Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for violence, fat-shaming, death and fantastic racism with discussions of past child neglect and emotional trauma. My head-canon revolves around some of the characters being rather more educated than the game makes them, especially Balgruuf, and Alduin being a prominent part of Nord folklore. 'Ghosts of our Fathers', written by luminare_ardua and YellowShapedBox, has inspired this particular interpretation of Arius Aurelius.
…
Giant's Toes
Four Companions, three of them werewolves, were somewhat excessive when it came to killing a giant but Irkand Aurelius believed in superior force when facing an enemy, especially when one of his team was inexperienced. Ria had it in her to be a good Companion, perhaps even a member of the Circle (and if she so chose, a werewolf) but she was still half-trained by the rigorous standards that Irkand laid out for himself and the heirs of Ysgramor. Quality, not quantity, was the credo of the Companions – and Irkand made certain that each warrior he trained would be worthy of their Skyforge Steel weapon.
It was a brisk late summer's day, the dragon-headed arches of Bleak Falls Barrow brooding down upon the lush plains of Skyrim's heartland. Born in the southern Jeralls, Irkand still found the grasslands beautiful in day or night – when they ranged from gold to green to red with splashes of colour from flowers or the silvered hues under the moons' pitiless glow. It was as good a day as any to send a giant back to whatever demon saw fit to make him.
The creature had been dispatched, Ria landing the arrow to the eye that killed it, when something big and black sailed above with a dreadful roar. It continued to the northwest, spike-scaled wings sailing majestically on the wind, and Irkand allowed himself a soft curse that was perhaps tinged with fear.
"Was that… a dragon?" Aela asked, her voice tightly controlled.
"Not just a dragon, I fear, but the World-Eater himself upon the wing," Irkand answered with a sigh. "We live in the end times, it seems."
"This is what happens when you southerners call on the Dragon God and wake him up," Aela countered without malice. She followed the oldest beliefs of Skyrim, worshipping hearth gods and testing gods and the Prince of Hunters who stood apart from the deities of the Nords.
"I never worshipped Akatosh," Irkand responded mildly. "We should hack the toes off this thing and sell them to Arcadia. They will fetch us some coin."
Ria regarded him strangely. "It's the end of the world and you're worried about giant's toes?"
"We haven't been eaten by the World-Eater yet and it may be that the toes of this beast will make the potion which gives the Dragonborn greater health and strength with which to end him," Irkand corrected her with the same mildness. "Eyes on the prey, whelp, not on the horizon."
Farkas, who had remained silent during all of this, went to cut the toes off and see what else could be scavenged from the giant's carcass. Many of them wore heavy furs adorned with bits and pieces, like a Riekling of Solstheim, that had value only to them. The extra loot was why the Companions kept their prices reasonable, even in the wake of a civil war with much reduced manpower available amongst the Hold guards.
Ria flushed and Irkand decided to leaven the criticism with well-deserved praise. "Your eyeshot was placed as perfectly as Aela herself could wish it," he told the Nibenese girl. "You stood your ground without flinching, even when the giant's club brought up dirt and dust to blind us."
The pleased smile that crossed her face would have made any parent proud. Orphaned like so many children during and after the Great War, Ria had come north to Skyrim to pursue a dream of honour and worship Talos in discreet peace. In her enthusiasm and general optimism, Irkand saw a great deal of his niece as she could have been, and perhaps he was a little paternalistic towards her. Of course, he'd not tell her until she reached the Circle and could become privy to all the secrets of the heroes of Jorrvaskr.
"Irkand is right," Aela confirmed. "All of your shots struck the giant, no matter where he stood and the wind of his movements. It's no easy thing to stand and shoot an arrow at something that could flatten you with a blow."
The former Blade bowed to his Shield-Sister in recognition of her superior skill as an archer. Irkand had mastered every one-handed blade that came to his notice and held acceptable skill with the two-handed greatsword, but his talent for bludgeoning weapons and the axe was mediocre at best and the running joke was that when it came to archery, he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with Hircine giving him step-by-step instructions. Vilkas, the master of greatsword, battle-axe and warhammer, had given up trying to teach him how to wield the signature weapons of the Five Hundred Companions and Aela laughed every time someone suggested she teach Irkand the bow and crossbow.
Ria was beaming now, as well she should, and both the elder Companions found themselves returning the smile. With the grim Athis, dour Njada and drunken Torvar as whelps, Ria's enthusiasm made the meadhall a much less dreary place.
"Of course, now with the return of the World-Eater, I'm going to have to drill you in hitting rapidly moving targets in the air," Aela continued with a slight smile. "If arrows can bring dragons down…"
"Farkas and Vilkas can hack them to pieces," Irkand finished. "Only the Dragonborn can kill a dragon permanently, but we can keep one of those oversized lizards out of the battle for a good while."
He was descended from dragonslayers and while he wouldn't consider himself equal to one of the legendary Dragonguard, Irkand did fancy himself capable of finding a way to kill any sort of enemy. It had been what he was raised and trained to do after all.
Ria gulped, reminded again of the danger that the world faced, and nodded. Irkand, for the sake of her honour, chose not to mention the greenish cast to her pale olive skin. He really didn't want to contemplate a battle against the World-Eater without the Dragonborn at his side himself.
"We better go tell Kodlak and Skjor," rumbled Farkas, his task completed.
"Indeed," Irkand agreed as he turned from the giant's carcass. "Perhaps the Harbinger will foresee something that will help us find the Dragonborn."
"Why are we looking for the Dragonborn?" Ria asked as she picked up the pace to match Irkand's long Redguard stride.
"Because we are the premier warriors of Skyrim and sorely need the boost in honour that having the Dragonborn in our ranks will bring," Irkand answered pragmatically. "Not to mention the fact that they will need some rather intense training within a very short period of time."
"Maybe you're the Dragonborn," Farkas suggested with a grin.
Irkand pegged his husband with a wry brown gaze. "I sincerely hope not. I would have to enter the civil war and both sides endlessly irritate me. There would be a lot of dead people before I was done."
They reached the gate, which had been slammed shut (as if that would stop a dragon from raining fire upon the unprotected wooden houses below). A woman, either tall for an Imperial or a bit on the short side for a Nord, was arguing with the lantern-jawed gate guard. "I was at Helgen, dammit!" she yelled in the man's face. "Let me in – I have to warn the Jarl!"
"Orders were no one gets inside," the gate guard retorted.
"I hope that doesn't include the Companions," Irkand observed with deceptive mildness.
The woman spun around with a swirl of canvas skirt and cotton shift. Her garments were plain and worn but mended neatly, the undyed fabric standard for Legion issue to their civilian staff in Skyrim. Irkand noted it absently as he took in the olive-bronze skin, black hair pulled into a loose knot at the nape of the neck and familiar turquoise eyes. It had been nearly six years since he last saw Lia, gaunt as a spring bear with the haunted gaze of one too many close calls, and the solid rations of the Legion had done her good judging by the curvaceousness of her form.
"The World-Eater's back, I ran into Mother and Helgen was obliterated," she told him in rapid Akaviri, listing the items in order of importance.
"Judging by your expression, the World-Eater didn't have the good grace to eat the Stormsword," Irkand noted dryly.
"Nor did he eat Ulfric," Lia confirmed with a sigh.
The gate guard looked between them, noting the obvious physical resemblance in their beaky noses and almond-shaped eyes. "Commander Caius said nobody…" he observed uncertainly.
"I'm sure when Jarl Balgruuf discovers that critical news involving a dragon attack on Helgen was delayed because you were following orders, he'll understand," Aela told the guard crisply. His brethren in the pack all knew a little Akaviri and Aela was sharp enough to pick out Helgen from Lia's rapid chatter.
It took a stronger man than the gate guard to defy Aela's lupine stare and commanding tone. He gave the order to open the gate; the iron-bound wood creaked and groaned, protesting their opening like Torvar did at morning exercises.
With them cracked open enough to let a few people through, Irkand led Lia and his fellow Companions into the city and ignored the rapid slamming of the gates behind him. A word to Kodlak and Skjor would see the gate guard get a lesson in politeness to Companions soon enough.
If Windhelm, grey and grim, was a city built by the Nords in the long winter of their anger towards the mer, then Whiterun had been shaped in glory and prosperity of the race's too brief summer of cooperating with other nations. It was a town of gold, tan and cream, every wooden surface carved with symbols of health, wealth and peace, the fieldstone road winding like a well-fed snake through a summer field rich with prey. Both the Legion and the Stormcloaks wanted this place, wanted its golden fields and golden banners and golden hoard, and Jarl Balgruuf was trying to deny them as long as possible. Soon he would have to choose a side barring a direct miracle from the gods – Irkand pitied the man for when that day came.
"Ria, Aela, go and brief the Circle on what happened today," Irkand commanded as they paused near the path that circled around the withered Gildergreen.
The Huntress nodded and led the Nibenese girl up the stairs to Jorrvaskr.
"Farkas, go and have a word to Eorlund. I think Ria will be undergoing her Proving before the winter comes and best her sword be ready by then."
His husband nodded in that easy-going way of his, smiled at Lia – who returned the expression with a hint of strain – and loped up to the ancient forge where the Companions' weapons were beaten on an anvil of primal magic and earth-born fire.
"I'll come with you to Dragonsreach, if you want," Irkand told Lia. "If Balgruuf knows you're family to me, he'll take you seriously."
"It would be nice to have someone who doesn't think I'm a milkdrinker at my back," Lia replied tightly. "Mother was… less than impressed I was cooking for the Legion."
The former Blade grimaced. Sigdrifa, daughter of the then-Jarl of Falkreath, had been a poor match for his brother Rustem and he for her. Both – and his father Arius – had high expectations for Lia, though in different directions – her mother wanted her to be a Shieldmaiden like her, her father a Blade and her grandfather an Imperial consort to Titus Mede or one of his bastard sons.
"At least she listened when I told her that the dragon was the World-Eater," Lia continued in Akaviri as they climbed the stairs to Dragonsreach. "Quaestor Hadvar's gone to warn the Legion and Mother will tell the Stormcloaks. I managed to avoid taking a side by saying I had other plans and if Mother didn't trust me, she was welcome to kill me."
"Wise of you," Irkand agreed. "What are you going to do now?"
"Warn the Jarl," Lia responded tersely. "And hope you have an idea of how to kill a dragon."
"Of course I do," Irkand laughed as he opened the doors to the Jarl's palace. "I would be a very poor Companion if I didn't."
He was rather proud of his niece's calm. The Lia who came to Skyrim from Bruma had been a flinching emotional wreck who shied away even from Farkas, the gentlest of the Companions. The past few years had been good for her mental health as much as her physical health.
"We could use a cook at Jorrvaskr," he said, entering the richly adorned Great Hall. "Tilma's getting on."
"I can't," Lia replied softly. "There's too much to do."
Irkand pursed his lips. "You remember more of Esbern's stories than you let on, don't you?"
She paused and nodded slowly. "I do. With the loremasters dead…"
I'm the only one who might be able to help the Dragonborn discover what they need to know.
Irkand ground his teeth in frustration. Lia wasn't a Blade, wasn't a hero – hell, she wasn't even a warrior's left pinkie finger. She had a little Destruction magic from her Imperial and Redguard ancestry, a knack for moving silently honed by a harsh life since the fall of Cloud Ruler Temple, and maybe some half-remembered remnants of Blades lore. In short, she was a civilian and it rubbed against every belief that the Companion possessed to let her go into danger and perhaps worse than danger. If she died heroically, she would become Alduin's prey in Sovngarde.
"I don't suppose there's any way I could talk you into being based in Whiterun, at least?" he asked, choosing his words as carefully as he'd once selected weapons for an execution. His relationship with his niece was a fragile thing despite their affection for each other, him being unable to forgive himself for not protecting the most innocent member of his family and her unwilling to articulate what exactly she endured from the fall of the Temple to her reappearance in Skyrim in 4E194.
"I need to be mobile," she immediately answered, shooting down his hope that she might be a little bit sensible about this. "I… remember bits and pieces of what the Dragonborn's supposed to do, especially when they're being trained by the Greybeards. I should probably-"
"What is the meaning of this?" Irileth, a Dunmer with scarlet eyes and hair renowned for her paranoia across three nations, demanded of them as she managed to sneak up without Irkand noticing. "The Jarl isn't receiving visitors today, even from the Companions."
Irkand smiled slightly, meeting the Nerevarine's ancient ageless eyes. "We have word from Helgen," he informed the huscarl. "My niece – was there."
"You survived Helgen?" Irileth asked, winglike brow shooting up as she took in Lia's rough garments and distinct lack of musculature. "Come along then, the Jarl will want to speak to you."
Irkand followed the two without invitation. It would take Irileth herself to throw him out and Balgruuf wouldn't want to insult the Companions in such a manner.
"-Fuck the Jarl of Falkreath!" Balgruuf snarled, his temper in fine mettle today. "I want guards in Riverwood. I won't stand idly by while a dragon burns my Hold and slaughters my people!"
Avenicci, a balding Colovian with an unfortunately beaky nose even by their standards, looked ready to argue the point but wisely fell silent under Balgruuf's coldly angry gaze.
It was easy to forget that under the fine brocade robes and golden circlet set with rubies and emeralds lay the rangy, scarred frame of a middle-aged Nord who'd seen his fair share of battle, albeit against bandits and the odd Forsworn raid. Silver-threaded platinum-blond hair fell to his shoulders with a warrior's braid on each side, piercing ice-blue eyes taking in Irkand and Lia with one glance, aquiline features lined with stress and the years. Since the death of his kinsman Torygg at the last Moot, Balgruuf had aged.
Lia fell into a curtsey more graceful than Irkand expected, back straight as suited a Colovian noblewoman of high nobility (which, if the Aurelii hadn't been obliterated by the Thalmor, she would be) and head bent in the precise angle of a lady approaching a lord of slightly greater rank. Once, the Aurelii had been the Lords of the Pale Pass as well as the Grand Masters and heart of the Blades.
In one motion, she was transformed from plump Legion cook running from a great threat to a noblewoman fallen upon hard times through no fault of her own coming to warn a fellow noble of terrible danger. Irkand never could understand how she'd managed to absorb and retain a fraction of the complicated etiquette Ralinde Sun-Golden had expected of the Aurelii women. As a man destined for the Blades, he'd only needed the basics, but the tentative plans of their clan elders had depended on Lia being the epitome of an Imperial lady.
Balgruuf responded to those subtle cues, leaning forward in his throne instead of lounging indolently with one leg out as he was wont to do, meeting Lia's eyes once she'd lifted her head. "You were at Helgen?" he asked courteously, having swallowed his temper in favour of politesse.
"I was, Jarl Balgruuf," Lia confirmed as she straightened from the curtsey. "The World-Eater showed up just as Sigdrifa Stormsword and Ulfric Jarl of Windhelm were to be sent to the block."
"Figures he'd be involved with this," Balgruuf observed with a sigh. "So it's the end times?"
"Apparently so," Lia said, smoothing her canvas skirt reflexively. "Don't forget, Jarl Balgruuf, the Dragonborn was also promised at the end of the cycle."
"True." The Jarl leaned back in his throne. "So you're Irkand's kin?"
"My niece," Irkand said before Lia could. "Daughter of the Stormsword."
"What in the hells beyond and below are you doing?" Lia hissed under her breath in Akaviri.
"Establishing your place in Skyrim's nobility," Irkand answered mildly as Balgruuf's eyes sharpened. "You are related to the Jarl of Falkreath and if Siddgeir should die, there's a chance the Stag Throne will fall to you."
"Has the Madgoddess graced you recently?" she retorted.
"If you're going to run around chasing the Dragonborn, then I will do my best to make certain you're adequately protected," Irkand informed her. "It will be in the Jarl's best interests to support you."
Lia's answer came in the form of an Akaviri phrase she'd likely picked up from her father, because Irkand never used such language around children.
"Since my dear uncle's decided to nail my name to a banner for all the various enemies of our clan to see, I might as well introduce myself formally," Lia said to the Jarl of Whiterun, whose eyes had narrowed at the whispered exchange in another language. "I am Aurelia Callaina, though I prefer to be called Lia."
Avenicci's eyes brightened as Balgruuf's eyebrow rose. "Your mother is Sigdrifa Stormsword?"
"And my father was Rustem Aurelius, son of the Blades' Grand Master Arius Aurelius, who was the grandson to Aurelia Northstar, Hero of Kvatch and Champion of Cyrodiil, She who mantled Sheogorath to become the Madgoddess." Lia's smile was a humourless thing. "I was asking my uncle if he'd been visited by our ancestress lately."
Balgruuf snorted in amusement. Then his expression sobered as he realised the truth of Lia's presence in the hall. "Avenicci, Irileth, this will stay between us. If anyone speaks of it, have them executed."
"My lord, we should surely inform the Legion," Avenicci said unctuously. "This… lady… is one of the great lost heiresses of Cyrodiil-"
"And a prime target on the Thalmor's shit list just by dint of existence," Lia interrupted acidly.
"If word reaches the Legion, I will have no choice but to kill anyone foolish to threaten my niece if Irileth doesn't beat me to it," Irkand told the Steward with the soft, mild voice that tended to worry people for some reason. "The same goes for the Stormcloaks."
"Good point," Balgruuf growled. "Besides, the Aurelii's relationship with the Emperor was… complicated."
"Nothing complicated about it," Lia observed in the same acid tone. "Grandfather had ambitions and Titus Mede felt threatened by them."
She and Balgruuf exchanged a glance that Irkand didn't quite understand. Politics had never been his strong point and if what Lia was implying was true…
…The reason for the lack of warning given to the Blades after the White-Gold Concordat became chillingly clear.
"Indeed," Balgruuf agreed. "My father had letters in his study from the Aurelii. Letters that, in some eyes, could be interpreted as treasonous."
Several of his father's actions before and during the Great War crystallised into a clarity that cut Irkand to the quick. The marriage alliance with Falkreath, the Hold that anchored the other end of the Pale Pass, the secret meetings with the Count of Bruma, even some of the murders that Irkand had been commanded to do.
The permitted devastation of Bruma, Cloud Ruler Temple and the Aurelii fortress in Pale Pass at the hands of the Thalmor.
Irkand found it in himself to look at Lia's face and found a mixture of sympathy and compassion in her turquoise gaze.
"I don't know what to say," he whispered, all thoughts of the approaching doom driven from his mind.
"Then say nothing," Balgruuf advised grimly. "Focus on the World-Eater as I assume the lady will be doing?"
Lia met his pointed glance with a sharp nod. "I'm not an adventurer but I am something of an amateur scholar. I'm hoping that I can help the Dragonborn find whatever they need to know to defeat the World-Eater."
You're a fucking Legion cook, Irkand wanted to scream at his niece. Some of the reasons why she hadn't embraced her birthright were now clear – and he'd ruined her work because he wanted to protect her.
The Jarl nodded. "Irkand, I do have a job for the Companions. Farengar, my court wizard, tells me that there's a map of the old dragon burial grounds in Bleak Falls Barrow. I – we – need that map."
Irkand snapped out of his shock and nodded. He had a mission. "I and Farkas will get it," he agreed. "What's the pay?"
"Standard heirloom retrieval fee," Balgruuf said. "And my patronage for your niece, the bastard of your sister-in-law's misspent youth and the scholar who likes to cook."
The former Blade nodded yet again. "She doesn't leave Whiterun without a physical guard."
"Done. If she proves competent, she might yet become a Thane in her own right with a huscarl sworn to protect her." Balgruuf spread his hands, golden rings glittering on every finger and his thumbs.
"I'm right here," Lia observed dryly.
The Jarl raised an eyebrow. "This agreement isn't to your liking, Lady Lia?"
"I didn't say that. I just don't like being treated as if I can't take care of myself." Lia folded her arms and regarded both men with more stubbornness than wisdom, especially given the grief of her life.
Irkand refrained from mentioning that in his experience, she had trouble doing just that. Lia was already annoyed with him and he didn't need her to lose her temper.
"My apologies," Balgruuf said quietly. "I will ask you in earnest then – is this agreement acceptable to you?"
"It is," Lia answered. Irkand didn't understand why she didn't just say yes the first time.
"Good." Balgruuf met the eyes of everyone near the dais. "If I hear one word about this, I will investigate for treason. Is that clear?"
The high members of Balgruuf's court and the nearby guards nodded, as did Lia and Irkand.
"Dismissed." Balgruuf flicked his fingers in that dismissive manner all Jarls had.
"You better go to Jorrvaskr," Lia advised as she gave her uncle a hug. "Until the Dragonborn shows up, and perhaps even then, you're going to be the muscle."
"Story of my life," Irkand muttered, allowing some of the old bitterness from his years as a Blade into his voice. "Lia, will you be alright?"
"I'll survive. I always do."
Her answer wasn't reassuring but Irkand didn't dare bring it up in front of Balgruuf. Instead he bowed and left Dragonsreach.
There was a lot to discuss with his brethren in the pack.