Thirteen days ago…
Harkon walked into the main hall. He looked around at the feast, searching for the faces of the squad he sent to find his daughter. He had waited so long for her return, only for it to be yet another disappointment. She had been a disappointment...
A cup bearer silently approached; his eyes locked to the floor as he filled the jeweled gold goblet. But Harkon paid no attention to the boy. Such lowly vampires were not worthy of his attention. Harkon had his own concerns with his Scrolls missing. So much time had passed between them. He had wanted so much for her, but that was such a long time ago. It was another man's life. A man he no longer was.
Then she disappeared with her mother. His little Princess had been lost in time. When she had returned, he had felt nothing for her. 'Father' was just another title he wore. She was just a means to it all anymore. Fitting, really, when he thought about it. He lowered himself into his throne. He lifted the golden cup from the table and looked at it.
Serana... Where have you gone?
The fingers of his right hand drummed against the arm of the throne as he thought. He felt them cringe at the sound and slowly each member of the court turned to watched him. He was not oblivious to the effect. He enjoyed how the sound made his court apprehensive as he lifted his eyes from the crimson fluid to watch them in return.
His power was absolute over them. Fear kept him in control of them, and reminded them of their place. He allowed a smile to play on his lips at the thought. He swirled the jeweled goblet in his hand. Their petty struggles for power over one another were expected. Somehow, he had found it satisfying. It proved they had strength. Strength gave them purpose, but he had to remind them occasionally of their place.
His daughter had disappeared at some point, early in the daylight. Somehow, she must have learned of my orders...
He wanted answers, but she had held none. Or so she said. He knew the girl was lying, of course. She was just like her mother, stubborn in every possible way. His thoughts trailed for a moment to his estranged wife. He longed to find her and extract a long-standing desire to kill her. Slowly... He corrected himself.
Harkon thought that placing Serana in chains in the dungeon would... refresh her memory. She had embarrassed him with her little outburst about the Dragonborn, questioning his commands in front of his court. Just like her mother... Devoid of drink, she would eventually talk. But she had escaped before he could get his answers. Again. Harkon stood abruptly, the court froze. The smile played, once again, on his lips. He began to pace the floor behind the royal table. As he paced, he made his way in front of it. He was waiting for the squad to return... Time seemed to toy with him. He always seemed to be waiting for something. He hated waiting, he wanted results.
Not that I've been idle in all this time...
His dreams eluded him. His one desire was still so far from his reach. Ages had passed since he had learned of the prophecy. Without the Scrolls, he had learned only vague bits of information over time.
The blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour... The words had haunted him for centuries. They were the only cold hard facts of the Prophesy he truly knew. "Where is Serana?" He wasn't asking anyone, but all of them at the same time. Only silence answered him. "Where is my daughter?" He asked again. His voice was low, but the question held its edge. Harkon turned to face his court. They were frozen in place, no one moved or flinched. The closest vampire was the cup bearer. Harkon looked at the shaking boy. He will do. "You. Come here."
The young man walked to his master, keeping his eyes on the floor. He scurried quickly and knelt in front of him, setting the pitcher on the floor. "Tell me young one, where is my daughter?" Harkon said keeping his tone even. The man trembled, remaining silent. Harkon stopped pacing in front of the boy. "Hmmm. Disappointing." Harkon looked down at him. The smile that had played on his lips returned as an evil grin.
"Rise, boy. You have nothing to fear..." The man stood, still trembling. "Unless you disappoint me." Harkon's hand moved faster than a heartbeat and caught him around the throat. He lifted the boy from the ground in one swift movement.
"Where is my daughter? Where is she?" He demanded. His response was short gasping and gurgling noises from the man. "Does no one here know my answer?" He roared.
Silence had weight in the massive room. The gagging noises rang clearly in the great hall, echoing off the stone. Harkon plunged his hand into the young man's chest, tearing out his heart. "There is no room in my court for weakness. When I ask a question, I expect an answer." He let go of the boy's body as it disintegrated. Harkon looked to their faces, finding no one returning his gaze. They didn't dare. "If no one can tell me where Serana is, then perhaps someone could tell me why you are all sitting here? Find her! I want answers!" He yelled.
As the junior members of the court raced for the stairs, Harkon smiled again. "Vigalmo! Orthjolf! COME!" He bellowed. The two senior members of his court raced from the shadows to him. Harkon didn't wait for them to grovel. "Vigalmo, send word to the weaklings around Skyrim to step up their activities. Have them watch for my traitorous daughter or the Dragonborn. If my suspicions are correct, she has gone to find herself a new… pet." The man bowed and turned to leave. "Vigalmo..." The elf turned. "Do not fail me." The elf bowed and left hastily.
Harkon watched the vampire go then called out, "Garan!" The dark elf exited the shadows and bowed humbly. He motioned for them to follow him. They walked to Harkon's private chambers. He stood next to his planning table and looked at the two vampires.
"Where are the items I've requested, Garan?"
"My Lord, Feran should be returning soon from retrieving the amulets. However, there have been delays due to this infernal war. Troop movements and skirmishes have slowed his movements. Fura sent word back with the boy you," he searched for the right words. "Made an example of. She has recovered the chalice and eliminated the competition in Red Water Den. We hold all control of the Den. She will be arriving in a few days." He paused to think. "The rings, however, are still elusive. I believe they may be on Solstheim after searches of various locations in Skyrim have proved fruitless. Shall I dispatch another hunting party?"
Harkon scratched his chin in thought. Twenty-five years of searching for the rings and they weren't in Skyrim. "Do so immediately. I want those rings found."
The dark elf bowed. "Is that everything you require, my Lord?"
"For now. Go. See to it at once." The elf bowed and disappeared. Harkon ignored Orthjolf and rubbed his forehead. Time had no meaning to a vampire, but endless waiting was maddening. Feran had been searching for the necklaces for almost a thousand years. Pouring over countless historical writings in search of Molag Bal's artifacts. Trip after trip, each had been fruitless and now that he had found them, this civil war was his delay. Harkon turned his attention to Orthjolf. "What news of this war?"
Orthjolf bowed to him. "My Lord, we are still waiting for word from the South and the Southwest. However, our scouts to the East and the North have finally returned. Markarth is under stable Imperial control and remains unchanged. The filthy native cattle have not made moves to attack caravans or troops there. We have information that the Empire has struck a deal with them." He took a breath and continued. "Ulfric Stormcloak has just secured one of the most well-armed and fastest ships in the Imperial fleet, the Kestral. Our spies tell us that the Jarl has secured nearly all the forts and towers in the West around Eastmarch and the Pale. Winterhold has joined his cause, as well as Dawnstar. Forts to the North are old, but he gains power through them."
Harkon looked at the map before him. It won't be long before the mortal fool sees his tactical advantage claiming the South and blocking the Western paths from High Rock.
He let his finger rest on Falkreath. "And the search for the Dragonborn?" Harkon raised his eyes from the map to Orthjolf's. The man flinched under his gaze.
"My Lord, she proves to be as elusive for us as she is for the herd. I have dispatched our best trackers to find her." Orthjolf's reply was nervous.
Harkon looked past him to the relic that hung on his wall. It was once a warrior's sword, but in the last one hundred years, it had lost its edge. It had been a gift from an ancient Vampire from Cyrodiil that Harkon had hoped would have answers to his Prophesy. He had said it belonged to the Hero of Kvatch, a lizard no less. Harkon had kept it even after he had made another halting advance on finding the answers he desired. At least he had learned the story of the first Blood Matron was true. She still existed somewhere in Tamriel
He had sent word to his contacts in Cyrodiil, but of course, he waited for a reply. It was all so very maddening. Harkon watched Orthjolf for a moment, thinking. "I want her found, Orthjolf. She is part of this... somehow." He hesitated. "Dispatch trackers to every Hold. Find her." Harkon looked back down at the map to the place his finger rested. "There is an advantage to this place. Send our disposable scouts here. It won't be long before they claim the mountain passes. We should..." A smile played on his lips once again. "...reap the benefits of the cattle that flock to death. Have them send word to the herd when they spy the armies approach. Give them double their normal share for the take. Ensure the Legion keeps the pass... for now."
The man bowed but said nothing and left.
Harkon wanted his response.
Nine days ago...
Ulfric Stormcloak rubbed his temples as his Generals argued over tactics. He was tired and needed rest. The day had been very long, but final perpetrations needed to be made for troop movements. These days, he always seemed exhausted.
Ulfric looked down at the map examining it. There were little red and blue flags everywhere on it. The map had been pieced together by his cartographer to include the bordering Provinces.
"Galmar..." He tapped the map near the border to Morrowind. "I doubt the Imperials would be foolish enough to attempt to enter here. Let us return our strength to the South and finish the job in Falkreath. If we cut off the Pale Pass, outside of Helgen, we cut off their potential supply route here. The bandits our scouts killed are nothing compared to the Legion."
The young Captain next to Galmar nodded in agreement. "My Jarl, if I may..." He picked up a pin and moved it to the mountain pass. "...I would like to suggest an establishment of a mountain stronghold here. We take the old Fort here. It is aside the pass and will allow us the ability to stop troops before entering Skyrim. If we cut off this pass and claim it, they'll need to find new routes. We could dress our soldiers in Legion attire and when they approach thinking they are safe, we ambush them."
Ulfric smiled. The boy would make a good General one day. The map still troubled him. The pass East from High Rock led towards Markarth. He stared at it as the men talked. He looked up from the border to Solitude. He made his way East to Whiterun.
Whiterun... Balgruuf was a traitor to the people of Skyrim. Ulfric knew he couldn't underestimate him. The man was fiercely loyal to his people and Ulfric respected that. He knew the man was a devout follower of Talos.
However, Balgruuf had chosen to protect the obnoxious Dragonborn. The thought made his head burn. He couldn't understand it. Ulfric thought of the moment in his Throne room when he had shouted at her. She looked like, something that wasn't possible, and he shook his head. He had been very tired and had a little too much to drink. It wasn't possible for her to look like a dragon. It had been simply a trick of the light and dust. That image haunted him.
He looked at his hand, it still held a blue pin. Whiterun was too well fortified to attack just yet. He thought of Markarth, twenty years ago. The thoughts kept slipping into his mind. To conquer Whiterun, there were far too many preparations to make. The walls would need to crumble to enter the city and take those loyal to Balgruuf. There were plans to be made for that. They would be made examples of, of course. There was no other way. Too many people liked Balgruuf and if he lived, there would be revolts. Ulfric wanted swift and complete control of the city. The Hold would follow.
Whiterun would have to wait.
He closed his fist around the pin and opened it again, thinking. The eastern route from High Rock to Markarth called to him. Markarth was a well-fortified city, but they grew none of their own food inside their walls. Ulfric smiled and looked at the young Captain again. "Captain Llywen, what do you think of this position here?" Uflric's smooth voice trilled out. All other conversations stopped again.
"My Lord, that route is also tactical, but extremely difficult to secure." Llywen paused, rubbing his chin. "If it were to be taken, Markarth would fall into a siege. If we cut off this route and the other, the Empire would not be able to access Skyrim through Cyrodiil or High Rock. Our spies in Markarth tell us that they only supply one or two months of food for the entire populace of the Hold. We could easily take Markarth and close that route if we do so with stealth..." He paused again, looking at the map. "The Forsworn know these lands well... Too well. I suggest locals, bandits, and anyone we can convince to help us. Let them hunt the Forsworn and close this pass... "
The group's discussion was interrupted by the announcement of a courier arriving. The young woman was breathless. She knelt in front of Ulfric, trying to calm herself enough to speak. As Ulfric observed her, he noticed her light armor was frayed. Her face and arms had deep scratches and she only carried a dagger. Typical for a messenger, but her skin was paler than usual, even for a Nord.
"Where are you coming from, young one?" Ulfric asked in a soothing tone.
Her breath was labored, and she was obviously in pain. The young woman's eyes held a disturbing redness to them. Her gaze held a hunger mingled with confusion. "My Jarl, Riften... Troops slaughtered by vampires... Ivarstead. Need reinforcements, only one survivor... Captain Ralof. He's joined the forces there, but vampires attacked the city. Many... cut down." The woman panted hard.
Ulfric caught Galmar's gaze. "I see. And you… did you cross paths with any vampires?" Ulfric stepped back as Galmar motioned the young captain to close the distance between the runner and Ulfric.
"Yes, my Jarl. West of Riften. They surprised me. I ran fast, but they stayed on my trail."
Galmar cocked an eyebrow. "Did they bite you?"
She turned and looked at him fully, "No, sir. One tried, but I managed to get away. He used some kind of magic on me. I haven't felt the same since."
Ulfric smiled at the girl, but the smile lacked warmth. "How long ago was that?"
The courier looked back and bowed her head. "I had to take several detours to get here, so about three days ago."
Ulfric nodded and looked to Galmar once again, the man caught his meaning. "Is that the entire message?"
The young woman nodded but looked confused. "Yes, sir. Captain Ralof requested I return immediately with your answer, Jarl Ulfric."
Galmar motioned to Llywen.
Llywen stepped forward quickly, grabbing the girl by her hair. He drew his sword and plunged it into her heart. Carefully, he picked her up and took her to the fireplace, throwing her body in. As the fire consumed the dead woman, her body was immediately reduced to ash. Ulfric clasped the young man on the shoulder.
"It had to be done, she had been infected. We cannot allow abominations like vampires to walk among us. Now, continue where you left off, Llywen." Llywen cleaned his sword, then threw the rags and his gloves into the fire as well. He nodded and continued.
"We could send a courier in secret to the Jarl of Markarth..."
"No." Ulfric's tone was firm. "We should position ourselves to use men and women loyal to Skyrim, for aid. Let them reclaim Markarth from the inside. Igmund betrayed us before. I will not relive that again. Let the true Nords of the Reach stand up for us inside Markarth."
"We'll get everything in order and position our allies to take the city once the siege is set in motion," Galmar added.
"Wait, let us focus here. Siddgeir is a fool and Falkreath will crumble. Send word to our friends to prepare for battle within the Hold. We are reclaiming the South, including Helgen. We cut off these routes..." Ulfric said pointing to the map. "...and claim Markarth through siege and stealth after." Ulfric looked to Galmar. "Get Ralof troops and new orders. Send him and his garrison to Helgen. Make sure he gets the new swords and send some of those new Dawngaurd troops to him." Ulfric looked at Llywen. "Your father was a good man. I'm glad to have his son with me. Now go prepare. You'll meet Ralof at Helgen, march to Falkreath, and claim those routes."
Galmar smiled. "Siddgeir will become an example to those that betray Skyrim!"
First Falkreath, then Markarth. Whiterun and Solitude will fall. Ulfric smiled.
Five days ago...
"My Jarl! The Legion has arrived." Proventus exclaimed excitedly running into the War Room. Everyone at the planning table looked up.
"About fucking time..." Irileth muttered.
Balgruuf stood and started for the stairs, locking eyes with Irileth. Irileth quickly followed him with Proventus hot on her heels. They descended the stairs to ten Legion soldiers and two officers waiting.
"Jarl Balgruuf, I am Quentin Cipius, Legate of the Northern Division, under General Tullius. He has ordered my troops to garrison here in Whiterun." The Legate marched forward with the young officer in tow. He handed Balgruuf the scroll he had been tapping against his hand. "This is Captain Kjen, he will be assisting with preparations for the city."
Balgruuf clasped the Legate's hand. "Thank you for finally coming. Please, in your next report to the General, send my thanks."
The Legate nodded and shook Balgruuf's hand. "I have assigned Captain Kjen to you as a personal guard and as your messenger. I think you will find his background... interesting. I will need places to set up berthing for my men and get them assigned to their duties. I'd like to see these things personally. I know you will understand."
Balgruuf nodded. "This is my Steward, Proventus, and this..." Balgruuf motioned to Irileth, "...is Irileth. She is my Housecarl, she takes care of ensuring my personal safety and the safety of Hold."
Quentin looked at Balgruuf skeptically. "How quaint. Well, I see there is a lot of work to do, so I'll be off."
Irileth sneered at the comment.
"Proventus, go with the Legate, show him where his troops can set up camp. Make sure he has access to everything." Balgruuf read the scroll and sighed.
"Yes, my Jarl." Proventus turned. "Shall we be off then?" He said with a nervous smile. Proventus motioned for the Legate to follow him and led him outside. Irileth mumbled something nasty about the Legate.
Balgruuf smiled but ignored her. He looked at the young Captain. "What did the Legate mean about your past?"
The captain shifted his gaze from the retreating pair to the Jarl. "Jarl Balgruuf, I am a Nord and I grew up in Markarth."
Balgruuf appraised the young man carefully. The brown-haired Nord wore his hair short like Legion officers. His blue eyes were grim but had strength in them. The young man was around twenty-eight as far as Balgruuf could guess.
Balgruuf waited patiently as the young man stood silently in place. Finally, Balgruuf spoke, his voice gentle. "You were there during the siege?"
The young captain nodded; his face solemn. "I was too sick to lift a sword. Even the shortest one they gave me..." Kjen took a breath. "I watched what the Stormcloaks did to my mother and sisters. My father and brothers died under Ulfric's command even though they were Nords." The man's face grew redder. "I lived in squalor for years. The only reason I survived was the kindness shown to me by a Redguard family. I joined the Legion the minute I was of age."
Balgruuf looked at Irileth, as he watched her, she furrowed her brow in question. He knew time hadn't tempered Ulfric Stormcloak, it only had changed his desires. Ulfric wouldn't show mercy to Whiterun, just as he hadn't with Markarth. Nor would Ulfric spare anyone faithful to him.
Talos guide me... Help me save my people from Ulfric Stormcloak.
Balgruuf looked back at the captain. "I cannot undo what has happened to you or your family, son. But Gods willing, I can make sure it doesn't happen to anyone in this Hold. Will you help me?"
The captain's blue eyes glittered. Kjen stepped closer to him. His voice was a whisper. "Promise me, Jarl Balgruuf, if it is you that kills Ulfric Stormcloak... Show him no mercy when you strike."
Balgruuf peered into the young man's eyes and saw only the hatred. "I promise you, I will."
Three days ago...
The pale gold dragon roared at her. "YOL!"
Aela dove under the fire and rolled up next to him. "FUS!" The shout collided against his neck and face, stopping the fire.
The dragon laughed. "Good... young one. Each day your Thu'um grows stronger. Now I wish for you to meditate before you try Yol, Fire. Feel it within you. Let the knowledge of this word fill you. YOL!"
The word burned against the wall and a gold light surrounded Aela. She closed her eyes, focusing on the word, as it whispered in the depths of her mind. She felt his magic surround her and move through her. She felt the heat from the fire shout move though her body, mind, and soul. Paarthurnax watched her. Besides the Dragonborn, this mortal had learned the fastest of any mortal he had ever taught. Ages had passed since he had taught the warrior the way of the voice. He remembered all he had ever taught. Faces young and old, names lost to all, but him.
Aela meditated as he watched. Hours passed as she focused her being on that single word. He felt something for this one. He lowered himself closer to her to keep her warm in the bitter cold. This mortal understood patience and focus. She wasn't rash and reckless. He chuckled to himself. It would not take long for him to teach Aela.
Soon, a feeling caused him to stir. Another dragon was approaching. He felt the distance close between this young dragon and himself. A new sound rode the wind. A voice lost to time. Paarthurnax looked to the South, craning his neck. A red dragon broke the clouds, catching the wind in his wings, he sailed around the crest. His voice shook the mountain as he roared, reminding Paarthurnax of the ancient war. The red dragon looked down at Aela as she stood in front of Paarthurnax. He circled a second time, then landed. She looked questioningly to Paarthurnax, but he was focused on this dragon.
The red dragon walked closer with its head bowed. Even when it had been in the air, Aela could tell it was not Odahviing. His markings were different. Paarthurnax inclined his head slightly. "Drem Yol Lok. Nahfahlaar. Vahr dreh hi meyz wah dii strunmah?"
"Drem Yol Lok. Paarthurnax"
Aela watched this new dragon with interest. It had been the first new one to arrive since she and Azriel had come here.
"I have met the Dovahkiin, Ahziial. She has asked me to come to you. She told me you once again teach the joor the Thu'um." Nahfahlaar looked to Aela, his eyes never leaving her as he waited for the old dragon to speak.
Paarthurnax pulled himself to his full height, extending his wings so his claws touched the ground. "Zu'u Thurri."
Aela wished she could understand what they were saying. The red dragon seemed to sense what she was thinking.
Nahfahlaar tested his luck with the old dragon. "By right of strength, the right to rule is. It was she to defeat the Eldest."
Paarthurnax remained silent. For a moment, Aela wondered if Paarthurnax would attack the red dragon for his slander.
"She is strong, but she is..."
Nahfahlaar interrupted him. "She is the strongest of all the Dragonborn, even stronger than... him... than the others. I have tasted her Thu'um and felt her magic. She is already stronger than..."
Nahfahlaar paused for a second, Aela wondered who he was talking about.
"They have many things in common." Nahfahlaar finished.
Aela was lost as to what the conversation was about. Paarthurnax and several dragons roared. Aela covered her ears as the mind shattering sound of multiple dragon voices echoed off rock and snow.
"Do not compare them!" Paarthurnax bellowed.
Nahfahlaar bowed his head. "Krosis, Old One. I did not intend to scratch at old wounds. After so much time, I simply wonder at your thoughts. You cannot deny she will become the greatest of them or of us? It took several minutes for the dragons to settle themselves. Nahfahlaar remained silent in that time but had resumed observing Aela as she sat in the snow.
A large orange dragon stomped forward growling his words. "You come here like the rest of us, Nahfahlaar. Do not compare Ahziial to him. His name has been struck from the memory of time for a purpose. Let it be forgotten!"
Paarthurnax spread his wings wide as he faced the orange dragon, then pulled them in gently. "Drem, Noxonikyah. Nahfahlaar speaks but does not choose to break the oath." Paarthurnax shifted himself to look at Nahfahlaar once again. "Zu dreh ni uful fah dii sil. Zu'u uful nunon fah, Ahziial. Rek los kiir saatvon au okaaz do volbur."
Aela wished he'd stop switching languages. It made her head hurt.
"You care for her," Nahfahlaar's wording was not a question, but a simple statement of fact. "A child could not defeat Alduin. She seeks knowledge at its root. She is an accomplished mage and her rage taps magic in ways I have never seen. I have spent the last seven days with her, and she is indeed powerful in many ways. Her thirst for knowledge is great, causing her to seek many answers. Some are forbidden for us to answer."
"I have faith she will seek herself though understanding and meditation. Not in other ways." Paarthurnax said gently.
It was obvious to Aela that there was a heated debate occurring, but she simply couldn't follow it. She hoped the meaning would become clear, but it hadn't. They were being cryptic on purpose.
Nahfahlaar chewed his thoughts for a moment. "I do as well. She rides the currents of the winds in her search. She has already caught the attention of the Deyra, she has told me as much."
Paarthurnax answered slowly. "I know this. But for her, that day will never come." He looked at Aela and sighed heavily.
"Hasn't it though? The spirit of the wolf has made her soul more powerful in some ways. She can hardly control her anger because of the beast spirit that has fouled her. I smell the Night on her skin, she cloaks herself in shadow. Do you think she would not take the ancient fruit if it was offered?"
"The wolf weakens her, in other ways." Paarthurnax pondered for a minute, then he continued his answer, "I do not think she would not give herself away cheaply to be free of her struggles." Paarthurnax huffed at him.
"I have pledged myself to her and I have bound it with my soul." Nahfahlaar faltered. "I see what she is and what she can become," the dragons gaze was intense. It reminded Aela of Azriel's. "I fear she will lose herself."
Paarthurnax stretched his legs. "I do not fear this. She has proven herself time and again."
Aela felt like her head was going to explode. "Can you two please not talk in riddles?! What in Talos' name are you talking about?"
The red dragon moved his head close to her. "Krosis, young one. I am Nahfahlaar. You must be the huntress Ahziial spoke of. You must forgive me; I know you do not yet know our language as Ahziial does."
Aela smiled. "I'm Aela. And you're forgiven."
Nahfahlaar inhaled deeply. "I smell the wolf of Hircine in your blood. You are indeed friend to the Dovahkiin, her scent is still on you."
Aela blushed. "Get to the part about Azriel... uh, I mean Ahziial."
"You speak of the Talos... I was his zeymah, brother."
Aela's mouth fell open. "How is that possible?"
Nahfahlaar chuckled. "Do Ysgramor's Companions not call one another siblings? It is the same."
Aela felt her cheeks burn. She'd been so wrapped up in the argument, that the idea never crossed her mind.
"I speak of the weakness that plagues all dragons. The search for power, the desire to rule, to destroy. It is a battle to conquer it, only if for a moment. It is an eternal war, fought within us to master it. Ahziial struggles with her soul. Her tenebrous self lies in wait, striking her in the hour of her greatest weakness. It seeps into her magic with savagery, her sword with brutality, and her heart with murderous rage."
Aela's thoughts swam with memories as the dragon spoke. Each of Azriel, in times when they had gone into the fray together. Then when they themselves had fought. Over time Azriel had withdrawn further from her. It wasn't as if Azriel had made her life known to her. Yet Aela didn't doubt their friendship.
"She seeks out knowledge, but this is the greatest form of power. It is temptation, even to us." The dragon paused watching Aela. She motioned for him to continue. "In trade for Grah-Zeymahzin, I taught her magic long forgotten by mortals. It was when she was practicing, I saw it. The fascination of it, then the realization of the power. I saw the temptation of it for her."
Paarthurnax shifted next to Aela.
"What's your point?" Aela said impatiently.
"I have bound my soul to hers. I only wonder," Nahfahlaar returned his gaze to Paarthurnax. "What time holds for her? If she will falter and yield to the battle within. Or if she will be greater than Talos himself."
The old pale-gold dragon sighed sadly. "Time is not her ally, Nahfahlaar."
Aela inhaled sharply as though she had been kicked. She couldn't speak. She stared at Paarthurnax, and the old dragon turned away sadly.
Last night...
Idgrod walked the blackened plain. Smoke filled the sky and hues of gray, orange, and purple slipped through. Caliginous coils wafted lazily around her as she treaded the scorched earth. They were so obscure to her; their chill was hypnotic. They pulsed individually as if they each had a life or thought. She walked through the endless array of tendrils as they swayed like tall grass, softly brushing against her. They were ominous to her as if waiting. Seemingly harmless one moment, yet fully capable of striking out against her the next. She shivered violently at the thought as she moved through them.
The plains she walked were familiar. Each night she walked slightly farther along it. Each time though, it always appeared the same to her. It was simply a feeling that told her she made more distance every night. This was the farthest she had walked in six months.
As she looked around, she noticed the most peculiar thing. There were no smells, no sounds, only the feelings she had of touch and sight. The ground was black and cracked, devoid of any real markings. The wind was cold, but the silence frightened her the most now. This was new... Like she was waiting for an event to unfold. There was nothing around her and the haze from smoke made directions difficult. There was only the black earth and the sooty sky.
She felt herself shiver against the frigid breeze. Like souls of the dead twirled by her in their gloom. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, but she was still chilled to the bone.
Her walk seemed endless. The horizon held only darkness and more tendrils. The plain was a wasteland. She wondered to herself where she walked and who had brought her here. Her thoughts trailed as she walked, to the one thing always on her mind lately.
Idgrod heard a roar in the distance.
She felt the breeze change from chilling to blistering as it approached. She knew what was coming and steeled herself for yet another confrontation. It had let her walk farther this time before menacing her.
The black dragon blotted the color from the smoky sky. It circled her, becoming lost in the various shades of black. Just when she thought it had gone, it landed in front of her. Its silence proved it was the ultimate predator.
Its voice shattered the eerie quiet of the burned place. "Why do you summon me, Sorceress?" The black dragon's voice was as terrible as it was awesome in its power.
She examined the dragon. Night after night, it was always the same. The midnight color of its hide stood in magnificent contrast to its sunset gold eyes. She marveled at it; the size of the dragon was the largest she had ever seen. But to be right in front of it was amazing and frightening.
Idgrod looked back up at the massive head of the beast. "Why do you bring me here?"
The dragon laughed, the depth of it chilled her soul. "You bring me to you of your own volition... You call my name; I am bound to answer. Now answer. Why? What do you think you'll find in this place? What do you wish to gain?"
"I didn't call your name!" She yelled in earnest.
The dragon laughed low and deep. Idgrod shivered again. "Here, on this plane, your thoughts are your voice." Its reply was laced with amusement. Idgrod chewed her lip. Her thoughts had betrayed her. The dragon reared back, spreading its ebony wings. It roared fire into the smoldering sky and crashed down in front of her. Idgrod's vision swam as she scanned the burned corpses and bone littering the immense plains. The dragon crushed them as it walked forward to her. Smoke curled from its nostrils.
"Why do you summon me?" It growled at her.
"I didn't realize I did, or that I could..." She bit her lip trying to wake herself.
The dragon roared. "I will not permit you to leave."
"How is it possible I could summon you here?!" Her voice betrayed her fear.
The dragon lowered its head to her, its golden eye stared into her soul. "This is a place of dreams, a place where one's aspect can visit another. You thought of me, and I answered. Just as you knew I would. Just as I have done each night since our time in Saarthal."
Idgrod shivered. She had guessed the answer before, but her own fear had kept her from believing it. "My dreams are of what is meant to be," she started, but the dragon growled at her interrupting.
"You will never have what you desire, Sorceress! We are one! Even now, she eludes you here in this place. This is MY KINGDOM! Fire, ash, and bone! Do you smell the death that clings to her?" Idgrod covered her face with her hands. The leering dragon was in her face. Its breath smelled of decay and sulfur. Heat radiated from its very being like a sun. She could feel her skin begin to burn. "I am all that she is and what she is destined to become. I am the force that drives her. I will claim her whole! Summon me all you like, Sorceress, it will never change!"
Idgrod trembled as the dragon raged. Her voice failed as she listened. A tear threaded down her cheek as its heat assailed her.
"No." In her eighteen years, she never felt so helpless in a dream. Watching and fearing what she knew was the truth. "She has a mortal's heart; I know she has hope."
The dragon laughed again. "A mortal's heart is weak. I am strong." The dragon leaned so close it touched her. It was... cold. Heat radiated from the dragon, but its scales were like ice. The black dragon inhaled deeply, then laughed again. "You long for her."
Idgrod opened her mouth to protest. Azriel was a true friend and over time, she had wondered if it could blossom. Wonder had become a fascination. Now she stood here, in this dream, unable to deny what she desired herself. Azriel made the haze of her visions dissipate. Things were clear when she was around. Her friendship was something she clung to. Yet, Idgrod's heart tugged at her, she knew the girl would never see her as anything other than a friend. She also knew it wasn't her future.
"What I desire is to help," she mustered all her courage to give a simple answer. But when she spoke, it sounded so lame.
"I do not need your help nor does she." The dragon spread its wings and the dream shimmered around her. "Behold, what she will become!"
As the dream shifted once again, the dragon was gone.
Idgrod looked around her to the immense plain. It was the scene of an intense battle. Dragons soared in the air breathing fire and ice. The earth and grasses burned black, the sky was full of fire and smoke. Swords clashed as she watched a figure dressed in black carve their way through a field of men.
Idgrod gasped as she felt herself being drawn into the battle. She was pulled to the edge of the battlefield. She watched the dead rise and turn against the living. Monsters fought men, men fought dragons, and men fought each other. The blackened earth cracked, and blood flowed like a river across the plains.
Idgrod closed her eyes against the scene, but the sounds tore through her mind. The smell of burning flesh made her eyes water and she looked again.
She stood at the rear of the Imperial army as they marched forward to attack. She felt her legs move of their own accord and soon found herself running. She looked at the sky as a red dragon burned the line in front of her. Her senses were overwhelmed by the heat, and she tried to protect herself from it. She threw up her arms, dropping her sword, but it was too much. She felt her skin burn and she screamed. Her vision went dark. She fell to the ground, but the sensation of falling lasted far too long.
She felt the light tap of her feet gently touching something hard and looked down. She stood on the remnants of an ancient wall, once again observing the battle.
Men fell in waves as the lone figure with long red hair cut them down the middle. Dragons circled the stormy sky pushing the humans into the blurry shade's flaming sword. She could hear the din of the battle as though it was miles away, yet she could see everything happening so clearly.
Idgrod blinked and she found herself in a field of dead. Burned and broken bodies littered the ground. There were so many that she couldn't take a step without walking on them. Light filtered from the sky to the vision in front of her.
Standing atop of a mountain of corpses was Azriel covered in blood. Her glowing eyes burned through the early morning. When she spoke, the dragons landed and bowed their heads to her. She walked to the red dragon and touched his nose. Azriel turned her blood-covered face and smiled. Idgrod saw the long fangs of the vampire and froze.
Azriel walked to the last man standing on the burned plain. She lifted the man from the ground by his throat. Her last vision as she woke was Azriel tearing out his heart and eating it. Idgrod screamed and the dragons roared at the sight of blood running down Azriel's chin. She awoke sweating and feverish to the sound of her own screams. Her father was sitting in the chair next to her and patted her hand. "Idgrod, it was only a dream," Aslfur whispered reassuringly. "Please, daughter, don't cry. You're safe."