A/N: Hello all and welcome to chapter 17 of WotN. This chapter, I'm going to be introducing some new wildlife that was native to Morrowind and is much different than anything we've seen so far. All of these creatures are added via mods and I honestly think that they should have included them in the base game just for nostalgia.
Whispers of the Night
Summary: One year after Serana died and she left Astrid, Alana has left for Solstheim to be alone and never harm another innocent. Enemies new and old are rising, and it is never easy for one to free themselves from the shackles of their demons…
*Book 2: Oblivion Walker Part 9*
With the Nerevarine behind him, Saoron headed back to Raven Rock as fast as he could, ducking his head as the wind from the approaching storm howled and nipped at his hands. The rough winds spat ash into his eyes and he squinted them shut to prevent it from blinding him. 'Dammit. We've had bad ash storms before, but nothing quite like this. This is much more powerful than anything we've experienced. We're going to be digging our homes out when it breaks.'
The Breton looked at the achingly familiar sight of the Bulwark in the distance and picked up the pace, not wanting to lose his life in the storm. No doubt the Redoran Guard soldiers would have directed everyone to stay in their homes until the squall passed, but it was still better to make sure than to assume. When it came to life on the frontier, one could never make assumptions.
"Bloody storms," the Nerevarine muttered irritably, pulling her hood over her head to keep the wind away. "They're one thing I don't miss about Vvardenfell."
"Tell me about it." The brunet scoffed. "Been living here for over two years and I still am not used to just how frequent or powerful they are. Never had to deal with this in the Imperial City."
His thoughts briefly wandered back to his old life in the heart of the Empire. Back then, things were so much simpler. Alana and him didn't have much to worry about apart from hiding their worship of Talos from the Aldmeri Dominion and just worked. He helped his father run a tavern and Alana of course worked alongside her father at his forge, making weapons and armor for soldiers and those brave enough to adventure across Cyrodiil's wild lands. No Dragonborn prophecy, no daedric princes bent on making them their toys, none of that.
Yet, as dangerous as his life now was, he wouldn't go back to it. He had found his place in the world and was more than happy to be the man he was.
"You grew up in Cyrodiil?" the dunmer asked.
"Aye. Born and raised in the Imperial City," Saoron answered. "I made my way here after I was run out of the province for being a Talos worshipper."
"I imagine it took the natives a long time before they trusted you as much as they do now," the Nerevarine remarked, tucking her hair into her hood. "Those who live on the frontier aren't exactly the most trusting of people, especially to outsiders like yourself. Rough history with the Empire will do that."
"It did take them awhile," he admitted. "At first they saw me as nothing more but another mouth to feed. Proved them wrong by doing whatever I could to make myself useful. In time, they came to see me as one of their own." He was grateful they had; after he lost his own family to the Dominion he didn't have anyone to turn to and had to rebuild his life through his labor and toils. Back then most saw him as little more than a sellsword, only caring about the coin someone floated his way. Now, they saw him as the lone human who could possibly be in the Redoran Guard.
He chuckled a little bit at that thought. Captain Veleth had made the offer to him once before, but he respectfully declined. He would be out of place as the only human in the guard force and didn't want to intrude. Of course he knew Veleth wouldn't see it that way; otherwise he wouldn't have made the offer. But his talents lay elsewhere. Saoron was much more useful on the field doing the dirty work than patrolling a settlement.
Once they were within the safety of the Bulwark's massive walls he approached the nearest soldier. "Has Captain Veleth given the order to remain indoors until the storm passes?"
"Aye." The dunmer soldier nodded. "We've got everyone to wait it out in their homes. Who knows what this one will do. I just hope the Bulwark can withstand the punishment. The recent ash spawn attacks left parts of it weaker than I'd like."
"Damn." Saoron grimaced. "When the blasted storm passes, tell the captain I'll do what I can to lend a hand with repairs." 'It's the town's only layer of defense. Were it to falter for even a moment, anything could storm the town and run amok. It wouldn't bode well for anyone.'
The soldier nodded and retreated back into the Bulwark's barracks, the heavy iron gate slamming down behind the duo. They weren't taking any chances. Smart thinking. Perhaps they too sensed that something in the air was coming right towards them. Something big and he didn't like it one bit.
"Do you have a place to stay?" Saoron asked, turning to the Nerevarine.
"Well, no," she admitted. "I had a room in the cornerclub that I was renting out, but it seems to be closed at the moment. I doubt they'd let me in even if I asked nicely."
The brunet put his offer on the table. "There's plenty of room in my place, if you want. Better than trying to squat in the abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town. Talos knows what's infesting them."
"You are too kind." The dunmer woman smiled. "I appreciate it immensely."
Saoron led her across town, ducking his head as the wind picked up even more. Ash was swirling around them, stinging the corners of his eyes, and through the thick brown blanket he managed to find his own humble abode in the frontier town. 'It's good to be home and out of this mess.' He pushed the door open and they both hurried inside, shaking ash from their clothes.
"Ugh, I forgot just how much of a nuisance ash can be," the Nerevarine remarked sourly, shaking it out of her red hair. "Just as irritating as I remember."
Saoron chuckled and pulled off his shirt, shaking the ash out of it. It fell into a neat pile on the floor and he sighed. He'd have to sweep it up before it gathered too much, but he could do that later on.
The Nerevarine was looking around his home, her ruby red eyes studying it curiously. "Interesting collection of tomes. Most don't bother with literature apart from the wealthy these days."
"Keeps me busy whenever I'm not out doing something." He shrugged and tossed his dirty shirt into the pile where the rest of his dirty clothes sat. He would wash them soon, if only to get rid of the damn pile. Letting it build up just bothered him; he preferred to keep his house as tidy as possible.
"Sorry about the mess," he apologized. "I admit, it is a little too untidy in here."
"No worries. It's rather cozy." The dunmer smiled. "It feels a lot more welcoming than the posh manors some of the nobles live in."
"I appreciate it. Well, feel free to make yourself at home," he invited. "There is a bathhouse in the basement if you want to clean up a bit. I'm going to make us something to eat." He didn't realize it at first, but he had worked up a bit of an appetite lugging all of Alana's belongings into her new manor. When he wasn't on jobs for the Redoran Guard or helping Alana fight daedra, he did spend a bit of time by Milore's farm picking up dunmer recipes from the alchemist and her husband.
The brunet went down to the kitchens and started to rummage through one of the cabinets for ingredients, humming in disapproval. He didn't have many left, meaning he'd had to stop by Garyn's farm whenever the storm blew over to restock his supplies. 'Damn. Oh well, I'll have to make do with what I have. It could be a hell of a lot worse, after all.'
He had some ash yams, horker meat, and a little bit of garlic, meaning he could still make a decent stew out of it for them. 'Stew it is. Keep us warm and will be filling. Can't ask for anything better in times like these.'
Drawing a small kitchen knife from the cupboard he set about to cutting up the horker meat into smaller chunks. Once that was done, it was time to peel the garlic clove. He got the first layer off with ease and with it finished he began to dice it into very small pieces, being careful as to not cut his finger in the process. The last thing he needed was to let out a series of irritated shouts because he accidentally rubbed a bit of garlic on a cut. It stung something fierce and he was not in the mood to deal with that.
The cooking spit in the kitchen began to boil the broth inside it and he pushed the horker meat into it first, giving it a quick stir to make sure it didn't stick. Once that was finished he placed the garlic into it, stirring every few seconds for about two minutes. 'Funny that I once found ash yams to be unappealing. I guess living in Morrowind has made them grow on me a little. I'm actually rather fond of them now.' He chuckled a little to himself at that.
Being in the Imperial City, he was often spoiled by the exquisite variety of pastries and other delights. Alana, despite her best intentions, was by no means a master at this kind of delicate work. She had the basics down, but more complex recipes were a bit more difficult for her to make. He still remembered the time when they were still in their teenage years and she nearly set his kitchen on fire trying to make him a jazbay crostata. He was much more suited for it, having been taught by his late mother and father.
Having diced up the ash yams he finally had all the required ingredients boiling in the pot. Sweat dripped off his face from the flames under the cooking spit and he wiped it off with the back of his hand, making sure to keep stirring to keep the vegetables from getting stuck.
His task was finished in about ten more minutes and he took a small spoon to taste test for himself to see if it came out the way he wanted. 'Perfect. This came out just the way I wanted it to.'
He grabbed two bowls from the cupboard and scooped out the stew into them, placing them both down on his table. Saoron poked his head out of the kitchen to call down to the Nerevarine. "Dinner is done!"
When he didn't get a response he frowned and began to make his way downstairs to where the bathhouse was. 'Where the hell did she go?' The door to the bathhouse was open, meaning she wasn't in it. The only other spot on the basement floor was the armory, which he himself rarely used. If anything, Alana used his armory more than he did when she didn't have a place to herself. She would often shut it to be alone for several hours and Saoron respected her privacy at the time. He was used to having Glover Mallory mend his armor and sharpen his sword, even though he knew Alana's prowess in that field.
It had been months since he even stepped foot into it, for Talos' sake. Yet when he did enter, he found himself wishing he entered it much more often than he did. Alana had kept it remarkably kept and the Nerevarine was looking at a beautifully crafted ebony dagger, its dark blade gleaming with deadly promise. Even for a warrior like himself, it was still one of the finest weapons that he had ever seen the blonde craft.
"She put a lot of work and effort into this," the dunmer murmured, lightly tapping the tip with her finger. "It's said that each weapon a master blacksmith makes has a part of them inside it. Pain. Regret. Sorrow. Joy. Anger. All these emotions make the weapon unique to them, which is why no two are ever the same. This one…I can feel the suffering put into it. The dagger was forged out of anguish and guilt. Despite that, it's beautiful. She has a lot of talent."
"I never did get a chance to view her work often," Saoron said. "For the time she lived here, she wouldn't let me watch at all. I guess in a way, it was how she would try to channel out all her negativity." He knew it didn't do much to calm her broken mind; in fact, it would bring up nothing but painful memories and her guilt.
"Just from this single piece alone, I can tell she is a talented blacksmith. One of the finest I've seen," the Nerevarine said. "Rivals some of the best smiths I've seen in Vvardenfell. Who taught her?"
"Her late father did," Saoron replied. "He was an Imperial soldier who retired to have a family. One of the best warriors the legion ever had. He taught her everything he knew and even left her his final work. His masterpiece. The largest broadsword I'd ever laid eyes on, so big that no normal person could wield it. No one but her. I think he knew ahead of time what she was going to be." 'And though she didn't believe it at first, but he was always proud of her. Slaying the World Eater himself was a mighty deed in itself, but to be able to find the strength to fight her way out of the mess she fell into? Not many can do that, let alone someone racked by as much guilt as her.'
'She's strong and not just physically. To do what she did takes unwavering determination and willpower.'
"By the way, I was calling you because dinner is ready," he said, breaking the brief silence between them. "Didn't have much to work with, but it'll suffice for now." 'Blasted storms. I hope that Alana has it easier on the sea.' And, hopefully, Alana would be able to begin patching up her relationship with Astrid. Saoron could see why Alana liked her so much.
'Both of them are too stubborn for their own good. Alana never knew when to quit and from what I gather from Astrid, she's proud. A little too proud at times and has worse timing for jokes than anyone I've ever met,' he thought dryly. 'Damn you Alana. Only you would willingly pursue an intimate relationship with the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, I swear.'
Sometimes, Saoron didn't want to know what his best friend's thought process was at times. Especially when it came to her relationships.
He led the Nerevarine into his kitchen, pulling out a chair for her. "Here. Ash yam and horker stew. My food stocks are a little low so this is all I could really afford to make. I'll go out hunting tomorrow if the weather clears up."
"Thank you. It smells delicious." The dunmer picked up her spoon and had a bite, licking the corner of her mouth. "Tastes good too. Most foreigners struggle with my kind's recipes. It's very good, in fact."
"Thanks." He had a bite from his own bowl, their conversation dying away. The two of them remained quiet until the only sound being heard was the gentle scraping of their spoons inside of empty bowls.
When they were done, the Nerevarine tucked her hair back, sighing and affectionately patting her stomach. "You are quite a good cook. Have you ever thought of owning a tavern before?"
"Once or twice," Saoron admitted. "When my body can no longer handle the stress of my current work, I'll consider it again. But right now, Raven Rock needs me more than ever. The recent ash spawn attacks, reavers skulking outside the Bulwark, and daedric princes possibly making a move, I'm afraid that I'll be more busy than I ever was." 'Especially with Vaermina's demons now an enemy of ours. The dremora that were scattered on the island were bad enough, but the demons are even tougher. Alana's killed two of them so far, but only just barely. If we don't find a way to strike back and soon, things here are going to get really ugly.'
"You're worried, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes. I have to be. I was trusted with a grave responsibility here and I know that I have my limits. There are some things that a mortal like me cannot do, no matter how hard we try. I just don't want to disappoint, I suppose." He let out a sigh. "Especially with how much the people here look up to me. I guess this is sort of how you must have felt, so long ago."
"In a way, yes." The red haired dunmer nodded. "When I discovered who I was, I didn't know how I was going to do what I was prophesied to do. Saving all of Morrowind from Dagoth Ur was a very powerful deed, but after that…I didn't know how I could live up to those expectations as the Nerevarine. I had made so many mistakes, hurt so many people. Yet somehow, in the end, they still hail me as their greatest hero. Even after I left Tamriel and went to Akavir, they still sung my name in their songs."
"Akavir, the land of beast men, right? Is it as bad as I've heard in the legends?" Saoron asked.
"Without a doubt." The dunmer shuddered. "There's no men or mer anywhere on the continent. They were all devoured by the vampiric serpent-men from Tsaesci. Their name means, 'Snake Palace', which is fitting considering their anatomy. There's a lot of beastfolk in Akavir, but none are as dangerous as the Tsaesci. I crossed blades with several of them during my expedition there, and they live up to their fearsome reputation. They even enslave goblins for labor and blood."
"Remind me to never make a trip there then." The brunet grimaced. 'A race that enslaves goblins for a steady supply of blood? And devoured all the men and mer? They sound like a nightmare race.'
He stood up from the dinner table and collected their dirty dishes. He'd take care of cleaning them later on. For now, though, he had a lot of questions. The first and foremost being about that Black Book of Hermaeus Mora that he had. "What do you think we should do about that Black Book? Do we read it and find out? Or wait until the storm clears and we can visit that Telvanni wizard in the south?"
"Time has little meaning to a daedric prince," the Nerevarine answered. "It's better to find out more than just jump in blind. I say we wait until the storm clears and have a better understanding. Mora is a lot more fickle than most princes, usually only caring about gaining new knowledge. But for him to take keen interest in a mortal, it is rather unusual. It's not his style. Either his target has something he wants or he's just incredibly bored. I suspect it is the former."
"Damn. I don't like waiting, but I guess we don't have much of a choice, do we?" Saoron folded his arms with a grumble. He heard the crash of lightning from outside and the steady pelting of rain against his house. 'Nothing to do now but wait. I can see why Alana was so damn impatient; this lack of being productive is annoying.'
Alana's heart thumped painfully in her chest as she saw the great city of Windhelm in the distance. They had been on the sea for quite some time and she was looking forward to there being ground beneath her feet. Nord or not, she did not like long voyages on the open seas. She was much more comfortable walking or riding in a carriage than she was below the deck of a ship.
'There it is. Windhelm, the new capital of Skyrim. It's grown even more since I last saw it.' A few flurries of snow settled in her hair and dusted her shoulders. No matter the time of year, Windhelm was always a snowy city, even more so than Dawnstar. The oldest city in Skyrim, it had seen its fair share of wars and still stood proudly.
As their ship drew closer, Alana was able to see that it had changed vastly since she left. The entire stone bridge that led to Windhelm's main gates was now much larger and new buildings were constructed on top of it. 'Incredible. Ulfric's turned what was considered a bleak and desolate city into an area of commerce. I have to admire his resolve to rebuild Skyrim into a better age.'
She heard the trapdoor leading to below the ship's deck open and Astrid joined her, shivering a little despite her vampirism. "Bloody hell. This damn cold is a nightmare."
"What, can't handle it?" Alana flashed her a smug smirk.
"I'm fine." Astrid huffed in annoyance. "Just caught me by surprise. Windhelm is colder than Dawnstar. Can't believe you once lived here. Does it do anything besides snow here?"
"Nope." Alana chuckled. "No matter the time of year, there's always snow in Windhelm. Though the homes you will find to be centers of hearth. No matter the odds, we always found a way to keep from freezing to death."
"Do not envy the beggars here, I tell you," the assassin muttered. Her cheeks were flushed a bit pink when Alana draped her cloak over her and she stared at her. "Won't you be cold?"
"Not really." The blonde grinned. "I'm better suited for it than you. I can deal with it." It was true; her time as a soldier had meant that her tolerance for icy conditions was far superior to most, having fought in freezing conditions. Though she wouldn't deny it was still a little chilly. 'Maybe I ought to have brought a second one with me. Damn weather.'
Still, it could be a lot worse.
"You have everything with you?" her mistress asked.
"Yeah." Alana nodded, hefting Requiem up and over her shoulder. "All we need now is to reach land and get over to the Pale."
"Not a fan of the sea, but you live in a port town in Morrowind. I will never understand your logic at times." Astrid smirked.
"It was simple." The blonde shrugged. "Raven Rock is a quiet town, easier for me to disappear."
"What did you do there? Before you started hunting daedra?"
"Sat in the cornerclub most of the time. It was that or working in the mines by myself. Saoron always had a steady stream of work thanks to the Redoran Guard needing him, but I had to do something to keep me occupied so I wouldn't remember everything that drove me there. It didn't work."
Alana pulled the front of her vest down to look at the dull red scar in the middle of her chest. Her finger brushed it and she winced as memories of her suicide filled her mind.
She didn't even notice that she was shaking until Astrid held her hand. "Alana? You're shaking."
Her mistress's voice snapped her back to reality and she took a deep breath to calm her body down. "Sorry. It's just…sometimes I remember what I did and what drove me to it. Kind of hard to forget something like that."
"Alana. You don't need to take on everything alone anymore," Astrid murmured. "I'm here."
"Right." The blonde pushed her hair away and looked as their ship slowly eased towards the Windhelm docks. Land and home were both so close she could taste it. The cold, the harshness, the slightly salty tang of the ocean, all of it was in grasp.
The Northern Maiden shuddered to a halt and Captain Gjalund stepped down from the helm. "We're here. We'll resupply in Windhelm and give our men five days to enjoy the city before setting off again back to Raven Rock. You don't want to miss the ship, so don't idle too much."
"Understood. Thank you, captain." Alana slid Requiem into her back holster, grimacing at the weight. Just carrying one of her two broadswords was enough to make a normal person's back ache, but both? They'd be lucky to not suffer serious spinal injuries.
But she was not a normal person. While she did feel the weight, it wasn't unbearable. She could still move around without much hassle.
"I do hope you're not planning on walking all the way there," Astrid remarked dryly, looking at her with her arms folded.
"You have a plan?" Alana raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"As a matter of fact, I do." The assassin smirked and gestured across the icy river. "Look."
There, waiting for them as if he knew they'd be coming back, was the faithful steed of the Dark Brotherhood. Shadowmere reared up on his hind legs with a neigh and shook out his mane, his glowing red eyes meeting Alana's.
He trotted over to the very edge of the frigid banks and snorted, hooves scuffing the snowy ground impatiently. He never did like to sit around and wait for too long and Alana smiled. "Nice to see you haven't changed a bit, my friend."
Shadowmere blinked slowly and scuffed at the ground again, prompting the blonde to roll her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. I was a selfish bitch. Now are you going to stand there or are you going to come swimming to get us? I'm in no mood to get wet."
The dark horse snorted in annoyance and with great reluctance trotted into the water, swimming until he was close enough for both Astrid and Alana to jump onto his back. Alana took the reins and petted his black mane. "It really is good to see you again."
For as long as Alana had known Shadowmere, he only let a handful of people ride on his back. From what Astrid had told her a year ago, he didn't like most people and would buck like a rampaging bull until they fell off. Sometimes, depending on the person, he'd give them a kick for good measure. He was petty like that at times.
Astrid wrapped her arms around Alana's waist and leaned against her back as Shadowmere led them back to firmer ground, bringing Alana's cloak tighter around her body. "I'll never understand why you liked the damn cold so much."
Alana could only roll her eyes at her mistress's complaining. "It's not so bad. Shadowmere, you think you can take me to Serana's grave? Please?"
Shadowmere huffed and reared up briefly before setting off, leaving a flurry of snowflakes in his wake. He too knew what needed to be done.
The Pale was little more than a thick blanket of rock and ice from Alana's point of view. She had been through the hold many times, but the novelty of the wintery wilderness had long since grown thin. As she rode through it on Shadowmere's back, Astrid straddled behind her, she began to recall the events from one year ago. The fight against Boethiah's own champion, nearly dying to blood loss, and of course, Serana defending Alana's unconscious form with her last breath. So many things had happened, many terrible, but also something else started that day.
It was the day that a heroine had started her real journey, rocky as it was.
Astrid lifted her head from Alana's back as their steed started to slow down, yawning. "We're here?"
"Yeah." Alana would never be able to forget the spot where everything had happened. It was permanently burned into her mind. "Do…do you think you can give me a few minutes? To be alone with her?"
"Of course." Astrid gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and wiped away at the corners of Alana's eyes. She didn't even notice she was crying. "You don't need to be scared. You've fought dragons and demon's, for Sithis' sake."
"I know." Alana disembarked from Shadowmere's back and slowly trudged through the snow, the wind whipping her hair around furiously. Even though the grave didn't have a proper marking on it, it was evident where it was thanks to the small patch of nightshade that had grown around it. This was the place.
Alana drew Requiem for the final time, holding it high above her head before slamming its broad blade into the earth with all of her strength. It sunk into the ground with a groan and Alana stood back, taking a moment to figure out what she wanted to say to the first true love of her life.
"H-hey Serana," she eventually choked out. "I should have come earlier…but I guess it's better to be late than never show up."
The blonde rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself up a little, letting a sigh escape her lips. "I just wanted to say...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for breaking my promise to you. Last time I saw you, you told me to live for the both of us. But I didn't. Losing you...it was the most painful experience of my life. So much that I thought I needed to die before I got anyone else I loved killed."
She wiped a tear away, hiding a sob as vivid images of Serana's death flooded her mind. "I miss you. Astrid does too, even if she won't ever say it. But I think you'd be happy to know that I came back from the brink. I had thought for over a year that I needed to die, that I was nothing more than a monster. But I was wrong. I'm not one. I think I knew it, deep down, but with my mind not its own, I couldn't see it."
Alana looked out past the great snowy plains of the Pale, the jagged mountain peaks jutting out in the distance. "I know that you wouldn't want me dead. You wanted me to be happy, no matter what. Because of that, I can rest a little bit easier."
She looked back down at the grave once more, a small smile on her face replacing the sorrow. "I loved you. I still do, even though you're gone. But I know you wouldn't want me burdened with my past anymore. You told me to be free of my guilt for the sake of those I still have."
Alana turned away from Serana's grave, wiping her eyes and letting her voice slip into the ancient tongue of the Nords. "Pruzah dii Kulaas."
'Farewell, my love.'
A/N: Well…it's finally done. I got that out of the way. Now, I can begin the real reason why this arc is called, 'Oblivion Walker'. The Dragonborn DLC main quest. Easily the best quest line in Skyrim, hands down. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you soon!
-A Lovestruck A2#8332