hope you're all enjoying the story.. sorry it's a short chapter. lockdown is really helping me write more.


The atmosphere of Vilemyr Inn that morning was a far cry from the evening before. Weak, grey light seeped through the chequered, dirty glass that surrounded the edge of the roof. It illuminated the dust and smoke that hung in the air like fading clouds. Dying embers curled around the charred logs that littered the fire pit, the crimson flames desperately trying to cling onto life. The only signs of the night before were the gentle snoring and other questionable noises that could be heard from behind the closed doors that surrounded the bar. The innkeeper was the only soul remaining and he whistled softly as he collected empty bottles of wine and upturned tankards from the abandoned tables.

He glanced up as Ollric stepped out of the room and his expression blanched. He had been stone cold sober, and could remember well, when the huge man had stumbled up to the bar the previous night and demanded more drink with less pleasantries than he was used to. Now, though, when faced with Ollric in his midnight black armour, bow suspended and humming with energy from his back, a sword strapped to his belt – the innkeeper didn't know which man he preferred.

Ollric's hood swept low over his face and his cowl covered the rest, so only two narrowed stony eyes could be seen faintly.

'Can I help you?' The innkeeper asked tentatively.

'I seem to have misplaced my travelling companion.' The Nord said smoothly and the unsaid question hung in the musty air between them.

'I haven't seen anyone.' An automatic reply. The innkeeper was used to questions like these from strange, faraway men, armoured up to their eyeballs. They always seemed to be looking for something or someone. He found it easier to deny everything. Any involvement would inevitably bring more trouble to his door. The men would quickly move on, unless really desperate.

Ollric, it seemed, was desperate. 'What is your name?' He asked.

The innkeeper hesitated, his eyes flickering down to the huge sword, but then his shoulders sagged. There was no harm in a name, after all. 'Wilhelm.'

'Wilhelm,' Ollric sauntered casually over to the bar and placed a gloved hand on the top, 'this is a nice inn you have here. I presume it's your own?' Wilhelm swallowed dryly. He nodded. 'Interesting.' The voice that drifted out from underneath the cowl didn't sound interested at all. In fact, it was tinged with venom and his gloved hand flipped over so his palm was open. A ball of fire appeared there and burned noiselessly.

The threat didn't need to be voiced.

'You're looking for the girl? The one who arrived with you?' Wilhelm spoke quickly, his voice stammering. 'I – I think I saw her leave but I can't be sure.'

'Think.' Ollric growled and the flame in his palm flashed brighter.

Wilhelm felt dread wash over his body and he anxiously cast his mind back. The inn had been busier than usual. Yesterday had brought fair weather with it and there were always more people roaming about when the sun shone. Pilgrims thought it would be easier for them to scale the seven thousand steps, not realising that the harsh cold of the mountain was ever present. They had been mingling with the villagers last night, more drink than usual was being poured which usually meant everyone was in good spirits.

'She left just after midnight.' He said. 'Before she went, she asked me which direction was East. I told her. That's all. I swear it.'

'You're sure this time?'

'Yes!'

The Nord's hand snapped shut and the fire disappeared. Relief washed over Wilhelm and he felt every muscle in his body relax. A thud made him jump and he glanced down at the floor, at the tankard as it rolled its way underneath a table. He realised his hands had been shaking. A gust of wind caught him unawares and he looked up and gasped. The Nord had gone.

Ollric left Ivarstead behind in a whirlwind of curses and the stench of wine stale on his clothes. He was not in the mood to be lied to and he wanted to turn around and burn the inn down to the ground, just for the barkeep's insolence. That wouldn't be very Dragonborn-like of you. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind and instead focused on getting his dragon back. No, the dragon back.

It had been a while since he had tracked anything. No one ever really got away from him unless he wanted them to, and even then, a well-timed arrow would bring them down. Ollric jogged east of Ivarstead until he came to a wide gorge, the river below swollen and spitting up at him. He stood at the edge and crouched, his fingers running over the long grass that sprouted upwards from the bank. Large chunks had been ripped away, almost violently, someone had fallen here. His eyes narrowed and his gaze drifted to the winding river below. The frothy water told no story. He stood and looked down the gorge. Before him the grassy plain was still, only shifting as the wind gently stroked it, but there was something there – if you knew where to look.

The grass was flattened here. The first pair of footprints were small, shoeless, but the second were heavy and booted. He followed the trail a bit further down and there it lay, in plain sight. A simple steel arrow. The tip was splattered with blood and Ollric ran his fingertip over it; not warm, but not freezing either.

'You've been busy.' He murmured as he brushed his thumb over the coloured feathers.


Maldinokdur had been moved into her very own cell. The tiny room was in the very corner of the Temple, almost hidden by a mass of thick twisted vines that hung over the doorway. If anyone did happen to come and rescue her, they would have to pass through the main room, where no doubt Delphine would be waiting. The dragon's cell wasn't much to behold. She was particularly impressed by the magic that had been cast across the metal gates and bars. No matter how hard she tried, her shouts wouldn't pass through – the blackened scorch marks across the bars were evidence to this.

'Tell me your name and I just might spare your life.'

Delphine had been marching back and forth in front of the bars for a while now. At first, the dragon had shrieked and yelled and cursed the Blades in every tongue she could think of but now, she was sprawled out at the back of the cell and enjoying rolling her eyes at every question sent her way. Every now and then the man, Esbern, would appear and nervously wring his hands or spout some bizarre theory he had found in a book before vanishing again. She wasn't sure which one of them she hated more.

'You're a bigger fool than I thought if you think you can kill me, mortal.' She hissed. At first, she had only spoken in Dovahzul, however it had become irritating how they had to translate every single word and by the time they had done this, the words had lost their effect.

Delphine paused in her pacing and turned to face the dragon. 'Why is the Dragonborn helping you?'

'Perhaps he likes my company better than yours.' She drawled and flashed a venomous smirk.

Delphine moved closer to the bars. 'Do not play with me, dragon, I have taken down many of your kin and it wouldn't take much to destroy you, too.'

A pale hand shot out from within the darkness of the cell and slender fingers wrapped themselves around the woman's wrist. She yanked Delphine forward and she slammed her own body against the bars, her face inches from the other woman's.

'Then do it.' She snarled. Her breath washed over Delphine's face and she could smell the ash, the fire and death, within it.

Delphine drew her dagger and raised it but just as quickly as she had come, the dragon had released her and retreated back into the shadows so only her strange, glowing eyes could be seen. They stared at each other for a moment and then Delphine spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. She left behind a smirking dragon, high on the knowledge that the spell on the cell hadn't worked when her hand passed through.