Chapter 6

Connection

Present Day

Salazar kicked snow over the fire. He was breathing fast, his heart beating even faster. Paarthurnax looked concerned. "Dovahkiin," he said, "I did not mean to touch a raw part of your past-"

"It's fine, Paarthurnax," said Salazar, a little too fast. He hated thinking about any time before Skyrim. The times when he was a confused boy running from town to town, doing petty thievery just to get by. The times he had to interact with the idiotic nobility of Black Marsh and Cyrodiil and kill men for them. The screams that echoed in his mind. He shivered, but not from the cold.

That only seemed to worry him further. "Salazar. Your spirit has not yet healed. Killing the Emperor of Cyrodiil will not heal it for you."

"It will help millions of people. I've told you time and time again, Paarthurnax. I do not do this for myself, I do this for Tamriel and her people. I do this so that people like me won't have to exist. The idea of an absolute monarchy that rules over the whole of the continent is out of date. My," he paused to consider a different wording, "Our republic will bring justice and peace to Tamriel!"

The only sound that could be heard for a long time was the wind whipping across the mountain and the rustling of Salazar's pack as he put he put the teapot back inside. After a time, Paarthurnax made a rumbling noise that Salazar surmised had been a sigh, "This is not my path, so I will not try to walk it. I just wish to offer words of dirun."

Salazar shouldered his pack and turned to walk back down the mountain, but felt his moment of panic subside. He took a few deep breaths, a notably difficult task on the Throat of the World. For a bit, it was like he was back in that room with Helar-tai hearing his only friend's last gasping gurgles as he clung onto life. He let out one last shaky breath and turned back around, "I know you're just trying to help, Paarthurnax, and I thank you for your advice. Your wisdom has given me so much. Once again, this may be the last time we see one another. Lok, Thu'um, Paarthurnax. May we meet again in this world or the next."

Paarthurnax returned to his perch, turning himself around so he could speak. Dragon emotions were very difficult to read, but Salazar could've sworn he saw sadness on his ancient face as he said, "Lok, Thu'um, Dovahkiin,"

...

A few agonizing hours of hiking later, and Salazar was back down the Seven Thousand Steps, shocked to find Archmage Boras Lavitius waiting for him on his horse. He sat next to Shadowmare, looking very odd with his handsome buckskin gelding next to the pitch black horse. Boras shifted uneasily in his mount. "By the nine, Salazar, my ass hurts! How long were you going to sit up there philosophizing with the Greybeards?" It seemed he'd spent a lot of money on a horse he kept fed in those horrible Winterhold Stables instead of actually riding anywhere. Salazar untied his reins from the post and mounted Shadowmare. "You're one to talk, Boras," he said, "If I did half as much theoretical work as you, my ass would hurt from lack of riding too. You really need to get out more."

Boras sniffed, "I do important work inside Salazar. Outside, all I'm good for is slinging the occasional fireball while I hide behind a rock."

Salazar raised an eyebrow, "You make it sound like every time you leave the college, you do so to kill someone."

"Practically," he said without a hint of mirth, "The Telvanni have been... uncooperative."

"So you've been killing them?" Salazar exclaimed, "Hist's holy sap, Boras, we're trying to unite the magic users of the continent, not exterminate them!"

Boras scowled, "They've been challenging me, Salazar. Believe it or not, these Telvanni value strength. I find that I gain more respect by playing by their games than not."

Salazar sighed heavily, "Boras, please try not to get yourself burned to a crisp."

"I won't. The Telvanni have been steadily weakening since the eruption of Red Mountain. Salazar, they're practically dead in the water, by now. They will run to our guild when we establish our government."

Salazar gave him a skeptical look, but let the topic slide. If anyone could win multiple duels with Telvanni wizards of the highest levels, it would be Boras. If this was necessary, he would allow it. He would, however, prefer being told of it before Boras went off sticking ice in the throats of potential allies. They turned their horses to the south and began riding out of Ivarstead. The village seemed diminutive next to the massive mountain to its back. The old cairn loomed next to the lake, a crumbling reminder of a past age.

After a half hour or so, they were riding through the aspen forests of the Rift, the leaves a brilliant display of reds and oranges. This was one of Salazar's favorite areas of Skyrim. The way the breeze shifted through the trees, bringing the sweet scents of wildflowers reminded him of some of the nicer parts of Cyrodiil. He was enjoying the peace and quiet until Boras cleared his throat.

"Salazar, I didn't just come to you for a ride through the Rift."

He sighed, "Of course not. Alright, Boras, what news do you bring?"

Boras shifted in his saddle, seeming troubled. "Not good news, General," he said.

After a while, he released a held breath and said, "Whatever the Dominion have been preparing for, they've started it."

"What do you mean?"

"There's been a disturbance in Aetherius. It's taken some intense location spells, but I can reliably say that the source of the disturbance is in Summerset."

Salazar was not one for magical theory, but from what little he understood, this didn't sound good.

"Only very powerful rituals get that kind of effect in Aetherius. Powerful rituals with very concerning outcomes."

"Like what?" Salazar said, halting Shadowmere.

Boras halted his own horse, turning his face to show his stony expression. "I may be grasping at straws, General. A disturbance in Aetherius can't tell you what kind of spell is being cast, but from what you and J'tango have told me about the Dominion's movements, I've narrowed it down a single possibility. They're trying to summon a Daedric Prince to Nirn."

Salazar felt his feathers stand on end. Summoning any Daedric Prince to Nirn was a dangerous endeavor. Depending on which one, however, it could be catastrophic for all the mortal races. "Do you know which one?" He asked.

"No. That's what scares me," Boras got out a small metal flask and took a swig before stuffing it back in his robes. "The most likely candidate is Meridia. She has a... checkered past when it comes to the races of men. It seems that there have been many executions of necromancers lately in Alinor."

"Executions," Salazar said, "Or sacrifices?"

"My thoughts exactly. At any rate, we cannot let them finish this ritual. The Dominion has already consolidated its power, if they have Meridia and her Aurorans on their side..."

Boras let the statement hang in the air. Salazar did not like the implication. If Meridia was considering an accord with the Dominion, the Empire would fall in a way that Salazar could not control. Countless people would die under the Thalmor sword. He didn't know if he could stop the Dominion on its own let alone with the backing of a Daedric Prince. Boras took another swig from his flask and before he could put it away, Salazar snatched it from him and took a swig. It was a very fine Colovian brandy. He handed it back to Boras, who drained the rest of it before stuffing it back in his robes.

"How long do we have?" Salazar asked.

"I don't know. Accounts vary on the specific time it took to finish the ritual. Some accounts say three months, some say six."

"Oh shit."

"Now you understand. We will have to delay our plans somewhat."

"The Emperor has to declare war preemptively against the Dominion if we want to survive the year. Even then, we don't have much time to consolidate military power. I've read the reports, Boras. We're spread thin."

"I'm afraid I won't be much help with the military," Boras said, wincing, "I'll be focused on gaining the Synod's support and, well, you know how they can be."

Salazar nodded distractedly, urging Shadowmare forward. A million little threads started to connect in Salazar's mind. The invasion plan he'd concocted was far from perfect and he had no idea what it would look like after Salazar's superiors for their grubby Imperial hands on them. It was, however, the only plan he had. He'd spent sleepless nights in Castle Dour pouring over maps and intelligence reports to finalize it. Rikke called it tactically sound, but he saw the doubt in her eyes. After the Great War, the Dominion hunkered down and built a line of fortifications on its border with Cyrodiil. On top of that, they'd built up their navy significantly, to the point that it was practically impossible to get onto Summerset itself without greatly weakening the attack force. Boras had told him that there was even a magical field that prevented outside sorcerers from teleporting into the Dominion.

He had thought of ways to circumvent or eliminate these problems, but most of his solutions were either incredibly risky or costly. This would be a very bloody war indeed. They continued on the road for a few hours, the inclines in the road becoming more and more severe as they entered the Jerall Mountains. The air was cold and thin, but somewhat pleasant, a light breeze kicking up dust from the road. The mountains rose on both sides of the road, grey and imposing. Unmoving monuments to the unmovable people that lived here. After they came over a small rise, Salazar saw a familiar and awe-inspiring sight.

A sea of red and brown bodies surged toward the Pale Pass, the multi-colored banners of individual cohorts whipping in the wind. Officers rode on horseback, their red plumed helmets almost standing out as much as the banners. Salazar had only seen the whole legion in one place once in his entire career, during the Siege of Windhelm at the end of the Rebellion. He felt a weight being set on his shoulders. He logically understood that he had six thousand men and mer under his control, but seeing all of them in a writhing mass finally made it set in for him. The Eleventh Legion, "Salazar's Snowbacks," in all its glory.

"Well, Boras," Salazar said, "Ready to get to work?"

Boras smirked. "Always, old friend."

They rode down the incline to begin preparations for the border crossing. As Salazar spoke to his Centurions and looked into the eyes of every soldier he could, he felt incredible guilt. These soldiers were some of the best in the Empire. They should be able to go home to their families as war heroes. Instead, he feared that they would return in pieces, torn apart by the Dominion's mages. He came to the front of the column, where Rikke waited in her freshly polished armor.

"Ready to march, sir?" She asked.

"Yes, Legate. Sound the order."

"Legion! March!" She shouted. Salazar heared the Centurions copy her call and slowly the Eleventh Legion started its march southward into Cyrodiil.