It seemed like Lucius and Hadvar, atop their monstrous mount, had been flying forever, the endless carpet of white and grey clouds below giving no clues as to where they were going. Odahviing had remained silent throughout most of the journey, only snapping off a few hurried questions about the Dwemer, and how they could have appeared so suddenly. And yet Lucius had no idea. He had only recognised the golden warriors because of the many times he had explored their ancient ruins and scavenged their armour and machinery for the High Elf historian Calcelmo in Markarth.
"How did…?" Hadvar began from behind, his voice seeming to just peter out into silence as he attempted to try and put into words the countless questions buzzing around in his head. Lucius couldn't blame him. Hadvar was a good soldier and a loyal friend, but he was still in many ways naïve about some of the darker secrets of the world, mainly due to his deep set claustrophobia and fear of the unknown. At the same time, both of them were clueless about what had happened to their friends and loved ones, and had not yet discussed the possibility of them being lost forever. The pain must have been worse for Hadvar, who had only recently began a relationship with Lucius' sarcastic but loyal housecarl Lydia, when it had seemed like the war against the Thalmor was going well. Lucius knew in his heart that Serana was alive, but even though he had witnessed first-hand how well trained and courageous Lydia was, he still feared for the life of one of his best friends.
"Do you think we're the only ones who got away?" Hadvar said finally, the breeze, surprisingly warm considering how high up they were, blowing straight past, reshuffling the clouds around them like a cosmic shepherd.
Lucius shook his head, a confident smile on his face.
"Not a chance. Tullius is one of the best commanders I know. They've probably started another counterattack and pushed those Dwemer bastards back by now. Trust me, everyone back there will be fine."
Even though Lucius was trying to put a brave face on, when he saw Hadvar frown and shake his head, he knew that his words had failed to have the desired effect.
"Those…Dwemer, they're thousands of years old, Lucius! They were nothing but characters in campfire tales until a few hours ago. Even you couldn't survive against them for long! How can our armies possibly fight something we know so little about? And did you see those machines of theirs? I thought those were all left behind when they disappeared to wherever they've been stuck the past few centuries. How can they just march into existence in front of us?"
For once Lucius was silent, breathing deeply as he listened to the rhythmic movements of Odavhiing's wings around them, felt the deep thump of the dragon's heart underneath where he sat.
They sat like that, the two men, deep in thought, until, with a slight lurch, they felt the dragon beneath them begin to descend.
"What are you doing?" Lucius asked firmly. He didn't begrudge the dragon resting, but he needed to know where they were before he let them just drop from the sky so suddenly.
"I can go…no further." The ancient beast replied simply. My wounds were greater than I first thought."
Lucius' eyes widened as he realised that the arrow wounds, which he and Hadvar had quickly tended to once they were safely away from Red Mountain, were actually still causing the dragon pain. This had never happened before. Even when he had ridden Odahviing into battle against the Thalmor, whose lethal glass arrows were some of the deadliest in existence, he had never known the dragon to admit to being in so much pain.
"Set us down then friend." He said. "We can walk from here."
The dragon dipped his head in thanks before soaring down through the cloud layer and, for a second, Lucius felt the same sense of awe he had on his first flight on dragon back. Below them the harsh grey forms of ancient mountains rose up, verdant green forests and fast flowing rivers of clearest blue jostling for space in a rich natural tapestry of vibrant colour. The two men could just see the grey and brown form of a small town, set in a valley by a clear blue river, ringed by a stout wall, before it was lost from view behind a bank of clouds.
"Skyrim." Hadvar said softly, relief and wonder obvious in his voice.
By now they were close to the ground, and Lucius pointed out a small clearing amidst a carpet of slender pine trees, a herd of deer scattering into the treeline as the mighty dragon landed softly upon the soft grass, dipping his head to allow Hadvar and Lucius to clamber off before looking up into the skies again.
"We must part ways for now, Dovhakin." Odahviing admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "I wish I could aid you more but I doubt I can stand against those ancient warriors once more in this state. I wish you well in your quest and will find you again when I am recovered. Farwell!"
And with that the dragon was gone, soaring up once more into the skies with a roar, leaving the two soldiers alone in the clearing with nothing but the armour on their backs and the weapons at their sides.
Glancing up at the slightly overcast afternoon skies, marked by the gently drifting forms of white clouds, Hadvar turned to Lucius.
"We need to find some kind of settlement soon. We must send a message to the Legion somehow. That, and I doubt we'll get very far with no supplies."
Lucius nodded.
"I believe that town we saw on the way here was Riverwood?"
Hadvar grinned.
"These are the same forests me and my brothers used to play in years ago… I remember my first pet as a boy was a young deer we found up in the hills around here. I miss that old doe…" he added with a nostalgic smile as they set off, the smell of a distant campfire hanging around the trees as the two men walked the rough woodland path, Hadvar leading the way with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"What are we going to do when we've got our supplies?" he asked after a few minutes of silence except for the sounds of the forest, both of them eager to just have a quiet time to reflect.
"I'm heading to Markarth." Lucius replied. "You can come with me, but it'll be a hard journey. The Forsworn have been getting bolder in the Reach now that the civil wars over."
Hadvar shook his head, his feet crunching on loose stone as they emerged out of the forest and onto the road, the banks of the river to their left alive with small groups of fishermen and hunters with yew longbows. Since the end of the civil war more people now flocked the once empty roads, especially groups of enterprising Dunmer and Imperial huntsmen, eager to make some gold now that the threat of the Stormcloaks was gone.
"I would come with you friend, you know I would, but I have to head to headquarters in Solitude. Legate Adventus will need to know what happened, and he'll need every strong sword arm he can get if these Dwemer are not defeated soon. I need to speak with High King Balgruuf as well on the way. His warriors will be needed soon enough I fear. Why are you headed to Markarth? Surely you need to get back to the Legion as well? We need the Dragonborn alongside us for this battle…
Lucius smiled sadly, his gaze looking up into the skies above for a second, almost expecting Odahviing to come flying back at any minute.
"I can't yet Hadvar. We almost died back there! All our tactics and strategies are useless against an emeny like that." He added bluntly. "I must speak with Calcelmo, you remember him, the Dwemer expert? We need his knowledge and help if we are to fight them on equal terms."
His companion nodded in agreement, but his face was set in a grim frown as the wood and stone gate and walls of the small town of Riverwood loomed up ahead, the yellow banner of Whiterun Hold flying proudly from atop the new watchtower by the riverbank. As they came near, the small group of town guards by the gate, dressed proudly in yellow tunics and polished scaled armour, leapt to attention, quickly putting on their helmets and checking the steel swords at their waists as Lucius and Hadvar approached.
"Dragonborn!" called out the leader, his helmet off to reveal a dark grey beard and a wide smile, bowing slightly as Lucius approached, removing his own helmet and attaching it to his belt.
"What brings you to Riverwood?" asked one of the soldiers. "Not more dragons I hope?" he said with a nervous laugh.
But Lucius' expression was grim and he noticed the soldiers stiffening as they saw the blood patches and scratches across the two men's armour.
"Thalmor?" the leader hissed, his eyes wary.
"Worse." Hadvar said simply. "The Dwemer have returned."
"Dwemer?" the guards all said at the same time, their voices all filled with a slight sense of confusion and apprehension before the leader stepped forward again.
"With respect Dragonborn, the Dwemer are…fairy tales. The only thing we have to fear from them now is one of their mad creations."
"Didn't we all think the dragons a legend until a year ago?" one of the other guards said thoughtfully, and then the leader bowed quickly to Lucius, his previous arrogance replaced by steely determination and loyalty as he realised the truth of their words.
"I am sorry Dragonborn. I meant no disrespect. If the Dwemer have returned… We must be ready!"
"They are still many leagues from Skyrim." Hadvar replied evenly. "But we need to prepare. Remain at your posts for now. Send word to Whiterun immediately of the threat. I will personally speak with the High King and make sure our armies are ready. We need two horses saddled and ready to ride" he ordered.
The guards all nodded and moved aside, all noticeably making sure their weapons were ready as Hadvar led the way into the town. As they walked down the main street, being acknowledged by the villagers as they went, Lucius turned to his companion.
"We need to leave as soon as possible. I will get supplies for myself from Rorikstead. I cannot delay any longer."
Hadvar nodded.
"I need to make sure the town is sufficiently warned. I would walk the road with you myself but there's no time. When you're ready meet me in Solitude."
The two friends embraced quickly before Lucius, checking the two blades at his hip and the Ebony Blade on his back were secure, ran back the way they had come, through the town gate and onto the back of the chestnut horse held by one the guards. Thanking the guard, and with one last glance back into the town, where Hadvar was just going into his uncle's blacksmiths, Lucius spurred the horse down the road, scattering a group of hunters carrying slain deer upon their backs, and onwards to Markarth.
000000
Hundreds of miles away, upon the dusty and blood soaked foothills of Red Mountain, the Dwemer army advanced.
Countless dead Legion soldiers and Thalmor warriors crunched underneath their armoured boots as the golden soldiers went amongst the dead, looking over their primitive weapons and armour with some amusement, whilst searching for clues as to who these new enemies were. Around the battlefield echoed the brief screams of the few surviving Imperial soldiers, their lives coming to a quick end as glittering Dwemer swords were thrust into their hearts. A few unlucky Imperials were left alive, however briefly, to give vital information about the state of the world and local area, before their inevitable execution. The whole battlefield stank of burning flesh from the dozens of crude funeral pyres and the smell of oil and steam from the shimmering automatons of the Dwemer mixed with the sharp stench of blood and death.
But one figure walked with more purposes than the soldiers and automatons picking their way through the dead. A Dwemer woman, clad in an elegant suit of gold armour made up of interlocking bands of metal and chainmail, her long black hair that cascaded down her back to her waist adorned with ornate rings and medallions whilst a shimmering diamond circlet sat atop her forehead. Her face, pale and beautiful, was marked by a single ugly scar across her left cheek, as jagged and red as if it had only just been inflicted. With a host of bodyguards in armour trimmed with purple and red at her back, along with two standard bearers carrying aloft the Dwemer banner, a shining symbol made up of various thin lines of gold around a red sphere on a field of deep blue, she cut an imposing and lethal looking figure.
"My queen!" called out one of her captains, bowing low as she looked over, his fist upon his heart in the traditional Dwemer salute, and she turned slowly, her face set in a frown. "We have found the human leader."
The figure nodded and set off at a brisk walk, keeping a hand upon the slender dagger at her hip, the loose skirt of blue silk and chainmail at her hips moving softly in the breeze. Her entourage at her back, she picked her way through the dead, past the pile of corpses that marked the last stand of the Imperial Firstborn cavalry, to where a group of her warriors clustered around something. As she approached the warriors stepped aside, and she saw a single woman still alive, despite her legs being shattered and broken, most likely by the warriors standing over her with blood soaked maces, her armour more ornate than that of her slain comrades, her brown hair framing her defiant blue eyes as the figure stood over the dying Nord.
"Long live the Empire!" she spat defiantly, and the Dwemer rolled her eyes in disgust, her eyes settling on the golden sword lying by the Nord soldier's bloody right arm, a gem in the handle glowing with the power of countless suns.
"The sword of Meridia." She said in a voice, soft and gentle, as she, with a slight trembling in her hands, clad in long midnight blue gloves, took hold of the blade.
"You do not belong on this earth!" the human commander shouted, but the woman ignored the insult, turning to him with the sword drawn, the blade shimmering with unnatural power.
"What is your name, human?" she asked in a detached tone, in much the same way as a man might speak to an ant crawling over his foot.
"Legate Rikke, second in command to General Augustus Tullius." She said simply, her voice filled with a quiet sense of authority, despite her battered and bloody state. The Dwemer then spoke, looking down at the fallen Legate with equal parts amusement and detached apathy.
"I am Queen Anihata the First. The Immaculate One. Queen of all the Dwemer, in this world and all others. And I, Legate Rikke, am this world's destruction." She added, as she stepped forward and drove the Dawnbreaker through the Legate's noble heart.