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Skyrim Spartan
Chapter Twenty
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Eorlund Gray-Mane embodied his family name quite well.
The blacksmith's long, gray hair reached all the way down to his hairy chest. His beard and mustache were surprisingly trimmed and well-kept, with the beard no more than a hand's width below his chin. Sharp gray eyes stared out from beneath thin gray eyebrows—it seemed a result of having burnt them off one too many times. Though why his other facial hair seemed not to be terribly affected was a mystery.
Eorlund was older than Kratos expected, though was certainly no weakling despite his advanced age. He was one of the taller and more heavily built Nords that the Spartan had seen thus far. His thick muscles rippled with every stroke of the hammer as his skin glistened with well-earned sweat.
Above them, hovering as if protecting them from some grand threat, was the statue of the massive bird of prey that looked like it had been standing there for eons. It sheltered them from the worst of Skyrim's strong winds and also served to keep much of the heat from the forge concentrated there.
The supposedly legendary blacksmith was in the midst of forging what appeared to be a sword and did not even deign to acknowledge Kratos and Lydia's arrival, remaining focused on the task at hand. Impressive, considering how Kratos likely loomed large in his peripheral vision.
Hephaestus would be proud of this one if he were here, Kratos thought with grim amusement.
The Greek God of Smithing, Hephaestus, had been a pitiable creature despite his status as a God of Olympus. Ugly and deformed, he was shunned by the other gods of Olympus. Despite that, he still toiled away deep underground to make weapons, armor, and more for the gods who detested him. Kratos had not wished to slay him, but Hephaestus had left him with no choice when the smith god tried to kill him first.
Kratos took the time to look around, dropping the armful of dragon bones that he had brought up to the forge with him. His horse had actually seemed relieved when he had taken off its heavy burden, though Kratos was not sure if he had simply imagined it.
There were racks of finished items along the edges of the circular stone platform upon which the forge was built. Far enough away that they couldn't possibly get in the way of forging or for any debris to get on them. Mostly weapons, from what he could see, but a few helmets and boots were visible. He approached one such helmet and picked it up, noting that it was indeed masterfully made, and with the highest quality steel too.
Lydia stayed by his side, perhaps not wanting to be left standing alone in case Eorlund accosted her first once he took a break. She stared at some of the swords hungrily while they waited.
"Do you want one?" Kratos asked, causing her to whip her head around at him.
Waving her hands, she shook her head. "Oh, no! I wouldn't dare, Master Kratos. I'm not yet worthy of a blade of that caliber." She tapped the sword hilt at her hip and nodded, more to herself than to him. "This is more than enough for me right now."
Kratos grunted, unimpressed. She should have said yes. It was obvious she wanted one, no matter what she said otherwise. Regardless of her current level of skill or accomplishments, gaining new and better equipment was not something a warrior could do freely at any time.
It required having to visit skilled smiths or merchants who happened to have the weapon you wanted, or at least the ability to make or get it for you. There was also a chance of finding treasure or loot out in the world, perhaps from a fallen enemy, though the odds of finding one of high-quality that also suited the wielder were incredibly low. She might not have another chance to upgrade her equipment for a long time.
"Besides, they're very expensive," she added quietly.
"Skilled enough or not, better weaponry can save your life when you need it the most," he told her.
She lowered her head, not saying anything because she knew he was right. But the fact remained that she could not afford one even if she wanted it.
Kratos returned the helm from where he had gotten it from and ran a careful eye across the swords that Lydia had been looking at. Most appeared to be two-handed swords, but a few were made for one-handed use. He picked some of those up, testing their weight and balance. They were all comically too small for him. Even the largest of the two-handed swords was barely large enough to be acceptable.
Lydia looked on with envy as he tried out the swords, but with an iron-will she kept herself from even touching any of them, resigning herself to simply looking. She was worried that she might get attached to a weapon she could never hope to have anytime soon.
The steady ringing of metal stopped, replaced instead by the hissing of quenching steel. Then silence followed as Kratos continued to inspect the weapons on display. There were polearms and axes too, though the vast majority of weapons were swords. Most of them seemed to be made of steel, with one sword that looked like it was made of glass, and another made of some greenish metal.
"Alright. Who in Oblivion are you?" said Eorlund, sounding none too pleased.
Kratos turned to face him after returning the glass-looking sword he had been inspecting. Despite what it looked like, it was deceptively strong and weighed close to nothing in his hands. He was intrigued. Not enough to actually get the weapon, it was definitely too lightweight, but he was curious what exactly it was made of.
Lydia stepped forward and bowed her head respectfully.
"Greetings, Master Gray-Mane. My name is Lydia, housecarl to Master Kratos, Thane of Whiterun." She gestured towards Kratos as she introduced him.
Eorlund placed his hands on his hips and looked Kratos over.
"You're the new thane the jarl told me about, eh? He said you'd be coming along. You're certainly big enough for the title, I'll give you that much." He cleared his throat and spat out some phlegm into the forge, where it sizzled and evaporated almost immediately. "So, whaddya want?"
"I need weapons and armor made," Kratos said.
"S'that so?" Eorlund picked up a forging hammer, spinning it idly in his hands. "You could've gone to any other smith in the city. They're a talented enough bunch out there. What are you bothering me for?"
"I was told you were the best."
"I am the best." He pointed the hammer at Kratos. "But just because you're a thane and the jarl likes you doesn't mean I'll forge you whatever you want simply because you asked."
Kratos took a deep breath to calm himself. "I need the best. You can have whatever materials are left over after you are done. As payment."
"You're givin' me materials as payment?" Eorlund laughed. "And what materials are you referring to, exactly?"
Evidently, he had failed to notice the rather large pile of dragon bones and scales over by the stairs. When Kratos merely gestured towards it, Eorlund scoffed and briefly glanced over before looking back at Kratos. The Spartan waited. Sure enough, the smith blinked twice. Three times. And then did a double take as he stared at the pile of 'materials' that had been placed on the floor.
"Is that… dragon bone?" The disbelief was evident in Eorlund's voice. It had been a while since he had seen any raw dragon bones. He strode over with trepidation to inspect them up close, as if to make sure that it wasn't simply an illusion.
"And scales," Kratos said.
"Where did you get these?" asked the smith as he lifted up one of the scales, closing one eye and studying it closely with the other. Despite how incredibly durable it was, he still handled the scale with care.
"What does it matter?"
"Of course, it matters. Did the jarl gift these to you? Or did you steal them from somewhere?" said the man with no small measure of suspicion.
"Master Gray-Mane, you go too far!" Lydia exclaimed, gritting her teeth.
"I'm just sayin'…" Eorlund shrugged as he looked closer at one of the ribs Kratos had brought back. Kratos had to break it in half in order to place it on his horse easier.
"With all due respect, Master Gray-Mane, perhaps you should take some time to think for yourself. Why do you think my master was granted the title of thane? The first in almost a decade. And why do you think he has all of these dragon materials all of a sudden?" Lydia said with barely restrained anger.
Eorlund frowned, thinking for a moment, before he glanced between the two of them with a look of even greater disbelief. "You're not saying… he… a dragon? Here in Skyrim? It can't be…" he said, unsettled.
"My patience grows thin, blacksmith." Kratos stepped towards the man, staring him down. "Do we have a deal?"
Eorlund managed to return his stare for a moment, but then broke eye contact as he glanced at the pile of legendary materials with obvious desire. With a sigh, the smith set his jaw and nodded firmly to Kratos. When he spoke, it was all business and no nonsense, tinged with growing excitement.
"Tell me exactly what you want done, thane, and when you want it done by. Can't promise it'll all be finished by then since the material's quite difficult to work with, but I'll do my best to make it happen."
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"I can't believe he thought you were a thief!" Lydia said with a scowl as they retrieved Kratos' horse and made to leave. "Would a thief be made a Thane of Whiterun?" she asked rhetorically, shaking her head. She grumbled a few more complaints about Eorlund's behavior, but Kratos chose to ignore her.
He did not much care what the smith thought of him. What mattered was what the man could do for him, and if he would actually do it. Thankfully, the man had agreed despite his initial resistance.
Kratos had judged correctly in that the blacksmith was so dedicated to his craft that he surely could not refuse the chance to work with such rare materials as dragon bones and scales, let alone pass up the chance to have some of his own dragon materials to work with into whatever he wanted after the job was finished.
They were passing by the front doors of Jorrvaskr on their way back to the city streets when the doors to the overturned ship suddenly opened with a violent bang, causing Lydia to jump and reach for her sword. Even Kratos had to stop and turn, brows furrowing at the unexpected disturbance. The horse he was leading by the reins whinnied and stomped with some nervousness too.
Standing in the middle of the open doorway was none other than that wild-looking woman who had stopped by the high table during the feast. Kratos had pegged her for trouble as soon as he first met her wild yellow eyes, though what kind of trouble was still unknown. Not that he planned to stick around long enough to find out.
"You actually came!" Aela exclaimed with a big smile, spreading her arms wide in a welcoming gesture. "Welcome to Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions."
Kratos said nothing as he turned away and started walking. The horse's hooves beat rhythmically against the paved stone path to the street, emphasizing the awkward silence that settled between them. Behind him, Lydia was still rooted to the ground, staring at the sudden appearance of one of the most well-known Companions.
Aela bounded forward with surprising speed and was quickly at Kratos' side. She eyed him up and down like a hungry wolf might in front of a big slab of raw meat. She didn't even seem to notice Lydia, who caught up and followed close behind, looking thoroughly confused.
"Are you not coming in? I thought you were here to visit the Companions. You know, after I invited you to come at the feast last night?" she said, grabbing at his free arm and running a hand up and down his muscles.
"No."
"Another time then." Aela grinned, not bothered in the least by his curt reply nor his attitude. "I spoke to Kodlak and the others about you, you know. They'd probably let you join the Companions if you asked. Even Vilkas thought you showed promise, and he's usually not easily impressed. But that's alright. I know the truth of why you're here. You came to see me, didn't you?"
Lydia coughed. "Actually, Miss Aela, we came here to propose a job for Eorlund Gray-Mane."
Aela blinked and turned her head, eyes narrowing as she looked Lydia over from head to toe. "Who are you?" she said accusingly, as if Lydia was in the wrong for even being there. "Why are you following him around?"
"Excuse me?" Lydia looked thoroughly lost.
"Are you deaf?"
Lydia stopped walking, taken aback at all the hostility from the famous warrior. "My name is Lydia, Miss Aela. I am housecarl to Thane Kratos. I meant no offense, and I apologize if I upset you in any way."
Aela detached herself from Kratos, who continued to walk on even as the two women stood facing each other in the middle of the street. A few passersby eyed them warily, with some scurrying nervously away since it seemed like there might be trouble.
"You're his housecarl?" Aela crossed her arms and looked her up and down again with obvious disapproval. "You don't look like much. What makes you qualified for such a position?"
"Well, I—"
"Have you cleared a tomb full of draugr before?
"No, but—"
"What about fighting off a vampire attack on a homestead?"
Lydia's eyes widened. "N-No…"
"I'm guessing you haven't even slain an ice troll or a giant?"
Lydia didn't even have time to respond as Aela kept on talking.
"I'm not sure what game you're playing at, woman, but it won't work. You're clearly not worthy of him. Kratos is not only a thane, he is also dragonborn, you know. An alpha among alphas. The first dragonborn in Skyrim since Talos. He only deserves the best around him... and you? You're not even close to worthy." Aela shook her head in disappointment and let out an exasperated sigh as if wondering why she was wasting her time even telling her this.
Lydia was still confused about what was going on. She found it nerve-wracking to be confronted in such a manner by Aela the Huntress of all people, but at the same time she could not fathom why she was even being targeted like this. She had never interacted with the warrior before today, and yet it seemed like she had caused some great affront to her. Why was she being so hostile and angry?
"Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Aela demanded.
Lydia swallowed hard. "I… I may not be worthy of my post," she admitted. "But… I will work hard and strive to do my best to become worthy to serve him." That was the only thing she could do, after all.
"Pfft." Aela rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that. Come on, Kratos. Let's go…?" she trailed off as she realized Kratos had disappeared, which was not an easy thing to do for someone who was over seven feet tall and built like a stone wall.
"Kratos? Kratos!" Aela called as she started to run down the street in search of him. She began to sniff the air, strangely enough, as she went off to track down Kratos, having dismissed Lydia as unimportant.
Lydia stared after her, torn between being depressed, angry, and confused at how she had been treated by a storied warrior she had once looked up to. Not anymore, she thought. She never would have realized how much of a bitch Aela the Huntress could be in real life.
Shaking her head and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Lydia looked around and wondered where exactly her master had gone off to.
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Kratos sighed as he sat on the bench, resting against the cool stone wall of the temple.
He had managed to convince one of the guards to take his horse back to the stables—easy enough to do since he was so recognizable and nearly everyone in the city already knew who he was—and then slipped away into the temple next to the massive dead-looking tree that dominated the main plaza of the Wind District.
He figured this was one of the last places people would think to find him—even Kratos wouldn't have looked for himself there, given his thoughts on gods. But he was really getting tired of dealing with people. For at least the next few hours, he hoped to have some peace and quiet until it was time to wake Anske up for her second round of training.
The temple was spacious on the inside, with the main doors opening into a grand hall with high ceilings held up by thick, round columns of wood. The arches between the columns were covered with healthy green vines that looked purposefully placed there, and the air smelled of nature. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself in the middle of a forest.
On the far end of the hall across from the main doors was an altar upon which was what looked to be some kind of idol or statue dedicated to the god of this temple. Kratos couldn't recall who it was. All he knew was that it was not Akatosh, otherwise he would have left in a hurry.
Thankfully, the temple was pretty much empty today, which suited his purposes well. There was one other person there that he could see, but they were laying on a bench on the far side of the temple and looked to be fast asleep. Perhaps this was another person who had hoped to find somewhere quiet to rest and lay low.
From outside, the muffled but unmistakable sound of a woman's voice calling his name could be heard. Kratos ran a hand over his face and let out a long breath. He was no stranger to women throwing themselves at him in his lifetime, but this was a little too much. Especially during a time when he wasn't interested in doing anything of the sort. Who knew when that would change either?
The main doors opened, and Kratos watched as a hooded figure in plain brown robes entered, shutting the door quietly behind them. The hood they wore over their head was yellow in color, and around their waist was a rope fashioned into a belt. A knife was held clear as day against their waist beneath the makeshift belt.
The hooded figure scanned the hall, noticing the two occupants. Then the figure quietly moved towards the other person in the all, leaning over them and appearing to speak to them. Kratos vaguely heard the murmurs of conversation, but they spoke too softly for him to make out. Not that he really cared.
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back, he basked in the silence and stillness of the temple. Hopefully the god of this place wouldn't try anything on him. Otherwise, he would have to be rude. And he really wasn't in the mood for doing anything other than taking a break and being left alone.
"Excuse me, sir," a clearly feminine voice spoke nearby.
That did not last long, he thought. He opened his eyes and saw it was the hooded figure who had entered the temple earlier.
"You wouldn't happen to be the new Thane of the city, would you?" asked the woman. She spoke with a strong Nordic accent. Judging from her appearance, she looked close to middle-age. At least thirty years old, if Kratos were to guess.
Kratos let out a grunt of affirmation.
"My name is Danica Pure-Spring, the head priestess of this temple. Please forgive me for interrupting your prayers, but I was hoping to have a moment of your time," she said uncertainly.
"Speak." he said. Kratos chose not to correct her that he was not actually praying. That way he had an excuse to be doing what he was doing now. And possibly in the future too, should he need a quiet place to escape to in the city.
"These are trying times, I know. Many come to the Temple of Kynareth to pray, and I assist them as best as I am able," she began. "Lately, the number of sick and wounded in the outer city have grown to alarming proportions, so we've set up a healing tent in the camps to deal with the crisis. And for that reason, we've barely had time to deal with things here at the temple. I do apologize for that."
"You do what you must." Kratos stared at her, waiting for her to get on to her request. He could tell easily enough that she was hoping to ask him for help with something.
She smiled sadly at him. "I'm sure you've noticed the poor state of our beloved Gildergreen outside."
Kratos frowned ever so slightly, unsure of what that was.
"That's what we call the blessed tree outside the temple. The large one in the middle of the plaza," she explained.
"It looks dead," Kratos said bluntly.
The priestess frowned, nodding sadly. "It was strong and healthy once. And it was beautiful. You could even feel the goddess Kynareth's blessings and warmth beneath its branches. Unfortunately, the tree was struck by a powerful bolt of lightning several months ago and has since began to die. Even the presence of our goddess has diminished greatly. I fear it won't be long until it is completely dead."
"Plant a new one."
"If only it were that simple," she said with a sigh. "You see, the Gildergreen is not a normal tree. It was grown from a cutting of the great Eldergleam Tree. An ancient tree blessed by the goddess Kynareth herself. The Eldergleam is said to be the oldest living thing in Skyrim, possibly even all of Tamriel. It is even older than the metals that formed in the earth, and because of that only the most ancient of weapons can pierce its bark."
Kratos leaned forward slightly. "What are you asking of me? Speak plainly."
"You are the dragonborn, yes? That means you'll be heading to High Hrothgar soon. Your journey there will take you close to the Eldergleam Sanctuary. You could take a small detour and help us save the Gildergreen. We would be forever in your debt, and the goddess would surely bless you for your service. All I need for you to do is collect some of the sap from the Eldergleam Tree. I'm sure the Gildergreen will return to life once we infuse some of the sap of the Eldergleam into it."
Kratos mulled it over. If it was not too far out of the way, it could prove to be a useful side quest with which to provide Anske with some more experience. These types of requests rarely went according to plan, and usually involved some level of danger. He was sure this was no different.
"This sanctuary... where is it?" he asked.
Danica beamed, apparently thinking he had already agreed. "Do you have a map? I'll mark it for you. Otherwise, I can have one made. I'll also have a special container readied for you to place the sap in." Then her expression fell and she winced. "Oh, I, uh... almost forgot." She hesitated.
Kratos let out a sigh. "What?"
"Well, as I mentioned, only ancient weapons can supposedly pierce the Eldergleam's bark. So, you'll need to acquire a powerful ancient weapon first if you want to be sure to extract some sap from it when you go," she said, and before Kratos could say anything as his face twisted with displeasure, she added, "But don't worry. I happen to know where you could find one."
"How convenient," he said flatly, already not liking how much extra effort this was probably going to entail.
He had entertained the idea of fulfilling the request because of the sanctuary supposedly being on the way to High Hrothgar, which was where Anske needed to go eventually. But now he was not so sure.
"The weapon is called Nettlebane and is an ancient and powerful dagger currently in the hands of a Hagraven down in Orphan Rock," Danica explained. "With that, you can be assured of getting some of the sap from the Eldergleam once you're in the sanctuary."
"How far is this… Orphan Rock?"
Danica cringed, looking suddenly nervous. "Well… normally, it might take at least a week to ten days to get there on horseback…" she said hesitantly, "But with all this snow… it might… take longer."
Kratos did not bother hiding his displeasure. "If you had told me that from the beginning, priestess, I would have refused sooner, and we wouldn't have wasted so much of our time."
Danica dropped to her knees and with her hands clasped in front of her she begged him to reconsider. "Please, sir. I implore you to aid us. The goddess will reward you greatly, I'm sure of it."
"I need no rewards from your gods," Kratos declared.
"But the goddess Kynareth is the mother of us all," Danica pressed on, "She is the goddess of the sky, of the air, and of the wind. The Throat of the World is her sacred mountain, and even the Greybeards worship her, for she is the one who helped create the first dragonborns. She was the one who helped gift mankind with the Thu'um by sending us Paarthunax. In doing so, she helped to save humanity from the tyranny of the dragons!"
Kratos frowned. There was no denying his contempt of gods in general, and he did not think that would change anytime soon, but these past few weeks of reflection had him rethinking the idea that all gods were bad outright. Some were... not so bad. Though that did not mean he approved of them.
After all, there were some major gods—Artemis and Apollo came to mind—who stayed out of his battle with Zeus, and those were also the gods who had treated him better than the others during his tenure as the God of War.
This Kynareth seemed like a decent goddess. At least decent enough that Kratos thought he could reserve serious judgment until he knew more about her.
Kratos was no fool, of course. He was currently speaking with one of her priestesses, who was obviously favorably biased towards the goddess. It was possible that the stories she told were crafted or even twisted to make this goddess appear decent, when she might not actually be. He resolved to learn more about Kynareth from others.
The priestess was still speaking, Kratos realized, as he emerged from his moment of deep thought. "… the goddess will undoubtedly be a great aid to you in your future travels if you help restore the Gildergreen. Plus, you'll get to keep Nettlebane once you're done. Surely you wouldn't miss on a chance to wield a powerful dagger such as that."
Kratos let out a long growl of annoyance, rumbling from deep within his chest. He shut his eyes, wondering why he was getting himself mixed up in all of this. Decent god or no.
Then he thought of Anske, his… apprentice? He had never really considered any official title for her. Trainee might be a better term to use. Since he had promised to train her into a proper warrior. Whatever she was to him, Kratos could not deny that she could very well use as many allies and powerful weapons as she could get her hands on.
Inevitably, there would come a time when he and the girl would part ways, and he would no longer be around to watch her back. The girl as she was now was still far too green. What she needed most was experience. If she could get experience while also doing some good and gaining some valuable allies and resources, even better.
"Three days," said Kratos, having made up his mind. "In three days, you must give me a proper map of the places I need to go and whatever else you think I need for the journey." He paused, leveling his heavy gaze upon the priestess. "If the information you provided is wrong, and I end up wasting my time, I swear to you I will return and rip that tree out of the ground myself for the pointless trouble you would have put me through. Do you understand?"
Danica stared at him with wide eyes before getting to her feet and nodding furiously. "Y-Yes, thane. I think I understand. I'll have everything prepared for you three days from now. By Kynareth, I swear it."
"Good. Now leave. I need to… pray some more."
The priestess of Kynareth bowed several times, thanking him profusely and calling upon her goddess to bless him for accepting the task before scuttling off. Presumably to get started preparing the things he had asked for.
Kratos shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall, hoping that he had not made a mistake by taking on this quest. What was a hagraven anyway? Some type of giant bird?
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Kratos did not know when he had fallen asleep. It was not as if he had been trying to. While he had wanted to take a break and get some peace and quiet, it was not because of any desire for sleep. Yet it had happened anyway.
He found himself back in that void before he arrived in this world, floating in a sea of darkness. It's cold, he noted in a detached sort of way. Not terribly so, nor was it uncomfortable, but he could feel the cold all around him. The last time he was in the void, he couldn't recall feeling the temperature at all. He thought it strange.
Then, the cold on his back seemed to dissipate, replaced instead by a growing sense of warmth. He noticed there seemed to be a golden glow intensifying behind him. He was about to turn around when a familiar voice sounded, echoing through the void.
"Calliope! Calliope where are you, my dear?" said the voice. A womanly voice. Familiar. Unmistakable. It was a voice that had plagued his worst nightmares and graced his sweetest dreams.
He went completely rigid, holding his breath. It couldn't be her. Could it?
The familiar sound of a child's laughter reached his ears. His fists tightened. Not out of anger, but out of grief and guilt. And sorrow.
Unable to resist much longer, he finally spun around, and as he did so, the void disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced instead by a massive wheatfield that reached far into the distance in the direction he was facing. It ended at the foot of dozens of rolling hills filled with what looked to be all manner of flowers. There were so many colors it was as if rainbows grew there.
The golden light he had noticed earlier came from the sun moving close to the horizon. Birds sang in the distance and the sound of rushing water indicated a river nearby. The air here was warm against his skin and fresh in his lungs. The wind blew gently across his face, and he could have sworn there was a touch that caressed his cheeks as if it were gently welcoming him.
In front of him, standing between the tall rows of golden wheat that towered above her, was the familiar form of a beautiful woman. His wife.
"Lysa?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lysandra seemed to be well, judging from the healthy glow of her skin and the fine, if plain, dress that she wore. Her dark hair was held back from her face by a wide headband, just like he remembered. There were no circles under her eyes. No signs of distress or duress, which was a relief to Kratos. She was at peace. She was happy.
Was this a dream? It felt real enough, yet she did not react upon his arrival. He reached out to one of the stalks of wheat and sure enough his hand passed through it. He could not touch whatever this place was, and perhaps that was for the best. No, he knew it was for the best.
His wife and child were long dead, and he knew there was only one place they could be—Elysium. But he should not have been able to come here on a whim like this. And even if he could, it was a place where he certainly did not belong. He had put them there after all.
"Mama! Mama! I'm over here!" a child called out, giggling.
"Silly girl," Lysa said with a smile as she disappeared into the wall of wheat to one side.
Tears came unbidden to Kratos' eyes. How long had it been since he had last seen them like this? How long had it been since he last heard the laughter of his precious daughter? Her laughter seemed to come from somewhere off to the right. He tried to move in that direction, to catch sight of his little girl, but with each step the vision of the Elysian Fields seemed to waver and fade, until suddenly it disappeared altogether, and the void returned.
"No!" he roared, hands reaching out as if he could pull the vision of Elysium back to him. He fell to his knees in a moment of despair. The void encompassed all once more, and all Kratos could see was darkness. All he could hear was silence.
"I am sorry," said a kind but powerful feminine voice that seemed to come from everywhere. "My power is limited, especially here."
"Who are you?" Kratos asked wearily. It was a god, no doubt. And he had his suspicions of who it was.
A bright sky-blue light materialized in front of him, momentarily blinding him and forcing him to shut his eyes. Then, he felt a gentle touch against his chin, pulling his head up slightly. When he opened his eyes, he beheld a breathtakingly beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and flowing blonde hair so pale it was almost white. Aphrodite was more beautiful, he thought, but not by much.
There were silver pins in her hair in the shape of doves, and the silver brooch that held the faded green cloak around her shoulders was fashioned into an eagle with its wings spread high. Its lone eye was made of a strikingly blue sapphire.
The woman's sharp features seemed chiseled out of stone, yet the smile on her face was warm and gentle. More importantly, it felt genuine. She appeared like a mother come to speak with her beloved child. Calm. Reassuring. Loving.
"Kynareth," said Kratos with a neutral tone.
The goddess smiled.
"Tell me, was that real? Was that truly Elysium?" he asked.
"It is real," she confirmed. "I only found that place because of you, Kratos. You longed to see it, and because you knew of it, I was able to find it. If only for a moment. It is a faraway place, and my power is not what it used to be. And no, even if I wanted to, I could not send you there. I could only show it to you."
Kratos eyed her warily. How much did she know about him? How much did she find out? And how? There seemed to be only one way she could have discovered his origin, his identity.
Kratos got to his feet, towering over the goddess as he glared at her. "Stay out of my memories," he growled.
She raised a hand up to calm him. "I only saw that which was on the surface. Nothing more," she assured him. She did not seem bothered at all by their size difference nor how close she was to him.
Kratos was not inclined to believe her, but he figured if she already knew everything anyway, it was not like he could make her forget. Well, there was a way, but he did not want to go down that path again, especially towards someone who had truly done him no harm. Yet.
Besides, after thinking on it some more, he supposed she had done him somewhat of a favor by bringing him to Elysium, even if for only a few seconds. Assuming it was real, of course. This was a god he was speaking to, and it could have all been a fabrication to deceive him.
"What do you want?"
"There is a spark of divinity in you," she noted curiously.
Kratos turned away from her. "If you do not need anything, then you may leave."
"Oh? So if I needed something, you would do it for me?" She sounded amused.
Kratos hesitated a fraction. "I may consider it."
The goddess laughed and it felt like a pleasant breeze that tickled his ears. "You are already helping my followers and my beloved trees. I ask nothing else from you other than to complete this task."
"Hmph. So you say." He paused, then added. His glare had softened, but his eyes still watched her with suspicion. "Why did you bring me to Elysium?"
"You worry too much, Kratos. I only wished to help ease the hurt in your soul and the sadness in your heart," said the goddess, her voice fading away as if she was leaving.
"I do not need your pity," he said. But there was no reply, and her presence seemed to have gone.
Sure enough, when Kratos turned his head to find her, she was no longer there.
"…Kratos?"
"Hmm?"
"Master Kratos."
Kratos opened his eyes. He was back on the bench in the Temple of Kynareth. Lydia was there, seated next to him, looking at him with concern. He looked around.
There were more people in the temple, most of them on their knees and praying towards the altar. A few were lying down on the strange stone slabs that looked like tables scattered about, with a couple of hooded figures similar to that priestess from earlier tending to them. It looked like they were channeling healing magic.
"Is everything alright? You were mumbling in your sleep," said Lydia.
He spared her a glance. "All is well. How did you find me?"
"The guard who took your horse told me he saw you slip in here," she explained, then her eyes widened with realization, and she quickly added, "He wouldn't have told me, but I insisted and told him that I was your housecarl. Since he saw us leaving Dragonsreach together earlier, I think he figured he could trust me. And that you wouldn't be upset if he told me."
"Hmph." Kratos stood up, staring right at the altar and wondering if Kynareth was still watching him. "Is there a back door to this place?"
Lydia looked surprised at the question. "Probably?" she said, the uncertainty plain on her face.
"Then lead the way."
Lydia hesitated. "Master Kratos, forgive me, but the priestesses might be mad if we—"
The look Kratos gave her made her stop midsentence.
With a deep breath, she said, "Understood, Master Kratos. Please follow me."
They walked towards the back of the temple where a hallway led out of the main hall. As he passed level with the altar, Kratos half-turned his head and spoke under his breath as he eyed the statue on the altar.
"Thank you."
He could have sworn a slight breeze stirred in response, tickling the back of his neck, but then it was gone as he followed Lydia into the back passages of the temple.
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Aela could not for the life of her understand how Kratos had gotten away from her so easily. She was known as The Huntress for a reason—her skills at tracking and hunting her prey were well-known. She prided herself in her abilities. It was very rare for her to miss her mark, rarer still to lose track of her target completely.
Yet somehow, the giant of a man that was Kratos had successfully eluded her for more than an hour. Even using her enhanced sense of smell had proved fruitless. Had he some special ability or perhaps magical ability that allowed him to fool her senses? Was this something he could do because he was the dragonborn?
His scent was quite strong and very unique, and sure enough the trail from where he had given her the slip clearly led all the way to the Gildergreen Plaza. But there, the trail all but disappeared. His scent suddenly grew faint and seemed dispersed in every direction, which had her running around the entirety of the Wind District, shouting his name like a madwoman for the last hour.
The moment she had laid eyes on Kratos in Dragonsreach, her animal instincts flared. Those instincts, honed to the highest degree by the beast within her, told her two things: one, that this was an incredibly dangerous individual that she should stay away from, and two, that he was the best possible mate she could ever hope to find in this wretched place. Conflicted as she was, she was also no stranger to danger, and had never been afraid of anything before.
The more dangerous the man, the more aroused she became. Unfortunately, meeting someone as dangerous as her was incredibly rare. Someone more dangerous? She could only dream of such a thing. But now that dream was walking around calling himself Kratos. His very name sounded worthy to be woven into song and legendary tales, unique as it was.
What she had told that pitiful housecarl of his earlier was true. Kratos was without a doubt an alpha among alphas. A true man whose strength and power were so great that even the mere sight of him had her feeling weak in the knees, both out of desire and fear.
Being so close to him earlier, and at the feast last night, had even made her wet herself. She was practically drenched when she clung to his arm earlier. And what an arm that was! It was as if he were made of pure ebony, not flesh and bone. The mere memory of it had her feeling all hot and bothered, and she tried to shake it off as her yellow eyes darted around, trying to catch even a faint glimpse of the pale warrior.
She found herself circling the plaza, wracking her brain to try and figure out how his scent could be so strong and easily trackable all the way up to the plaza before suddenly becoming difficult for her to place.
Could it be…? Aela stared suspiciously at the dying great tree. Rumor had it that the goddess Kynareth had blessed the tree herself, and therefore had some influence around the vicinity of the tree.
"There you are, Aela. We've been looking for you for the last hour," said a familiar gruff voice behind her, interrupting her thoughts.
She had been so focused on finding Kratos and figuring out the mystery of how he had eluded her that she hadn't even noticed the man's approach. Cursing under her breath, she turned around and faced her dour-faced shield-brother, Vilkas.
"We?" she looked around and saw nobody else.
"My brother and I," he clarified with a frown. "Farkas is searching for you in the Plains District."
"What could be so urgent that you couldn't wait until I returned to Jorrvaskr?" she asked.
Vilkas looked around, noting the passing guardsmen who were eyeing them curiously along with the other people in the plaza. While there were far less people here than in the Plains District, it was not as if there was nobody. They were still out in public after all, and probably in the most populated section of the Wind District to boot.
"Not here," Vilkas said cryptically. "It's better if we speak about it back in Jorrvaskr."
"Then it'll have to wait until I return. I'm still in the middle of something," Aela said dismissively. She turned and was about to walk away when Vilkas reached out to stop her by grabbing her arm.
Aela stiffened, frowning. "You had best have a good reason for putting your hands on me, brother," she said testily, glaring at his hand that was firmly latched onto her to prevent her from walking off.
Vilkas sighed and leaned in close.
"It's about Skjor," he whispered. "He's gone missing."
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