Well, this took longer than expected, but better late than never. Enjoy!
.
.
.
\|/
.
.
.
. . . . .
Chapter 14:
The Betrayed
Part 4: Touching the Sky
.
.
.
_\|/_
. . . . .
Dawn, 24 Second Seed, 4E201
Chantry of Auri-El, Sun-Dappled Bridge
. . . . .
There was no moment where I realized I was awake; one moment, sleep, nightmares and dreams all in a whirl. Blood, fire, lightning, and gnashing teeth. Warmth, black hair, a green eye accented by a jagged scar, and an eye burning with eternal flame.
And then I was awake in my bedroll, Serana's unnaturally warm body next to me, Farkas and Scales, at a quick glance, nowhere to be seen, a pot of stew – likely the leftovers from our last camp before entering the Chantry, going by the smell – was steaming away on the fire as it reheated… and Drevas, sitting against a nearby rock, looking at me neutrally with a quill in hand and his journal open.
I took my eyes off him and looked next to me, at Serana. She hadn't woken, her mouth slightly open as she slept, beautiful black hair splayed over her pillow- she let out a noise of discontent, and tried to pull me against her body.
Not exactly the most comfortable action, given I was still wearing most of my armor's chain and leather, and she the tattered remains of her own.
Drevas let out a quiet snort of laughter and went back to his notes with a smirk. The arse.
Well, if he wasn't going to help me…
I gave into Serana's pulling, but adjusted myself so my lips would land somewhere specific; namely, her lips. Deftly parting them with my tongue, I started snogging my Ana; running my hands into her hair, tugging at her tongue with my lips- and she let out that adorable mewling sound as she started kissing back, letting me know she was awake.
Pulling back, I looked into my love's dazed eyes and told her, quietly, softly, "Much as I'd love to stay here and snog you silly, I need the bush. Lemme go- oof."
Serana hugged me tightly, warmly, possessively… for a whole ten seconds, before giving me one last kiss on the cheek and releasing me, yawning and stretching like a cat, pushing her chest up as her back arched, giving me a great view… of… ahem.
Blushing furiously, I got up and dashed past a returning Farkas, who lightly whapped me in the head as I passed; I paid him back with a spinning kick to the arse before continuing on my quest to do the necessary.
Once I'd finished, the wind shifted, and I smelled it.
Blood. Burned wood. Rot.
Crows cawed and croaked, back the way we came, and the memories of the previous day rippled through my sluggish thoughts.
We'd fought an army and won.
…that reminded me, 'Kresh, you alright?'
A yawn preceded my shadowy companion's eager, if tired, response, Good morning, Hermione. Yes, I am, mm, well.
'You sound a bit tuckered out,' I replied while examining what was left of my armor; the Falmer had really given it, and me, a thrashing, especially at the end. Three cheers for Drevas' potions.
Indeed. Rarely have I fought so fiercely for so long. It shames me to say it, but I will only be able to help in a small capacity, at least for the next few hours.
'That's alright, Kresh. You rest up,' I thought to the loyal Hound of Hircine while walking back to the camp, where Serana was checking over our weapons, Farkas was eating, and Drevas was examining the Aedric shield that'd… that'd…
It felt like I could trace them, the places under my armor, where Starfall's shards had pierced-
I shivered involuntarily while grabbing the bowl of stew and breadstick Serana had prepared for me. My Ana looked up from adjusting a strap, "'Mione?"
I shook my head, swallowed, and asked Drevas with a glare, "I know it's Aedric, but Starfall was… well, Starfall. How could it have broken like that?"
My mentor grunted, probably frustrated about his favored weapon breaking, and replied gruffly, "If it is Aedric in nature, that would make it the only artifact, outside the Amulet of Kings, Auriel's Bow and the Pelinal's gear, that was genuinely blessed by the Divines, if not crafted by them. As for Starfall… it may have been durable, but it was forged by mortal hands."
"Is it really something the Divines made, though? I mean," Farkas frowned at the shield, giving it flick with a finger, "looks more like bone than metal or whatever."
"Or a dragon scale."
We all looked at Serana, then back at the shield, while I felt a chill in my blood.
Auriel was another name for Akatosh, the dragon god of Time and Space.
Pursing my lips – and trying not to remember the eyes of gold, when I first gripped my wand – I spoke up, "We can ask Gelebor about it, when we're done."
A silence, followed by nods, was my response, and my companions joined me in breaking our fast and preparing for the next, and final, step.
The journey through the Chantry was nearly over. Only the Inner Sanctum, and Vyrthur, remained.
. . . . .
Dawn, 24 Second Seed, 4E201
Chantry of Auri-El
. . . . .
"Reparo," I muttered for the umpteenth time, pointing my wand at my right gauntlet; the great thumping crack that ran from the wrist to where it flared into two thorns, near the elbow, only sealed a little by my spell.
My lips pursed in annoyance, and I glanced around at my mentor, my friend, and my Ana, as they examined their own damaged gear.
Farkas' kit was in the best shape, despite losing his helm at some point; still, his carved-steel armor was covered in cracks and dents from our mad dash up the canyon full of Falmer. The man himself seemed grim, and tired, which matched how we were all likely feeling after that running battle.
Chrysamere, though, gleamed as though it'd come fresh off the forge, not a scratch or ding to be seen on the artifact.
Drevas… I almost wanted to cry, seeing the state of his ebony plate, which I'd worked on for hours on my first days in Skyrim, before I knew how much the suit of armor was really worth. Now it was full of pits, from where the shards of Starfall penetrated when the dread mace shattered, and the chain undersuit was littered with broken rings; my mentor and fellow Dragonborn was clearly displeased by the state of his gear, if his sour expression while glaring at a particularly large pit on his left gauntlet was any indication.
At least the Toolbox emerged unscathed from the battle; we'd all be right plumb out of luck, if it'd broken due a lucky hit back in the canyon… or the killing field a few dozen yards behind us, where the sound of crows feasting could be heard.
As for my Ana, her suit of Aldmeri moonstone had been ripped to shreds in the fight; just about every plate on her, including her helmet, had been cut to ribbons as my immortal girlfriend took on the Falmer in close quarters. All that'd been left in the end were her boots – cracked and barely worth being called footwear – and the chainmail, which resembled ruined lace more than armor in the present.
To wit, my Ana turned to Drevas, who was angrily stamping on our breakfast fire, an also-exhausted Scales watching the action numbly, "So, Drevas… you wouldn't happen to have any armor in that case that'll fit me, would you?"
Giving her an appraising look, and his expression turning sourer, Drevas grumbled, "I might." Unlimbering the Toolbox, he began fiddling with the dials while remarking acidly, "Mind, the only one I have that's anywhere near your size belongs in a fucking museum, so no more melees for you while wearing it, hm?"
While she agreed, I plucked the Fang out of the ground where I stabbed it after waking up – Kresh, totally wiped from his first real fight in Mundus since the Second Era, mumbled in his sleep between my ears – and I stepped toward the pass that, presumably, led to our final destination. It was rather filled with fog, currently, the morning sun turning the thick mists, and the distant mountain peaks, a glittering gold.
"Farkas and I'll take a look at what's ahead." More to give my Ana privacy than any real scouting.
Farkas himself grunted and, with a distracted wave from Drevas, the clattering of the Toolbox as it telescoped out to reveal ten full suits of various armors, and my Ana's eyes widening in surprise…
Farkas and I loped away, Scales following along behind us after a quick word from Drevas.
The deeper into the fog we travelled, the more the rough stone of the ground gave way to polished marble paving stones, their condition noticeably improving with each step. There was also the sound of rushing water, somewhere below us as we traversed a slow incline, and the hissing of wind above; through the mists, I could see the blue morning sky, not a cloud to be seen, and snowy peaks, but everything ahead of us was still obscured by the thick fog.
On arriving at a marbled arch, its supporting pillars resembling pictures I'd seen of Drienni Tower, the arch itself capped with a golden sun sporting eight points, I stopped. Holstered my weapon.
And just… breathed.
We'd fought through thousands of Falmer, across an environment straight out of a fairy tale from home, on an adventure that, written down, would likely outsell anything that fraud Lockhart had ever put forward. Something that, were ancient Sparta or the Norse still around, I, and everyone else, would be welcomed as legendary heroes in their halls, the tale of this labor – against an army of fell creatures, great horned cyclops, spiders the size of cows, dread insects that'd make even Hagrid hesitate, and dragons– it would be the stuff of fable, like Heracles, or Beowulf.
We'd stepped through doorways that crossed great distances, found artifacts thought lost or claimed for millennia, weathered a deadly blizzard, scaled mountains, crossed frozen lakes, navigated slippery glaciers…
I had been swallowed by a dragon, and managed to stab it in the heart.
Drevas had waded through hundreds, if not thousands, like a force of nature, only for his mace to shatter on a mythic shield held by the final enemy.
Serana had been a whirlwind of death, only surviving due to her vampiric nature. The same could be said for Scales; if not for his being a clannfear alpha, and therefore one of the more durable daedra, he'd have been killed a thousand times over.
If anyone called Farkas talentless, or suggested he was anything less than the best warrior in Whiterun, if not Skyrim, I would punch them in the face and have Kresh bite their ankles. If he suggested he was nothing special, I'd slap the git.
…how had we survived that?
"You good?" Farkas asked gruffly, drawing me from my musings; opening my eyes, I looked over at him. He still looked tired… but there was something about him.
Something… more… than what he'd been before we reached the final Wayshrine.
If I looked in a mirror, would I recognize myself?
Shaking my head, I ran a tongue over my canines; still longer than normal, blast. "It's not over."
Farkas grunted, mouth thinning in a displeased line, "…nope."
I poked a pit in my breastplate, "Erolund's going to be pissed at us."
"Maybe," at my quizzical look, he drawled, "Don't think I like the idea of walkin' all the way back to Whiterun in ruined armor."
Glancing upward – the crack running up through my helm from my left eye mocked me with its presence – I blew out another sigh, "Fair enough… but who's that good anywhere in the Reach, or Haafingar for that matter?" There was no smith in Morthal, that I could remember anyway…
"The smith at Castle Dour, Beirand, isn't half bad," Drevas grumbled while walking our way, Scales running up to his side and a cloud of smoke from his pipe half-shrouding his face as he continued, "But Solitude's well out of our way, and the town of Dragon Bridge wasn't too happy the last time Serana and I stopped there."
"Why?" Farkas asked, sounding more than a little confused.
"The captain of the Penitus Oculatus outpost outed her as a vampire to the whole town, soon as he spotted her."
I huffed irritably, looking back in the direction of our camp, "Prick. Where is she?"
"Putting on the armor I gave her, of course," he held out a hand when I took a step in that direction. "Stay, lass. She wants to surprise you."
Thinking of the suits I glimpsed coming out of the Toolbox… I decided not to think too hard about what my Ana would be wearing when she showed up; instead, I got back on the smithing conversation we were having, "What about Markarth? We have to go there anyway for Calcelmo… what?"
Drevas had winced when I mentioned Markarth, "This suit?" he pounded a fist on the Masterwork ebony plates, full of holes from Starfall's shattering and covered in scratches from where the daedric blades came a little too close, "It was made by the Orc who runs the city's smithy. Former Legion hand by the name of Ghorza gra-Bagol."
Farkas' eyes narrowed, "What'd you do for her?"
"Aside from bringing her the ebony…" Drevas shook his head and knocked his pipe out, "No… no, that one's not a story I'll tell, now or ever."
Smirking with mirth – because the hidden tale was likely something bordering on scandalous, knowing my mentor – I quipped, "Alright, old Elf, keep your secrets," his returning smile was more sad than humorous, but I was handily distracted by Serana walking into view.
It was unlike the old Elven kit she'd been wearing, but still made of moonstone; the plates had been carved into shapes like feathers, and instead of chain, the undersuit was made of scale-mail, gleaming white with gold accents. The possibly-Aedric shield was sitting on her arm, seeming to my eyes as though it'd always belonged there, and on her head was a horned, black and gold helm of Ayleid make, with red velvet on the interior, and an odd purple glimmer to its accents; it looked almost like a crown, so fine did it seem.
The whole ensemble was also, clearly, rather snug on my love's body, evidenced by the slight discomfort on her face, and her tone as she said to Drevas, "It's a bit… tight, in, um, places."
"And, again, it's just a loaner until we get you to an armorer, so try not to ding it up." Drevas replied, still clearly displeased at having to give out the – as I suddenly realized, with a pang of shock – full suit of ancient Ayleid half-plate.
My eye twitched with annoyance; something like that was expensive enough to buy a damn city.
"Especially that helm," my mentor added, waving a warning finger at my Ana, "That thing's worth almost as much as a fucking Elder Scroll, to certain people."
"Some famous Elfy bit?" Farkas grunted, rolling his shoulders and turning meaningfully to the mists; getting the picture, the rest of us limbered up. Who knew what lay beyond, in the Chantry's Inner Sanctum?
"…it's the Ayleid Crown of Nenalata, the last city of those slaving bastards to fall to the Alessian Rebellion," Drevas reported solemnly, drawing that big ebony claymore, whose edges gleamed like the setting sun…
While my Ana's neck audibly cracked as she looked at him and half-shrieked, "What?! Drevas, this thing- how did you even find- it, it was supposed-"
"-to have been lost at the end of the Third Era, when the Champion of Cyrodiil hid all their gear and walked into the Shivering Isles," Drevas finished boredly while brandishing that claymore of his; even a few yards away, I could feel the dry heat radiating off the thing, "Along with this pretty thing, Sunset, the Foe-Hammer of the Daedra; if you believe the tales, it was hallowed by the incarnations of the Nine, after which the Champion used it to slay a reborn Umaril the Unfeathered, skewered Mannimarco's mortal vessel with it, and cut off one of Dagon's toes in the Imperial City at the end of the Oblivion Crisis."
Silence fell, save for the waters below, and the hissing wind above.
"And you used Starfall instead?" I asked incredulously; that… that sounded more like a superweapon, or Excalibur, than any normal sword of impeccable make!
"Damn thing's too unwieldy in close-quarters, and I try not to destroy the ruins I explore; it was easier to guide Starfall to where it needed to hit, while this thing puts divots in walls even at a slow speed. That, and I need to flood it with magicka to get the enchantment working properly, and I happen to like casting spells. But at this point…" Drevas sighed and sheathed the weapon on his back, the feeling of dry heat lessening as he did so, "Well, I'll try not to use it around any priceless artifacts or frescoes."
"Where the fuck did you even find it?" Farkas asked without irony, leaning Chrysamere on a shoulder.
"Ruined chapel in the forests west of Bravil," Drevas replied airily while beginning to walk forward, explaining further as we all got a move on, "Place was half caved in and full of shades when I found it, running from some other undead I rustled up while plumbing a nearby Aeylid necropolis."
Serana huffed and rolled her eyes, "Well, it's nice to see that your adventures with me are nothing new, exciting life that you've clearly led."
"Hear-hear," I grinned a friendly smile at my mentor, who, in a rare show of real emotion, actually looked a bit bashful.
Conversation fell off after that, though, the five of us trudging over a bridge shrouded totally in mists; what was odd was…
It was cold – I knew it was cold, with the wind biting my face – but I didn't flinch from it. None of us did.
A warmth sat just beneath my skin, seeming to radiate from my bones; some blessing from the five Wayshrines? I knew it wasn't my armor; those Runes I'd carved had been shredded in the final melee.
Whatever it was, I was grateful for it.
After some long, silent minutes, the incline of the bridge began to even out, indicating we were reaching its apex; as if on cue, the mists began to part, revealing…
We stopped in our tracks, and stared at the gargantuan building in front of us.
It was white, like all Snow Elf buildings, but grander than the simple Wayshrines. Arches were carved into its façade, giving windows to all the straight lines and sharp angles of the design, the architecture of the place giving the impression of a switchback staircase. The line of its roof ran from the middle courtyard at the end of the bridge, which was just past another arch that seemed tiny in comparison to the building, to the mountain walls on either side, then came back to meet in the middle in a divot, a high wall behind giving the idea of this place being a throne for some cyclopean being.
Windows appeared throughout, their brass framing glittering like gold in the morning light… and highlighting the damage to the Inner Sanctum; pits were gouged from the marble in places, and one of the windows was gone from its frame, the portal then covered in crumbled rubble.
Drevas clucked his tongue, "Pretty place, even if it's another ruin." Scales chuffed an agreement, along with a musing grunt from Farkas.
That broke the spell, and we continued our approach.
"Any bets on whether or not Calcelmo faints on seeing this place?" I asked my friends leadingly; it wasn't a serious offer, more a statement to fill the silence than anything.
"Sucker bet, lass," Drevas replied, taking out his notebook and, presumably, sketching the Inner Sanctum as he walked. "If there's one thing all Dwemer researches get more excited about than aetherium, it's the Falmer civilization."
"Nobody's ever found a ruin," Farkas cut in gruffly, eyes narrowing at the statue dominating the courtyard we were fast approaching: a huge, golden sculpture of the Elven ideal of Auri-El, portrayed as a Mer holding a ring of fire with eight points. "Least, no mention in any of Jorrvaskr's books. Vilkas looked, after I asked once."
"Sudden bout of curiosity?" I asked while checking my corners; just because the main Falmer force was being eaten by crows behind us, didn't mean there might not be more mooching about… or, whatever the Falmer did at home, other than the horrors we saw in their hive.
"Eh, mostly wonderin' why the ones I was killin' didn't make proper buildings like other Mer."
I thought about that, then said, "Fair enough."
In the courtyard were two staircases, starting on either side of the Auri-El statue – which Drevas was sketching on a new page of his notebook – and leading up to a moonstone door; how did I know that?
Very little glowed like moonstone in the light of Magnus; its shine was unmistakable, and reflected in how Serana shone, as she walked to the right staircase, the Ewer still hanging from her belt.
I followed her, while a nudge from Farkas had Drevas following him up the left stairs.
Scales followed them, but not before giving the statue a glare and a huff.
I smirked at the sight, and stepped faster to keep up with my Ana. Scales' reaction was likely one of those 'Daedric creatures only' things, like whatever the Dremora called a nauthing was when it was at home… actually-
"Ana?"
"Mm?" she looked at me as we passed the halfway point; I noticed a bowl of some sort at the top of the staircase, on the rail opposite the door.
"What's a nauthing when it's at home?" Kresh snorted a laugh between my ears before curling back up into sleep; what?
My Ana scoffed, and said, "It means a great many things, but mostly, it's used by Dremora when they want to express to a mortal how meaningless their existence is."
"Ah," I frowned, then began lining up some hexes for that Kmoz'eus fellow; really! Hermione Granger, meaningless? That was just asking for some of my choicest prank spells; maybe that Slug Sickness one of Ron's would see him become the laughingstock of Oblivion for a few centuries.
Serana poked my cheek with a toothy grin, making me realize that I was pouting, and right as Drevas and Farkas were walking into view. I schooled my expression and examined the filigreed entryway to the Inner Sanctum with a critical eye, its sun-shaped door handle and all, even as Drevas furiously sketched the moonstone bowl's interior, followed by the floor, which Farkas was frowning at.
It looked like it was made of glass; yet, even while weighing over 84 kilos in armor, my feet didn't even scuff the 'glass'. Nor did anyone else's. Crouching low, I dragged a gauntlet's talon over the surface; the ebony/glass fusion was strong enough to mark even steel, and my enchantments – what was left of them – meant they could tear all but the strongest armors with ease.
Sparks flew, even though I wasn't applying much force, leaving behind a greenish smudge.
The surface remained undamaged.
My eyes widened.
"Please don't damage the priceless glasswork, girl," Drevas grumbled while stowing his notebook.
"It's diamond." I said quietly, standing and showing him the blunted tip of my gauntlet.
We all looked it over, back and forth: a slab of diamond the length of two king-sized beds, a quarter-meter wide, with jewel-encrusted gold fittings beneath. Stepping back to get a proper look at it without any of the sun's glare, I saw that the gold and carved gems told the story of Convention, where the Divines laid down their laws and punished Lorkhan… in a carved frieze, one side on the left, the other on the right, with a line of diamond running between and encasing the treasure of Snow Elf craftsmanship, at least two centimeters deep at its thinnest.
As the sun rose higher, the gems glittered in its light, and the gold shone… revealing the channels in the solid diamond that snaked delicately between the gold friezes, running between the door and the bowl.
Drevas opened his mouth, a greedy shine in his eye-
"No." Frakas grunted, standing on the diamond-encased treasure and folding his arms, glaring at the Dunmer.
"Be reasonable, Farkas."
"I am."
"It's probably worth more than the Blue Palace and everything in it."
"I don't care. We're here to get a fancy bow, not lever something worth more than some cities out of the ground, and put it in that bullshit cabinet of yours."
"Uh," I looked at Ana and jerked my thumb at the basin, "you, uh, want to do the honors?"
"It's a toolbox, you incorrigible Nord."
"Oh, yes," Serana undid the Ewer – we watched the ice melt as she brought it closer – and began to pour the glittering water into the basin… which had an initially-unnoticeable hole in the bottom.
Farkas and Drevas continued their argument, oblivious.
"Balls. You can keep tools in a cabinet, Dunmer, and that thing has clothes in it, too. Clothes go in a cabinet or dresser. It's a fucking fancy cabinet."
The water snaked down the channels, the tubes twining over each other in a way that resembled Falmer script, if more flowing and stylized; I memorized it as Drevas continued bickering with Farkas.
"Can you fit a dining room table in a cabinet?"
"Depends on the table."
"With the chairs?"
"…that makes it even less of a toolbox."
"If it's such a problem, complain to the Dwemer- oh wait-"
The water vanished beneath the door to the Inner Sanctum-
Click.
-whose 8-rayed-sun door handle clicked as the door stopped shining so bright and split noticeably down the middle.
Farkas drew Chrysamere with a growl, "We're not done on this, mer."
"Fine by me, lad," Drevas growled right back, drawing his bow- adjusting the dial on his belt- the glass arrows sticking out of the Toolbox went back in the slot they'd sprouted from- and were replaced by red-black fletched ones with a ratcheting series of clicks.
I just pulled the Fang, walked up to the door, and yanked it open with my left hand, moving low to the ground as I entered, spear in my right and wand filling my left-
-and came face-to-face with the frozen statue of a Falmer, its expression locked in a rictus of death, fingers grasping for the cork of an ancient Resist Frost potion; and I only knew it was that because it was clearly the same kind that was found in Nord barrows.
Beyond, more frozen statues, of Falmer and Chaurus, the pillared room I found myself in containing these, a small shrine to Auri-El, and doors leading to other areas. Blue light illuminated the scene in an eerie, foggy light.
My companions entered behind me, one by one seeing the state of things. Kresh, awakened by my sudden mental shift to combat readiness, let out a low growl of distrust between my ears, while Scales made a low whine of suspicion.
"Laas Yah!" Drevas whispered, then frowned, "Some of the bastards still show life-sign. I'll try marking them with a Magelight. Hermione, Serana, you too."
"And if they start moving?" I asked; all I got in reply was a raised eyebrow and a daedric arrow being nocked.
Which was answer enough; another day, another tomb.
Business as usual, no matter how bone-deep tired we all were.
. . . . .
Late Morning, 24 Second Seed, 4E201
The Chantry of Auri-El, Inner Sanctum
. . . . .
Scattered skeletons on the floor, hiding beneath tables and cringing in corners.
Robes in tatters. Armor and weapons broken or seized by the frozen Falmer.
Bones splintered and scratched… signs of chewing.
If my anger had ebbed after the fight through the canyons, it was back in full force, now.
Two shattered suits of armor, the bones within barely splinters.
Beyond them, a cluster of pitifully-small bones, their cracked and chewed skulls staring as we passed.
Kresh's shadow was on my armor, now, his claws pressing into my shoulders, furry head laid over my heart. his eager panting sounding in my ears. It felt both like he was holding me back, and urging me forward.
I was angry, still. I could feel that same anger, white-hot and warming, in my companions, in my throbbing heart.
A scrawl on a sheet of paper, hidden in the cracks of a wall, only retrieved when Kresh noticed it and brought it to my attention.
The Aldmeris was faded, worn by the simple passage of time, but still legible, preserved by the cold dryness all around us.
"Vyrthur has betrayed us, brought the corrupted Betrayed to the Chantry, has twisted the teachings of Auri-El to control their minds, even from afar. They draw close. My time is sh"
My boots slapped on uneven stone after leaping from the ledge above – glance around, no way forward but a direction that led to bright blue light – and I moved aside, clearing room for Drevas, who landed with a solid thump, face just as stern and angry as mine must have seemed. Serana barely made a sound as she landed, while Farkas and Scales only made the sound of the pebbles clattering as they slid down the steep embankment.
None of us commented as we made our way through a narrow crack, all that remained of a once-impressive hallway, and entered into a large chapel. More frozen Falmer, with a few equally-frozen Chaurus, decorated the frozen floor, while the rear of the chapel held a set of stairs, leading to a dais.
On a seat lounged a Snow Elf in armor similar to Gelebor, if more ornate, whose lip was curled into a sneer as he greeted us with, "Did you really come here expecting to claim-?"
"Bombarda," I growled with feeling, the spell practically singing down my wand and leaving it as a block of angry red light.
It crashed against a barrier of perfect, clear ice that was placed at the top of the dais' stairs; my spell didn't even scratch it, but I knew it was ice because of the frosting on the edges, near the walls.
Vyrthur's lips pursed, "…Auriel's Bow."
An ash fireball exploded against the barrier, right where Vyrthur's face was; a pair of glass arrows from Farkas pinged off immediately after.
There was no smear or dent left behind. Snow Elves and Frost magics were clearly best friends. That or it was something more advanced.
Vyrthur tried to continue, now becoming annoyed, "You've done just as-"
A white-hot glass knife bounced off the barrier, to a frustrated hmph from Drevas.
"…as I-"
Then a rock smacked off the barrier.
I looked incredulously at Farkas. He just shrugged.
"-as I expect-"
Scales bounced off with a hateful squawk. A blast of red lightning failed to produce results. The same could be said for a few my Ana's blood bolts, as well as a pair of Reductor Curses from yours truly.
"-expected-and-brought-your-fetching-companion-to-me!" Vyrthur finished his sentence as Drevas drew Sunset and tried to skewer the bastard through his barrier.
Blade met magically-hardened ice with an echoing clanggg, the unstoppable force held back by the immovable object.
"Okay," Vyrthur sneered, standing and walking right up to Drevas, only a few centimeters of ice between him and the tip of Drevas' nose, "If all the other things didn't work, fetcher, what made you think the sword would?"
Drevas backed away a few steps, but still snarled right back, brandishing his sword, "Drop the barrier and take your licks like a… wait, what was that last part you said?"
"Foolish, faithless ashskin! This barrier-"
"No, I meant when you were monologuing, the bit about the fetching companion, you s'wit." Drevas looked over at Farkas with a raised eyebrow, ignoring Vyrthur's confused spluttering with aplomb, "Lad? I have to say, there's easier ways to come out of the closet, along with introducing your lover to your friends."
Vyrthur spluttered some more, pale face turning pink with rage.
I blinked while Farkas squinted at my mentor like he was crazy; ohh.
Fetching companion.
If anyone deserved a good ribbing, it was this right fucking tosser. Therefore-
"Farkas, c'mon!" I fake-whined at Farkas, who was blinking in confusion- but there was no hiding that twitch of his lips; he was in on it already, the deceptively-clever git, "This has to be the most convoluted way to go about marrying someone I've ever heard of! Why didn't you tell us?!"
"I'm sure he was just embarrassed, my 'Mione, what with Vyrthur here being an Elf and all; oh, Farkas," Serana sighed with disappointment, while Vyrthur was starting to sound like a teakettle left to boil. "Dear, we'd have understood."
"Look, I don't know this Mer. The only love letters I've been getting are from this busty Redguard lass over Rorikstead way," a slightly sick look came over Farkas' face, and he looked at Vyrthur, who'd developed a rather nasty twitch, "Unless he's been posing as her… in which case, I don't swing that-"
"I MEANT THE VAMPIRE, YOU CRETINS!" Vyrthur roared, sending rivulets of snow sliding from the chapel's ceiling buttresses.
"It's your own fucking fault for not being specific in the first place, n'wah," Drevas replied pugnaciously, to an agreeing squawk from Scales.
"Also, she's happily taken," I snapped, readying the White Fang while Kresh snarled, baring his teeth on my breastplate. "You want her? You'll have to go through me."
Vyrthur grinned, apparently having expected this response, "Oh, with pleasure."
He snapped his fingers- purple spark-
Seven Conjuration portals opened-
The air became painful to breathe- six Frost Atronochs, flanking, three a side, a Frost Monarch, its ice body looking like an ice version of Michelangelo's David decided to get up and walk, except it had no face, a pit of the coldest darkness where a man's features should be, its head crowned with jagged blue peaks, and a pair of Ice Wraiths encircled the being's muscular forearms, their heads resting just behind its clenched fists.
It felt like my lungs would freeze if I took another breath.
In front of us all, Drevas brandished Sunset… and jerked his hand.
The cold left, replaced by a dry warmth; damn, my lips were going to chap- uh-oh, the Monarch was staring at Drevas… and the Atronochs were backing away slowly?
"What are you doing?!" Vyrthur roared, spittle flying from his mouth; good gods, he was actually mad, wasn't he? "Kill them!"
None of the summons moved.
"KILL THEM NOW!"
"Oblivion Walker." The Monarch's voice was chilling, making my bones rattle even in the heat Drevas was providing; yet it was regal, deep, old, a voice that someone could believe in-
With a tense frown in his voice, Drevas replied, "You must be the Lord of the Frozen Seas, the infamous King Minos."
"Your perception was not exaggerated in the reports I was brought; this I see, to my pleasure. Indeed, tis I: the Lord of the Frozen Seas of Chaining, and general of the army Mehrunes Dagon sent to crush Bruma, the only daedra to fight her and live… yes, Oblivion Walker, I am King Minos." the Monarch spoke back while Vyrthur caught flies in his mouth; one of the Monarch's limbs rose to caress a black gouge on his chest with a masterfully sculpted finger, its voice almost nostalgic, "Long centuries of Man have passed since I last met that blade… yet, still, I can feel its fire."
"Advance and you will feel it again." Drevas replied, certainty and promise etching his tone.
"Undoubtedly: the only force it cannot cut is that which was made to null all… such as the barrier behind me." The Monarch turned and gazed, facelessly, into Vyrthur's visage, "And who are you, who would summon me and my clan against an Oblivion Walker?"
"I am Arch-Curate Vyrthur-"
"A lie." The Monarch boomed, one hand reforming into a fist with a crackling sound. "It was decreed to us, the denizens of Oblivion, in days long past: the Chantry of Auri-El is no more, its servants, deserting their posts or fully in service to Alkosh. Their word, among the Daedra… is ash."
"NO!" Vyrthur roared in reply, while I watched on with wide eyes; there was so much lore going on before me, and I felt more than slightly out of my depth… par-for-course, really. "WHO DECLARED THIS?"
"Mehrunes Dagon himself, and I may be many things, nauthing, but disloyal to my lord, I am not." the Monarch huffed and, with one more glance at Drevas, declared, "Once already I have faced an Oblivion Walker, and have no desire to do so once more, or subject my retinue to such a terrible foe… and besides, this is hardly a fitting arena for living legends such as us to wrestle in. Regardless, summon me or mine again, dishonest cur, and your punishment… will be DEATH."
With that, all seven Frost daedra vanished in swirls of purple magic, leaving behind us… and one ex-Arch-Curate Vyrthur, his face disbelieving, fingers and eyebrows twitching.
"…" Drevas cleared his throat to break the awkward silence, "Look- performance issues, nothing to be ashamed of, sera. It's understandable, given, you know, your advanced age."
Vyrthur's twitching started to become increasingly violent.
"Never had a problem with it myself, mind, but not everyone is the same," Drevas continued carelessly, "In fact, I read somewhere that one in five-"
"I'LL KILL YOU!" and giant icicles started forming from pure magic before shooting at us, while the frozen Falmer and Chaurus broke free to attack from all sides.
After the valley, though, the only threat was Vyrthur himself; my spear, Ana's blood ribbons, and the swords of Drevas and Farkas destroyed our frozen foes, if anything, more easily than their fleshy normal forms; all the while, we kept an eye out for Vyrthur's spells. They were strong, but he couldn't form them very fast, and they were big enough to be obvious.
While we did what we did best, Scales jeered and wagged his butt at an increasingly pissed off Vyrthur- and then a piece of ceiling landed next to Scales, who let out a squawk of warning.
"You're bringing down the ceiling?!" I shrieked – there were no two ways about it; I freely admit I did – dodging a masterfully-sculpted piece of masonry, sporting a beautiful mosaic, which shattered into a million pieces on the frozen floor, "Bastard! Come out here and fight me like ye've got a pair!"
"NO!" Vyrthur replied maturely, "Centuries of preparation… I won't let you ruin it! I WON'T!
Farkas cut down the last of the Falmer, then swung his sword high to slice a massive block of stone in half before it crushed him, "Fucking madman! You'll bury us all, including yourself!"
My Ana crushed the last of the Chaurus under a boot, and turned, with the rest of us, to Vyrthur, "You're out of servants, we've backed you into a corner; it's over, Vyrthur! Give us the bow!"
The madman's eyes swiveled in their sockets, a nasty look on his face as he screamed, "DEATH FIRST!" Icicles started forming in a dome around him, his barrier included oh bugger-
"To me!" I shouted, mustering my magic; to everyone's credit, they moved fast, and I cast, "Protego Maxima!"
A dome of light surrounded us-
The icicles shot faster than the eye could track-
BOOOOOOOM
-I came to feeling like I'd just been run over by a hulking draugr, with the chapel shattered around me, the noonday sun shining down on us all as we recovered.
I have you, Hermione, Kresh, his presence surrounding me, keeping me more-or-less upright. I have you.
Pulling a Restoration pattern together, I healed enough of myself to lift my head and look around.
The chapel was truly destroyed; the benches were toppled or broken in half, the windows were shattered, the roof was lying all around us, and I could see another Wayshrine, still not risen, in the distance ahead, past the broken throne Vyrthur had been sitting in.
And the prick himself, limping up some stairs that led behind the Wayshrine.
"C'mon, Drevas, we're almost there!" my Ana begged, helping my mentor to his feet; oh, he looked angry, and so did Scales, who shrugged off some pebbles, turned a blood red as he barked and clacked his beak in equal anger, moving to pursue our prey.
Farkas, on the other hand, was limping after Vyrthur ahead of me and Scales, cursing under his breath the whole way, "Come the fuck back here so I can break my godsdamned foot off in your pointy ass, you magicka-addled pencil-dick shit excuse for an Elf!"
I shoved a healing potion into his hands as I passed him, examining my wand with a glare as I went.
There was a nick in it, near the tip.
My lips curled into a vicious snarl as I put it back in its case, drawing and taking White Fang in both hands as I ran up the stairs two at a time. On the left stairs, Scales ran up them, letting out a violent hiss as he got to the top.
Also arriving at the landing, I found Vyrthur cowering on an overlook balcony, gripping his left forearm and glaring balefully at us. My heart burned, my soul and magic screaming to lunge forward and tear his throat-
The rage fled my body, to the sound of Kresh letting out an audible, animal snarl that made Vyrthur flinch; once again, I wondered, briefly, at the sheer number of things Kresh could do, even as little more than a shadow.
However, with the rage gone, I found my voice, and growled out while pointing the White Fang's blade at the utter prick, "Nowhere left to run now, you loathsome, foul little cockroach!"
Serana was suddenly on the opposite landing, next to Scales, who was bowed low, ready to charge and peck if Vyrthur made the slightest wrong move; my Ana did not look happy, and it showed in her voice, "Enough of this, you bastard. Give us the Bow."
Vyrthur's expression became, if anything, more hateful, "You dare to hurl insults at me? I was Arch-Curateof Auri-El, girl; I had the ear of a god!"
"Had being the operative word in that sentence," Drevas said as he clanked up behind me, Farkas joining my Ana on the other side of the balcony, sword pointed at Vyrthur in a two-handed grip and looking more pissed than I'd ever seen him before; to make sure my mentor had a clear shot at the prick before us, I stepped slowly to the center of the balcony, directly across Vyrthur, who limped closer to the rail, eyes flying wildly between the four people and one clannfear surrounding him.
"The thing I don't get is why," Drevas continued, one hand wreathed in ashen flame, the other filled with Sunset's grip, the blade's edges rippling with heat as he channeled magic through it. "You'd rescued your people from the Dwemer, this place was safe. Why turn your back on Auriel?"
Vyrthur's pale face turned pink as he screamed, "I NEVER TURNED MY BACK ON AURI-EL!"
…what?
"IT WAS AURI-EL WHO TURNED HIS BACK ON ME!"
"Wait…" Serana was squinting at him, her expression becoming steadily more disturbed, "Y… You're a vampire?"
What?!
I started noticing it as I looked closely at him: the discolored eyes, the cleft running from his nose to his chin, the canines…
"That makes no sense," Drevas said bluntly, "Auriel should have protected you."
"Should being the operative word in that sentence," Vyrthur snarled as he slowly straightened back up; looked like he was getting used to the pain of… whatever injury he had.
No blood… faking?
I controlled my breathing, preparing a Shout just in case.
"The moment I was infected by one of my own initiates," Vyrthur elucidated, "Auri-El turned his back on me; his presence simply left. From that moment, I swore I'd have my revenge, no matter the cost."
"But-… oh," Drevas' tone turned to disgust, "Oh, this is just rich. So, let me guess: pretty young thing, just came in from the outside, passed the trial- ah, but they're a vampire; and now, an opportunity presents itself."
"You let them turn you," Serana accused.
"I had saved my people! I led them well! We were prospering!" God, was he whining? "Who better to lead my people forever than their savior?! I performed all the rituals! I asked Auri-El to stop me, if this was not in his designs, and was answered with inaction and silence! It was I who was betrayed!"
"No you weren't, you faithless prick," Farkas growled, "You betrayed your god when you decided to become a vampire."
"Or did you think the Divines would be okay with supporting one of Molag's playthings?" Drevas rasped, still looking disgusted.
"And her? Auri-El let's this, one who prostrated herself before the King of Rape, walk in these lands; what can Auri-El's silence be, but betrayal?!" Vyrthur jerked his chin at Serana…
Who lifted her head up high, "I serve him no longer, and never will again."
"She bettered herself," I said, and Vyrthur's eyes met mine; I held my stare, and the whirling wind in my throat, as I continued, "She was able to walk away from far worse than, what was your punishment again? Disinheritance? She grew up with worshipers of Molag Bal, and put that behind her, in selflessness.
"But you? You dare to say you're blameless, kinslayer? Did you even flinch as the Falmer you brought into the Chantry ate the children and raped their mothers?"
I could practically hear something in Vyrthur's head snap-
The fact that it was accompanied by a cold blast from his body, freezing our legs to the ground, making icicles on our armor… well, I figured he had an ace up his sleeve. Sunset was unaffected, but Drevas was, my mentor grunting with alarm, as did Scales, Ana, and Farkas, all of us caught in Vyrthur's trap.
Vyrthur himself drew a knife, and turned to Serana, muttering madly, "Her blood… all I need-"
"Fus…"
His gaze turned back to me as the ice cracked all over my body.
I saw fear.
"RO DAH!"
The wall of force smashed into him with all the subtlety of a giant's club, sending Vyrthur flying back, back-
His legs hit the rail of the balcony as he flew over it, breaking both lower limbs as Vyrthur, last Arch-Curate of the Chantry of Auri-El, was flung out into the abyss between the balcony and the lake. His scream, in the silence that came in the wake of my Shout, echoed off the walls of the valley, all the way down.
Drevas all but tossed his helmet off as he walked over to the rail and looked over it, right as the screams cut off with a distant whap. Huffing, Drevas hollered down, "First step's a doozy, ain't it, fetcher?!"
"Ha!" Farkas barked, almost dropping his sword as he collapsed into a sitting position, his smile of relief slowly falling off his face as he realized, "Bastard didn't give us the bow."
"I'm sure we'll find another way," I said, sheathing the White Fang and turning to my Ana, "And like I told him: he wants you, he has to go through me-"
Clang
"Oof." I grunted, staring up at the sky.
"Oh, um…" Serana helped me back up after her attempt to hug me knocked me flat on my arse, "Sorry."
Stuffing his pipe, Drevas walked over with a sour look on his face, "Well… that's that, I suppose. How you feel, lass?"
How did I- "Like I want to forget any of this ever happened, go home, and sleep in my own bed… oh gods," my head rested on my Ana's shoulder as I realized, "We have to walk."
A collective groan left our throats, even Scales whimpering; gods, we were all exhausted-
And that's when the Wayshrine behind us suddenly rose up.
Just like that, we were all back on full alert- except Drevas, who somehow managed to keep his pipe from spilling while it was in his mouth, all while running down the stairs ahead of me, Sunset once more out of its sheath and ready-
-and he almost bowled over Gelebor, who yelped, "Oh my word!"
I sagged with relief, "Gelebor…" I tried to laugh, but it felt more like a sob, "I can honestly say, it's fantastic to see you." Finding myself leaning back out of exhaustion- ah, and there was my Ana, supporting me like always.
After giving me a smile, while Drevas and Farkas sheathed their swords with relieved sighs of their own, Serana told Gelebor, "Vyrthur is dead, but he didn't give us the Bow."
Gelebor nodded in understanding, "I surmised as much, in both cases; as for my brother's death, that was evident. Otherwise, this Wayshrine would not have activated. In the Bow's case, that is simple enough to rectify, but first, I must know: did you discover how the Betrayed corrupted him?"
"Wasn't them," Farkas replied gruffly while my mentor fiddled with his pipe for some reason.
Gelebor looked between us in confusion, "What? Then…"
"Out of curiosity," Drevas began gently while holding his pipe in a hand, "after the Chantry received refugees from the wider country, did Vyrthur seem… closer, I suppose, to any of the new initiates?"
Gelebor's mouth opened and closed a few times before he nodded slowly, "Well… yes, I… there was someone, a young man, who he seemed to take under his wing, but he didn't survive the Betrayed."
Drevas winced, "Sorry to say, sera, but that young man was likely a vampire, and seduced your brother with ideas of immortality, eternally guiding the Snow Elves as Arch-Curate of Auri-El."
"How do you know this?" Gelebor frowned.
"Because Vyrthur was a vampire, and claimed one of his Initiates turned him," Serana told the Knight-Paladin calmly.
Honestly, Gelebor seemed to take it well, only humming to himself and nodding for a moment, before sighing, "Regardless of how they came to be here, I am glad their numbers have been thinned."
"Reduced to zero, would be more apt," Drevas replied gruffly, before adding, "Granted, we didn't comb every inch of the Vale, but their breeding hive and main force have been utterly destroyed."
Gelebor's eyebrows went up, "Really? Impressive," his gaze swept across our exhausted party, "Truly, Auri-El has smiled upon you, perhaps in more ways than one," he added, eyes lingering on Ana and I. "You have more than earned your place in the Chantry, and more besides: any items you have found in your journey are yours to keep, and as for Auriel's Bow, it is yours."
He gestured at the Wayshrine's interior, after which a soft light shone through the doorway; we all moved to get a better look…
It was… well, it was a shiny white bow, taller than I was, but the string was a line of light, and, much like the shield Serana was still wearing, there seemed to be something more to it, than the average weapon.
Might've had something to do with how it was floating in midair over the central bowl.
"Well, it certainly is shiny," my Ana quipped, turning to Drevas, who was lighting his pipe. "Well?"
My mentor looked over at her through a cloud of smoke, "Well what?"
"Aren't you going to take it?"
He grunted and… shook his head? "This isn't my task to see through, Serana."
My Ana seemed to have been caught off-guard by that, "But… you're the one who found me, brought the Elder Scrolls together; we wouldn't even be here if it weren't for-"
"You, girl." Drevas interrupted her, in a tone that said don't argue. "Without you, we wouldn't have made it through the ruined tower. Without you, there would be no entering the Soul Cairn. Good at fighting as I am, I'm also not stupid; if not for you, we wouldn't have gotten even halfway through that canyon, nevermind the hive. But that's not the clincher. What Vyrthur said is."
Revelation hit me like the rogue bludger from second year.
"He…" Serana stammered, coming to the same realizations, no doubt, "…he needed my blood. That was all."
"And that's enough to give you cause," Drevas replied, looking her in the eye while I looked between them, wondering why my Ana was being so hesitant. "Old Molag has probably been planning this since you were given to him in Coldharbour. You want to spit in his eye such that even Vivec would applaud you?" He nodded at the bow. "Go on, then."
"B-But…" Serana broke away from me, moving to stand in front of him, "But you're the Dragonborn. Fate chose you to go into that tomb!"
"You're saying you'd have done differently, if it'd been someone else?"
We all looked at Farkas, who'd pulled out a wine bottle and was pausing in uncorking it to ask Serana that question.
And my Ana… didn't reply, instead looking at each of us in turn, before lingering on me.
I smiled, "Honestly, Ana, I can't think of anyone better."
Indeed, the vampire isn't as corrupted as I first thought, despite needing a few more baths to wash off Coldharbour's smell!
'I'm not telling Ana that, Kresh,' I thought to the daedric hound while Serana walked into the Wayshrine and, with complete lack of fanfare, picked up Auriel's Bow like it was nothing.
And then she ran out of the Wayshrine with a startled yelp, as the interior archways became portals to various places throughout the Chantry, including the first one we'd walked through, back in the cave where Gelebor had been camped.
"Ah, yes," Gelebor commented with a smile, "I forgot to mention that part. Ah, and you'll need Sunhallowed Arrows, which I am able to make, so long as you have moonstone arrows. I don't suppose you found some?"
We all looked at Drevas, who pulled the Toolbox from his back with a small sigh.
. . . . .
Morning, 29 Second Seed, 4E201
Markarth
. . . . .
Other than retrieving Vyrthur's armor – and washing the bits of him off of it, ew– and Drevas taking Gelebor aside for a quiet conversation – I could guess the subject, and by the Snow Elf's red eyes on returning, it was likely about what the Dwemer did to his people – our remaining time in the Vale was spent napping in the ruins of the Inner Sanctum…
And, all right, helping Drevas and Gelebor repair some of the damage done to the Audience Hall, which, as we found out, was what the place where Vyrthur fought us was called. A few of the mosaics were totally destroyed, beyond even my strongest Repair Charm to fix, but, apparently, Gelebor found this a good thing.
It made more sense when he departed during one of our naps, and returned with stoneworking tools and a pair of ladders.
"Something to keep my hands busy," was his explanation.
After a day of rest, we departed the Chantry, and made our way in the direction of Markarth.
Which took us four days of hard travel; apparently, both bandits and Forsworn saw Serana all decked out in glittering gold and toting some nice shiny bits of gear meant easy pickings.
It was nice to see the world hadn't changed much, even if the general lack of intelligence was a bit annoying. Anyway, Markarth.
We came into sight of, first, the farms built into terraces on the mountainsides; the smell of baking grains drifted from the small, squat houses sitting on a few of these fields, which reminded me a little of what I'd read about the Inca civilization in South America. There were more windmills on the lowest terrace, the wide fields closest to the road, than I'd ever seen before, over 20 lining the run-up to the valley where, my mentor wearily assured us, lay the city-fortress of Markarth.
Mounting one last hill as we came into that valley, I spotted a Dwemer construction off to the left. "Local silver mine," was Farkas' quiet explanation, coming unasked; fair enough, we were all tired, and I knew the Companion was sharper than anyone really gave him credit for.
And then I laid my eyes, for the first time, on Markarth, the "Jewel of the Reach".
It was an apt name, by all accounts: the grey stone of all Dwemer cities seemed to gleam like freshly-smelted silver, with the glint of brass that came with the Dwemer metal roofs in the spotty sun, the overcast skies doing nothing to take away its beauty. Whether it was the gleam of the stone, or how the walls sat so resolute and safe-seeming – there were many arrow slits, and platforms for mages – or the great green-gold banners that were hung on either side of the gate, everything about Markarth inspired a sort of wonder, at first glance.
The guards, on the other hand, tensed when they saw Drevas approaching, especially when they noticed Scales wasn't leaving my mentor's side.
As they hastened to open the gate, before we'd even made the stairs, I remembered, back in Breezehome and a million years ago, some mention of Markarth in the negative.
So I whispered, "What the hell did you do to them?"
Drevas sighed and said aloud, not bothering to lower his raspy voice, "Last time I was here, some n'wah pulled a knife on a woman at market, shouted about the Forsworn, and would've done more if Scales hadn't jumped him and pecked his heart out."
The guards were standing on either side of the open gate, at attention but still clearly nervous.
"How'd you get out of getting arrested?" Farkas asked a very good question. In most places, daedra like clannfear weren't allowed and one just running into market...
"Calcelmo and I go way back," and from my mentor's tone, that history wasn't one remembered fondly. "While we don't see eye-to-eye on many things, we agree on others, and I've helped a bit with the riskier parts of his research."
I squinted at Drevas, "…and it never occurred to you to help us while Serana and I were working on Stormbringer?"
"That was more detail-oriented, lass; as I've said before, I'm good at hitting things. Most of what I did for Calcelmo involved that, with a bit of historic information where needed," he replied.
And, well, fair enough; skilled in many things though Drevas was, it wasn't like his main profession was puzzling out the more arcane aspects of the works of the Dwemer... that awful potion excluded, but it was Alchemy-related.
We passed the gates without incident, and found ourselves in the market square of Markarth, which was much busier than Riften's! A butcher was plying his wares while conversing with some of his clients about some Imperial tax, with the help of an assistant, while a general store – Arnleif and Sons Trading Co. – had some of their items on display outside, the door open and warmly inviting. Off to one side was a woman selling silver jewelry, at least according to the hand-painted signs bookending her stall.
Also evident was the high presence of guards compared to other Hold capitals, a whole dozen clearly in sight, and that was just in the square.
Nevertheless, we passed through the square without too many looks in our direction – though Serana got a few double-takes, what with wearing Auriel's Bow and Shield, as Gelebor confirmed that the kite shield the Warmonger had wielded was, indeed, one of the Dragon God's few items – and, after a token glance at the Silver-Blood Inn, we made our way into the warren that was Markarth proper.
And warren was a good description, too, the winding paths branching out this way and that, doors set directly into the stone, dizzyingly steep staircases winding upward to terraces that, presumably, held more homes and businesses. All of it was undercut with the sounds of people and a babbling brook, the open aqueducts of the city, described in some of the books I'd read back in Breezehome, flowing merrily with crystal clear water next to the footpaths.
Drevas took the lead, guiding us up stairs and over bridges and through a rocky outcrop with an unassuming door, pointing out various sights, like the wizard's tower of Understone Keep, the Banking House and Manor row above the Market Square, the Watchtower, one of the tallest free-standing constructions in Skyrim, and the entrance to Cidhna Mine, which doubled as the local prison.
Finally, we found ourselves at a waterfall, outside of which was a wooden construction with a waterwheel, containing – I blinked in surprise – a smithy; there was a young and rather handsome Imperial boy working the forge, wiping his forehead with the back of his glove with his hammer hand before getting back to whatever he was shaping.
Outside, facing us, was an Orc woman leaning against a post with her arms folded, wearing a blacksmith's apron and a set of tools on her belt that shimmered faintly with enchantments. Her head was shaved, save a mohawk, and she appeared to be deep in thought as we approached.
This, I presumed, was Ghorza gra-Bagol, the smith who first forged Drevas' ebony armor.
"Brek!" Scales let out a happy bark and ran up to her; the woman blinked in surprise before patting the clannfear alpha on the beak.
"So, you're back," she grunted with a small smile before looking up, "Dre-…" she trailed off as she took in the sorry state of our gear, but especially Drevas'.
"Now," my mentor began, removing his helmet and smoothing his hair, "I know it looks bad-"
In one swift, smooth motion, Ghorza drew a small hammer and threw it at Drevas' head.
I knew damn well by now Drevas could've stopped it; he could have caught it easily. He was practically slapping arrows out of the air, back in that furious melee at the end of the Vale.
Thwack!
Maybe he liked it when women hit him?
"OW! What in Azura's name is wrong with you?!"
"WHAT IN MALACATH'S CHEESY BALLS DID YOU DO TO MY FUCKING ARMOR?!" Ghorza roared so loud, a few guards down near Cidhna Mine looked up in alarm; she was also pulling a sledgehammer from under a nearby workbench and was giving Drevas a wholly unfriendly look.
"Look, there's a perfectly logical explanation to how it ended up like this." Drevas said hurriedly, gesturing at the pits and grooves marring the Masterwork plate armor.
"My ass there is!" the woman screamed again, her apprentice hesitating on coming to calm his furious master down, "That armor could tank dragon breath, I made sure of that-"
"Starfall broke."
Ghorza's tirade cut off with a choked sound at Drevas' earnest admission; after a few false starts, the Orsimer smith croaked, "What?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Drevas explained further, "See that white shield?" at Ghorza's grunt of affirmation, he continued, "A Falmer Warmonger was wearing it; right mean bastard he was, too. I tried to shatter it and the arm it was connected to, and instead it broke Starfall."
"Horse shit, Drevas," Ghorza replied gruffly. "I examined that mace myself. Nothing short of the Divines would be able to so much as scuff its ebony; too well made, too infernal in its creation."
Drevas didn't reply, just stared at Ghorza.
For her part, she blinked, then looked at Serana, "You, girl. Bring me that shield."
"We're here for armor repairs-"
"-and so long's you have the materials for fixing the ruins of the armor I made, you'll have them, but I want to look at that shield," Ghorza snapped at Drevas, though she also tossed her sledgehammer aside and barked at her apprentice, "Tacitus! Clear the forge. We have a lot of work in front of us." Then she looked at me, "Who made that kit of yours, girl?"
"Eorlund Grey-Mane," I replied quickly and promptly; this woman didn't seem like one who suffered fools lightly, or at all.
Ghorza huffed, "Well, I'm not him, and this ain't the Skyforge, so the best I can do is some patches. How long you stayin', Drevas?"
"Around six days," he replied while walking toward a row of shacks, handing us our plain clothes from the Toolbox as he went, explaining to us, quieter, "Should be how long it takes for the Dawnguard to arrive."
She didn't hear that, but Ghorza grunted anyway, "Should be enough time to get all your armors in working order again. Now, get out of them and leave them next to my forge, and don't forget those materials, Drevas."
"Charming woman," Farkas muttered after Ghorza turned to lecture her apprentice about something; nails, from the sound of things.
"And one of the best smiths you'll ever meet," Drevas replied, adding after a brief pause, "I'm going to see Calcelmo after this; no offense, but I want to bring this to him as just Scales and I."
"Why?" Serana asked from inside her changing booth; I quickly bustled into mine and began taking my armor off- woof, I was pretty ripe.
"Because if I bring you all at once, none of us are going to get any sleep, as he'll browbeat us all into giving detailed interviews about the Vale and Chantry." Ah. That made sense. But wait…
"Didn't you call him a hack, once?" I asked what I thought was a good question.
"That was in comparison to Sorine, and I'm not wrong."
"Well, I'll be taking Hermione to the baths," Markarth had baths?! I mean, there was nothing wrong with Breezehome, but I'd heard about the Prefect Baths in Hogwarts- "Farkas?"
"Gonna hole up in the Inn and find some maid to sit on my lap."
"Fair enough," I said as I left my changing stall and handed my armor to Tacitus, who nearly keeled over when Farkas added his armor. "Try not to get into any trouble," I said to the Companion, who was out of armor for the first time since we left Castle Dawnguard, and goodness was he always so… big?
Farkas patted me fondly on the cheek, "Likewise, Hermione." And with a nod to Serana and a pat on his back from Drevas, off he loped.
Oh, and Drevas was giving Serana and I a stern glare, "You will both be at the Silver-Blood Inn, tomorrow, at seven bells in the morning for breakfast and what we'll be doing for the day. Clear?" At our nods, he finally smiled warmly, "Have fun, that's an order." And away he marched, Scales giving us both an affectionate head nudge before leaving with him.
All in all… unusual orders. I gave my Ana a look, "What exactly are these 'baths', anyway?"
My Ana bit her lip and took my hand, "Well, everyone local calls them the baths, from what I understand. Their proper name is…"
. . . . .
Early Afternoon, 29 Second Seed, 4E201
Sanctum of Healing, Temple of Dibella, Markarth
. . . . .
"If there is anything else you require," Priestess Senna all-but purred, her way too tight robes shifting in ways that were… very distracting, in the low light of the inner temple, "Please don't hesitate to ask myself or one of my sisters."
I only gave a nod in reply, but still smiled; how could I not? If Harry and Ron were here…
Priestess Senna walked away; by the Divines…
Adjusting my bathrobe, I passed through the red curtain that held Dibella's image… and beheld a heavenly sight.
Serana, not a stitch of clothing on her, kneeling on the very large circular bed, cushions and pillows everywhere to be seen, along with a whole shelf of potions that, during our introductory tour, we were told the function of.
Some were stamina restorers and fortifiers, while others were more… exotic.
My Ana said nothing, just looked at me with such a loving, adoring expression that… that…
I threw my bathrobe off, and all my reservations and the terrors of the Vale with it, and pounced on her with a giggle.
A time would come for dealing with she shadow of terror lurking in my mind; right then, there were far more important things to see to.
I did summon Kresh and send him to mooch up to the Sisters, though; loyal hound of Hircine and my friend though he was, there was no point in him staying to watch me find out if I could have my Ana's toes touch the sky.
