Dragonborn


Delphine woke the Dragonborn's party just before noon. Four hours of sleep should be enough for them, she thought, especially considering that their next stop was conveniently a day-and-a-half's ride. They were off for Whiterun, and eventually Morthal, within an hour of waking. She watched them go fighting the desire to follow them. She knew that she would need to be near what was happening, to be close at hand so that she could influence events in the right direction when the need arose. But for now that was better done from her inn. Soon she would be able to leave; but until then, she needed to find someone she could trust to get into the Thalmor Embassy. She already had an idea of who might work; but to know for sure, she needed to wait for correspondence from her Synod contact in Cyrodiil.

She turned to Lydia as the Dragonborn's party was out of view. The dark-haired beauty was an interesting prospect, and Delphine had been shocked when Aleron had offered to leave her. According to the Dragonborn, he wanted someone he could trust next to her, so that he could be sure she wasn't going to betray him in some way. That was what he'd said, but Delphine had the distinct feeling he'd been trying to protect her. She was an asset to him now, which was her intention. True, she'd given up far more information in their meeting than she'd planned to; but the few things she knew about Gregory, his father, and especially the dragons, would keep him tied to her for long enough. She would have to get more permanent connections to him soon enough, though.

She looked at Lydia, his trusted housecarl who was so comely a woman, and she hoped she would find a tie there. "Does he leave you with others often, this thane of yours?"

"Never before," was the dark-haired woman's harsh response. Yes, there was definitely something to be gained with this one.

"Come. Let's not stand in the street all day. Perhaps we'll spar, later, and I'll see what you've got." In truth, she needed to gauge the woman's fighting in order to guess at Aleron's .

"You're a Blade, right?"

"Yes."

Lydia said nothing else, did not inquire further. Instead, she began walking back toward the inn.

.

The rest of the day was fairly ordinary. Delphine fell back into her old innkeeper routine, though it was particularly difficult today. After so long lurking in the shadows, mostly just trying to stay hidden, she now had a chance to strike back. The Thalmor had to be behind this return of the dragons. No one else had the motive and the resources, and they'd been behind many different plots to cause disruption in all the other Imperial provinces. It seemed likely the Civil War was not their only work being done here. Maybe they'd just released one or two, not knowing the beasts could then keep resurrecting each other. She'd gone to every dragon mound on her map between Whiterun and Ustengrav - they'd all been empty. Ten dragons in all. Where they were now, and why they weren't ravaging the countryside more frequently, she didn't know. But whatever the Thalmor had released, she would find some way to stop it, and the Dragonborn was the key.

She was surprised to find herself admiring the young man, thinking of him now as the Dragonborn. She hadn't really known what to think of him, back when he'd first stepped into her inn months ago. The more she learned, though, the more interesting he was to her. Tor's son, by all accounts a great warrior, trained and influenced by Gregory, the last Spymaster of the Blades. He'd handled himself extraordinarily well during their confrontation. With her guidance, he could become very influential indeed.

She would need to guide him, obviously. However much she was coming to like him, she could not ignore what she already knew of him. People with Aleron's particular sickness did not just get better. And Gregory would have only made it worse, teaching him to distrust everyone around him. It saddened her that she had no real hope of that. Sure, he seemed to trust those lackeys of his, the barbarian sellsword and the Nord Shield-Maiden at least. But if she knew Gregory at all, he was keeping some piece of himself away. No student of Gregory's would ever let even a supposed friend close enough to do real harm.

Lydia broke her from her thinking as she was hanging linens out to dry behind the inn.

"This seems like a good sparing arena," the dark-haired Nord said. She looked flatly at Delphine, and in that moment the old Blade truly knew the young housecarl.

"Let me get my gear."

Rather than say anything, the housecarl simply tossed a bundle at her feet. The shape of it told Delphine what it was before she even saw the slender sheath poling through. She smiled wryly at the Nord woman, conveying slight irritation that she had gone through Delphine's things, then pulled the leather cuirass from the sack.

When she'd donned the cuirass and fastened her swordbelt, she spun to face her opponent. With the sun touching the horizon behind her, Lydia was even more intimidating than her greater-than-average height would normally have made her. Her sword was already drawn, and her shield was up.

"Ready?" Delphine asked.

In response, Lydia strode forward and to her right, looking to trick Delphine into a counter-cross attack. The housecarl's sword was beautiful. A classic Nord-style broadsword, short-bladed and double-edged, with a ribbed hilt that rose into two bronze horse heads facing each other at the base of the blade, it had the look of years and use to it. The shield was newer, but it was of equally fine make, with circular cross-braces of steel around a conical steel embossment and a steel rim, fastened to a thick, circular wooden shield base. Delphine thought of her shield, down in her hidden room. She rarely if ever used it in battle, but she had not been willing to rid herself of the fine Blades shield. She thought, though, after the first quick movements of Lydia's sword, that she perhaps should have gone down to retrieve it first.

Someone had trained this girl well. She kept her shield low enough that it did not hinder her vision, but high enough to be useful. However, her blade hand was the real marvel. She manipulated that short blade with speed and remarkable dexterity. Each thrust had at least three different directions it could end, sliding the blade around like a snakehead following a mouse. Her wrists were strong, as Delphine always felt a good firm resistance when she parried the housecarl's changed thrusts. Her footwork was good, though she was more flatfooted than a Blades Swordmaster would have trained her to be. There was no real sword-and-shield technique native to the Nords. Historically, they were pikemen and two-handed weapon users. Shields were not uncommon by any means, but they were generally tall body shields paired with hand-axes. The style Lydia used was a hybrid of different Nibenean and Breton styles, mixed with some of the shield-work of the local Nords.

Delphine danced around the taller woman, tiring Lydia out by forcing her to chase and use too much energy. Her Blades training had long ago put her well above the average swordswoman, but this Nord was making her work to stay clear.

"You are well-trained," she told Lydia, "but you're too eager, too willing to throw yourself at your opponent rather than truly force the issue. You're charging; but I'm leading you where I want you to go."

The Nord woman just growled, a determined grimace spreading across her handsome face.

"Someone taught you well how to handle those fine weapons," Delphine continued. "Give me some time, and I'll teach you to use them."

The shield flashed low and then high, barely missing Delphine's face, and the Blade knew she had a gifted pupil. Her spin unbalanced her opponent, and with a sweeping kick to the back of the foot, the Nord was down. Half a heartbeat later, Delphine's sword was at Lydia's throat.

The anger in the raven-haired Nord's submission was almost comical, and Delphine was reminded of just how young the housecarl must be.

"You did well," she said, sheathing her sword with a flourish and letting her opponent pick herself up. "Almost got me with that last shield move. I assure you, that's quite a feat. The last time anyone got that close, you were likely in swaddling."

Lydia slammed her sword into its sheath. "I don't think I've ever been beaten by a woman. My teacher, Asolf, and Vilkas of the Companions, are the only ones since I turned sixteen."

Delphine sniffed. "I wouldn't like to fight Vilkas myself. If you lasted more than five moves against that one, then you're better than I was at your age."

"A full minute," the younger woman said with a proud smile. "Twelve moves."

"You're a natural talent."

Lydia frowned. "I left one out."

"Aleron," Delphine said without a thought. She'd seen him fight once, back when he stormed Embershard Mine with Erik.

"He was afraid to hurt me, at first, but once he realized I was going to try to beat him I didn't last five moves. I've never seen anyone so strong and so precise. I think for a moment I was afraid of him."

Delphine saw it, then: her way in. "Some men have a hate they're born with. I've seen it before; it's in the eyes. Knowing what I know of him, I'll tell you this: there is no shame in being afraid of that one."

Lydia looked at her, obviously confused, as she unknowingly crept forward. "What do you know?"

"He killed his brother when he was a child. He killed his parents a few years later." Delphine started to walk back into the inn, a feeling growing in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't felt in years: shame.


Teldryn Sero walked the docks of Raven Rock, looking longingly at the ocean waves. He knew he should leave this place. He wasn't sure why he felt it so strongly of late, but he wanted to be away from this Azura-forsaken place.

The boatmer seemed dazed as they rushed about the wide-hulled boats, preparing sails or securing cargo or washing the decks. It was a controlled chaos that he often missed, life on the sea. He had always felt that the chaos of the sea was somehow simpler, more understandable than the chaos of a city. There was a peace on the water, even in the volatile Sea of Ghosts, of which the life of a sellsword robbed him. This is my last job, he thought. After settling this business with Mogrel, he was going to sign on with one of the merchant vessels.

"They look odd, don't they?" Neloth was an unwelcome presence as he slid next to Teldryn.

"I won't deny that," he told the old Telvanni mage. Old did not really explain Neloth. Trees were old. Neloth was ancient. Teldryn was certain he'd seen the rise of Tiber Septim, over six hundred years ago; but he had probably been old even then. Teldryn liked to think that Neloth must have been present at the birth of House Telvanni.

"You don't look so good yourself."

Teldryn laughed. He felt like a cold fish on a dry deck. He felt like the whole world was dying around him.

"A laugh from Teldryn Sero," the old Telvani mused. "This little city really has gone mad."

"What are you talking about?"

Neloth looked him over, seeming to measure him in a glance. Those dark red eyes lingered a moment on Teldryn's, and finally the mage spoke: "You're not so far gone as the rest. If you want, I can shelter you at Tel Mithryn. You'd have to agree to let me study what's happening to you, of course; but I'll take you in, despite your hatred for my house. It will be better for you than to be subject to whatever is happening to you here."

Teldryn shook his head. Perhaps Neloth was too old, even for a Dunmer. "There's nothing happening to me besides a need for change, you old magus.

Neloth turned to face him, anger flashing. Magus was not a kind word among the Dunmer, especially the Telvani. "When you're groveling, Redoran, before whomever or whatever is turning this entire island into a slave pit, do not look to me and expect pity." He spat the words, nonsensical babbling from a crazy old mer. "I don't know what is happening, yet; but, as it is, I think I'll just sit back and watch, when I find out. It is fascinating, in a morbid sort of way."

Teldryn was turning to retort, to give Neloth a flash of ebony steel to focus his addled Telvanni senses, when a tall Dunmer in tan robes pushed between the two, followed by another similarly dressed Nord. Both wore masks that reminded him of those awful seekers in Hermaeus Morah's realm. They gave no word of apology for bumping the Telvanni.

"I say!" Neloth called after them. "Learn some respect, you cultist bastards!"

Teldryn was confused as he watched the odd pair book passage on an outgoing Nord vessel. "What cult?"

The old mage looked him over again, weighing him a second time. "Those are Miraak priests," he finally said. "They serve some old forgotten Nord deity. Something to do with dragons and that old temple near the center of the island."

Teldryn looked again, shocked that the Nords were pushing off without half their cargo. The Miraak priests were just standing amid the chaos of the Nords' work, looking haughtily at the boatmen. Miraak. Why did that name sound so familiar?


Aleron felt strangely purposeful as he and his group rode up to the stables outside of Whiterun. He had not thought that a conversation with Delphine would have left him feeling so. He had expected her to try to manipulate him, to succeed in one way or another. She had done both of those things. He knew there was more information that she was not sharing. He had not expected to get everything he wanted from her. He was glad for what he'd been able to get. The thing he had not expected - the thing that had him questioning his very soul since the moment he walked out of that basement room - was the common ground he had found with the Blade. He had seen something in Delphine, huddled in her little hideaway, which he doubted she had meant him to see. Through all her coldness, her lack of human decency, she was at heart a very unselfish person. Aleron could not pinpoint when he had realized it; and even now he knew that her nature was yet wrapped up in a trained and practiced tendency toward distrustfulness and manipulation. He recognized those things in himself, as hard as he tried to suppress them. What he now saw in Delphine was the results of letting Gregory's teaching supersede his father's. Yet even through that poisoned existence, Aleron could see her real goal, what drove her to be as she was: she wanted to do what she believed was right, even at her own expense - especially at her own expense.

That realization of who exactly Delphine was cleared his mind. He realized that it didn't matter what else she knew, how she would try to use it against him. What mattered was simply that he did what he always did, what his mother had taught him from childhood: what was right.

Valdimar rode away from the rest of the group, seeking Bjorlam, who was to be leading a carriage caravan through Labyrinthian to Morthal. Aleron rode with Mjoll and Erik to find Jervar in the stable house. The young stableman started when he saw Caddock, but he recovered with laugh at the horse's subdued behavior. The big black still snorted and tossed his head about angrily when any but Aleron took his reigns, but he would no longer bite or kick - not usually, anyway.

By the time they were done instructing the stableman and unpacking their horses, Valdimar was back.

"Aye," the bald Nord said. "He'll take me along. But I don't like leaving just the three of you to follow through Labyrinthian alone. So few, the trolls won't hesitate. And a mage you may become, but a fire mage you're not and never will be."

Aleron put his hand up to stay the anxious Nord. "I need you to go ahead. We're all tired. The horses are tired. And I doubt Bjorlam will wait for the horses to rest. You go ahead with the wagons, talk to Idgrod for me. We'll bring Dagfinnr with us in a couple of days."

The housecarl looked fretful still, but he acquiesced. "I'd better get going then. They're leaving now."

Mjoll shook her head in exasperation. "Caravaners. There's not more than three hours of daylight left."

Valdimar laughed. "They know their business. If they start out now, cut a little bit into each night, they'll still arrive in Morthal in the same time as if they'd left this morning. The horses can go longer in the cooler evening, without so much need for rest. Like I said, they know their business."

Mjoll just shook her head again.

They all said their goodbyes to the Housecarl, even Meeko, who barked at him to stay. An evening in the city would be nice, with a chance to let Erik blow off some steam while he continued to gather his thoughts. So long as he could manage to stay clear of Mjoll - which had not really been a problem since that night in Windstad - he should enjoy some rest.

.

The Bannered Mare was as Aleron remembered it. Patrons from around the city crowded the tables and benches with travelers from all over the Tundra and a few from beyond. Each in their own way added to the general feel of the inn, even the silent patrons brooding over half-empty mugs. To Aleron, it was a reminder of how little he understood normal life.

He listened to the other people's conversations as he sat silently with Mjoll, hearing their complaints about dropping potato prices and rising leather prices, about poor cabbage crops and slovenly workmen. It was all so foreign to him now. Had it been so long since his father had died? Was his father's memory so removed from him that he could no longer connect with the solid, good things of life that the man had taught him?

He needed to find time to work the forge. He needed to end all this dragon business, to fulfill whatever destiny the gods had for him, so he could finally begin a normal life. Maybe he could convince Mjoll to settle with him. He doubted that. Once the dragons were taken care of, likely she would return to Riften, continue her good work there. But could she, anymore? He knew a little of her troubles with Maven Black-Briar. The evil woman had been made Jarl of the Rift after the Stormcloaks were driven out during the winter. With Maven as Jarl, Mjoll would likely find only a dagger in the back if she returned. All of that, though, was not what he needed to be thinking about. He needed the quiet of his room now.

Mjoll smiled kindly at him as he left her with Uthgerd, the only other Nord warrior he'd ever seen in full plate armor. His room was up the stairs at the back of the common area, the first door on the right. He waded through a group of reveling Companions, their affiliation with the famous warrior band made obvious by the weapons they held - fine steel adorned with silver wolf-heads at the bases of the blades. One, a tall, dark-haired Nord with a fearsome-looking battleaxe seemed to weigh him before giving him an approving nod. The rest seemed to be wondering where the serving girl had gone.

Before he reached the stairs, he tripped over a young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years old, who was rushing out of a back room with something clutched under her coat. As he picked himself up, he realized that the girl was hurt, rubbing at her ankle and hissing softly.

"I'm sorry," he said as he knelt beside her, trying to see if she'd broken anything in her tumble. "Are you alright?"

She took her hands from her ankle upon noticing that he was still there. She started patting around the floor, looking for something. "I'm fine." She said curtly, then she cursed.

Aleron stood to help her look around. "What are you looking for," he asked, and suddenly she leaped behind him to grab a small loaf of bread that had fallen there. She tried to rise, to run for the door, but she cursed again as her ankle gave out.

"Wait," he told her, trying to calm her down. "Stop trying to run on that ankle."

"Stop, indeed," Hulda, the innkeeper, said angrily from behind Aleron.

A look of fear and horror came over the girl's face, and Aleron finally understood.

The innkeeper reached down to grab the young girl. "Lucia, I told you that last time was your last chance, and that was the fifth last chance. I've tried to be kind, to let you stay here in the common room so long as you keep yourself clean -"

"I am clean!" Lucia screamed, bringing a nervous look around the room from Hulda. "I have to go all the way to the damned river every day to wash, 'cause what runs through the city is filthy, but I still do it."

As Hulda tried to haul the girl up to her feet, Aleron put a gentle hand to the innkeeper's shoulder to stop her. Hulda let the girl sit back down, and Aleron knelt again beside her.

"She wasn't steeling the bread," he told the huffing innkeeper while squeezing lightly on the girl's swollen ankle and watching her reaction. She frowned at the slight pressure, but she did not wince or wail. Nothing was broken. "I thought she worked here, and so I told her to grab a loaf for me. I think I scared her. When I realized she wasn't one of your girls, I came to stop her, so she wouldn't get in trouble, and I tripped over her coming back out with my bread."

Lucia looked at the innkeeper with a nervous smile, nodding her head, trying to play her part. Aleron dug into his belt pouch to fetch some coppers for the bread.

"Fine," Hulda said with a sad turn to her lips. "But no more chances."

The innkeeper left, and Aleron reached out to the girl. She was biting her lip and looking something like a deer that had just successfully evaded the wolves, with eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

"Is it okay if I pick you up?" he asked her. "You need to put this foot up somewhere, stay off of it for a couple of days."

She blushed as he lifted her in his arms. She was stiff for a moment, then he smiled at her and she relaxed and put her arms around him. He thought for a moment what to do with her. She clearly had nowhere to go. "I'll take you to my room, you can lie there."

She smiled and he started up the stairs as she took a bite of her bread.

Once at the top of the stairs, he realized where Saadia, the inn's usual serving girl, was. Lucia's face went crimson at the sounds coming from Erik's room, and Aleron rushed the girl into his own.

In the room, he set the girl onto the bed, then wondered if he should help her under the covers or just leave her be. He settled on helping her get a pillow under her foot, then asking if she needed any water or cheese to go with her bread.

"Mead would be nice," she said with a smile. "Or an ale."

He laughed. "I'll send Saadia up . . . or I suppose I might have to bring it back up myself. Just sit tight. I'll pay the room up for a few days. You have some way to take care of yourself after that?"

The girl blushed again, but after a moment her chin came up. "Brenuin and I do well enough."

Aleron supposed Brenuin must be a relative. Perhaps he would return soon to help the girl. "Alright then. I'll, uh . . . be back in a bit with something for you to drink."

Lucia blushed again and waved goodbye, letting him know she wanted her privacy.

Outside the room, he saw Mjoll holding Uthgerd back at the bottom of the stairs. The woman was taller than Mjoll, more manly in shape, and her scarred face gave her a frightening appearance.

"What are you doing to that girl up there?" the big woman shouted at him. Aleron looked to his door, then to the opposite door, where Erik and Saadia were still quite loud. He threw up his hands in a defensive posture as Uthgerd finally pushed passed a chortling Mjoll to rush up the stairs and grab him by his shirt collar.

"What kind of a monster -" Uthgerd started, before realizing that the sounds she'd heard were not only continuing without Aleron, but coming from a different room than she'd thought.

She let him go, stepped back a bit with an apologetic look, then stepped up again, ire renewed. "What do you think you're doing, bringing that girl to your room like that?"

Mjoll stepped up beside her and tried to explain. "I'm trying to tell you, Gerd, he's not like that at all."

The bigger Nord woman waved her off. "Maybe he just doesn't like girls grown. You ever think of that?"

Mjoll turned a deep crimson as Aleron turned his eyes to her, shocked at what he now realized the pair of warrior women must have been talking about after he left. And then he understood fully what he was being accused of now.

"She's a child -" he began, incredulous, when the sounds from Erik's room abruptly turned to loud banging and crashing, then a feminine wail of fear.

Mjoll kicked the door open, and the three warriors rushed in. Only Uthgerd had her greatsword; Aleron and Mjoll had only their belt knives. But at least they were clothed.

Erik stood with his back to the door, naked and slick with sweat, brandishing two belt knives at no less than four armed Redguard knights in full chainmail and pointed coifs. Saadia was still on the bed, trying to cover herself with the blankets, and whimpering softly.

"Now, now," one of the Redguards said soothingly. "This doesn't need to get ugly. We're just here for Iman."

"No!" Saadia cried, launching from under the covers to clutch at Erik's leg. "Kill them all!"

Erik ignored the girl, and Aleron spread out with Mjoll and Uthgerd behind his tall redheaded friend. "That's not exactly convincing me to stand down. Why don't you all just put away your weapons and we'll talk."

"That sounds like a good idea," said the Redguard who'd spoken earlier. "But, you see, we've been tracking this one a long time. My name is Kematu, and I lead this group of Alik'r."

"Assassins!" Saadia screamed. She threw a candlestick from the bedside table at the Redguards, but hit no one. "I spoke out against the Aldmeri Dominion in Hammerfell, and they've been after me ever since."

One of the Redguards lost control.

Chaos broke out in the room, as a four-to-four melee ensued between the Alik'r Redguards and the virtually unarmed companions. Erik gutted the first Redguard, the one who'd broken the stalemate, slashing open the man's sword hand with one knife before plunging a second into his bowels through the chainmail. Uthgerd took on the largest of the Alik'r, doing her best to keep the tall man on his heels without endangering her companions with her wide greatsword swings. Aleron and Mjoll charged one of the dark-skinned desert men together, while Erik broke away from his first kill to wrestle with Kematu.

In moments, Mjoll's short dagger opened the interior leg of her opponent, spilling more blood than seemed possible into the room's floor, Uthgerd got her greatsword past the defending scimitar of the tall Redguard, and Kematu lay dying with a knife in his armpit. The leader of the Alik'r pulled Erik close, but his voice was still strong enough for all to hear.

"She's not what she says. She sold us out to the Dominion. That's why we're hunting her. The other Redguard lords put a bounty on her head. The resistance is alive and strong in Hammerfell."

.

It took all of their two-day stay in Whiterun to sort out the issue. Though there was never really any sorting out. Whatever the Alik'r had said, there was no proof that Saadia, or Iman, was any sort of traitor to her people. She claimed that the Alik'r were working for the Thalmor. In the end, the Redguard woman remained at the inn, keeping her new name, and promising to live her life as if none of the messy business had ever happened. And on the third day since arriving at Whiterun, Aleron and his group left for Morthal.


Labyrinthian was a magnificent structure, a temple the size of a small city, with underground ruins that would make it a very large city. The southern entrance to Labyrinthian was a series of immense stone columns, which led into an open area of wide, smooth-stoned walkways.

Mjoll looked around nervously at the towers and low, domed structures that dotted the central open area. Trolls, she knew, liked to make their homes in those convenient places, and travelers often found out that even when the trolls were frightened by superior numbers, those who got too close were killed instantly.

Mjoll hated trolls. They were filthy, three-eyed monsters, with simian features, long arms, and very sharp claws. Most people unlucky enough to have encountered a Skyrim troll never lived to tell about it. A single troll could take on three or four seasoned warriors and come out with three or four large meals. Fortunately, they were violently territorial, and in the wild they were never seen in groups, not for more than a hundred years. Except in Labyrinthian.

As many as five trolls had been seen at one time in Labyrinthian. That group had killed all but one of a marching mercenary band, twenty strong before coming through the great stone arches.

Mjoll hated that they were only three. Well, three and Meeko. And four horses. The horses were probably the only reason they'd lasted this long without being attacked. Trolls loved to eat cows, but horses were usually too fast, and often came with spears and swords attached. The beasts would either let them pass, seeing them as posing too much of a threat for the risk, or they would attack en masse.

She looked ahead at Aleron, who was still wearing his axe, with his father's sword belted to his side. He had yet to unsheathe the marvelous blade since that first time in Riverwood. She would not have liked to use it, not now that she had her Grimsever; she liked her swords to have two edges. But she imagined Aleron, with his freakish strength, could probably cut any normal blade in two with the adamantine katana.

Her feelings toward the Dragonborn were growing more and more complicated. He was perhaps the most complicated person she'd ever met, so she supposed her feeling were apt. That night in Windstad, she'd been so ready for him, thought he'd finally been ready for her. He'd helped her take her mind off of old wounds, but replaced them with new ones. What was it that he wanted from her? Would it even be something she was willing to give? She'd given so much already, and he didn't seem to even notice. True, she was not here for him - she was not. She was here because honor demanded it. The Dragonborn needed people he could trust, people who could help him fulfill his destiny. She would be that person for him, because if she turned her back it would be cowardice.

But for Aleron, the young man with darkness in his past and a peculiar sense of honor that seemed to rival her own, she felt more and more love. She respected who he was even more than what he was. What he was was something out of legend. Who he was . . . she could not begin to fathom a legend that beautiful. There was so much pain in him, pain she could not understand, that she could only scratch the surface of. Yet through that pain he set his will against the world, refusing to be beaten. He was everything a man should be. She'd seen it in him that night in Windstad. She'd seen how much he had needed her, how everything in the world was perfect for that one moment; and she'd seen him come crashing against that moment like a god.

So where did that leave her? She refused to love the man if he did not love her back. But her heart held on to the hope that he already did, that he was too caught up in circumstances to realize that he already did. At first, she had simply wanted him, needed to have him. He was a beautiful man, and he sparked in her a frenzy of desire that she had not felt with any other. But she would not marry him for that, even if that really was the only way to get it. She might, she realized, marry him if he loved her. Gods! That was strange to think of. Was that what she wanted? To be the Dragonborn's wife? No. She wanted to be Aleron's wife. She wanted to face whatever destiny he had awaiting him, to be there right beside him against dragons and the gods knew what else. And she wanted him beside her, fighting her battles. She wanted to become a part of him, just as she wanted him as a part of her.

But it could not work one way. She wished she could understand him. Maybe she needed to understand his past, first. That was a frightening thought. The only possible way she knew to get him to open up about his past was to share her own. It was just so complicated.

"Trolls!" Erik signaled.

Mjoll turned Mista to where Erik was pointing his battleaxe. Three white-furred frost trolls were rushing out from one of the stone towers, hooting. She drew Grimsever and kicked into a gallop toward the beasts.

Fighting trolls from horseback was tricky work. A troll was strong enough to trip a horse without injuring itself, and so losing the horse altogether was a strong possibility. A troll's arms were long enough that it could easily reach up into the saddle. The only real advantage a horse gave in fighting trolls was in the quick strike. Trolls were strong, healed so fast it was nearly impossible to fully kill them without fire or dismemberment, and surprisingly fast in a straight line. But taking a good angle on one, a rider could strike and be away before the troll could counter. Of course, stay away too long, and the beast would just heal itself and be good as new. There was a reason people didn't come through Labyrinthian unless they didn't think the trolls would even attack.

Mjoll's first strike was lucky, and nearly severed the head of an ape-faced troll with one swipe of Grimsever. The beast flailed about, still dangerous, but such a wound would last. Erik, she realized, was down from his horse, striding toward one of the trolls with fire in his eyes. Aleron pulled his axe free and trotted Caddock up to face the last, Meeko heeling the horse and growling viciously.

Mjoll was just thinking that they had a solid chance of getting out of this, when two more trolls slammed into the horses from behind. She could see, as Mista reared and toppled, that Aleron dove free before his horse could do the same. Unfortunately, she was not able to jump away, and she found herself lying breathless and helpless under her mount is it struggled to get back upright.

She heard the troll before she saw it. Probably, it was the same one who'd toppled her. When it came into view, she could see that it was. One arm was hanging limp from the impact with Mista. Still, it was going to kill her, and if it could it would eat her. Its heavy arms nearly dragged the cold stone ground, until it was close enough for a killing blow. Then, it raised its great clawed hand above its head.

Meeko leaped atop the horse, then sprung at the troll, wrapping its thick neck all around with wide, powerful jaws. Mjoll was sad for Aleron then. He loved that dog. But to her shock, the troll went down in the impact with the hound, and Meeko was lucky enough to have attacked the neck of the injured side of the troll. She heard the surprising snap of bones from where the dog and the troll went down, then suddenly Meeko was beside her, barking through a mouthful of hair and troll throat.

Mjoll finally got out from under Mista, who righted quickly without the awkward weight. There were still at least three trolls to be dealt with. She looked to see that Erik was dodging and hacking chunks out of the one he'd squared off with earlier. That meant Aleron would be facing two alone.

She saw the Dragonborn then, shield and war axe backing up one of the trolls while the other recovered from a severely gashed knee. She glanced at Erik to see Meeko tearing at the beast's calf while the redheaded Nord came down with an over-head strike that nearly took the trolls arm off midway through the forearm, and then she rushed to help Aleron.

He didn't need it. As the injured troll was just getting back to its feet, Aleron planted a heavy steel boot into the other's chest, sending it backward into a pile of rubble. He turned, then toward the injured troll. He shouted, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" and the burst of fire that came from his mouth disintegrated the troll, like wood turned suddenly to ash.

Mjoll met the troll in the rubble, bringing Grimsever down into its knee as it straightened. It swatted at her, but her shield took the blow, nearly splintering. Her next blow skewered the troll's chest as it backed away dragging its bad leg. It tried to grab her in a crushing hug, then, but she pulled out her sword and in the same motion cut most of the muscle from the troll's left arm as she ducked away. Now hobbled completely on one side, the troll tried to drag itself from the field. She thrust her sword into its neck, then, at the base of its skill, causing it to finally shudder and die.

Aleron tossed his now uselessly broken shield onto the beast, a disgusted look on his face. They both looked to Erik, and Mjoll smiled when she saw the tall man holding a massive troll head up for them to inspect.

She heard the rustling beside her, and instinctively she spun, slashing the last troll - its neck already half-healed from nearly being severed in the first onslaught - across belly. Aleron's sword finally came out, in an underhanded grip on his left side, and he struck the beast's face, causing a strange popping sound and a jerking from the troll. Mjoll finished it off by slicing through the rest of the neck.

"Gods!" they all said together, taking the deep breaths of after-battle excitement.

Then they heard the sky break.

"Zu'u los Sahloknir! Nii los tiid fah dii inro suleyksejun wah daal!"

"Gods!" Mjoll cursed.

A great green dragon soured overhead, and suddenly a column of ice flew at the companions.

"Into the tower!" Erik called.

The dragon came again as they ran. This time, a column of fire followed a shout of "YOL!" from the beast. The group made it into the tower, though, Aleron last behind Valdimar's horse, Dagfinnr.

"I'll handle this," the Dragonborn said, after he'd checked to make sure everyone was inside the tower. "Meeko, stay, guard Mjoll."

The dog stood facing Mjoll, almost in the doorway, as Aleron walked back outside.

She screamed at the foolish man. Called him a fool. Then she looked to the stairs that ascended the broken tower.

"Ahnok fen ni sav hi!" the dragon roared outside.

Mjoll climbed. She could see that the old stairs did not reach the top; they were broken halfway up. But there was a ledge she might be able to jump to, and from there she should be able to see through a window everything in the open central area of Labyrinthian.

She reached the place where she must jump to the stairs as she heard the dragon land on one of the arches nearer the entrance. Aleron's voice shouted in the dragon language as she jumped, crossing over nearly half the width of the entire tower. Meeko was barking at her from the floor. She looked and luck was with her. She could see what was happening outside.

The dragon indeed sat upon the nearest arch, with Aleron standing defiantly some feet away.

The dragon laughed contemptuously, then spoke in a clear tone. "Zu'u koraav tol joor lost meyz pahlokaal fiid Zu'u saraan."

Aleron's response was to Shout. "FUS RO DAH!"

Mjoll had seen what that shout did to a boulder outside High Hrothgar. It had shattered a rock the size of a small cow. What it did to the dragon was a shock. From nearly twenty feet away, it lifted the immense beast, like a blow so strong that the dragon was thrown by the sheer force of it. The dragon's head crashed into the next archway back, and it fell to the ground in a raging heap.

Aleron did not reach the monster in time to kill it, though. As he came close, it spun, swinging its spiked tail and laughing.

"Hin zul los mul . . ." the beast cackled. Then its eyes narrowed as it found Aleron charging. "Fah joor."

It shouted fire as it rose again into the air. Aleron ducked away and started to chase after it.

The dragon did not rise high. It beat its leathery wings almost to the ground as it flew so low and laughed. And then it met Mjoll's eyes, and it dove straight for the tower. Mjoll had no time to think. She drew her Grimsever in a reversed grip and dove from her window as the beast's head came near. She would not land on it, as Aleron had done to Mirmulnir. She would use its own momentum, and hers, to drive Grimsever's blade into its head.

The dragon tried to open its mouth to snatch her out of the air like a leaping fish catches a fly. It only just missed too low. The impact was like being kicked by a warhorse. She flipped over the monster's head, down past its wings, over its back. She heard Aleron shouting, and then she felt herself in open air, and heard Aleron Shout. Strong arms wrapped around her, grabbing her from the air, interrupting her downward momentum. The eventual landing was much better than it could have been. She was shocked to see that Aleron landed on his feet, a ten foot drop, at least, from where he'd caught her.

A thunderous crash sounded from further into Labyrinthian as Aleron set her down. They looked to see that the dragon had crashed into one of the squat stone buildings at the far end of the clearing. Erik came out from the tower, and the group started toward the dragon.

Halfway there, they knew it would not move again. Aleron started to breathe heavily as the dragon dissolved just as Mirmulnir had. For an agonizing minute, Mjoll watched Aleron gasp and groan from the pain of the dragon being absorbed into his soul. She tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he waved her away.

When it was done, Mjoll looked and saw that the dragon was only bones and a few scattered scales, just as Mirmulnir had been after Aleron killed it. Perhaps the Dragonborn would take some of these as well.

She was curious, though. "What Shout was that, that could kill a dragon?"

Aleron smiled at her. "I Shouted the whirlwind after you fell, so I could catch you. Look at the dragon's head."

She peered through the jumble of bones to locate the head. There, jutting out from the top of the skull was a hint of green light. Grimsever, she realized.

Erik laughed aloud, and clapped her on the shoulder. "Damn you, Mjoll, you got one before me! I owe you a drink, when we get to Morthal."

She'd killed a dragon. She'd killed it, but Aleron had still consumed its soul. She'd killed a dragon.

She walked to Aleron and kissed him. He seemed confused, but he reciprocated. She'd killed a dragon. She'd been there, beside him, sharing his destiny. She'd been a part of him, and he a part of her. It felt like a warrior's paradise. It felt like Sovngarde.

Aleron bowed and waved her forward. "After you, Dragon Slayer."


Valdimar waited in the Moorside Inn for his answer from Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. She had told him that her decision would be made within the day, and that day was nearly done. She had not been happy about the request, though. He could understand her dilemma. Her thane requested her aid in an act of espionage that could start another Great War, while already a civil war waged in eastern Skyrim, just on her doorstep. She owed Aleron much for his defeat of Movarth. But she did not owe him this much. Valdimar had needed to explain the need, explain that the Thalmor were the best bet to know why these dragons came back.

"No answer yet?" Idge asked. "I told you; she'll do it. She just wants to make sure her dreams don't give her any reason not to."

Valdimar smiled at the Jarl's daughter. "Strange way to deliberate, taking a nap."

Idgrod the Younger laughed, a musical sound. "It's her way, however strange. She woke an hour ago. She'll call you soon."

Valdimar was more concerned for his thane. He knew the man would come through Labyrinthian, and he knew what he'd seen there as his caravan had come through. At least three trolls were living in the ruined temple city, possibly more. He had heard the others say that Aleron could now Shout dragon fire, but would that be enough. Mages were the only ones who went into Labyrinthian with such small numbers, and then only Destruction specialists, usually, those who could bring fire. Fire was the only quick way to kill a troll.

It bothered him more that he had left the Dragonborn. Jarl Idgrod, seeing him alone, hearing that Aleron was not with him, had given him a distinctly disappointed stare. Why had he left the man alone? Well, not alone. But he'd sworn he wouldn't willingly leave the man's side, knowing that what Idgrod saw had meaning. Scold himself as he might, though, there was nothing he could do about it, now. He had to trust that this slip wouldn't cost the world everything.

He noticed as three more traders, these clearly from east, entered the inn. They would have tales to tell, for sure. The war was all the talk now, as the excitement over last year's vampire dealings had died down, and Imperial advancement revved up. If the rumors were true, Dawnstar was nearly taken already - some treachery was involved, apparently - and that left only Winterhold and Windhelm in the hands of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric would be getting desperate, now, willing to try striking out at another hold, perhaps. Hjaalmarch would be the easiest target. It was the closest to those holds the Stormcloaks still held, and it was common knowledge that the Imperials had all but abandoned the capital itself, preferring instead their fort at Snowhawk. They left only a small contingent within the Morthal.

He was surprised, then, to hear that the newcomers did not speak of soldiers, but of a dragon.

"Flyin' high up in the mountains," a trader with a boil on his lip was saying. "We were comin' 'long the road, from Fort Dunstad. And there it was, up in the pass near Labyrinthian, flyin' 'round and roarin'. We never pushed those horses so fast. Thought we were dead, we did."

Valdimar was up and headed out of the inn in an instant. Maybe they'd waited a few extra days in Whiterun. Maybe if he could sneak through to the other side of the mountains before they reached Labyrinthian. Maybe this all hadn't gone to shit because he was afraid. Afraid of that man with the destiny so important. Afraid that the Dragonborn would fail because he couldn't protect him. Valdimar had never wanted to be anyone's housecarl, never wanted anyone's life to be in his hands. He certainly never wanted to be the protector of the Dragonborn. He was alone. He'd always been alone, looking out for himself. What was Idgrod Ravencrone thinking, putting this all on him? She knew him, knew why he stayed away from others. Gods, maybe it was still all okay. He just had to leave now. Maybe he could borrow Kjald from the stablemaster.

"You!" he heard a gruff Dunmer voice shout. He glanced toward the voice to see two men in tan robes and strange masks rushing toward him from down the street. One, a Dark Elf by his voice, continued shouting to get Valdimar's attention.

He didn't have time for this. "I'm in a hurry, pilgrim. Speak your piece while hurrying along or hold your peace here." He did not slow to let them catch up.

From behind him, the gruff voice spoke again. "The guards said you protect the Dragonborn."

Valdimar stopped, despite himself. When he turned, he could see that both these monks were holding fire spells at ready, their hands glowing with the familiar flickering light.

"Aye," he said, not really understanding yet why these men were so jumpy. "I'm the Dragonborn's housecarl, Valdimar. Do you have news of him?"

He could not see the faces of the travelers, but their backs hunched at his words, and there was menace in their countenance, at least.

Idgrod the Younger came up to him then, not realizing the danger these two posed.

"My mother says she will help your Blade friend," she said quietly to him. "She will get an invitation to Elenwen's next social engagement. Just have the Blade send her a letter, like you two discussed."

The monks did not pay the girl any head. They only waited for something. Finally, the other, a Nord, Spoke.

"Where is this false Dragonborn? Our master demands his death. When Lord Miraak returns, none shall oppose him."

Valdimar stepped in front of Idge, readying an ice spike for the Dunmer and a fireball for the Nord. The girl finally seemed to notice the tension, and started to back away. Valdimar's shoulders squared.


Lydia's face scrunched as she read through Delphine's copy of A Brief History of the Empire, v4, with her own personal notes. Delphine knew that the girl would have more questions. She'd been downright rabid for answers after reading Delphine's personal copy of The Warp in the West. She would make a fine Blade of this girl.

The nagging feeling she'd had after that first sparring match with Lydia had not gone away, though. This girl was raw material, and just as Delphine had been when she was that young, the Dragonborn's housecarl would be molded to the needs of the Blades, the needs of Tamriel. There was nothing to feel guilt over in that. She told herself it was not that she'd shared what the boy had done to his family. It was true, and deeply personal for Delphine. Yet perhaps that was it. She had let her personal feelings get involved, and that was always dangerous. It shouldn't matter this time, though. What she felt coincided with what the Blades needed. She needed to tie herself more permanently to the Dragonborn, and this girl was her way of doing that. The girl needed to know the truth.

"Are you really suggesting that the Emperors might have had more undocumented children?" Lydia sounded intrigued.

"Martin Septim couldn't have been the only one. Somewhere out there are more Septims, more Dragonborns. It's what we've been doing for two hundred years, trying to pin one down for sure. Obviously, somewhere back in Aleron's family line, there's a bastard child who can be traced to the Septim family." Delphine hated sounding like a lecturer, but she was the only one available for this job.

What she wanted was for the letter to come from Cyrodiil. Everything was packed, and she was so close to certain that she almost was convinced she could leave without it. But years of self-discipline and patience made her curb her conviction. Nothing was sure until it was documented. Now she was sounding like a lecturer in her own head.

Lydia broke her musing again. "And this here where you say that the Blades were likely the ones who killed Morihatha. Why would they do that?"

"Morihatha was uniting the Empire again, true." Gods, she really did hate teaching. "But behind the scenes, she was planning to make a deal with the Dunmer ALMSIVI."

"ALMSIVI?"

Delphine sighed. "The Dunmer gods of the time. You really don't know. Okay, so back in the First Era, these three Dunmer nobles turned themselves into gods somehow, apparently using Lorkhan's heart. Yeah, Lorkhan, Shor, Shezzar, whatever you want to call him. From that time, until the Nerevarine killed them, they ruled the Dunmer. Morihatha was afraid of them, and so she wasn't doing enough to bring Morrowind back into line. The Blades knew Pelagius V could be counted on not to make any deals. He laid a lot of good ground work, and in the end the Blades were right when his son pretty much finished the job."

Lydia shook her head. "Right in time for the whole world to fall apart after his death."

This time, Delphine chuckled. "Uriel VII was a great Emperor. If he hadn't got the Dunmer to reopen Vvardenfell, who knows what Dagoth Ur would have done from that mountain. I'll give you some more on that later. As for the Oblivion Crisis after Uriel VII died, things would have been a lot worse if the Empire had been like it was before. Especially here in Skyrim, where the Jarls had to fight together. Do you think that would have happened without the Empire's influence?"

"I suppose not." Lydia dove back into the book, looking more and more like a true Blades student.

A knock at the door caused both their heads to rise, though.

"Courier for you," Orgnar's voice called through the door.

Delphine sprung out of her chair, throwing the door open and nearly pushing the big Nord barman over to get to the courier.

"I already paid him," Orgnar was saying as she snatched the letter from the smaller man's hand and slammed her door on them.

The parchment was good, sealed with the mark of the Synod. She tore it open and began to read carefully. It was not encrypted. She had been shore to indicate that it should not be. Encrypted messages were like signposts that said hey, I'm a spy. It was just a letter between friends.

Dearest Delphine,

I am so glad to hear that you are thinking of visiting your cousin Marcurio. He was a great help to us here, bringing so many useful spells from his time with the knowledgeable Thalmor. I know that you two will have much to talk about, as you have not seen each other since his father died.

The rest was just filler. She knew what she needed to know. Marcurio was who she thought he was, the son of Marius Octavos, who was one of the Blades whose heads had been presented to the Emperor at the beginning of the Great War. He had shown solid espionage work within the Thalmor previously. And he would likely be willing to help. She already knew where he was.

"Come on," she told Lydia. "We're going to Dawnstar."


Aleron and his companions rode into Morthal as the town was just settling down from some great disturbance. Townsfolk were running about with buckets of water and children were crying. There was a thick smell of ash in the air, as though something large had been burned. Have they had a fire? I hope Valdimar's okay. The guards rushed to him when they realized who he was.

"What's happened here?" he asked, and Mjoll reiterated. She had an odd look on her beautiful face as she watched the smoke rise from somewhere near the center of town.

"Damned mages!" the foremost guard spat as he ushered them toward the Moorside Inn. "Your housecarl got in a damned mage battle in the middle of the damned town."

Aleron was shocked, but immediately he was worried. "Is he alright?"

"I'm fine," he heard the housecarl's voice say. He looked to see Valdimar standing next to a pair of dead bodies, one charred with magical fire, the other with a massive hole in his chest. It appeared the inn's porch had caught fire at some point, but it was only smoking now.

"What in Oblivion?" Erik asked.

Valdimar ignored the redhead, and handed Aleron a note. "I think you might want to see this."

Aleron shook his head all through reading it.

Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Aleron before he reaches Solstheim.

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.

"What now?" Mjoll asked.

Aleron laughed, not knowing what else to do.

"Everything's taken care of with the Jarl," Valdimar told him. "So long as Delphine sends the letter like we planned, she'll get the invitation."

"What now?" Mjoll asked again.

Déjà vu hit Aleron, and he thought perhaps that he would never again read another note written on square parchment.

"Now, we're going to Solstheim."


I know some won't be happy with how short this is (about 1,500 to 2,000 words short of my norm), but this is actually just what happens when a chapter of mine goes according to plan (well, mostly according to plan, anyway). The plan for all of these chapters is to be between 9,000 to 11,000 words. I'm not going to have a repeat of Before the Storm from the last book, which I think hit 18,000. On the plus side for those still reading this, I told you I could get back to a chapter a week! Huzzah!

This was seriously one of the funnest chapters for me to write that I've done. I am falling in love with writing Mjoll again, as I think I had forgotten how fun real action can be from her perspective. I hope you all enjoy. I'll post again next week, but the week after may depend on how much writing I can get away with while on vacation (hopefully a lot, but I'm kinda doubting it).