Restoring Sky Haven Temple after the siege was a pain, more of a pain than actually defending the structure for a year and a half against the Reachmen. No, now that Emperor Reman II had taken a personal interest in the Temple, wanting to undo his predecessors failings with the region, and, by extension, all of Skyrim, Tsunilde had to modify the existing structural plans to his own personal tastes.
She appreciated that the new Emperor had an interest in the Dragonguard, though she was wary of his insistence that the dragonlore she knew and held close to her Soul be put to record. Tsunilde managed to get him to compromise; the ancient knowledge and prophecies would be set in stone rather than ink. Only the Dragonguard would have access to the carvings along the walls depicting all they had brought from Akavir, all she had learned in serving the Emperors and Kyne faithfully for nearly thirty years.
Tsunilde eyed Emperor Reman II as he looked over her sketches for the grand wall-Reman's Wall, she was calling it, as it told of the great Prophecy of the Dragonborn. No better to dedicate it to than the Dragonborn Emperors. He was satisfied with the recent expansion of the Temple, made now to be almost entirely sustainable with underground farms and secret passageways and rooms to hide from any invaders who managed to make it past the ultimate security; a bloodlocked door, bound to the blessed Dragonborn blood of the Emperor.
And she was worried that the door would be useless should a Dragonborn like her, chosen by Kyne to serve the goddess rather than personally blessed by Akatosh as the Emperor's bloodline, be able to open the door with a simple wound. Dragonborn like her were prone to leading armies for the sake of it, getting involved in feuds and sieging towns and…and leaving the Snow Tower sundered, kingless, bleeding. Not that another Dragonborn like her had been born since before Reman, but if one was-
"Something's troubling you." Emperor Reman II spoke without looking up from the sketches. "Speak freely."
Tsunilde stumbled over what to say before she finally responded. "I'm worried that the Prophecy will be fulfilled before we have a chance to carve it."
"My bloodline is strong. Not I, nor any one of my heirs, will lose the throne for an Era." The Emperor frowned. "We don't even know what most of the Prophecy refers to. Give the Moth Priests time, Grandmaster Tsunhilde. In the meantime, you've made great strides in repairing the Dragonguard's reputation in Skyrim, especially here among the Reachmen."
"Well, the dragons took advantage of the siege and roamed free during it. We've been able to slay a handful of dragons rather publicly."
"And you've been there to devour the Souls?" Tsunhilde felt Emperor Reman II tense up, he couldn't take the dragon Souls, their knowledge, essence, power, like she could.
It had pissed her off in her youth, that the Dragonborn blood was to be further diluted with each generation while hers only flowed in pursuit of dragons, in protection of that precious blood. Grandmaster Talerie always told her that while Kyne favored the Nords and occasionally blessed her Tongues more than usual, it was Akatosh who chose the great Emperors Alessia and Reman. Incomparable power, like a river to an ocean.
Ugh.
Tsunhilde finally responded. "No. I've been busy here."
Sometimes she wondered if he felt it too, a certain gnawing to Shout her down into a kneel, laugh as she struggled and failed to fight back like she sometimes ached to. She wanted to put his little watered down Soul in its place. But Tsunilde had never known the Emperor to Shout, not like she did, and his Soul…it was a dragons' but…but an echo of the power his grandfather had held. Tsunhilde swallowed her Voice thickly before responding-
No, she never felt any resentment towards her Emperor. Why would you even imply that, Nariilu?
Nariilu's Soul paused, a flicker of a body forming around it. She scowled at the mention of her name.
The Last Dragonborn had been meditating, spending more time with her conquered Souls, getting more comfortable inside her own body with each and every day. Tsunhilde met the Last Dragonborn's unbridled rage, desperation, pain, during the fateful final battle with the Twilight God and given her all the knowledge she could think to give as her Soul was ripped from Alduin's grasp. And Tsunhilde was grateful that she hadn't been doomed to an eternity of unity with Alduin, instead with the Dragonborn she'd waited Eras to greet. She started to regret the information when she murdered young Folgun and the other Dragonborn heartbeats later.
Keep going. You're boring me with all this day-to-day.
Tsunhilde winced, suddenly overseeing as a team of Dragonguard carving an entrance to the secret passageways. They were mostly formed from a sprawling web of caverns formed from long-dried rivers, delving under the existing Temple rooms, accessible only by unsealing the stone from the rest of the walls with a spell-
"It's a basic spell, once you get down to it," Lauxus said, swiftly running his fingers along the seam of the door. Tsunhilde nodded as it melded with the rest of the wall. "Half Illusion, half Conjuration, half Restoration." His joke didn't earn any chuckles from the crowd of Dragonguard assembled to learn how to access the tunnels. Lauxus didn't seem to notice, and traced where the seam had been seconds ago. It reappeared, and he pushed the door open easily.
Tsunhilde practiced the spell at the door, and the rest of them, memorizing their exact locations, where they led to, the hidden armories and libraries that would be much more sensibly kept away from where an invader, or even a recent recruit, could make a mess.
She studied the maps of Sky Haven Temple-could we stop jumping around so much?
No. The Last Dragonborn let one of her own memories flow-her ecstasy at prying Wulfrend's memories from him.
If you hadn't started with torturing Wulfrend, perhaps we could all be on better terms. Tsunhilde doubled over in pain, the body she'd conjured for herself ripped away by the Last Dragonborn. She was flung back to the Soulspace from her memories, into that void that she had no control over. All she could do here was experience a muted echo of life through the Last Dragonborn's body, or exchange emotions and desires with the rest of the devoured Souls.
And wait for the Last Dragonborn to decide she wanted more knowledge from one of them-they were so much easier for her to manipulate than the actual dragons she had around.
I already told you most everything I know, back when you first saved me from the Twilight God's maw.
I know. Thank you, Tsunhilde. I just want to make sure everything is proper before I rebuild the Dragonguard. Having your experiences as the woman who regrew the ancient Dragonguard from animosity to respect is a boon I want to take full advantage of.
She would've rolled her eyes if she had any.
Esbern was a fragile old man who looked like a stiff wind would blow him over and shatter him, to say nothing of the inches-thick tomes he pulled down from rock-carved shelves over his head with ease, and to say even less of the stone tablets he carried in stacks from a crowded alchemy table to the grand stone table that took the center of the archives. The table was just as crowded with tied bundles of scrolls and huge books held open with soul gems and potion vials and seemingly whatever was at hand at the time. He moved with a silent solemnness that Ulfric couldn't place, somewhere between complete acceptance and fear, letting his feet drag in an uneven, elderly gait.
The Dragonborn stepped towards the main table, content to stance herself firmly in the entrance of the vast, cavernous room, following Esbern's shuffling motions with piercing eyes. "I'm sure you've gathered more than enough history texts for now, Esbern. Why don't you sit down?" Ulfric stood just off to the side of the door, a half-corroded brass thing with a draconic design.
Esbern's eyes darkened, shifting to him, to her. "And accept that Delphine's blood stains these sacred stones? No, no, dear Dragonborn, I will remain standing for that much longer, toiling with my texts and tablets." He brushed away a layer of nonexistent dust on a cracked leather cover. "Please, do an old man a favor and let me hear of Alduin's downfall before…whatever it is you've truly come here for. I fear Uthgerd censored your message more than you intended."
"Alduin died by my hand," the Dragonborn said flatly. "I devoured his Soul, fulfilled the Prophecy, saved Nirn."
Esbern paused, pressing his lips and staring at the Dragonborn. She returned his stare with a challenge, turning back towards the table, crossing her arms over her chest. Esbern spoke slowly, deliberately, each word weighed and tied with meaning, venom. "And Paarthurnax lives by your hand, does he not? Odahviing lives by your hand, that cursed red dragon you arrived on. Alduin's own lieutenant marks our location to his army to take by tomorrow! Delphine, it seems, is not as deserving as two dragons who have killed more men in a matter of days than the Great War could in years. Not even Mehrunes Dagon and the Oblivion Crisis could challenge the death and destruction either one could fell upon Tamriel, much less the thousands of dragons you ignore in pursuit of…of whatever foolishness this is!"
The Dragonborn shrugged.
"Why?" Esbern said, all the anger gone from his tone, replaced with exhaustion only the elderly knew. His eyes watered, threatening to spill. "Why did you kill her?"
"Delphine never saw anyone she wasn't convinced was about to kill her," the Dragonborn replied. "Everyone but herself was a Thalmor assassin. Alduin was a Thalmor assassin. She was too far gone to serve as Grandmaster of the Blades. The history of the Blades began when the Akaviri Dragonguard met Reman at the Pale Pass," she continued, standing and leaning over the stone table, braced by both hands, "immediately swearing to serve him. The Dragonborn of his time. Throughout history, the Dragonguard, the Blades, have always sought out a Dragonborn to serve. Not defy. Certainly not accuse of treason, as Delphine has done each time we spoke."
"Ah. Service."
"I want to reform the Blades, rebuild the Dragonguard. Two hundred years have passed without any meaning to anything you do. As Lorekeeper-"
"As Lorekeeper, I know more than you of what drove the Dragonguard from Akavir to Tamriel," Esbern cut off. "Hunting dragons. That's what you are, Dovahkiin, you're the best dragon hunter Akatosh could gift us. That is why the Blades served Reman." He slammed his hand down on a tome. "And then to assure the Prophecy was fulfilled. Now, we must return to slaying dragons."
"Curious how the best thing to hunt dragons with is a dragon," she mused.
Esbern didn't take levity in her little joke. "We will not allow Paarthurnax to live. We will not allow Odahviing and his armies to decimate Nirn in Alduin's absence. There's more at stake here than thousands of years of tradition!"
"Odahviing kneels to me."
"And after you die? Hmm?" Esbern snapped back. "When your body fails you in age, what dragon will kneel to you?"
The Dragonborn flinched, a barely noticeable stiffness passing through her shoulders before she composed herself. "I'm offering the Blades a chance to survive. Dragon hunting is not a lasting profession, not when the Dovahkiin has her own army of dragons to hunt the unruly rest to extinction. Dragons will not be here for long. I will."
"Then the ancient purpose of the Blades is nearly over," Esbern said with a finality he punctuated by taking a heavy seat. "I see no reason to continue acting in service of a Prophecy that has passed. We will not help a foolish woman who allies herself with dragons."
"I am a dragon."
"Careful saying that around the Blades," Esbern replied. "We're renowned dragon slayers."
"No. Not anymore," the Dragonborn spat. "Now, the Blades are nothing but a pale remnant of once was, centuries ago. The Blades haven't slayed a dragon since the Second Era, haven't done anything but wait for the next Dragonborn-me!-for the entire Fourth Era! And now I'm here, and you…you what? Would the Dragonguard have denied Reman because he was not the Dragonborn they carved into these walls?"
"What she means to say, Lorekeeper," Ulfric spoke up, her blazing eyes whipping to him, "is that with Alduin dead, many dragons are now following the Way of the Voice. If you have conflict with them, you have conflict with the rest of the Greybeards. There are far nobler pursuits to be had, more vile dragons to kill."
"Noble pursuits," Esbern chuckled. "Tell me, boy, that butcher rampaging in your city, would you let him go if he came forward and apologized?" It was a fight to keep his face neutral. "Would it be a noble pursuit to let him go and learn new ways to sharpen his blade?"
"Dragons are bound by their word. Men are not," Ulfric said, almost keeping his voice from quivering. How dare Esbern speak of things he knew nothing about; how dare he spoke of Windhelm like he'd purposefully let murderers run loose in the streets.
"And we allow dragons to tell us what they are bound to." Esbern's voice dripped with malice, cracked with age. "But no matter, there is no reason to argue. Your minds are made up. Delphine was already dead the second she defied you, the Blades have been nothing to you for just as long."
"The Blades are a strong foundation to build upon," the Dragonborn said, her lips tense around each word. Her tone barely softened, her eyes hardened to a deep scowl. "I don't want to lose the ancient knowledge you've fought so hard to save. I will not be killing Paarthurnax, not when he's been atoning for thousands of years. Odahviing and the rest of the dragons will die once they've outlived their usefulness in slaying the rest of their own kind, and the Thalmor. I want the Dragonguard to outlast the immortal dragons, and I want you to help."
"You want me to help you on some foolish quest you've determined in your own head. You've made a mockery of the path the gods laid out for you," Esbern replied. He stood a little straighter, blinking away the last of the tears to fall and disappear into deep wrinkles. "And I will not be a part of this…this farce you crave. You can kill me where I stand, just as you killed Delphine."
"I'm not going to kill you, old man," the Dragonborn spat. "I pity you. All this knowledge and you refuse to use it for good. Steal your tomes and hide-" she ran her arm through a stack of scrolls on the table, they fell to the ground and scattered, cracked- "like you've been hiding for years. Waste what years you have left, waste what I gave to pull you from that rotted cell. Drown your sorrows in ink, dry your tears with dust. Stupid, stupid fool! Hide in the past when the future is before you!"
"The future you offer will be nothing but a scar on history," Esbern replied. "With any luck, a small one."
"Get out," she said. "Get out, take whatever idiots will go with you-gods know we have no use for them. You have until I return with more dragons."
"And if I refuse to leave?"
"Then I will make it so you have nowhere to stay but a burnt pile of rubble. And your scar on history will be the loss of this library, this Temple."
Was it harsh? Perhaps. Was it necessary? Most likely. Ulfric had said far worse for far less, and the continued existence of the Blades, Dragonguard, whatever the Dragonborn wanted to call them, were a powerful bit of propaganda against the Thalmor. Proof that their little slaughter had been, ultimately, a failure. The tension in her shoulders rolled down to clenched fists held behind her back in a dignified stance, fingertips glistening with ice.
"Get out," she continued, "and this knowledge lives on for others who crave it."
Esbern pursed his lips and sighed through his nose, a heavy breath that settled uncomfortably in Ulfric's stomach. "May you look in a mirror and see what you have become, Nariilu. How you've corrupted yourself since you saved me from my own self-made prison. I only wish you'd let me save you as you did for me. This is where the history of the Blades ends, and what a sad ending it is."
Uthgerd placed a few extra furs at the end of the cot she'd rolled out for Nariilu-damned woman complained about the cold too much, and the small bedroom she'd hastily fixed was deeper than most of the sleeping chambers the rest of the Blades preferred. A thin cot on stone would leave her trembling, either frozen to ice by morning because she'd be too proud to complain, or to whine about the cold to anyone in earshot.
It had always been a toss-up as to which one it'd be when they'd all been traveling together, at least until she'd joined the College of Winterhold for a few weeks to find out more about the Elder Scrolls, and brought J'zargo along with them to that iceberg.
Judging by her behavior on the patio, perhaps Nariilu had invented a way to suffer in silent pride and complain to Oblivion and back at the same time.
Well, judging by her behavior on the patio, Nariilu had snapped. No, snapped wasn't quite the right word. Had enough, more like, of Delphine.
Though that didn't quite explain the dragon. That red dragon that soared over Whiterun and laughed with an all too human voice as his underlings breathed fire and ice and death down on the city. But perhaps it was one of the good dragons, like that Paarthurnax in the mountains, a lookalike to that horrible beast that she'd captured in Dragonsreach.
Captured, and then…and then, by all accounts, flown away on.
That crazy bitch! Nariilu had made the most terrifying dragon Uthgerd had ever seen into her bitch! Uthgerd laughed; of course she'd tame a dragon, tame Ulfric Stormcloak. She made a mental note to ask which one was more difficult when they had a second of privacy, when she was in a better mood than the terrible scowl she wore at dinner to announce Esbern's schism.
But she never much liked the old man, far too boring for her tastes. When he wasn't quoting some old poem, he liked to sit in the courtyard and judge how she trained the others. She was always off on her stances, according to some warriors who'd died Eras ago, interpreted by a tiny old coot who looked like the most fearsome weapon he'd ever picked up was a butter knife.
Odar and Arentia had followed him; Uthgerd couldn't say she was surprised. Never the best with a blade or arrow or spell, Odar the Bard's College dropout was always hungry for a new tale even if his fingers were too stiff to work a lyre or flute. And Arentia was still pissed her lover down in Karthspire had recently been turned into a Briarheart-too many memories of him around here, she figured. Only two-nobody cared enough about Delphine to leave, other than Esbern.
"Hey."
Uthgerd twirled at that Cyrodiilic accent, her friend standing in the doorway. "Hey." She looked so small, so tired, in her bloody College robes. There was a change of clothes in her size somewhere, simple leather and wool. "Feeling better?"
Nariilu nodded. "I want you to be the next Grandmaster," she said, "of the Dragonguard."
Uthgerd bit her cheek; the offer of Grandmaster wasn't too surprising, she had been the first Blade recruit, after all, and Esbern was completely out of the running. "Dragonguard."
"A bit of rebranding," Nariilu said. She scuffed at a bit of dirt caked into the floor.
"Sounds awfully like the cult of personality Esbern was just accusing you of having."
"If you haven't noticed, the Blades aren't very popular right now."
"We've been in hiding from the Thalmor," Uthgerd replied. "No telling how popular we actually are, but, well, you've seen how many of us there are now."
"It'd be more if you weren't risking death every time you left the Temple," Nariilu shrugged. She looked from the ground to the cot to the wall and then, finally, to meet her gaze. "There are more dragons that aren't horrible," she said. "More than just Paarthurnax, like the one I flew in on, Odahviing. They were only following Alduin's orders, and by ancient rite, since I slew him, the dragons follow me now. They're quite useful."
She waited for Nariilu to go on; that was her idea tone. The tone that'd gotten them out of-and into-quite a few sticky situations. And that glint in her eye, Uthgerd chuckled, already onto what they both knew Delphine would've never accepted. "Good thing, that. What would a Dragonguard do without dragons?"
Uthgerd had to admit it was an absolutely insane plan that would almost definitely work if what Nariilu said about the dragons was true. But Esbern's schism-she knew more would follow Esbern, more than Nariilu would expect, more than normally would, more than just the two who announced their intentions to leave, simply because, "About half of the Blades were once Forsworn."
Nariilu gaped. Sputtered. Cursed. Uthgerd wished she'd taken a single breath, a single pause that wasn't for dramatic effect that she could've cut in and said that the second Nariilu said she wanted every last Forsworn dead. "What?"
"Delphine," Uthgerd let a bit of disgust out at her name that wasn't entirely for show, "actually trusted them, since the Thalmor were hunting them down too. And a year-something of trading doesn't entirely hurt how they see us." And, in all honesty, they weren't all Daedra-worshipping wildmen. A lot were, but the ones that had actually joined were pretty well-adjusted.
But she didn't care either way, and a handful of the Blades were close to outright hostile to the Forsworn recruits-perhaps Arentia would rethink leaving in the name of a scorned woman's revenge-and Uthgerd had no idea how many others simply tolerated their presence. And that was something for her to determine in the coming days alongside keeping as many of the recruits around after Nariilu left to collect her army. Uthgerd had a bit of déjà vu-they had all gone their separate ways when Nariilu left to command her Legion once before. Now she'd be a part of that army.
It'd been an awfully good thing she'd been too busy drowning her troubles in ale to join the Stormcloaks. Though, she supposed Ulfric himself had more than a little to do with their new goal of taking the Reach from the Forsworn.
a/n: happy one year publishing anniversary of Dragon's Nature! In one year, I was able to publish ~50k words over 11 chapters. Compare this to the first year of Dragon's Conquest; ~16k over 9 chapters. So, I'm writing about 3x as fast as I did five years ago! Based on my most recent and (probably) final outline for Nature, I expect to have ~170k more words and ~21 more chapters. So 3 more years by wordcount and 2 more years by chapters before I'm done here, but imma see if I can't write 100k this year alone :D