Sorry about the lull in updates. I just got back home, in the States, so that might affect my writing/consistency. How, I do not yet know. Anyways, enjoy chapter seven :)

Chapter 7

I rise early the next morning, just as the sun begins to crest over the horizon. The first bright rays of light shimmer across the snowy ground, giving the world the appearance of perfection. The day seems pure, bathed in white light, at the moment of it's birth. I tread carefully through the snow, my Nordic blood warding off the cold as the icy crystals touch my bare skin. I'm barefoot, wearing only black trousers and a fitted green shirt, and carrying a thick fur blanket slung over my shoulder. I inhale deeply, and then exhale, slowly, my breath rushing out from between my lips in a swirling stream of mist. The cloud catches the pale light, casting strange, opalescent shadows as the opaque substance dissipates in the chilly, early morning air. It snowed again during the night, and my feet leave fresh tracks in the ground. I pass the dirty remains of the fire pit, then the command tent, and continue on past the edge of the camp. I walk for a few minutes, until I reach a clear, sparkling river.

Quickly, I shed my clothes, and place them and the thick fur towel carefully on top of a boulder near the edge of the water. Slowly, I wade into the river, wearing only my underclothes. The smooth, wet pebbles feel pleasant against my feet. The feeling disappears, however, as first my feet, then my shins, my knees, and finally my lower abdomen all become numb as my skin hits the freezing water. I shiver, and my teeth chatter involuntarily as the chill of my environment spreads throughout my body. Quickly, I duck my head beneath the surface of the river, letting the water flow through my hair, removing the grime and filth of travel and battle. Seconds later, I resurface, the extreme cold forcing me to gasp for air. I grab and handful of snow, and scrub myself with it vigorously. The dust from the incident in the ruin separates from my skin, staining the water directly around my body a sluggish gray color.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me, and then a startled exclamation.

"Shit!"

I whip around, droplets flying off my wet hair, just in time to see Camilla desperately try to sidestep behind a tree, covering her eyes at the same time.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" She calls, still backing away. Not being able to see where she's going, her heel catches on an exposed tree root, and she falls.

Alarmed, I leap out of the water, and rush over to her.

"Are you alright?" I ask, as she sheepishly keeps her hands held in front of her face. I sigh. "I'm not naked, Camilla."

Slowly, she lowers her hands, and lets out a small "oh" sound. I offer her my hand, is she accepts it, still determinedly looking anywhere but at my dripping wet form. I pull her to her feet, and roll my eyes at her bashfulness.

"Hold on."

I walk over to where I'd left the thick fur, along with my clothes. I pick up the blanket, and wrap it around my body, both to dry and warm myself. It hugs my shoulders, and hangs down to my knees. I pull my black trousers on underneath it, but leave my shirt laying on the face of the boulder. I dry my hair with the outside of the fur, roughly, then wrap it around myself a bit tighter before walking back to where Camilla is standing.

"Better?" I ask, bemused.

She chuckles. "Yes." She smiles at me, still slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, again." She continues, "I was just out, planning on collecting some water for a pot of tea." She gestures vaguely towards the river, and holds up a tin kettle I hadn't noticed originally. "I didn't think anyone would be down here, this early. And I certainly didn't expect anyone to be bathing. It's freezing cold!" Her eyes widen. "By the eight, come on, we have to get you inside!"

I shake my head, slightly. "Don't worry. I'm very much used to the cold." I state, simply.

Her expression turns to one of incredulity. "Your hair is frozen to your skull." She observes, as if this decided the matter.

I shrug. "It is. Again, I'm used to it. I've lived in Skyrim most of my life."

"You're going to get sick!" She insists, voice full of worry.

I sigh. "I promise you, Camilla, I am, and will remain, completely healthy, regardless of the cold."

The imperial woman scowls, and plants her hands on her hips. "There's no way you're immune to cold, no matter how Nordic you may be. I'm the core's healer, and when I make a call on another member's health, what I say goes. So." She glares at me, her eyes mirroring the determined finality in her voice. "You need to get out of this cold!"

"Fine." I snap, agreeing primarily to end the conversation. "What do you want from me?"

"Common sense." She mutters under her breath. I let out a snort of laughter, despite myself.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, emphasizing the last word.

"Follow me." She says briskly, before turning around, and walking back towards the camp. I roll my eyes, and follow her, deciding to retrieve my shirt later.

She leads me to a medium-sized tent at the far edge of the camp, two spaces down from the command tent and across the clearing from my own. The sun has risen higher in my absence, causing the snow to sparkle magnificently. The area is still completely deserted, however.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to me.

"Why is there no one on guard duty?"

Camilla turns to face me, not quite comprehending the question. "Why is no one...wait, what?"

"Everyone is asleep." I repeat myself, gesturing sharply towards the empty clearing. A tinge of annoyance seeps into my voice. "There's no one guarding the camp."

They should be more competent than this.

The woman's eyes widen, and she slaps her hand against her forehead. "Gods dammit...Kastus!" She screams, suddenly whipping around and stomping over to a tent near her own. She tears open the entry-flap, and sticks her head inside.

"Wake up you lazy Breton!" She yells, furiously. She disappears fully inside the tent, and I hear a muffled yelp, and a curse.

"For the love of Mara, woman, why would you kick a sleeping man?" Kastus demands, sleepily indignant.

"Because you're not supposed to be sleeping." Camilla hisses. "Now get up."

The man groans in distaste. "It's too early for this rubbish..." He yelps again; as his body is presumably abused by the Imperial woman's foot. "Fine! Fine, I'm getting up! Just don't kick me again." Kastus grumbles.

Camilla lets out a self-satisfied sound, and promptly reemerges from the dwelling. "Sorry about that." She says, primly, smoothing down the front of her clothes. She turns around, and continues on towards her tent. The corners of my mouth quirk upwards in amusement.

We reach the structure, and pass through the opening. The change in temperature is immediate; while the outside is undoubtedly freezing, the inside of the tent is pleasantly heated. Cozy, even.

"Do you have a stove in here?" I ask, surprised by the heat. I look around the small room, but notice nothing of the sort. I turn back to the woman, baffled. She shakes her head.

"No, nothing like that. It'd be far too inconvenient to transport. No." She reaches out towards the wall, and trails her fingers along the thick canvas. It seems to glow, just barely, at her touch. "The material is enchanted." She says, turning her attention back to me. "It contains a very mild fire spell, just something strong enough to keep the cold at bay."

"Hmm." I nod, and let out a small sound of acknowledgement.

She looks down at the kettle in her hand, then curses. "Gods damnit, I forgot to fetch that water!" She looks at me, eyes wide and apologetic. "Do you mind if I use melted snow? I'd go down to the river, it's just, I don't want to keep you waiting here, by yourself. But if you want, I'll go anyway, I don't mind the walk..." She trails off, slowly, leaving me confused, and slightly flustered.

"...No, don't worry about it. Melted snow is fine." I answer, hesitantly, not quite sure how to respond to the woman's demeanor.

Camilla nods once, and kneels down near the opening of the tent, reaching out to grab a few handfuls of snow. Once the kettle is full, she sits down, and places it in the middle of the floor. I follow suit, sitting down as well, and raise an eyebrow at the now seemingly inanimate kettle.

"It's enchanted too." The imperial woman murmurs. "It'll melt the snow, then boil it, and then I'll make the tea."

"That's fine." I respond. Then, "Are...you alright?" I ask, carefully. The fur around my shoulders droops, and I pull it back up around my body. I'm almost completely dry at this point.

Camilla sighs in exasperation at my question. "Yes, I'm fine." She mutters, seemingly annoyed with herself. "I'm just...nervous."

"Ah."

After a pause, I continue. "Do you mind if I ask, why?"

Curious bastard, aren't you? Amaril pipes up from the recesses of my mind. Just leave; you're not meant to live among people.

I forcefully tune the elf out, just as Camilla responds.

"I just..." She stops, and takes a deep breath. Her pale brow furrows, dark eyebrows drawing together to form a sharp v-shape. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable." She begins again. I almost laugh. Almost. "I simply want you to understand that you can trust me." She continues, her voice gaining strength as she speaks. "As the core's healer, I need to be sure that those in my charge are comfortable enough with me to let me do my job. And yesterday, well..." She she stops, and shrugs apologetically. I tense, not knowing what to expect. "You kind of...flipped out." Her words are almost harsh, though I know she doesn't intend for them to be. My discomfort grows, and I fidget slightly, itching to be outside, in the cold, clean snow.

But then, her eyes soften, and her voice takes on a comforting quality. She shifts, and suddenly looks far less tense than before. "My point, is that you're among friends, Daanik. You can trust us. We're not going to hurt you."

Her voice rings in my head, repeating my name, over and over. It sounds so alien, coming from her lips. I've only ever heard it spoken twice in the last two years.

At her last phrase, she reaches out, and rests her hand on my arm, in what I'm sure was meant to be a warm, reassuring gesture. I can't help myself, though. My entire body goes rigid, and my muscles strain, as I try with all my might to keep myself from slapping her arm away. Her touch burns my skin; every second is painful, as if she'd pressed a white-hot branding iron against my flesh. It's nothing like Hadvar's affectionate punch, or Kastus's companionable shoulder-grasping. Camilla's touch means something, or at least, it was supposed to.

The very idea of another person touching me out of pity, to comfort me, makes me blanch.

"I'm sorry. I need...I have to go." I mutter, trying and failing to keep my voice steady. Swiftly, I stand up, turn around, and duck out of the tent before I have a chance to see the expression on Camilla's face.

I walk quickly through the camp, just trying to get away, away. As I retreat, I hear the sound of the tea kettle, whistling shrilly in the distance.

My mind is reeling. I walk through the forest, faster and faster, stumbling, leaning against trees and scuffing my feet against invisible rocks and roots buried in the snow. My vision swims, and everything grows brighter, as the light reflecting off the snow increases dramatically. Vaguely, the thought registers with me that the increase in brightness indicates that I must have stumbled into a clearing. I take another step forward, and nearly lose my balance as my foots impacts something sharp. I feel something tear through my skin, then pierce my foot. I look down. Blood stains the snow; red drips onto the white. I look up, squinting, and raise my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding sun. I try to step back into the shadow of the trees, but my heel catches, and I fall. As I do, a puff of white snow is displaced by my body, and flies up into the air around me. I look around. It's shining, glittering fragilely in the sky. I suddenly realize that my head is throbbing, and just as I do, my vision darkens, and goes black.

"Fuck!" An accented Breton voice curses. I hear something topple over, and the sound of rapid footsteps making their way towards me.

"What in Oblivion happened to him?" Another voice, male, hisses angrily.

"I don't know." A soft, feminine voice replies, quietly. "I just found him like this, laying in the snow."

"His face is covered in blood." A deep, Nordic man rumbles.

Rough hands jerk me around, and I feel myself swinging through the air, before being let down on something soft, and comfortable. I shift slightly, and unconsciously let out a groan. A vicious pang lances through my skull, and my stomach heaves. I retch, and cough, but no more.

"He's lost a lot of blood." The female voice murmurs, and I feel a soft, cool hand on my forehead. "The back of his head is soaked in it..." The voice trails off, as the hand on my forehead lightly grasps my chin, and the other rests on the back of my head. I feel it, as I'm physically moved, my head turned for me, without any will or control on my part. I try to resist, I try to force my head around, but I can't. I'm too weak; I don't have the strength.

"Ff...fuck." I croak, before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Boom. Boom boom. Boom. Boom boom.

The ethereal drumbeats echo across the crimson field, shaking the ground and vibrating deep within my bones. The deep, sequential pounding beats like a living heart, slowly, deeply, forcing languid blood through the veins of some massive creature.

Boom. Boom boom.

I look around, surveying the short, stubby grass, twitching subtly in the sharp breeze. And then, the chanting begins.

"Ra, ro, ha! Ra, ro, ha!"

Rough voices begin to sing, low, and halting, repeating the mantra of short-stop growling over and over, louder and louder.

"Ra, ro, ha! Ra, ro, ha!"

The drumbeat continues, speeding up with the increased velocity of the chanting. The heart beats faster, faster, and the massive beast stirs from it's slumber. Armored feet begin to stomp in time to the vocalizations, each growling grunt punctuated by the sound of boots, or the hilt of a spear, slamming into the hard ground.

"Ra, ro, ha! Ra, ro, ha!" Boom. Boom boom. Boom. Boom boom.

I turn around slowly, eyes wide in fearful anticipation, as the chanting reaches a fevered pitch, washing over me in a wave of sound, captivating me, ensnaring my entire being. Before me, stands the entire Imperial Legion, fully outfitted, ready for battle. Catapults creak in the distance, amidst the sound of stomping boots and the roar of thousands of voices. The soldiers shake their weapons ferociously, each swing in time to the primal music. The drum beats even faster, and the stamping increases, and the chanting grows even more fevered. The heart of the beast pumps faster, faster, and it rears it's head, as hot blood courses through it's veins. And just as it does, I whip around, and let out a furious roar, an unidentifiable shout in the dragon language. A sonic boom echoes across the barren field at my words, and suddenly, everything is silent. The chanting, the stomping, everything is gone.

I turn around again, and with a strike of fear, I realize that I'm alone. Nothing remains of the Legion; not even the grass is trampled. A sudden gust of wind blasts across the field, tossing my hair back and howling eerily into the silence. I turn around again, and squint.

Suddenly, I see movement on the horizon. A line of soldiers appears, stretching a thousand strong, standing shoulder to shoulder. They're all of varying heights; some six feet, and others as tall as eight. Their features, however, are obscured from the light of the red sun shining on them from behind. They snap to attention, and stand completely still, motionless and silent. The sight is unsettling.

Then, another line of men appears behind the first. Then, another. And another. Rank upon rank of soldiers marches upon behind the last in a seemingly never ending stream, until I'm facing a veritable sea of figures.

Then, they start their own chanting. It's broken, discordant, an unorganized mixture of grunting, bellowing, and battle-cries. The sound chills me to the bone. It increases by the second, growing louder and louder, faster and faster, until finally, it breaks into a pure wave of sound, and the army comes rushing towards me like the black tides of Oblivion.

Just as they do, the crimson sun sets below the horizon. As it's last rays of light disappear, the sky flashes once, immensely brightly. I throw up my arm to shield my eyes from the blinding light, and in the instant that I do, a thunderclap echoes through the world, a deep, cracking sound accentuated by a powerful, ancient voice, bellowing a single, broken word.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

My eyes snap open, and I wake up with a jolt, jerking up violently in bed. I'm panting heavily, and drenched in sweat. I look down at my hands. They're incredibly pale, and shaking. Suddenly, my stomach lurches, and I heave over the side of the bed. Nothing escapes my empty stomach, however. I retch for a few minutes, before my stomach settles somewhat. I roll over, onto my back, and lay there, breathing heavily. As I stare up at the ceiling of the tent that I'm apparently in, my vision begins to blur dangerously. The world spins, and tips on it's axis, as I teeter on the edge of consciousness. I grit my teeth, trying desperately to stay awake.

Suddenly, a vaguely humanoid shape enters my field of vision. A pale face, with long, dark hair, and almond-shaped eyes. Wearily, I cock my head, and squint slightly, trying to make out the person's features through my stupor.

All of a sudden, I'm aware that the person is speaking to me. And with the sound of her voice, my vision snaps into focus with an abrupt rigidity.

"Daanik? Can you hear me? Daanik?" Camilla calls, hovering over me. Her brown eyes look deeply concerned, and her dark tresses brush against my naked chest. I shrink away at the contact.

"Don't touch me." I croak out. "Please." My voice is fearful, almost desperate. Because I know that, in this case, all I can do is trust that she'll respect my wishes. I'm too weak to force the situation either way.

The Imperial woman's eyes soften, and her expression becomes one of quiet concern. Within it, I see sympathy, acceptance, and maybe hurt. But no pity. Empathy, but no pity. She withdraws slightly, to a more comfortable distance, sitting on a chair near the edge of the cot I'm laying on.

"I won't. I'm sorry." She murmurs, quietly. "But I have to heal you." She meets my gaze, her eyes filled with an irrefutable stubbornness. "Trust me." She whispers, moving to sit on the edge of my bed. Immediately, every muscle in my body tenses, straining against itself, trying to keep myself in place and attempting to flee at the same time.

"Don't-" I whisper, and my eyes stretch open wide, as pure fear courses through my veins.

I have to go, I need to get the fuck out of here, I have to GET OUT!

But I can't move. My body is paralyzed, whether by weakness or terror, I can't tell.

And then, suddenly, something cool washes over me. Like a blanket of water, but softer, lighter. It spreads throughout my body, and slowly, bit by bit, I relax, letting my muscles unwind. The soothing feeling of Camilla's magic fills my veins, slipping through my body, from the top of my skull, to the tips of my fingers, and to the soles of my feet. As it spreads, it replaces any tension, any fear I'd harbored before.

A deep calm settles over me, and a slight smile graces my lips. All of the vestiges of my nightmare are swept away, disappearing in the bright light of day. Quietly, my eyes slide shut, and I fall asleep.

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