A Feast for Crows

He was tall. That was the first thing Gregor had noticed about his new thane. Not too much taller than himself but it was still eye-catching. He noticed other things after that. The warrior's build, evident through his layers of clothing. The warrior's scars, three down his cheek, a thick one on his neck. He had all his teeth, surprisingly but his nose had been broken more than once.

Gregor didn't know him as his thane until the Jarl was calling him over. In hindsight, the way he pushed into Jarl Brina's hall, approached her unannounced and the way Horik just let him do so should have clued Gregor in that this stranger wasn't merely a stranger. When called, Gregor rose to his feet and approached. He nodded to the stranger, a base courtesy. The man gave an easy smile, one that reached all the way up to his dark brown eyes.

"So you're the one being saddled with me?" the stranger began before anyone else could, "What happened? You lose a bet?"

First, a genuine smile. Now, this sudden note of familiarity. Gregor found himself caught a bit off guard. "I…" His eyes swiveled to Jarl Brina and back. "I don't…"

"Gregor, this is Felwinter Drakon. He is the thane you will be serving."

"Felwinter?" Gregor repeated. The man stuck out a hand and Gregor took it, noting the roughness and how they clashed with the expertly designed suit of armor, "An honor, my thane. I've heard the name a bit but can't seem to place it…"

"I helped your priest, Erandur, with those nightmares afflicting the town a few months back."

Gregor's smile tightened at the memory but it was more genuine now. "Ah, Erandur. Good man. Thank you both for that."

The Jarl chuckled, an eyebrow cocked at Felwinter. "You never struck me as one for modesty."

"No one does modesty better than me, Lady Jarl.."

"I can tell."

It was only then that the name began to ring bells in Gregor's head, along with faces just barely remembered. "You' serve General Tullius," he realized, remembering seeing the two of them together, "In the Legion."

Felwinter soured slightly at the mention. "Ostensibly," he muttered.

Now, he fully knew the name. Gregor had been shaking Felwinter's hand the entire time but now his second hand came up and latched on. "You...you killed Alduin! You're the Dragonborn!"

"So I keep being told. By every dragon who has come after me."

"I…I…." Not at all sure what to do with himself, Gregor bowed. "My thane, it is a tremendous honor."

"Alright, alright, stow that." The Dragonborn put his hand to Gregor's shoulder and pushed him upright. "It's good to meet you as well," he clapped his shoulder.

"I take it you approve?" Jarl Brina asked.

"You've made your point, I'll keep him," Felwinter clapped him again, "Provided he can keep up."

"Gregor here is one of the Pale's finest," the Jarl said and it took all Gregor had to keep from beaming, "And is long overdue for a promotion, given his recent achievements."

"I look forward to testing that." Gregor still had Felwinter's hand clutched between his and instead of pulling away, the Dragonborn dropped his other on top and smiled even wider, teeth bared with amusement and glee.

Gregor often thought back to that day with fondness. The Dragonborn was a figure out of legend, a hero in the stories his Pa would regale him with as a boy. But here he was, both larger than life and more real than any legend. And there Gregor was, shaking that legend's hand, being clapped on the shoulder and being told that it was he who had the honor.

Given all of that, could he be blamed for missing the truth behind the jest? "Can he keep up? I look forward to testing that."

That seemed so long ago now. Then, he was strong, rested. Now, he was a sweaty, bloody, heaving mess who didn't dare let his guard down, despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

Felwinter had changed as well. Gone was the smiling man he had met, or the easygoing jester Gregor had been coming to know; a man who was nobility in name, blood and in deed but swore like a sellsword and had the hands of a workman. What had taken his place…

What had taken his place bolted across distances in too small amounts of time. What had taken his place lashed out with the strength of an enraged giant and the swiftness of a sabercat. His smile was nothing but bared teeth, his laughter a ground-shaking roar. What had taken his place was something between an animal and a man and more.

Gregor had almost instantly taken to trusting the man before. Now, he was afraid to approach him.

Felwinter paid them no mind. He stood there, a stark outline against the afternoon sun. Wisps of light flowed off that strange magic that adorned his arms and blood dripped from one of them. The Khajiit, Gregor's foe and for a few bleak moments, the woman he thought would be his end, lay dead at Felwinter's feet.

Gregor was a warrior. He had killed and seen people killed. But the way Felwinter had ended this Khajiit's life would haunt him in the quiet hours of the night. A weak voice in Gregor's mind likened him to a demon, a Daedra gone savage. It mused darkly that without his original target, who would he go after next?

He would never…

Because you know him so well…

Then, Felwinter sank to his knees. Despite the silent warnings, Gregor forced himself to approach, likely jolting the women out of their daze. As he drew closer, the light encasing Felwinter's arms began to flicker into nothing. He swayed, a soft groan slipping past his lips.

Gregor let his sword and shield fall and began to hobble faster on unsteady legs. Just barely over the rushing waves in his head did he hear Frea's and Jordis' footsteps at his back.

Gregor fell to his knees and caught Felwinter before he could hit the ground. Taking in the man's face, Gregor was shocked. He was battered and bloody, a swollen mess of cuts and bruises, his nose showing the worst of it, already turning purple. His eyes were the last to flutter close but before they did, Gregor noted they had returned to normal. The monster was gone. Only Felwinter remained.

Quietly, cautiously, Frea moved next to him. She took his head in her hand, soft light shimmering from the palms. When she spoke, it was clear she was trying to keep her voice from trembling. "He's alive but unconscious," she told them.

"When will he wake?" asked Gregor.

"I can't say."

Gregor put his hand to Felwinter's heart, felt the gentle but weak rise and fall.

"Gregor?" Jordis called from behind. When Gregor turned, he found her standing over the body of the Khajiit. Her shield had been discarded, but not her blade, still held tightly in hand.

Gregor let Felwinter gently down to the ground. Then he slid over and retrieved his own, keeping a firm grip on the handle as he prepared to help finish the cultist off. Drive it into her heart or throat if necessary. But as he drew closer, as he took in her body, he realized more and more that it wouldn't be so.

Gregor came to stop at Jordis' side and when he took in the Khajiit in her entirety, he had to clamp his teeth down to keep from retching. As bad as Gregor thought it was going to be, what he was seeing was worse. The Dragonborn's hand and arm had punched through her chest and out of her back, armor and all. Gregor could see fully and completely now the large, ragged hole it had left. He could see through the hole, see the ground underneath, dark with blood. The same that spread in a growing pool around her body. Gregor took a step back from it. Her mouth was ajar, her eyes dead and wide. So lost was he in them that footsteps from behind had him and Jordis twisting, sword sat the ready.

Frea stopped at the suddenness of their movements but she had eyes only for the corpse. Vehement disgust and revulsion crossed her features and even from a distance, they could see the dampness growing in her eyes just before she spun away.

Next to him, Gregor heard Jordis sigh. The woman was a fighter, the bodies of the cultists who had attacked her before they came told as much. But all of it had been done in self-defense and all of it done quickly, cleanly. This was a level of violence far beyond anything she had ever seen. This was beyond what any of them had ever seen.

Quietly, Frea asked, "Has...have you ever seen him do something like this before?"

Gregor looked to Jordis. Jordis stared past them both. "No," she murmured, low and blunt. Her eyes turned to Felwinter, still comatose on the ground. "Never."

"How did you find him?" Gregor asked Frea.

"Inside the temple. At the center of this...strange room. With a pedestal. And a wall with strange writing," she answered.

Jordis' eyes flicked to her at that. Still, she remained silent.

"How did he get inside?"

"I don't know. When I found him, I tried to wake him but two cultists attacked me. They ignored him so I ran outside, hoping I could draw them away from him. I...I dropped my axe when I ran. Then he woke up like...like he was, took up my axe and threw it so hard, it took off the head of one of them."

"And the other?" Jordis pressed.

Frea's eyes flicked to the Khajiit once more, flinching before turning away. "Pulled back into the temple with magic. I never saw his body but from the things I heard…he was merciful to the Khajiit. At least her death was quick."

Frea turned around and started back towards Felwinter's body. Dropping to her knees beside him, her back to the Khajiit, she took up one of his arms and began fiddling with the armor straps. "My village is close," she told them, "We'll need to carry him. We can't stay here."

"Horses…" Gregor muttered, "We brought horses-"

"And tied them to the trees at the edge of the forest." Jordis turned and pointed, "If the cultists did not kill them, Felwinter's fire did."

Jordis was pointing to the line of trees that had been hit when the Khajiit avoided Felwinter's attack. No fires raged but black, acrid smoke spiraled high into the air. They'd be able to see it from Raven Rock. They would've been able to see the explosion from Raven Rock. Where Gregor had vague memories of tying the horses, nothing stood.

"I will check," he said, not waiting for confirmation or argument. Jordis had none to give. She left the Khajiit's body and joined Frea on the ground, helping her remove Felwinter's armor, directing Frea on how to go about it.

As Gregor approached the trees, the stink of ash grew stronger and stronger. The explosion had left a crater, already dark sand burned even further black. He could see that some trees had been felled. The ones that hadn't been reduced to nothing were no longer rooted to the ground and were blackened but whole. The fire hadn't destroyed them, it was the force of the explosion that knocked them down. Tall, thick, sturdy things. It would take a village of men a day just to fell a few for firewood and building. Felwinter had breathed them down.

The horses were indeed dead. When Gregor drew closer, he could see that Jordis had been right. Underneath their bodies, dried blood spread out. The cultists had slit their throats and Felwinter's Shout had seared their bodies dark. The smell of cooked horse flesh rankled Gregor's nose.

He bent down near the bodies, taking a moment to put his hands to both of their necks in silent apology. His own especially; she had been a sweet girl. Then, he began to rummage through the saddles, seeing what he could salvage from their supplies.

The amount barely filled Gregor's arms. Only one of their water skins survived the fire and it was his own, half-finished before they had even arrived. Gregor's throat burned for a drink. Instead, he rose to his feet again and started back.

His return was greeted with the sight of Frea approaching him, an urgent pace to her walk. Before he could speak, the Skaal woman brought her glowing fingers to his head and closed her eyes, murmuring. Gregor remembered the spell, his eyes flicking up to the temple down the trail. He had almost forgotten where they were.

"Jordis reminded me," she said once she had finished, "We're lucky Felwinter's magic was only just beginning to fade. On my own…"

Gregor understood, nodding his gratitude. "Is he ready?"

"Yes," she said. She began to take the things in his arms, "Jordis will need your help in carrying him."

"Right." He followed her back.

Felwinter had not moved. Even asleep, he had never been this still. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his now-exposed chest, Gregor would have feared the worst. Jordis looked up at him and stood. "What did you find?"

"Not much."

"We never brought much."

"Lucky us. The fire took most." The wound the Khajiit had dealt Gregor started stinging. He put his hand to his arm and pulled it back, seeing no blood. Frea had closed it well. "You were right, they had killed the horses."

"Nothing we can do. We'll have to carry him together," Jordis said, "He's too heavy to be held alone."

She held her hand up. In it was Gregor's shield. He accepted it and began to strap it to his back. Even that weight was difficult. Felwinter would be torture.

Jordis' shield was already secured but her sword was still held in hand, her face a tight scowl. She stalked towards the Khajiit's corpse. Flies were already beginning to move in. Gregor turned his eyes to the sky, to the distant shadow of birds. Carrion-eaters, waiting for the humans to take their leave.

"What are you doing?" Gregor asked when Jordis pressed the point to the corpse's throat. Frea has already stepped away, still refusing to look at the body.

"These cultists are mages. Necromancers, maybe," she said darkly, pressing the point slightly harder, "Can't bring back a corpse if it doesn't have a head."

At first, Gregor thought it needless. Now, he wondered if they should take her arms and legs for good measure. Or have Frea just outright incinerate her. But the young woman wanted nothing to do with the corpse. And when Gregor's arm began to sting again, he grew less than inclined to deny the birds their meal.

"Alright. Quickly then."

She was. As soon as Gregor's back was turned, he heard her bring the blade down with a yell. Just under that, the sound of flesh tearing rang in his ear.

Gregor took Felwinter's hand, the one still tinged red from fingers to elbow. With a heave, he pulled the man over his shoulders, across his back. It felt as if he had the world resting over him.

Jordis moved up to his right and took Felwinter's arm. Sliding him across his shoulders until he rested partially over her own, sharing his weight with Gregor. The man was still a sack of rocks but at least Gregor would be able to take more than a few steps now without keeling over.

Frea had their supplies bundled up in her arms. "Felwinter's sword…and his armor."

The pieces were still scattered about where he had laid. His sword was further away, sticking out of the ground where it had been knocked from his hand.

Jordis replied, "He can collect them later. They'll be fine until then."

She was clearly unsure but exhaustion made Frea let it go and take Jordis' word. "This way then. We should get there by sunset."

Sunset wasn't too far off, Gregor was relieved to notice. "You're sure your village will have what he needs?"

"I am sure," she said. Her voice lowered and she looked back at the temple. Just barely, they could hear the sounds of hammers clinking against stone. "Because we will need him too. And I fear, in time, so will everyone else."

Frea turned away and sighed. Then, she turned her eyes straight ahead. "Come. Follow."

So they did. Above, the birds cried with glee.