink as often as it needed. For some parts on the mountain road, it had been safer to dismount the horse and walk it through the narrowest, steepest sections. That was left behind now, and today they'd just have to ride by the riverside until they'd reach Ivarstead. However, they didn't mean to stop there until they had taken the dog to the shrine. Stepping into the inn with a talking dog would surely arouse some suspicion.
Getting rid of the most annoying animal in the world wasn't the only thing Natsu was excited about. He was happy to finally be able to fulfil the promise he had made to the poor kid, Romeo. The boy had been waiting for his father to come home for months now, and perhaps today he would. Once Clavicus would get Barbas back, he would turn the man back to normal, undo his monstrous form. Natsu only hoped that being trapped in a frost troll's body for such a long time wouldn't have done permanent damage to the man's psyche. If he would magically forget the whole ordeal, that would be good. Perhaps too good to be true.
"Hey, do you know what magic vampires specialize in?" Barbas started. Natsu hadn't been paying attention to the conversation for a moment. "Neck-romancing!"
Natsu rolled his eyes. "You know, now I totally understand why Clavicus put you in the dog house."
Barbas let out a bark that resembled a laugh. "That's a good one, you grumpy wizard! But you really should be nicer to my master when we make it back there. He's still a little upset over our argument and all that."
"Upset? He seemed relieved to be rid of you, but he's only pissed because he's weaker without you."
"That's why I've been keeping my distance. Still, do me a favour and try not to make him any more irritated when you talk to him. I'd hate to see something bad happen to you. Oh, wait, no I wouldn't…"
Natsu buried his face into his hands and sighed. "For fuck's sake…"
"Hey, now I know how to make you laugh. Why did the Breton not participate in combat?" Barbas asked, holding a breath for a second. "Because he let his Daggerfall off a High Rock!"
Lucy snorted as she tried to hold back her laughter. Natsu stared at the dog, then at Lucy as she completely lost it. Perhaps he ought to be happy that at least something made her laugh. Last night had been one nightmare after another. Lucy had screamed in her sleep again – but fortunately, Krosulhah hadn't made an appearance after that one time – and woke him up many times throughout the night. And with the damned dog, Barbas, snoring at their feet, it had been very difficult for him to fall back to sleep. Yes, the dog had persistently insisted to sleep in the tent with them.
Lucy gathered herself and wiped her eyes. "Seriously, jokes aside, now that we have some Daedric company, would you mind telling me more about the Daedra? Would you, Barbas?"
"That entirely depends on what you want to know, my lady."
"Like, what do you are?" she asked. "I never really understood that."
"Oh, we are but immortal beings who did not take part in the creation of Mundus, unlike the Aedra, also called the Divines by you mortals. Our influence still touches everyone in Tamriel, more or less. However, after the Oblivion crisis, our presence has been rather… limited."
"You know what my brother used to say about the Deadra?" Natsu began and put a few snowberries into his mouth. There grew a lot of them in the area, but he was truly getting sick of the sour taste by now. "He used to wonder, 'Gods? Do they even exist? How can anyone tell? But Daedra Lords, they exist. They do things. Bad things, mostly, but things I can see. But the Divines? They don't do a damn thing.' And I always agreed with him about that."
"See, that's exactly what the Deadra worshippers are all about!" Barbas answered.
Natsu scoffed. "My brother's too smart to worship demons. He knows you're up to no good."
"It's quite misleading to call us demons," Barbas retorted, sat up and swung its tail. "All Daedra have a penchant for extremes and are therefore capable of tremendous acts of devastation, but our different spheres make us apply our power in different ways. Our infinite diversity makes speaking about us generally difficult. Thus, it is often impossible to accurately label us as "good" or "evil". The one thing that can be stated with certainty is the Daedra are beyond mortal comprehension." The dog turned its head to Lucy. "See, I'm not evil, for example. I'm just a cute little lost puppy."
"Your master still turned a man into a frost troll for his entertainment…" she sighed. Lucy took a sip from her waterskin, then brought her hands back to the fire. The new day was colder than the previous one. In addition to food, they were in dire need of warmer garments.
"And you think that's bad? Compared to some of his fellow Princes, Clavicus is just as innocent as I am," Barbas said. "I'm sure you've heard about Molag Bal, Boethiah, Mehrunes Dagon… All Clavicus does is jesting with the mortal fools, while old Dagon himself has been titled as the Daedric Prince of Darkness and Destruction, the Black Daedra Lord, Lord of Blood and Flames…"
Lucy cringed. "Yeah, I think we got it now, thanks."
A moment passed in silence as Lucy let the information sink in. Natsu had tried to explain some of what he knew about the Daedra to her, but his knowledge wasn't as correct. He didn't necessarily shun the Daedra, as he kept summoning flame atronachs on an almost daily basis, but he preferred not to mess with Daedric Princes.
Suddenly, Lucy spoke again. "Hey, Natsu, I've been wondering this for a while. When Lyon failed to heal you from the vampirism, he asked which gods you pray to." She smiled shortly, but there was no joy in it. "Yes, it was that bad."
Natsu watched quietly as the fire turned deadwood into ashes. Turning his hands above the dancing flames, he felt their warmth on his skin, familiar, comforting, strong. Yet he still remembered the moment of absolute horror when his own flames had burned him in the vampiric form, and since that, he hadn't taken them for granted.
"Fire," he answered then, without hesitation in his voice.
Lucy glanced at him, a hint of surprise and amusement in her eyes. "Fire?"
Natsu wasn't prepared to explain his answer, so he thought for a minute before putting his philosophy into words. It turned out more difficult than he first deemed. And for a while, the Daedric dog was quiet. Even it wanted to listen.
"The thing is, when you pray to the Divines, nothing happens. My parents prayed to Kynareth. When my mother got sick, I prayed too, and she still died. Since then I haven't had any faith in any god. To me, they just don't exist," Natsu explained then, still gazing into the flames. "But fire is here. It exists, it's alive. It eats anything from wood to flesh, breathes air like humans do. Fire grows, spreads, creates new fires, fights for its territory, it loves and hates. As I've watched humans living lives they despise, I think that fire is more alive than we are. Fire knows that nothing can stand in its way, it knows it's free. Fire doesn't settle, doesn't tolerate, doesn't get by. It has the power to change the world, power to burn it to the ground, which means that fire is a god. The only god there is."
Perhaps it was the first time he said that out loud, but it had been what he had believed in for years. Yes, he knew the Daedric Princes existed, he had even talked to one, but he never considered them as gods. They had no power over him. Fire had – and he had power over fire, in return.
Barbas let out a sudden bark, the one it always did when it was about to tell another tasteless joke. "What did a pyromantic say to a pyromaniac when they got into bed?" the dog said. "You are the first, you will be my last, shall be my final words!"
Natsu chuckled dryly at the dog's joke. He knew some got a different kind of pleasure from burning things – or being burned themselves – but unlike what Gray probably thought, he wasn't like that. What he loved was the sense of power, invincibility when he watched his enemies burn. It meant he had been stronger than whoever had tried to harm him. People were afraid of fire. And he wanted people to be afraid of hurting him.
"Please, shut up and let him talk," Lucy told the dog with sharpness in her tone. "Can you go for a walk or anything? Go see what the path to the Ivarstead looks like, would you?"
The dog faked a sorrowful whine, then trotted into the snowy forest, half of it sinking into the drift of snow. Even the horse let out a happy snort.
"Finally," Lucy sighed when Barbas was out of sight. "Even I was slowly getting annoyed."
Natsu chuckled. "I thought you were enjoying its lovely company."
"Maybe at first, but now I'd like to talk with you in peace for a moment," she said. "Have a human conversation, you know?"
On that, Natsu agreed. He had missed talking to her without being constantly interrupted by the dog's impulsive, uncontrollable desire to jest around. "Well, which gods did you pray to when I was about to die?"
"Lyon proposed Stendarr, the God of Mercy, but gladly Ur came to heal you before we had to go to the praying part."
"Thankfully," Natsu sighed. "Stendarr's vigilants are the fucking worst. Can't conjure flame atronachs or well, anything, when they are nearby."
Lucy smiled shortly, falling silent. "So, you don't believe in any gods?"
"No," he answered straight up. "No, I don't."
"I've been wondering the same. I grew up surrounded by faith, but did I ever really believe in the Divines? My father prayed to Zenithar, the God of Work, and my mother had faith in Kynareth. I was taught to pray, but those were nothing but chants I never felt like my own," she told and let out a dry chuckle. "Never met anyone who dared to say that out, though."
As Lucy had grown up in a city populated by strictly religious Nords, Natsu understood why she felt that way. He didn't even want to imagine what happened to the poor bastard who denied their gods. Nords were pissed enough with the worship of Talos banned.
"I never understood what's the point of praying to something which doesn't even hear or see you. That's when you get weak, powerless, stop doing things by yourself, stop defending yourself when you rely on the faith that the Divines will come and save you," Natsu answered, then paused for a moment. "Because they won't. But fire will, when wielded right."
"If wielded right?" Lucy wondered.
"Fire chooses who can wield it without burning themselves. You know, the only thing that fire doesn't burn is fire itself. You must have the fire in you so you won't be burned by it, and in a way, you have to be fire, a part of it, because fire has a will of its own. It has to be on your side. It has to be you, you have to be it." Natsu fell silent as he turned his eyes from the flames to Lucy. "Gods, I'm just rambling. Sorry."
Lucy smiled shortly. "That actually makes a lot of sense," she said. "Because whenever I cast flames or firebolts, it always somehow just… burns. I have to push through the initial fear before I can cast the spell."
"Fire knows if you're afraid of it. And when you are, you can't use it in its full power. It's just a kindling without anything to feed on, and then it will die," Natsu told and looked at his hands again. "When you got that spark ignited, you gotta keep feeding it. Feed your fear into the fire. Feed it your rage, anger, sorrow, happiness and watch them burn. You have to trust in the fire before you can truly wield it. Form a covenant with it. Promise to feed it. That's what it takes."
Lucy remained silent, gazing into the flames as well. "You know, you talk about fire with such a passion that I can't help but imagine you as a small kid, striking a flint on steel and setting hay piles on fire just for fun."
Natsu looked down and smiled. "Well, mother said that when I was still a suckling babe on her breast, I used to play with her hair and cast sparks on it. And as she freaked out when her hair was smoking, I just laughed," he said, then his grin died down. "Yes, I was a nightmare kid. Can't recall how many times dad had to beat me up when I nearly burnt down the whole house, playing with hearthfire or kitchen stove. I just couldn't help that."
"If you were casting flame spells already as a baby, then you really are as much a prodigy as your brother is," Lucy answered.
Natsu struggled to receive the compliment. "My brother was conjuring storm atronachs when he was three. He just liked being the best at everything, whether it was drawing with charcoal, playing the lute, casting invisibility spells on our chickens just to freak our parents out… My dad always asked him to transmute iron into gold instead, but I think Zeref simply refused to do so just to annoy our old man."
Suddenly, Lucy's eyes sparkled. "He played the lute?"
"Yeah," he answered, revisiting the memory from his childhood. "We were in Dragonbridge once selling our crops, when I followed Zeref around the marketplace. There was a bard, and Zeref asked to borrow his lute. Then he just started to play, and he was so good at it that the bard decided to give the lute to him."
"You know, the more I think about it, you guys must have some noble heritage," Lucy said with a grin. "Well, did you play? Please, tell me that you did."
For a brief moment, Natsu regretted bringing this up. "I tried, but never got good at it."
"Really?" Lucy wondered, smiling widely. "You should demonstrate that to me sometimes. Play Ragnar the Red or something. I'd love to hear that. Or perhaps some sweet ballad, did you know any of those?"
As he felt his cheeks getting hot, he shielded his face with his hands. "Goodness, no. I… I really..."
"Wait, are you blushing?"
"No, I'm not –"
"You know, it's actually kinda cute when you get embarrassed like that. Such a scary fire demon you are, aren't you?"
"Fire demon?" Natsu laughed. Honestly, he was only embarrassed because the whole thing felt so stupid to him. Perhaps once he had tried to play and draw, trying to be even as good as his brother's mere shadow, but those efforts were always short-lived. There was just one thing he was better than Zeref, and it was burning things down – or alive. He had learned to take pride on that instead of shame.
"Yeah, only lacking horns," she said. The smile never seemed to wither on her face. "Have you ever thought if –"
She was cut when Barbas arrived back to the camp, its loud voice piercing through their peaceful moment. "Sorry to interrupt your lovely discussion, but the path seems clear. Perhaps we shouldn't keep Clavicus waiting any longer."
Natsu sighed as he turned his eyes to the dog. It's grey fur was coated in snow, but the cold didn't seem to bother it. Now that the campfire's warmth had uplifted their spirits, they were ready to set forth, endure another long day ahorse. They probably weren't in any kind of rush, since the Daedra had already been apart from the dog for years. It wasn't like he needed him back at this very second.
"Agree," Natsu said then. As he got up and wiped the snow from his cloak, he realised his head no longer hurt, as if he had forgotten the pain for a while. "Well, have you eaten enough, Lucy?"
"If half a handful of snowberries counts as enough, then yes," she answered.
"I could hear your stomach rumbling from half a mile away, my lady. I thought it was a thunderstorm!" Barbas commented, earning a scorn from Lucy.
"It's your fault we couldn't stop by Darkwater Crossing to buy some food!"
"You could always tell me to shut up. I look just like a regular dog, you see?"
Natsu put out the fire and headed to the horse, leaving the fine lady and the Daedric dog to argue by themselves. He rubbed his forehead as pain began to creep back. The horse stared at him as if it understood.
As they kept riding up the riverside, Barbas kept rambling about anything that crossed its strange, twisted mind. Natsu forced himself to filter that out, focusing on the sound of wind humming in the snow-covered trees and water rippling in the river. Unfortunately, the day was unusually bright as the snowstorm had passed. He had pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, but his eyes still burned as sunlight reflected from the white snow.
Somehow, he could already tell that he wasn't going to like this winter. While the pain was nothing compared to how it had been with sanguinare vampiris, experiencing that extreme agony didn't make him suddenly immune to any lesser aches. With the vampirism, the pain caused by sunlight had cut him off from the world, as if his both eyes had been stabbed by blazing silver daggers. This wasn't so bad, not nearly, but still uncomfortable. He just wanted to get indoors, or in a cave, anywhere but… this.
He kept thinking that if he'd endure this, he'd be rewarded. He cared none of the so-called rewards Barbas had promised them for taking it back to its master. What he considered as a reward was food. A warm, filling meal was all he wanted, what he kept dreaming about to keep himself motivated. Perhaps after this, they'd stay at Ivarstead for a few days. A warm bath would probably feel pretty good too, at least compared to frigid river water.
Natsu shielded his eyes with his hand, squeezed them closed while holding onto Lucy's cloak with his other hand. If there was something good about riding, it was that he didn't need to see where they were going. Lucy took responsibility for that on sunny days, and he could focus on listening to the environment. The vampirism had slightly altered his hearing too, as he could now separate sounds more easily and hear them from a distance away.
And when they were finally arriving at Ivarstead, Natsu heard a scream.
It reverberated in the crags and hills around them, rising above the song of birds. Natsu flinched, lowered his hand off his face and lifted his gaze to the village ahead. When Lucy tensed too, he knew it hadn't been just his imagination. She glanced over her shoulder, fear in her widened eyes. Natsu nodded, and Lucy ordered the horse to gallop faster. Barbas hurried after them, faintly managing to keep pace with the horse.
The villagers had shovelled a path in the snow, starting from the edge of the town and ending to the river, where a few fishers were catching their early morning draught. The fisherman and his son turned their heads towards the village as a scream was heard again. A woman's voice. Natsu's stomach dropped as he listened to the pained wails, and then they went silent.
Lucy hurried the horse up the path and to the street, faintly shovelled from the snow, and then Natsu saw guards rushing into the house next to the river, just by the bridge and the lumbermill. The guards held their spears and shields, shouting battlecries as they emerged into the house that had its door ajar.
Just what in the Oblivion was going on? Had some bandit gotten bold enough to break into a poor villager's house? Natsu's mind ran through the scenarios while Lucy tried to soothe the horse as it whined and pulled back, smelling the blood in the air – and Natsu smelled it too. It wasn't just some petty thievery, but bloody murder. Instinctively, he dismounted the horse, but right when he was about to run to help them, then another scream froze him completely.
Natsu recognised that voice.
"Mooooooooom!"
A black-haired boy cried as a guard dragged him out of the house. He kicked and screamed like a wounded animal, covered from head to toes in splattered blood and bits of flesh. Natsu felt sickness spreading all over his body, his insides twisting as the kid wailed after his mother, tried to wrestle free from the guard's hold and run back to the house.
"Let me go, you bastard! She's my mother, I must help her! Let go of me, I can't leave her there to die, dammit!"
Lucy dismounted the horse too and halted by Natsu's side, staring at the sight just as hollowly as he. The guard lifted the child into his shoulder and carried him away as grunts and growls echoed within the house. Another guard was forcefully thrown out of the doorway with his chest torn open by large claws. He lay on his back on the porch, a pool of blood spreading underneath him. A bear? Natsu thought, but instantly realised he was wrong.
A frost troll.
Natsu began to tremble as the guard, who carried the crying boy, walked past them. Romeo was the child's name. The blood covering him didn't seem to be his, but someone else's. His mother's. The boy punched the guard's back with his fists, hopelessly staring at the home where the bloodbath was still raging on.
"You better stay out of this, travellers," the guard said to them. "Nothing to see here."
Then, the boy turned his eyes at Natsu, and suddenly stopped screaming. He stopped hitting the guard, stopped kicking, stopped everything. He just stared at him with all the rage and fury that a ten-year-old boy could ever hold. Blood flowed down his face, it had stained his hands, and Natsu knew his own hands were stained in this blood just as well.
"You promised me," Romeo muttered to him, with a voice so strained from the screaming it couldn't be heard by anyone else than Natsu. "You promised papa would come home."
Natsu pressed his mouth into a thin line, biting his fangs into his lip until he tasted blood. Powerlessly, the boy hung his head down, shivering as the guard took him away. Lucy seized his arm as the frost troll smashed the wooden walls in utter rage while the guards continued the desperate fight against it. Other villagers on the other side of the street gathered to watch the macabre play, women screaming and shielding their children's eyes while men caught their shovels and pickaxes and swords, anything they could defend their families with.
'He did,' Natsu thought. 'Your papa came home.'
Which meant that Clavicus had broken their deal.
And they had come too late.
As rage rushed into his head, Natsu yanked his arm away from Lucy's hold and marched across the village, setting sparks upon his palms as he locked eyes with the beast. The frost troll caught another terrified guard from the neck and threw him out of the porch, the man's spine breaking with a loud crack as he hit the ground.
The two guards, those who were still left, watched as their comrade twitched on the snow-covered rocks, coughing blood from his lungs. Natsu knew they wouldn't beat this troll on their own, he acted without thinking, upon his first instinct, which was to kill this monster before it would kill anyone else. He sped up, brought his hands together to cast a fireball, then launched it towards the troll.
He had killed bigger beasts.
The beast let out a humane growl as the flames caught its fur, spreading all across its hideous body. Those three, ugly eyes stared right into Natsu, the fury fading into fear as he gathered more flames, augmented them to the point of nearly exploding within his hold. Quickly, Natsu glanced at the guards, signalling them to back off, then he released the spell.
Incinerate.
He had cast it once at the guardian troll on the Seven Thousand Steps, when Lucy had been injured by the beast. Back then, he had thought it was the fiercest, hottest flame he could conjure, but then he had learned there wasn't such a point. There was no ceiling for fire, no ultimate heat – it could always grow hotter, hotter, and hotter, beyond any limits the nature had forged. And now, he cast that spell again, overpouring his magicka into the fire, feeding it with everything he got.
For a moment, the world disappeared into the blast. Fire veiled his eyes and he couldn't see how the troll squirmed in pain of being burned alive, but he heard it. A whirlwind of intense heat brushed against his face, but instead of power, he only felt regret. Inside this beast, there had been a man who just wanted to be with his family. The only thing that could've driven this poor creature into this terrible act was the trickery of Clavicus Vile, nothing else.
He stood still until the flames dissolved and revealed a charred pile of bones within the blaze, and before the little fires would spread, he commanded them to die. The firelings turned into smoke, swirling towards the bright skies as Natsu glanced over his shoulder.
The townsfolk were cheering, but would they, if they knew this was all his fault?
Lucy stood there, holding her hands over her mouth. They exchanged a gaze, but even Natsu couldn't tell what she was thinking then. This troll – or this man – had captured her, tried to trade her to the Daedric Prince to be released from the beast's form. In a way, that suffering was over now. Lucy lowered her arms and ran to him, caught his hand as she looked into his eyes, shaking her head, muttering words he couldn't understand.
All he could hear was the boy screaming for his mother.
The guards that had been fighting against the troll now gathered around the cremated corpse, while some of the townspeople hurried to help the wounded man, now that the danger was over. The guards paid their thanks to Natsu, but instead of staying behind to bask in the glory he didn't deserve, he walked over the dead troll and stepped on the destroyed porch, Lucy following him. Broken wood creaked below his feet, making him slow down before peeking inside through the opened door.
Just maybe, for a moment, he held onto the belief that the woman was still alive. Maybe he could heal her, maybe she wasn't so badly hurt, maybe there had been someone else in the house whose blood had covered the boy. For his own sanity, he held onto the belief that he hadn't orphaned this child.
Then he looked in, and he knew that the sight would stay with him forever.
Daylight seeped through the windows, reflected from the shards of broken glass on the floor. Amongst them lay outlines of a human, only faintly resembling the woman she used to be. A kitchen knife swam in the blood, as she had tried to defend herself and her son with it when her husband finally came home. Perhaps enraged by that, the troll had shredded her. Blood had sprayed all over the walls and the ceiling, the oatmeal that had been cooling in the bowls on the table dyed red.
Natsu counted three bowls, as if the third had been there waiting for the father.
Lucy yanked his arm, pulling him back to the porch. His gaze stayed on the massacre for a moment before he turned his eyes to her, but even still, blood was all he could see. Blankly, he stared at Lucy as his chin began to tremble, rage twisting into sorrow.
"What we do now?" she asked silently.
Natsu looked past her into the distance. Out there, the villagers brought bucketfuls of water to the guard and the newly orphaned boy, began to wash the blood from him before wrapping him into many blankets. All the time, the child kept staring back at him, tears pouring down his face, as if he was the only one knowing that he was the blame.
"We go to Clavicus Vile," Natsu muttered, his voice cracking. "And we make him pay."
A/N: Hi guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter!
I got this written faster than I thought (I was procrastinating on my school projects... but I got them sons-of-bitches done today, yay!) and when I paid enough attention to my wrist position, my hands started getting better, so it doesn't hurt anymore. I hope it stays this way and I'll be able to write. Thank you for all the tips! I'm truly considering buying some compression gloves now.
Anyway, to the chapter. First, I'll thank waywardego for giving me many ideas for the Dragon Cult plotline. I had things planned for that, but they always felt like they were lacking something... but thanks to some good brainstorming chats, I have an abundance of epic stuff prepared. That Gildart's scene stands as a prelude to the upcoming arc. That was pretty lore-heavy, so I hope it wasn't overwhelming with lore. As a compensation for the extra lore, I gave you glimpses of some FT characters that will soon appear in this story, too. And BTW, even is Haming is half-OC, half-NPC, I kinda imagine him like Hobo Eren from AOT :D
Also another shoutout for victorian_cocaine for making fanart for chapter 38! It's so utterly amazing to receive fanart made for this story! I reposted those in my Tumblr, which is Psilocybinlemon :) And well, shoutout to all the awesome people who keep reviewing, liking, and reading this story! I love all of you guys!
And about the final scene... I FINALLY got to play out the plot I devised a year ago. This was meant to happen since the beginning. The whole scene is yet to be fully played out, as I had to split this chapter into two. Hopefully I'll be able to write the next chapter soon so I won't leave you hanging for too long time. I have stuff written for that already, so I'll give more comments about all this next time.
Thank you all!
