A/N: It's me, hi. I'm *checks calendar* a little late to upload, but here we are. Life is getting busier again and I've found myself considering thoroughly where I want this story to go. I have an end goal in mind but the routes which I must wander to reach it seem shadowed, unsure and rife with opportunities that need be considered. In short, I'm working on making the story as cohesive and sensible as possible when one attempts to write Elder Scrolls fanfiction. It's my hope that I can find the creative willpower to roll through the next chapters sooner than not, but I do not wish to rush the words and find myself knee-deep in a mire of jumbled and incoherent, half-finished thoughts brought to paper. In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments!
*Disclaimer*
*As always, I own only my OCs. The main plots and recognizable characters are from the brilliant minds of Bethesda's Elder Scrolls franchise writers.*
Chapter X- Small Talk is…Well, Small Talk
"So, who is Bormahu?" Martin asked. The pair had made good progress on the first leg of their journey, riding through the night until dawn had started to glow on the horizon. In that time, no one bothered them, fellow travelers and bandits alike avoiding the Gold Road like it was made of fire. With Kvatch hours behind them, they switched to walking the horses, not wishing to push their mounts' limits unnecessarily. Lumi glanced at Martin, curious. He noted with minor interest that her hair had come undone while they were riding and she hadn't fixed it. Consequently, messy red-brown curls flew in front of the Nord's face as a welcome breeze swept through. She sputtered a bit, moving the hair away before looking back at him, brow raised. Thank the gods mine isn't so messy, he thought to himself, glad that his own hair stayed put and didn't fly about at every movement.
"Where did you hear that name?" Lumi questioned.
She must not remember saying it, he realized. Though she was still under the effects of milk of poppy so it makes sense.
"When you woke up after taking care of your shoulder, you startled us by crying for a 'Bormahu,' I was just wondering who that is," he explained easily. The ride had given Martin time to begin sorting away the lingering unease he felt. It was not gone, not by any means, but he would address it later, when alone. Consequently, his mind had turned to recounting the events of the past two days, eager to assess them with a clearer mind. I have never heard of a name such as Bormahu. And given the strangeness surrounding his current companion, perhaps there was a reason for that. Lumi was quiet for a few moments, a look of thought on her face as she decided what to say.
"Bormahu is another name for Akatosh," she finally said, surprising Martin until he recalled the amulet she kept upon her neck.
"It means 'Father,' and is what dov, dragons, refer to him as in their tongue."
"Dov," he tasted the word, curious. It had a heavier sound than he was used to, especially at the beginning. What could other words in this dragon tongue sound like? Lumi grinned at his effort.
"Good pronunciation. The singular form of dov is dovah. The dragons call their language 'dovahzul' and dragonborns are referred to as dovahkiin. The races of men, mer, and beastfolk also have a name: joor, which directly translates to mortal. Is there any other word you would like to know?" She explained, growing more animated as she spoke.
It was pleasant, watching his travelling companion buzz with excitement over the words. He had not had a simple academic conversation in days, Martin realized. There had been too much going on, from his strange dreams to the day-to-day running of the chapel. And that was not even touching on the growing pile of stress and stubbornly shoved-aside trauma that was the battle for Kvatch. Even their flight from the city had been hasty, with little time for anything but the drum of hooves on hard-packed dirt and worn stone. With a moment to focus on something else, Martin found himself falling headfirst into the new topic, wishing to know everything he could to distract from what he had left behind.
"Not a word per se, but are shouts supposed to be made up of particular words? How does that work?" He asked. Martin had yet to see Lumi shout and while he could figure why that was, it wouldn't be subtle or quiet, the Imperial man could not deny the curiosity he felt over the mysterious ability. After all, this strange power was part of why Lumi had sought him out. Were shouts just singular words? Were they combinations that had specific meanings? Could a person invent a new shout just from changing a single word or the intent behind it? Did intent even matter in this form of magic? The questions swirled in his mind, eager to be unleashed on the Nord beside him. Sensing his anticipation, Lumi nodded her head, hands flexing as they grasped the reins of her horse gently.
"Well, to put it simply, yes. Shouts are typically made up of three words that complement one another to create a unique phrase. For example, the very first shout I learnt. The three words that comprise it are Fus, orforce, Ro, meaning balance, and Dah, topush. Together it is force-balance-push, but is referred to by the Greybeards as 'Unrelenting Force.' By using this shout, your breath becomes a gale strong enough to force back an opponent."
The concept of producing a powerful wind from his words was difficult to fully comprehend. Visualizing it was no help, either. Martin had seen the way that high winds buffeted anything in their path, ripping trees from the ground like they were children's toys. But to harness that wind in an attack against your foes? He shuddered at the notion.
"Is it effective?" The Imperial asked. Lumi looked at him, slightly confused.
"Against a dragon?" she clarified, eyebrow raised as he nodded. The Nord woman shrugged.
"Eh. It is more of a warning than anything else. On a person or normal animal?' she paused, her next words solemn, 'It can kill."
Martin was silent as he thought on how powerful three words could be. All words contained power. That concept was not new to him, given his background in magic and its different avenues of study. But the dragon tongue, dovahzul, took that far more literally. It was humbling to think about.
"What about the Greybeards? You mentioned that they are the ones that named this shout?" Who were they? Did they teach her? Could they shout too? How did they know the dragon tongue? Martin felt insatiably curious with all of this new information being presented to him. Lumi's eyes shuttered and her back stiffened.
"I find myself in need of a distraction,' she spoke suddenly, jovial mood gone, 'Tell me of yourself. Do you have a favorite color or season?"
Favorite color or season? Martin furrowed his brows, confused by her line of questioning. And abrupt change of topic. Did she not like the Greybeards? What had brought that on? Why did his favorite color or season matter? Martin was not even sure if he had favorites. Lumi looked at him expectantly, face once again open and a genuine curiosity sparking in her brown eyes. As well as an eagerness to change the subject. Bemused resignation filled him. What was his favorite color? He supposed that the color of his robes was pleasant enough, being a shade of blue so dark it appeared a gray-black. The colors of the marigolds and zinnias grown in the gardens of Kvatch were also lovely, shining like miniature flames during the height of summer. Even the way that the snow gleamed in winter was beautiful in its own way, a mix of pale blues, whites, and yellows that would hurt the eye if looked at too long. Every color was lovely for different reasons.
"I don't believe that I have a favorite color. Maybe dark blue, but I find all to be pleasing to look upon," Martin admitted after a few minutes of thought. Lumi grinned brightly at his reply, nodding her head.
"You know, I agree with that. I've been drawing for a while, mostly plants and some animals, and for the longest time I was convinced that green was the greatest color to exist. It's everywhere in Skyrim's forests and fields, even when it snows so deep you can barely see the signposts on the roads. But there are so many other colors too, how can a person be expected to pick just one?"
"Now,' she continued after some heartbeats, 'what is your favorite season? I myself am partial to autumn. The way the leaves fall in the forests around Riften? Absolutely breathtaking."
Martin chuckled to himself at the impassioned speech. This Nord had more energy than he had been expecting, though they had met after a battle when both were exhausted. He considered her second question. Seasons were a major part of the life of anyone in Tamriel. Living in Cyrodiil, the history of their current climate was unique. Before it had been inhabited by men or mer, when birdfolk and cat demons were rumored to live there, it had been a tropical paradise according to the writings of Topal the Pilot. Now, through whatever magics were used by the Nedes, Ayleids, Minotaurs, or other manner of creature living in the Merethic Era, Cyrodiil was mostly temperate forest and grassland, except for its borders. Of those, one could find steep mountains and hills in the north and east, vast coastlines in the west and far south, as well as the remnants of tropical forests and swamps near the border with Black Marsh.
In terms of their seasons, it was largely warm and humid during the day in spring. At night in Kvatch it would turn cool and damp, the air coming in off the Abecean Sea through Anvil still cool from the winter months. In the summers, it was dry and unpredictable, with sharp winds that could spread fires quickly in a drought year, or bring in fierce storms that flooded the lowlands around the Strid River. Come fall, the heat changed to wet and cool, the sight of dense fog common in the evenings. Finally, in winter, it was commonly bitter cold, with plenty of snow falls that would cover the ground. They were easy enough to traverse, given experience. The true danger came when the snow partially melted and then refroze in the dark hours into a nightmarish expanse of uneven ice that could crack and send your leg plunging into wicked cold snow. If you were lucky, your leg would simply feel frozen and wet. If you weren't? Martin knew people who had nearly lost their limbs from the jagged ice cutting deeply into them.
All four seasons had a role that kept the earth healthy and abundant in resources. But what did Martin himself enjoy most? Thoughts of his childhood filled Martin's mind. Of the warm summer days spent tending to their vegetable garden with his father. They would become covered in sweat, their equally dark hair sticking to tired faces. Martin remembered complaining of the heat and boredom. But it was never a hardship, truly. The man who raised him had been one for laughter, enjoying the simple things in life. He had tried his hardest to raise Martin to do the same. To see the beauty in the little things. To feel how the warmth of the sun could seep into your bones to help you grow like the plants they tended. He wished he had listened to his father more.
"Summer," Martin decided aloud, a phantom warmth filling him with longing for the past.
And so, they kept on like that, asking one another questions and listening to their responses, until it had been a whole day of travel and night came upon them with clouds covering the moons. It was a nice enough evening, though as they walked, the wind had picked up and a cool breeze dug into the folds of his clothes. It made him think that perhaps a storm was coming in from elsewhere.
Guided only by the inconsistent light of Masser and Secunda, Lumi brought them to a space several yards off from the road, leaving her mount with him while she did a perimeter check. Both mares snuffled at Martin's hair, their warm breath tickling his ears in a way that made him hard pressed not to laugh. Around them, broad oak trees formed a nice windbreak, granting shelter from the worst of the chill. Leaves crackled as Lumi returned, a large stack of sticks and branches in hand.
"We will have to journey off the main road and to the northeast come morning before we reach Skingrad. It will take too long to travel the rest of the Gold Road to the capital and then take the Black Road back to Weynon Priory," she said, gently depositing the pile in the center of their little makeshift camp. That made sense, he supposed. If they continued at their current pace on the Gold Road, they would reach Skingrad by tomorrow afternoon and the Imperial City by the day after that. Adding in the time it would take to flank the city road along Lake Rumare until they reached the Black Road, it would be at least three extra days travel if they did not cut through the forest, although such a move came with its own risks. Wolves, trolls, bandits, and all other manner of strange and aggressive things could harass them. Common sense must have left him in Kvatch; the shortcut sounded far more appealing than the days of extra walking and riding. Task finished, Lumi turned to face him, hands moving to grab the saddle bag off of her mount as a faint rumble of thunder could be heard far to what he thought was the east.
"If you could take care of the horses and bed them down for the night, I'll build a fire and see what rations can be found to eat," she requested. Martin nodded, glad to have something to do. He led the horses a few feet away, until he was satisfied that they would be clear of any wandering sparks from a fire. A few moments and one stubborn knot later, Quilt and Queen Rhae were secured, and he set to work on removing their saddles and blankets. The proud bay mare watched him work, and seemed to glare at him with her brown eyes, black tail flicking in annoyance. Checking quickly to make sure Lumi was not watching, he mouthed an apology to the mare, who very clearly rolled her eyes and turned away from him to graze at some nearby grass. Quilt huffed good naturedly at him before going to join the other horse. Somewhere further behind him, Martin could hear Lumi puttering about, muttering to herself as she worked on building a fire. Another rumble of thunder made him hope that the rain did not move to where they were. Sleeping in a storm would be miserable business and could get the horses sick.
"Do you think it might rain?" He called back to the Nord.
"Not sure. Wind says maybe, but the taste of the air says no. I'd be more concerned with lightning,'' she replied.
Martin grabbed a brush that had been stuffed into one of the saddle bags and began wiping down the mares, giving them scratches on their cheeks and shoulders while he worked. It was quiet, the only sounds coming from the horses and the woman working behind him, except for the occasional, faint clap of thunder. His stomach gurgled, reminding him of the time since he last ate anything. Luckily, Rhae was eager enough to let him brush her despite her attitude, and he was able to move on to taking care of Quilt after what felt like only a few minutes. Soon, both horses' coats looked much cleaner, dust and sweat no longer coating their flanks so obviously. Satisfied with his work, Martin put the brush away and double-checked that the horses were securely tied before placing the blankets back on them.
The soft crackle of a flame drew the Imperial's attention and he turned around to see Lumi grinning toothily at a small fire. She carefully fed the flames as he moved closer and joined her on the ground, a few feet between them. He watched the flames grow larger and cast broad, twisting shadows across the camp. Lumi's face was morphed by the orange and yellow glow into something odd. The lines of the Nord's face were simultaneously sharper and softer in the wrong places, giving her a wild, harsh look. Her eyes seemed to glow like coals and the haphazard curls were akin to living coils of flame. She was like some half-dragon, half-human creature, he thought in the back of his mind. A being thrust out of the oldest legends, the words faded and half-lost but still stubbornly remembered for how they raised the hairs of the listeners' necks and made their hearts race fast as a horse. Yet there was no fear in him, Martin realized. Whatever it was that made her different, made her other, was in him, too. The dragon blood. Akatosh's blessing. It seemed to him to burn brightest in the dark, when the light of flames was the only thing that could keep evil at bay. Amusement filled him. It would appear that crisis had turned him into a poet. He could only imagine how Jin would react to his assessment.
'What are you? A pretty little bard? Bah!' She would grumble, before shooing him away and back to whatever job he had been given for the day. He wondered what she was doing now. Kvatch would take months to recover from the battle and siege. So many buildings were destroyed entirely and many others were nearly irreparably damaged. With the Count dead, there was no official leader of the city. Someone would have to be chosen, likely from the various upper-class families and minor nobility. Maybe Lord Elsinthar would be brought forth as a viable option. He was certainly a wealthy enough person, and was well-known for his loyalty to his employees and customers alike. That reputation would serve him well if he were chosen. Right now, the people of Kvatch needed stability. Whoever could give them that would be named as their next Count, no question.
"Looks like it's going to be some bread, dried meat, and an apple tonight," Lumi announced, leaning across the way to pass him his serving. Martin snorted at the way she strained to close the distance. In truth, it would have been easier for her to simply stand and walk over, but it seemed that stubbornness kept her planted on the ground. He leaned over, meeting the Nord halfway and accepted the food with a 'thank you.' She nodded and dug back into her bag for a moment, before popping back up with a bottle in hand that she tossed his way with little warning. Martin fumbled as he dropped his apple to catch it. Ignoring the laughter he could hear from her, he looked down at the bottle in his hands. A brief glance at its label told him that he was holding mead.
"It's sweet," she said as he continued to study the bottle. Martin looked over and watched as she cracked open her own bottle and took a small sip. He twisted the cork on his bottle and sniffed the contents. It was sweet, the smell of honey and alcohol strong but not overpowering. He sipped at the drink, pleased as warmth gently spread through his mouth and throat into his chest. Another sip and Martin set the bottle down to focus on his food. Few sounds were made outside of chewing as both Imperial and Nord ate their meals. It had been some time since either had been able to eat anything and both had been feeling the uncomfortable pangs of hunger throughout their journey. Martin finished chewing his bread and took a sip of mead, before turning to look at Lumi. The Nord seemed so, for lack of a better word, normal, most of the time. Yet in brief moments like this, it was clear that she was most certainly not normal at all. She's only been living as a dragonborn for a year. Was that what he would look like in the same amount of time? Less? Martin did not know how to feel about the changes he knew were coming. I will still be Martin. Only I decide what that means, what I am to be. I must take strength from that truth, wrap it around me like a cloak, or abandon it and all it holds close.
"So, you're from Skyrim. What area do you live in?" He asked, curious to know more about the person that was going to train him to hopefully not die. Lumi met his gaze, brown eyes considering.
"Whiterun,' she said after a moment, 'my family settled there when I was younger. I traveled often for research but my home is in Whiterun."
Martin made a noise of thought, trying to picture the land she came from. Yet no matter how he strained, nothing could come to mind. Skyrim was an abstract to him, known only as a land of cold, with colder people living in it. Taking a chance, the Imperial opened his mouth.
"Could you describe it to me? I have only ever been as north as Bruma. I can only imagine that Whiterun is quite different."
Martin was not expecting her to acquiesce, but the Nord's eyes seemed to brighten at his request. He watched as she sat a little straighter and leaned in.
"Before I begin, do you wish to know the short version, the long version, or the longer version?"
He shrugged. They had all night and history of any sort was fascinating.
"The long version."
Lumi smiled toothily before clearing her throat and speaking in a soft voice, eyes somewhere far from him even as they stared into his.
"Whiterun is a large province, and the most important, both strategically and economically, as it sits in the very heart of Skyrim herself. Even the jarls of Solitude and Windhelm, with their great ports and greater pride, acknowledge this as a fundamental truth. It is a diverse land, covered in rolling hills and flat plains with grasses and shrubs of orange, green, and purple. Forests of the tallest pine trees and oaks you'll ever see line our borders, and there are hundreds of caves dotting the landscape, some only a few feet deep, others stretching untold miles into the ground. Waterfalls are frequent sights for the everyday traveler, and in the clear and fast streams are leaping salmon and mudcrabs that can grow as large as a war hound. Elk and reindeer are the most common animals on the plains and their antlers are magnificent, the majority being longer and wider than you or I are tall. Yet they are not the only things there. Giants can be seen frequently, shepherding their herds of mammoths across the breadth of the land, though you will hear them trod upon the ground long before you cast eyes on their faces. Sabre-toothed cats, larger than a bear and far more cunning, stalk the mammoths and their minders, hopeful for an easy meal. Wolves, too, in great packs, will try their luck and attempt to strike down mammoth calves. It is an ill-advised notion, of course, for a giant will use its club to send any would-be hunters or poachers to whatever exists in the beyond for them.
Ruins of old watchtowers, shrines to forgotten gods, and the remnants of unholy barrows for dragon priests are everywhere, teeming with foolhardy bandits, frost wraiths, ice spiders, frost trolls, and draugr. If that were not enough to set the mind wandering, abandoned Dwarven settlements are hidden away in forgotten, once-beautiful caverns deep under the ground, loath to give up their secrets. If you believe the rumors, stone carvings far older than man or dwemer can be found in only the most remote locations. And at the top of the Throat of the World, Whiterun's tallest mountain, the tallest mountain in Tamriel, is High Hrothgar. It is home to a monastic order called the Grey Beards, who devote their lives to studying and understanding the teachings of the Nordic god Kyne.
In the center of this centermost province is the capital city of the same name. It is divided into three different sections: the Plains District, the Wind District, and the Cloud District. At the top of the layered city, is the Cloud District. In it sits the finest mead hall, home to the Jarl of Whiterun and his retinue of lords, ladies, guards, mages, healers, advisors, and thanes: Dragonsreach. Her roofs are the highest and steepest, decorated with wooden dragons and intricate scaling on the sides. She is painted in blues and oranges, her wood frame polished and stained until it shines like a gem. Even the stone moat surrounding her is a masterpiece, hewn and cut by the greatest stonemasons of their generation to last for the rest of time. No belly is left aching under her shadow. The Jarl takes care of their people like a watchful mother, keeping all in line and safe. The hearths of Dragonsreach are open to all whose hands shiver in the cold, regardless of status.
Yet it is not just fine Dragonsreach that is dear to me and mine. Below the hall, in the second layer of Whiterun, is the Wind District. It is home to the majority of the city, as well as a number of guilds and temples. When cresting the steps to the Wind District, the first sight a visitor will see are the Temples of Kynareth and Arkay, where all go to be healed and laid to eternal rest. Beside them, in the center square of the Wind District, is the great Gildergreen, the daughter of the ancient Eldergleam tree of East March. Her branches stretch nearly the breadth of the square, providing ample shade in the summers. She blooms in shades of brilliant purple and pink much of the year, bringing good luck and healing to our halls if the followers of Kyne and Kynareth are to be believed. I myself find that to be more likely than not, given my and my siblings' proclivity for injuring ourselves.
Across the way is the oldest building in Whiterun, the great mead hall of the Companions, Jorrvaskr. Since the second landing of the Atmorans in Skyrim, the Companions have been at the heart of Whiterun. They are a group of honor-bound warriors, descending from the battle lineages of the original five hundred companions to Ysgramor, led by Jeek of the River to settle the land. Coincidentally, Jeek is the first Jarl of Whiterun. In any case, the hill that forms the base for the city was not unaltered upon their arrival. After setting their great boat, Jorrvaskr, to ground as the shelter that would one day house my own generation of Companions, Jeek and his followers found a great stone forge, carved in the shape of an eagle. It lay abandoned, yet warm to the touch, when all other forges would have been ice cold after so long unattended. In this forge, named the Skyforge by my ancestors, steel stronger and more beautiful than any the Atmorans had seen before or since was crafted. Even today, the works of master Companions Smiths are renowned across Skyrim for their beauty and durability, never losing the keen edge gifted by the ancient and mysterious forge.
Down below in the Plains District is where the commerce of the city is centered. Alchemist shops, the ancient and respected Bannered Mare inn and tavern, a secondary smithy for regular works, the guard's quarters, a shop devoted to the art of hunting, and a variety of merchant stands with fresh meats, dry and raw foods, as well as expert crafted jewelry are to be found there. It is a bustling hub of activity, where the true wonder of the trading capital of Skyrim can be seen. Nowhere else will you find such a wide variety of spices, fabrics, and rare goods in my homeland.
Outside the ancient and crumbling walls of the city are countless farms and outposts to keep its citizens fed and safe. It is risky business, living outside of the city, but one full of opportunities for great reward. Oh, and the Honningbrew Meadery can be found there too, beside one of the larger farms in the area. It is a local favorite and the main competitor of the Black Briar Meadery in Riften. In my opinion, Black Briar is better, but the family that runs the establishment is as crooked as they come. However, they do not have an infestation of skeevers, so I will take my business southeast.
Toward the edges of the hold, lie two smaller settlements: Rorikstead to the west near the Reach and Riverwood to the south near Falkreath. Neither has too much to make it stand out, though Rorikstead is a producer of food and horses while Riverwood is the primary source of lumber for both Whiterun and Falkreath holds. Much more could be said on the detailed history of the region, and why it is how it is now, but I fear that anymore and not only will we be firmly moored in the longer version of Whiterun and Skyrim at large, but your brain may melt from listening to me lecture all night long."
Martin blinked as the Nord finally finished her speech. If he had thought her impassioned before, well Martin could no longer say he was the most academically inclined person he knew. And I thought myself to enjoy history more than the average person. He almost wanted to ask her to continue speaking, just to see what all she knew. It would certainly be interesting, given her pattern for placing random, oddball facts and opinions into her explanations to keep interest. Martin had not heard of any of the names she had brought up except for Ysgramor, of whom he knew nothing of true worth. His own area of focus lay in Imperial history and its stranger periods. Finding books on Skyrim and its history was difficult where he lived, not that he had truly searched too far, something that he was beginning to wish to rectify if the opportunity came. Academic exchanges were entertaining, especially when both parties were well-versed in the subject. Lumi cleared her throat, laughing a little to ease the silence. Martin felt his ears redden and he hastened to reassure her that he had been listening.
"Your clear dedication to your people's history is commendable, Lumi. Thank you for sharing part of it with me."
The Nord waved a hand, embarrassment plain on her face.
"It is alright, I am aware of my proclivity to long-windedness. I apologize if I overwhelmed you." Her voice was awkward, and she would not look him in the eye. Instead, she focused on her hands, playing with her fingers. Martin sighed softly, a pang of guilt lancing through him at the misunderstanding.
"You did not overwhelm me, Lumi. I was thinking that I had met someone who was as passionate about history as I am, though our areas of focus differ, and forgot to respond. I found your lecture to be very informative, and I would not have asked you to speak of your home if I did not wish to learn of it."
Lumi nodded, staying silent though she chanced a glance at him that told him she had listened to his words. Whether she heeded them was her own choice. He hoped that she did. Stifling yourself to please others was never a sustainable course. For someone who had before seemed so confident and sure of her mission, this insecurity was unexpected.
"How did you come by your knowledge, if you don't mind my asking?" He kept his eyes on the flickering flames that were warming them, mindful of the tension in the air. Lumi did not respond for several minutes, long enough that Martin thought her to have ended the conversation for the evening.
"My parents. They are scholars that the jarl brought to the city to help educate his people when I was a girl."
Neither said anything, one deep in thought and the other listening closely.
"They're still there, you know? All of them. I don't know if I'll ever see them again."
Martin felt sympathy well in his chest. She had left her life behind when Akatosh brought her back to his time. He had no idea what she had to be feeling. His own experiences in loss had left a scar, one that took many years and the help of a friend to heal. Yet death was the only veil separating him from his family, not space and time. Her family had not yet been born, had not taken a breath. How could that feel, to know that you were alone without any support system that was not born of the quest you'd been set upon? He did not wish that on any person. Martin knew he would not have survived without Jin's friendship after his time with the cult and the death of his father. Circumstances differed, but the core of it remained the same, he thought. The woman needed a friend, someone to provide a shoulder. He could do that. Determination bloomed in him as he turned to look at his companion. No, his friend. She was a shadow of that half-dragon wraith he saw in the firelight earlier in the evening, the gleam of her eyes dulled and the sharpness softened by grief, leaving behind just a woman scared of the unknown.
"I think you will. Akatosh brought you here for a purpose. It stands to reason that he will return you to your home when he holds your duties fulfilled. Have faith, Lumi."
"And what if I can't?' she murmured, voice so quiet he might have thought it a whisper on the breeze, 'What if my faith isn't enough? You do not know what history has written of this, Martin. We're being tasked with changing history as I know it. I want to believe that Bormahu will return me to them, but what if that future doesn't exist by the time we're through?"
Martin stood and made his way over to where she sat, staring despondently at the fire. He pressed a hand to her uninjured shoulder, hoping to provide some small comfort. What would the future look like for her if they succeeded? Was it selfish to hope they did, when her family and life could be permanently changed by doing so? Yet he reminded himself of what was undeniable: Akatosh would not have brought her to him without a plan. Even if they could not see it, things would work out. He knew it.
"Then I will shoulder enough faith for the both of us," he said simply. And he would.
Lumi looked up at him, askance. Martin squeezed her shoulder gently. No matter what happened, they would get through it. After all, they had the dragon god of time on their side. How many could say that in truth?
"Now come, Jin wanted your shoulder cleaned and redressed every night. I don't think either of us want to see what she'll do if you don't keep to her guidance."
Lumi snorted and stood, accepting his hand as she did so. Martin took a moment to grab the healing supplies and noticed something that made him smile faintly.
The thunder had stopped.