EASTWARD BOUND
Twilight had begun to deepen outside by the time Azzias returned to himself, and the only illumination in the Hall of Colors came from the flameless lanterns on the walls and the inner radiance of the Eldunarí themselves.
He stumbled back with a wild cry and fell to his knees, his head lowered and breath shaky as his body shivered uncontrollably. He struggled in an attempt to regain control of his breathing, but was unable to. Then, after what seemed like hours, the warmth slowly crept back into his limbs, leaving them tingling, and he took in a final gasp of air to calm the frantic beating of his heart. Taking a moment to regroup, he then pushed himself upright on his feet.
His fingers still numb, Azzias gazed alarmingly at his hands as drops of sweat fell from his brow. He stood there, near paralyzed on sore legs, as his attempted to understand what had just occurred. He had never heard tale of any draugr abandoning the crypts and catacombs that they had been ordered to guard. The sight had concerned him greatly. And although it was not a rare sight to see them armed and armored so heavily, for the former servants of the Dragon Priests to possess even a dagger made of Stalhrim was unheard of, let alone possessing enough to arm and armor a sufficient amount of their number in it. The sight of it disturbed him deeply. Though he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, Stalhrim was a rock-like material that had, in ancient times, been used in the burial rituals of ancient Nords and Atmorans, were the deceased would be encased inside the ice as a form of protection, a privilege that was strictly reserved for Nordic individuals of great skill and honor, as was the practice of crafting armor for such individuals.
Azzias let out a breath and returned his gaze to the central dais, and back upon the older Eldunarí. Thank you, Ebrithil...All of you, thank you. A chorus of answering thoughts was his reply: You are welcome, Argetlam. It was our pleasure to help. Now go, there is no time to waste in dealing with this new enemy.
A determined expression on his face, Azzias took his leave and climbed back up the ramp of stairs to the eyrie. Once inside he made his way over and out onto the windswept balcony outside his chambers. It was here that Vulthurin came, after long flight. His nest, a padded hollow that was sunk into the floor: big enough for a dragon, was surrounded by several gargoyles that rose twelve feet tall on either side of him, a fanghur and a swamp leviathan, two of the thousand that brooded over the walls of the ancient fortress.
As he neared, Vulthurin opened an eye and began to stir, the tips of his gleaming claws tapping against stone, his lip curled as a deep rumble emanated from within his chest. Rising, flecks of moonlight refracted from his gemlike scales and spun across the surface of the stone gargoyles and balcony floor in a dazzling display. He then extended his neck and peered at him with one of his glittering, bottomless eyes as Azzias reached out with his right hand and rubbed the dragon's snout, a light tingle running up his arm.
Vulthurin nuzzled him, arching his back like a cat. In the back of his head, he could feel the dragon's overwhelming sense of satisfaction. As well as the sense of uneasy anticipation that poured through their connection afterwards as he shared his memories of the scenes from the Eldunari's vision.
Afterward, he said, It would seem our father Akotosh has deemed it proper to grant us yet another enemy.
He chuckled lightly, his gaze sweeping across the windswept plains that lay below, surrounding Mount Arngor. To the north and west, the Edda River gleamed like a ribbon of beaten silver draped across the landscape. A pair of dwarven airships lay docked along the nearest bend, and from that docking, a trail led south to the foothills piled about the base of Arngor, while farther south of Arngor the land was rumpled like a blanket and ruffled with trees whose leaves shone silver in the wind, bright as the scales of a fish. "Yes it would seem so. Though it is of no matter, they're just one more added to the lot. We shouldn't worry about it any more than what is necessary." Though, despite his words, Azzias scowled as he peered to the far east to where scarps and cliffs and huge, flat-topped pillars of stone crested with piles of vegetation stood. Among them lived groups of wandering tribes: strange, half-wild humans the likes akin to the Forsworn. So far they had proven no trouble, but he still had remained wary.
Do the wandering Foul-Ones truly trouble you, little one?
Azzias pursed his lips then allowed himself but a brief, grim smile. As ridiculously stressful as facing down Alduin and putting an end to the rebellious Stormcloaks had been—and Azzias prayed he would never, ever have to partake in any similar experience—it had been exciting too. At times he had dreamed of armoring and arming himself, getting on Vulthurin, and setting out to see what adventure they could find. It had just that, though: a dream "Yes, even just the thought of them wears on me."
He took a deep breath and whuffed, blowing his hot breath over him. Then you've done enough, let go of your worries for tonight. Leave them for the morning. Readjusting his position, he shuffled his wing and settled back into his nest.
"Yes, no more worries," Azzias agreed with a smile as he crawled under the dragon's near wing. He closed his eyes and snuggled closer, putting aside his concerns he fell asleep with Vulthurin cradled around him.
