Crag-Strider
He had been hearing them for several nights now. Voices, down the hall from he slept. They were quiet at first, a tense but low back and forth between two people that Felwinter was able to easily ignore. He couldn't now, they were growing louder and even more intense. Felwinter rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them and follow the noise down the dimly lit hallway. Even through slippers, the floors were cold and hard. Only the long, ornate rugs spared him from most of the discomfort.
Through the distance and the haze of sleep, his mother's voice stood out clear as day.
As did Lord Drakon's.
He shouldn't be here, he knew that. His mother, his teacher, the lord himself, the people he would get in trouble with if caught should have overpowered his curiosity and sent him back to his room. It did not. More than once, Felwinter has been told he was too curious for his own good. Never once has he ever understood why this would be a bad thing.
Still, his heart began to rumble in his chest and on his back, he could feel the sweat beading. The path seemed to stretch before him, impossibly long. Shadows danced and twisted in the light of the candles that kept the hall dimly lit. At its end stood large black doors that almost touched the ceiling. Upon them was etched a massive dragon, shimmering gold with its wings spread wide and its maw open. The entrance to Lord Drakon's study. 'The throne room', Felwinter had heard the servants and keepers of the home whisper. Only dragons may enter. Or at least, do so and leave unscathed. It was not a place one wanted to be summoned. Felwinter had never been inside. Lord Drakon had never explicitly forbidden him but his mother and teacher had done so in his stead. The strike to his face Felwinter had suffered the first and last time he had referred to Lord Drakon as...something other than "Lord Drakon" served to hammer that point home. He needed no further explanation. He was no dragon.
The lord was indeed inside, as was Felwinter's mother. Maybe another, he couldn't be sure. As he drew nearer, as the voices grew even louder, his heart quickened even further. They were arguing again.
Then he heard his name and his thundering heart fell into his stomach. They were arguing about him.
"I warned you, girl." The older man's voice was a rumbling growl. "Many times, I have stated my position. Did you think the years would change my mind? Did you think knowing him would soften me?"
"No," he heard his mother say, "I learned early that it would be asking too much of you."
"Save your pithy little quips for someone else." he snapped, "Nothing has changed. I will not let that bastard of yours claim my name nor anything that comes with it."
Lord Drakon went on, "I gave you the chance to get rid of him before he was born. I gave you the chance to do so before he was old enough to remember you. Both times, you have refused. He brings nothing to this family, nothing to our name. Everything our ancestors have worked for, everything I and your mother have worked for. What is one bastard mutt against your legacy?"
"Everything, father. He is my son."
"He is a bastard. He is nothing!"
Felwinter had barely heard her respond. The last words were ringing over and over within his head. Questions sprouted alongside them. Be rid of him? How...how would she...why would she...
He was against the door now. Kneeling, Felwinter turned his head and put his ear close to the door, though not completely, lest they hear his shaky breath and thundering heart.
"Sentimentality." Lord Drakon spit the word like bile. "I raised you to be better than that."
"He is my son," his mother said again. Her voice wavered just slightly. "There is nothing sentimental involved."
"I know you care for him. But Delilah, you have a duty.
"Yes, we are agreed on that."
"A duty to this family."
"Felwinter is my family. I have a duty to him as well."
"You would forsake the rest of us, this house and this land, for the sake of one?"
"You have no right to blame this decision on me." This was the first time since the prison that Felwinter had heard his mother raise her voice like this.
Quiet murmuring filled what Felwinter thought to be silence. What was being said could not be made out but whatever it was, his mother erupted at hearing it. "A choice? You think this is a choice?!"
"ENOUGH!" A sharp creak of wood and then footsteps. Felwinter nearly fell back from the door and scrambled away, fearing he had been caught. But when Lord Drakon spoke again, his voice remained at the center of the room. It was lower now and darker than it had ever been.
"It is a choice. For the sake of the mother who bore you, the woman I loved, it is the last one I will give. I have let that bastard pretender live in my home, eat my food, train with my steel and traipse his way up and down my lands. No more. It is a choice, Delilah Talara, and it is one you will make here and now. Either you will do your duty and get rid of the child or you will lose your place as my heir and my daughter. Do you hear me, girl? By the end of this month, he will be cast out to the slums where lowborns like him and his sire belong and I am giving you the choice as to whether or not you will go with him."
In all his years, Felwinter had never heard so much hatred and malice drip from one person's voice before. His lungs were tight, his stomach churned painfully. His vision began to swim.
After a long moment, Delilah spoke again. "You can keep your choice. There is none to be made. I'd rather die than give my son away."
"Do not tempt fate, girl." Lord Drakon's threat was guttural and growling and far from idle. Like a beast, waiting. Waiting.
Delilah's tone grew a mocking edge. "You give me this choice for Mother's sake, you say. You let my son live with me for Mother's sake.". Then it disappeared and she whispered, "She would be so ashamed of you."
A long, long ringing pause followed her words. Then a slap, so loud, Felwinter fell back as if he had been struck himself. His mother screamed.
Another slap, louder, harder. Another scream and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Felwinter was on his feet, unbearable heat building underneath his skin, ready to burst forth. He charged at the door, prepared to grab the handles and throw them open.
"Be gone by tomorrow night. And may the death you search for take you quickly."
Felwinter's fingers only managed to brush the surface of the wood. Suddenly, two arms grabbed hold of him, one around his waist and another around his mouth, preventing him from crying out. Together, they lifted his body off the ground. He fought to no avail. His captor carried him down the hall and quickly, silently, ducked into one of the dark open rooms. As soon as he did, Lord Drakon's doors were thrown open. A pair of footsteps quickly passed them by. Felwinter heard sniffing and barely contained sobs.
When the sound of two doors roughly closing reached their ears, the arms released him. Felwinter had figured out who it was by then. He knew it by the scars and by the thickness of the beard that scratched his crown. He shoved himself away from Ser Castel and turned to face him, straining his neck to do so.
"Why did you hold me back?" He demanded of the knight, "Why did you stop me?"
Castel's cold eyes regarded him without blinking.
"Answer me!"
"You are not supposed to be here," he rumbled.
"I don't care."
"You were reckless, Felwinter."
"I do not care!" Felwinter burst out, "He was hurting her!"
"You are good to no one dead."
Felwinter grit his teeth hard. His vision began to swim again.
"Why didn't you?"
Ser Castel remained silent.
"You're a knight. Aren't you supposed to defend the innocent?" he continued, "She did nothing wrong, he was hurting her and you did nothing. Why didn't you help her? What does honor demand then?"
He was yelling now but for all he knew, he was raging at a statue. Ser Castel kept stone still, but his eyes, always so hard and resolute, softened just slightly. Felwinter had no such resolve. The fire fled him as quickly as it came. All at once, he felt empty and cold. His eyes fell to his feet.
"It's me," he mumbled, "I'm what she did wrong. He hates her because of me. Her father hates her because of me."
Ser Castel's jaw flexed. His hand twitched.
Felwinter whispered, "I'm sorry..." his voice cracking.
The bearded jaw flexed tighter. "Do not be," he growled.
"I am, I'm sorry." Felwinter's eyes turned towards the door. "I can...I can change his mind. Please, just let me go talk to him. I can-"
A hand wrapped around his arm before he could pull away. Ser Castel lowered to one knee, holding Felwinter in place. "There is nothing you can do, Felwinter."
"Where will we go? What...what will we…" "Felwinter's lip began to tremble. His vision swam once more and then they spilled. Tears drew wet streaks down his face as barely contained sobs racked his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I didn't…"
Ser Castel's eyes became tight. Then, so did his hands. They drew Felwinter closer and closer, until he was wrapped up within them. His face pressed into the man's shirt and he could feel it dampen beneath his eyes.
Felwinter apologized. Over and over and over again until the world went dim.
Only Felwinter's mind came back to him slowly. The rest of him did not.
A loud groan ripped its way from his throat as every nerve in his body burst into flames. Two hands suddenly took hold of his shoulders, squeezing them, trying to hold him down as he began to jerk about in pain. The shock of cold skin was the worst of it and Felwinter felt his magic stir, rising to the surface, ready to spill out at his assailant.
Then the fog of his mind faded just enough for him to hear a voice. He knew that voice…
Felwinter's blurry vision began to clear. The pain began to fade from agonizing to manageable. His eyes focused on the shock of blonde hair before him, the angular face, the clear blue eyes.
"Frea?" he croaked.
The hands relaxed and released him. Frea pulled away and when Felwinter tried to rise up to sitting, his nerves exploded again.
"Don't move," Frea ordered gently. Her palms were over his chest, hands shimmering gold.
The pain subdued even more. "Frea…" Felwinter gasped, coughing violently, "Frea, what happened? Where…"
She pulled away and leaned back and down over her chair. "My village," was her answer.
Felwinter's eyes moved away from her face to his surroundings. A large wooden building, more reminiscent of a hall than a home. To his side, a fire roared. He was in bed, stripped of his armor and surrounded by layers and layers of thick furs.
Frea straightened up again, holding a ladle in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. She moved the ladle to his lips. "Slowly, Felwinter, slowly…"
Felwinter scarfed it down, getting a good half of the water into his beard. Then he knocked the ladle aside and reached for the bucket. Frea had to release the ladle and hold it with both hands, lest he drench himself and the furs.
He let go of the bucket after half its contents were gone. Coughing, he slowly let himself back down to the bed. Frea was speaking to him but her voice was a distant hum. His eyes closing, memories came rushing back to Felwinter. The Khajiit, the temple, Apocrypha.
Miraak.
Felwinter bolted upwards again. "Felwinter? Felwinter!" She grabbed at him just before he could try to move. If he had the strength, he would have shoved the girl off, tore the place apart to find his things, his armor, his blade.
"What happened? Why would you drag me away from there?" He demanded, exhaustion weakening the steel in his voice. "What about Miraak? The Khajiit? Where are my housecarls?"
Frea leaned away again and blinked. "Gregor and Jordis are fine. They're outside, about the village," she answered, "Felwinter? What's this about Miraak?"
"Miraak! Did no one see him?"
Frea stared at him, mouth opening and closing. Her breath seemed to leave her in gasps.
Then another voice cut through the silence. "Frea?" It asked, deep and rumbling, "Who are you speaking to?"
She looked behind her, towards a curtain-covered doorway leading into another part of the hall, then back to Felwinter. "He's awake, father."
Footsteps were already approaching. A large, weathered hand reached through and pushed them apart, revealing an old Nord laden with leathers and furs. Long-haired and bearded, the white of both symbolized his age and clashed with his stature; taller than Felwinter and strongly built. Even the weather-beaten look to his face was eased by the calm, easy expression it held.
His eyes looked Felwinter up and down. "So he is," he murmured, ducking under the curtain and passing through. "Let me speak to him, Frea. Check in on the barrier. And send for the chief."
The woman's eyes flicked between the two men once again, lips tight and body language unwilling. Ultimately, she obeyed, standing and moving towards the exit without another word. Felwinter watched as she left, caught a glimpse of snow drifting from a dark sky just before the door closed again.
"How are you feeling?" The Skaal man rumbled, stepping over to the fire and feeding it another block of wood.
"Like a giant's training dummy." Felwinter muttered, "Where are my things?"
Without looking at him, the stranger pointed to a nearby table. "Your blade and valuables are there. My daughter told me they couldn't move you with your armor so the pieces had to be left behind." He rose to his full height with a soft grunt and circled Felwinter again, taking the seat Frea had left. "I offered to have people go and collect the pieces but your housecarls assured me it wouldn't be necessary."
He had heard Frea the first time but hearing again that his people were alive and well helped relax him somewhat. The pain began to ease off again as every muscle in his body finally unclenched. Felwinter's eyes drifted closed. He never realized how tired he was.
"Interesting tattoos."
An eye popped open. It drifted down to his arm, markings exposed to the air, black and permanent along the skin. "Thank you," he muttered, keeping his head back and his eye on the ceiling.
"Never seen magic used to create tattoos," he continued, "But I suppose I don't leave the village as much as I used to."
To that, Felwinter said nothing. Part of him wanted to know how the old man could so easily tell they were magic but most of him was finding it difficult to care. "I've heard many things about you, Dragonborn." The eye swiveled to the Skaal, who watched him, keeping his hands interlocked in front of his chest, "'Quiet' is not among them."
"I was unconscious not even half an hour ago," Felwinter grunted, "So no, I'm not talkative."
The old man shrugged. "A shame because I would like to talk," he said.
Irritated as he was, it was pointless to resist. He was a captive audience. So Felwinter sighed, "You know my name…"
"Storn," he replied, "Storn Crag-Strider. You've already met my daughter."
Felwinter hummed. "Nice girl. Good fighter."
"Not good enough to handle alone what you had helped her with. You have my thanks in seeing her safely back."
Felwinter hummed again, this time with amusement. "Didn't do much 'seeing'," he told him, "I just woke up, remember?"
"More of those masked, robed strangers," Storm said, "The magic around the Tree Stone growing in strength, a Khajiit warrior..." Felwinter's marked hand clenched, "I've heard the perspective of every part of what happened at the temple except for yours."
"I fought the Khajiit, I got dropped to my knees, I got knocked into the temple..." Felwinter stopped.
"And something happened after that," Storm deduced correctly, "Something you're uncomfortable sharing." Storn leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into Felwinter. "I am glad my daughter helped you. And I'm sure that if things were different, she still would have," he said, "But they are not. She brought you here in the hopes that you could help us. Aside from the masked men, you are the only one who isn't affected by the stones?"
"So it seems."
"Then you may very well be our key to breaking their power."
Felwinter sighed. "That was the hope when I went to the temple. But I don't even know where to begin."
Storn leaned back in his seat again. "My daughter showed you the spell I taught her."
"She did."
"I created it from my own experiences with the stone," Storn told him, "Getting as close as I could manage, noting the way it warped my mind, dulled my senses. I feel comfortable saying that I know a thing or two about how it works. I do not yet know where you can start but I can find out."
It made sense to him, even as it frustrated him. The fewer people involved, the better for everyone. But everyone was already involved, the Skaal, the people of Raven Rock. "I would appreciate anything you can tell me."
It was a small one but for the first time, Storn smiled at him. "This is an exchange, Dragonborn, remember? It will take Frea some time to retrieve the chief. So please, tell me what you know."
Felwinter leaned back into the bed and shut his eyes again, bringing his marked arm up over his face. It was sore. He must have landed on it at some point. "The Khajiit knocked me into the temple. I hit the Tree stone and fell into some kind of pool. I'm not sure what it was but it smelled terrible." Like ink.
Storn leaned in again.
"Then I started to sink," he continued, "Through the floor, it felt like."
"Was the ground not solid beneath this pool?"
"It was when I landed but still, slid beneath the surface and fell into this strange chamber." He thought of what he saw next. His head began to sting at the image and he winced. "I...saw a book. It opened. And then I was in Apocrypha." Felwinter let out a frustrated growl. "That's a realm of Oblivion, I know it."
Storn nodded. "The realm of Herma Mora," he said.
"Herma...Hermaues?" Storn nodded again. "More fucking Daedric Princes," Felwinter cursed.
Storn's lips curled up again, but only for a second. "How did you know you were in Apocrypha?"
"I was told."
"By?"
Felwinter looked into the old man's eyes. Something in them told Felwinter, he already knew the answer. But it needed to be said aloud. "By Miraak himself."
Storn leaned back again, his jaw clenching. "So he is involved. I had thought...I had hoped…"
"We both did," Felwinter said. With a pained grunt, he sat up again and brought his legs over the edge of the bed, planting them on the cold ground. Storn stood up, pulled open a wooden cabinet near Felwinter's bed and pulled something folded out. He let it fall open and held it to Felwinter. "A shirt. Should fit you well enough."
Felwinter accepted it with a nod and threw it over his head as Storn trudged over to the door. They creaked as he pushed them open, just enough to stick his head outside. Hunched over, Felwinter watched him, rubbing his hands together to warm them.
After a minute, Storn pulled back and stepped away. When Jordis and Gregor stepped inside behind him, Felwinter nearly shot to his feet. He took in the sight of them, clenched his hands together and grit his teeth so hard, his head began to hurt.
The two of them were a sight. A mess of cuts, stitches and bruises, bright red and mottled violet. Underneath the layers of furs the Skaal had bundled them up in, he was sure there were even more hidden away. Both of them regarded him silently. Their eyes were hooded but exhaustion and wariness were plain to see.
With a heave, Felwinter did stand. "Gregor, Jordis, I…" He stopped.
Jordis managed a small smile. "I am glad to see you awake, thane," she said, her voice weak and rasping.
Felwinter drew in a long breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you-"
"You did not leave us," Gregor murmured. His eyes closed s he did. , as if it took all of his energy just to say that much and no more.
"And you came back," Jordis finished.
The small smile that had been spreading across his lips fell again. "Came...back?" He shook his head. "I just woke up," he said, "The last thing I remember was being thrown into the temple. I…" The look in their eyes confused him and worried him. "What...what happened?"
The doors were pushed open again, all the way this time. A dark-haired, severe-looking Nordic woman strode her way through. Gregor and Jordis parted for her but she had no eyes for them. Only Felwinter. She regarded him, measured him with a sharp, critical eye and a frowning mouth. Then she turned to Storn. "Our people's 'last hope' can barely stand, Crag-Strider," she said.
"He did just wake, Fanari."
"And what makes you so sure he can help us?"
"Surety is for matters of the mundane," Storn said, "And this is far from mundane." Pushing off the wall he had been leaning against, the old man approached. "Everyone find somewhere to sit." He put his hand on Felwinter's shoulder and pushed him to do the same. "He's got a story to tell us. About what happened inside the Temple of Miraak."
"He was unconscious, father," Frea said, "We spoke about this."
'No, I wasn't."
Felwinter's quiet voice had every head but one turning. Felwinter had a hand to his torso, bandage-patched side beginning to sting.
"But...I found you…" Frea never took her eyes off him as she pulled a nearby chair closer.
"The temple is connected to Oblivion," Felwinter grunted, "Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora's realm. I got pulled in. You found me after I got tossed back out."
The others slowly came to sit. All except Fanari, who seemed to elect to remain standing. "And? What did you see?"
Felwinter brought his eyes up, put them on his housecarls. The pause was short but from what they saw in his eyes, they didn't need long.
"Miraak," he finally said, "I saw Miraak. Everything regarding the All-Maker Stones, the one responsible for what is happening on Solstheim. It's him."
Fanari shook her head. "How could that be possible? His battle against the Jailor-"
"Never surely resulted in his death," Storn cut in, "Indeed. Even Vahlok feared he might one day return."
"He was still mortal."
"If he is in Apocrypha, Herma-Mora is involved," Frea mumbled, "Who knows what he learned while there." She turned to look at Storn. "Father, your dreams…"
He put his hand up. A talk for later.
"Well, what does he want with us?" Fanari demanded of Felwinter.
There was no point in mincing words or attempting to be subtle. "Solstheim. Skyrim. Tamriel," Felwinter replied, "He wants everything and everyone under his heel."
"Unless he plans to do it on his own…"
"He does not," he said. The memory of Miraak's army seemed burned into his eyes. It was like being back there again, watching the gaping maw of the ocean roil under you. "The army he's amassed is massive. Monstrous, even." Felwinter forced himself to visualize the Legion, the forces he had worked with to defend Whiterun, take forts in the Rift, the Pale, Winterhold. The force he used to conquer Windhelm.
He put them all together within his head. Then he said aloud, "I have never, ever seen an army as large as this. Atronachs, Dremora, all kinds of Daedra. Even dragons are at his command." He looked at the people gathered before them one by one. "You could gather every single person on this island and you still wouldn't be able to match him by half."
Fanari's face contorted, twisted into something disbelieving, then enraged and maybe even terrified.
Jordis asked, "Why the stones? Why take people's minds?"
At that, Felwinter had nothing to offer but a shrug. "Maybe they have something to do with his plan. Maybe it's just vanity. I can't be sure," he said, "All he told me was to match him. Told me to prepare myself because when he comes, I will be who he goes after. Either I kill him or...".
No words were spoken but their reactions said enough. Fanari's slow pace began to quicken. Frea's hands were starting to jitter. Jordis and Gregor had eyes only for the floor beneath their feet and Storn had eyes only for Felwinter.
"I've told you my end," Felwinter said, "Now you tell me yours. What happened after I got knocked into the temple?"
Jordis responded immediately. "We sent Frea to retrieve you. Gregor and I took on the Khajiit ourselves to buy her time." Her voice was still rough and tired.
Felwinter looked at them, truly looked at them, for the second time and for the second time, felt his skin grow hot with anger. But in looking at them, he took in more than their wounds. He saw their eyes, shifting over him, his hands but never making contact with his. He noted the tense lines of their shoulders. He noticed the distance they kept from him.
"I found you inside the temple," Frea continued from there, "You were unconscious. You looked like you had been beaten near to death."
Felwinter's hand went up to his nose, bandaged and stinging at the lightest of touches. "One of Miraak's people. The Khajiit was another. Sent to 'test me', he had said. I don't know how. What happened after you found me? Last I remember was chanting." His eyes went back to his housecarls and their injuries, "What happened to the Khajiit?"
Once again, all went silent. Gregor seemed to draw back from him even more.
"I found you just as two cultists did," Frea said, her voice just barely above a whisper now. "I thought to draw them away, make them chase me and they did. Outside of the temple. And…" she paused and made a point to avoid Felwinter's eyes. "And then…"
"You woke up, thane." Jordis' voice came out loud and clear this time, as if she were a woman renewed. The woman's chest rose and fell and her nostrils flared with each heavy breath. "You woke up in the temple and you disposed of those cultists. Then you came out of the temple and murdered the Khajiit."
"My axe had fallen when I ran," Frea mumbled, "You threw it so hard, it cut off one's head. Clean at the neck. Then you used magic to drag the other back into the temple and ripped him to pieces. You leapt out of the temple in one bound after that. I only arrived just before you...finished the fight with the Khajiit. You fell unconscious again after."
"Felwinter." Storn's voice cut off all further discussion, "What do you plan from here? About the stones? About Miraak?" He asked.
"If what you're saying is true, Miraak doesn't sound like the one to make idle threats," Frea snarled to both no one and everyone.
"That depends," Felwinter looked at Storn, "What do you know?" Storn remained quiet and even-faced. "Because I know you know something."
"I don't," he soon admitted, "Not yet, at least. I will need time to think about these things you have revealed."
Felwinter frowned at him. But he nodded. "Then the day after tomorrow, we will return to Raven Rock," he said, "I need to alert the Councilors. Afterwards, I will return to Skyrim. I also need time to piece things together. And to prepare. Somehow," he added in a mumble.
"Aye, we are agreed. What is the best way to reach you?" Storn asked.
"Have your messengers deliver any letters you have to Raven Rock. Ask them to point out Severin Manor and make sure they know it is for me. It will reach me in Whiterun from there."
"And you'll respond when we call on you?" asked Fanari.
"Immediately."
Storn pushed himself up and out of his chair. "Then there is nothing more to be discussed here." All others stood with him after a moment, Felwinter the last and slowest.
"Guest-welcome has been extended to you," Fanari told them, "There are rooms upstairs, prepared for each of you when you want them." She started moving towards the door. "I will see to our defenses. Find me later, Storn." She roughly shouldered the door open and disappeared into the snowy night.
Storn exhaled through his nose. Then he said, "Come Frea. Help me reinforce the barrier for the night. Quickly, the others need their rest."
Storn passed through the door and after one last look back, his daughter followed. They were alone now, three strangers in this land. For some time, only the fire had anything to say. Then Jordis cleared her throat. "Thane, you should…"
"Take a seat."
His tone left no room for argument. "I want you to finish your story. And leave nothing out, am I understood?"
The two shared a look. Then Jordis sighed and sat down. "What would you ask of us, thane?" Gregor said, after doing the same.
"I killed a pair of cultists I don't remember. Fine. Would've done it anyway. But the Khajiit. What happened? I had wanted to question her."
The pair shared yet another look and Felwinter was getting frustrated being so far out of the loop. "As Frea said," Jordis began, "You jumped out of the temple. Landed between us and the Khajiit."
"Do you know what kind of distance that is?"
"Yes."
"Then how could I have made that jump?" Felwinter asked incredulously.
"We don't know, thane. I assumed it was magic," she said.
Felwinter leaned back. "Fine," he grunted, "Continue."
They didn't continue and their eyes remained low, avoiding his. Felwinter's nostrils flared. "I said-"
Suddenly, Gregor burst out. "You were different, thane!" His usual care for tone was absent. "You had this...magic wrapped around your arms like armor. Your eyes, they were completely white. And when you roared-"
"Roared?"
"You roared, thane," Jordis finished softly. "It wasn't like some kind of warrior's battlecry, you sounded like a beast. Like a dragon."
The sound was so intimately familiar to him at this point, he could all but imagine it. But him making it…
Felwinter swallowed. "Continue."
"I've never seen you fight the way you did against her, Felwinter." Jordis' use of his name instead of his title had him clenching his jaw, hanging off her every word. "It was like those Dwarven machines. Unnatural, relentless."
"She hit you with a Shout, it did nothing," Gregor described, as if the events were playing out again before his eyes, "She hit you with magic, the kind that sends you flying away, it did nothing. She threw this great blast of fire and you...you just stopped it."
"You absorbed it," Jordis corrected, "The largest blast of fire I've ever seen and consumed it Then you sent one back. A Shout she barely dodged. I saw it topple four trees behind her."
"You never picked up your sword again." Felwinter's eyes flicked over to the table behind them. "You used your hands. Your arms against her blade. It looked like she could barely hold you off." Jordis drew in a breath. "Then you broke her sword with your hand. Then you...you-"
"You took your arm and gutted the Khajiit with it." Gregor seemed spent again, as if there wasn't anything he'd love to do more than to go to sleep.
Jordis sighed. Then she nodded, "Clean through, Felwinter."
Felwinter breathed, the silence ringing in his ear. "I...remember nothing of this. Nothing."
"You said you went to Apcrypha?" asked Jordis, "Could the Daedra have done this to you? Or Miraak?"
"Why would they give me the power to kill one of their own?" Felwinter argued, as if he had a better explanation. But he didn't. He had been thrown from Apocrypha, he had heard chanting, and then all of this happened.
Felwinter pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling at the throbbing beginning to develop in his head. Then he ran the hand down his face and beard and sighed. "I need you both to understand," he said quietly, "Whoever that was, it wasn't me. Maybe I was put under a spell but I wasn't the one doing all that you saw?"
"Then how can we stop it from happening again?" she asked.
"I don't know. Really, I don't know."
Then Gregor lifted his head. "How do we know you won't turn it against us, thane?"
Felwinter practically reeled at the question. So much so, he was at a loss for words. "Gregor, I would never-"
"Yes, you would never," Gregor said, "But you're not in control of it. You just said so." Jordis' eyes flicked over to him for a second. She said nothing.
His headache was worsening. "Look, we can't figure this out right now. We need to return to Skyrim and wait for Storn. I need to speak to the Greybeards, Paarthurnax…" He sighed, "Maybe even the Blades. I just need time, alright?"
Gregor did not reply. His face was a carefully carved mask. He rose to his feet. "I am tired, and I would like to rest. With your leave?"
Felwinter stared up at him for a few lingering moments. Then he jerked his head to the stairs with a grunt. Gregor departed, without hesitation or a look back.
Felwinter got to his feet, as did Jordis. "Do you need help, thane?"
"I can walk," he answered with a slight edge, "Go on. Get some rest."
She watched him hobble past her and towards the table, still wrapped in the furs. Gingerly, he lifted his ring and the sending crystal he wore around his neck up to eye level, inspecting it for damage before slipping it over his head. Then a black scabbard appeared in his hand. When he took the sword with his other hand, the same hand that ended the Khajiit, Jordis took notice in the slight way his features tightened.
She left before he could turn back around.
Felwinter lay Zazikel against the wall, next to the door. He stopped by the small room's hearth to strengthen the fire that had already been started there. Then he shed the furs and the gifted shirt, leaving both on the bed.
He sat on the bed's edge, in front of the fire. He shut his eyes and forced himself to try and remember. His first fight with the Khajiit, the tentacled Daedra, Miraak, Apocrypha, Miraak's army; a vision that never failed to send shivers down his spine. Be the wall that halts my advance.
But every time, that is where his memory would stop. He can't remember seeing the Khajiit again or Frea or Jordis or Gregor. The last time he looked into the eyes of any of them was before they went to meet the encroaching cultists. The next time was just minutes before now. How things had changed.
The image of Gregor's wide and wary eyes had Felwinter stomach tightening. He forced the feeling back down. Instead, he put his hand over the floor between him and the fireplace and focused his power into his mark. It shimmered and tingled as he used it. A normal reaction and an abnormal one. Still, it called his armor to him. Each piece that appeared on the floor was covered in sand and snow and no small amount of blood. His hand went down to his torso, to the bandages wrapping around them.
He ignored that. A bucket of water and a clean cloth were left next to the bed. Felwinter pulled it over, warmed it and wetted the cloth. He picked one of the armor pieces. When he saw that it was one of his gauntlets, that it was coated in deep red blood, his arm began to sting and the sight of the Khajiit's eyes within inches of his flashed through his mind. They were blue. They were wide. They were terrified. They were fading.
He elected to ignore that as well.