The Joys of Life

Felwinter woke sore, his arm hurt most of all. It took a number of minutes staring at the ceiling before he could finally muster the willpower to roll from bed and place both his sock-covered feet on the cold ground. Hunched over, he ran a hand over the shaved side of his head and winced when his fingers grazed a bandaged cut.

Felwinter tore his eyes from his feet and then forced himself to straighten up. Near the door, he spotted a bucket that hadn't been there before. Not yet willing to stand up, Felwinter reached out, his hand glowing with dim bronze light. The bucket slid slowly across the wood, coming to rest between his spread legs.

He bent over again and examined his reflection on the trembling surface. A gentle magelight appeared in front of him to bring more light to his face. Mottled, red and purple splotches, cuts covered in white, stained wrappings; dark skin even darker with bruises. Never one to deny his curiosity, Felwinter reached up to touch his nose and regretted it immediately, flinching and groaning and letting himself be swarmed by the darkest thoughts. Ones that involved finding a certain stranger and beating him to death with his own foot.

But the anger passed him quickly. Now, all he could think of was comparisons; how it hadn't looked this bad since he was a boy, how he had no mother to try and make it look as normal as possible. The Skaal had done well but his nose was almost pressed to his face beneath the bandages and it was hard to breathe through it. There was no telling what it would look like when they were removed.

Slowly and carefully, Felwinter forced himself to wash and dress. On a chair next to where the bucket had been, he found more layers to pull over the clothing they had already given him. Simple and plain, they were heavy with fur and smelled of smoldering firewood. He sighed and drew in a deep pull of air. He'd be home soon.

With no less difficulty than before, he pulled them on. With them, he felt the cold seeping from his bones like a spilled mead into a rag. He sat down to pull on and lace his boots. Then with another sigh, he stood once more and shuffled his way to the door.

The main area of the hall was illuminated mainly by the central hearth fire and torches along the wall added to that heat and light. Felwinter's eyes were on the people of the hall. Few in number, he recognized none of them from the day before but with the way mouths drew open and eyebrows jumped once their attention had landed on him, the experience wasn't mutual. He tried not to mind the stares as he made his way to the bottom floor.

A young woman was cleaning closest to the base of the stairs, blonde with a plain, kind face. Felwinter approached her, clearing his throat to get her attention. She saw him and jumped. Felwinter's hand came up to placate her. "Good morning. I apologize if I startled you."

She didn't respond, her eyes still wide. Then she bowed her head. "Please, no. That isn't necessary," he said quickly, "The two Nord warriors who came with me, my housecarls, have you seen them?"

"They have yet to wake, lord Dragonborn," she replied in a meek, light tone, "At least, they were still asleep when I placed the buckets within their rooms."

So she was the one. "I just wanted to be sure. Thank you. For my friends and the water." He bowed and she smiled. It was a small and strained one with no hand to his stomach. Such improper form, his mother would have him by the ear for such disrespect of a lady.

He left her to her work. Instead of going to his housecarls, Felwinter went the other way, towards the exit and out into the snow.

The emptiness of the main hall had been noticeable but expected. But when Felwinter went outside, he found himself stunned.

There was no one. The smithy, the cooking spit, the tanning rack, various stalls and buildings, nearly all were devoid of people. With who remained, he could barely call it a camp, let alone a village. Shimmering light caught his attention and drew it upwards.

It led him to a dome of gentle white light. Magical in origin, it spread across the sky and covered the entirety of the village to its borders near the trees. Seeing the trail of magic flowing upwards from the ground, Felwinter moved further towards the center of the village to find its source.

At the center, Felwinter found four small tents surrounding a small campfire. Each was occupied. Three women and a man, sitting cross-legged beneath the tent coverings, all facing the flames. Their eyes were closed and their faces held calm but focused expressions. He turned his eyes towards the sky again and then towards the treeline. There he spotted the chieftain, Fanari, he recalled. She stood overlooking the border with another villager at her side, holding a spear.

Felwinter thought it best to leave the mages alone. The snow deepened as he trudged his way to Fanari. Fewer feet than usual to walk over it, create paths or at least, press it down.

He catches some parts of the conversation as he draws closer. Mention of a man called Tharstan. A Nord by the name but the way they spoke suggested that they didn't consider him one of them.

"He went to the Stones and was taken by them," the spearwoman muttered, "We don't dare pull him away."

Fanari's face was a thundercloud. "Damn fool," she spat, "He was warned. The others?"

"Same as always."

Fanari hummed. Then she sighed. "Forgive me for always asking the same question. As if I don't know the answer."

"There is nothing to forgive in being hopeful."

Snow crunched beneath Felwinter's foot and that caught the attention of both. Only one looked surprised when they both turned. "You're awake," Fanari stated more than asked.

"Unfortunately."

"Your wounds?"

"I will live."

She turned to her companion. "Leave us," she said. The spearwoman nodded and quickly departed. When they were alone, before Felwinter could speak, Fanari did. "I guess you're here for answers," she said, "If your questions are about magic, those cultists or the Stones, I am not the woman. You'd be better off seeking out the shaman."

A forceful woman, resolute and straightforward. She even carried herself like a warrior. So he'd ask a warrior's questions. "How many did you lose?" Felwinter asked, "And how were they lost?"

Her features became a touch less severe. "Over half," she answered, tone uncharacteristically soft. But only for a second before she fixed him with another hard stare. "You already know how they were taken."

"I mean, how did so many of your people get so close to the Stones?"

Her eyes turned towards the grey sky. The snowfall was starting to slow. "We worship the All-Maker," she said, "Those Stones are ours. But when this first started, I...was too slow to act. A few would go the far Stones and not return for near a week. I would send others to track them down and then those would disappear as well. On and on it went."

She turned her eyes from the sky to the horizon. "It was only when I decided to arm myself and go did I see why."

"Did you get close?"

"No closer than any other before I began to feel the fingertips in my mind. I forbid everyone from getting near except for Storn and Frea. I then set my scouts to watch the Stones, shift out when necessary, never get too close. But even then, what we considered a good distance became 'too close'."

Felwinter had to turn the words over and over in his mind before they began to click. "The Stones' influence is growing?"

"So it seems," she affirmed, "You saw the mages? The barrier they were creating?"

"I did."

"The Wind Stone is closest to our village and now, the tendrils of its influence have begun to reach out. Before, Storn had heard multiple complaints from the remaining villagers about dreams. Disturbing ones. It got worse. People started sleep-walking." Felwinter followed her finger as she pointed it northwest of the village. "I would have stumbled to the Stone myself in the dark of the night, had Tharstan not found me."

"You were speaking of someone named Tharstan. He was captured."

"A mainlander Nord, seeking knowledge of us and our ways. Overly curious, dismissive of danger in the face of discovery." She shook her head. "But he had guest welcome and his capture is a stain upon my name."

Sleep-walking. Even in dreams, nobody was safe. Felwinter ran a hand over his beard. "I'm sorry to hear that. Shit, I thought things in Raven Rock were bad but the people aren't sleepwalking."

"Yet."

Felwinter grunted in both frustration and agreement.

Fanari's eyes roved over him, taking in his frame, his bandages, his fresh wounds and old scars. "I do hope Storn is right about you," she murmured. "This…" she looks around, "This isn't right."

Felwinter struggled to find words, wanting to give assurance he did not truly feel. She didn't let him. "I must see to the perimeter. Storn will wish to speak to you."

"Have you seen Frea?"

"She's to remain inside her room. Storn's orders as chief healer and father." She began to leave him. "Find Storn if you're curious but it is likely just bedrest. She's barely sat down since she returned."

Quickly, she left Felwinter alone. He stared up at the sky, at the faint light flowing over the village. He turned his palm face up and allowed a few snowflakes to drop into it, noting how easily they passed through the barrier. But the upkeep was constant. He doubts that it would last forever.

Felwinter returned and pushed his way back into the main hall. Instead of going for the curtain where he knew Storn would be, Felwinter trudged up the stairs. On the second floor, he passed by his own room to stop at the closed door next to it. He rapped his knuckles gently against the wood.

Gregor's quiet voice replied, "Yes?"

"Gregor, it's me."

Silence. Then shuffling and footsteps. "You don't need to open, I just wanted to remind you that we leave first thing tomorrow morning, so be ready for that."

"I will, thane."

"Any...any trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Nothing I didn't expect with my injuries."

"What about nightmares?"

Hesitation. "No, thane," he then said, "No nightmares."

"Alright. Alright, good." He pushed away from the door and started for Jordis, "I'll see you in the morning."

Felwinter passed through a curtain into a room, slightly larger than the others. Cabinets and shelves filled with bottles and scrolls lined the walls. A chair next to a burning fireplace, a large bed at the head of the room and against the wall sat a wooden desk, not unlike the ones Felwinter owned.

Storn's head turned slightly at the intrusion but he kept up his work, scratching down notes. "Felwinter, welcome. Find a chair," he tells him, pulling back from his writing.

Felwinter does as Storn takes up the paper and shakes it to dry the ink. Once Felwinter had sat down next to him, Storn held it out. "The ward against Miraak's influence," he explained and Felwinter nearly snatched it out of his hand, eyes roving over every line written down. "Learn it well, Felwinter. Then burn it after."

Felwinter looked at him. "You don't want this knowledge spread?"

"The spell I crafted manipulates the magic emanating from the Stones as they reach out. Any cultist gets a hold of it, they could take it to Miraak, counteracting my work." Storn sighed, "But if you feel you can make improvements, try, please. Just be careful."

Felwinter folded the paper and tucked it away, already feeling the prick of something akin to excitement. Same as always when it came to new magic he could learn. "As appreciated as this is," he said, "I get the sinking feeling you wanted to see me for more than this."

Storn chuckled. "I'm sorry to confirm your fears," he said, "But yes, there is more." He turned to the table and slid another slip of paper towards Felwinter. "Tell me, do you recognize this?"

Felwinter took one look at the runes etched into the sheet and his head began to ring. "This is Dovahzul," he murmured, "Language of the Dragons."

"What does it mean?"

"'Strength', in this context," he translated, taking the paper.

"Is it one of your Shouts?" Storn asked.

"N…" Felwinter blinked and looked harder. The ringing in his head grew louder. "No…"

Storn stared at him. "You don't sound very certain. Is it not a Shout?"

"It...has to be," Felwinter murmured. He held the paper in both hands. "I was able to translate it so easily."

"Is this surprising?"

"It's only ever that easy if I know it already."

A few beats passed before gentle realization crossed Storn's features. "You know this Shout."

"Well, I don't remember learning it." Felwinter huffed in bitter amusement. What in Oblivion did Miraak do to him?

"More questions for later, I suppose." Storn shook his head when Felwinter tried to return the sheet. It was folded and joined with the first one. "You heard my daughter mention my dreams, did you not?"

"I did. I had plans to ask about it later." Felwinter rubbed his arm when the pain began to flare up. "But I suppose later is now. So I'm listening."

"It always starts the same," Storn began, "I begin to feel ropes encircling me, like the tendrils of a netch. They wrap around my entire body, head, neck and they keep me from turning. From looking away at the world spread before me."

"What does this world look like?"

"You already know the answer," Storn replied, "A green sky lit bright with no sun."

"Apocrypha."

"I'll take your word."

"Alright, so you've seen Apocrypha in your dreams. I take it you smelled ink on the air too." Felwinter spread his hands, "What else is there?"

"There's been a change."

Felwinter's hands fell and he drew in a lungful. "You said it has remained constant since they started?"

Storn replied, "I did. Until one morning. I only saw this once. Afterwards, the dreams stopped entirely." Storn had his fingers interlaced in his lap. As he spoke, they began to fidget.

"I saw two dragons, Felwinter. Doing battle beneath the green sky, teeming with the All-Maker's fire." The fingers tightened. "It was fluid and graceful," he said, "But savage and bloody. Reminded me of a dance even. They rose in the sky together, tearing at each other. Then, they fell. The impact woke me in a cold sweat and with sharp, vivid memories. I never saw who rose. I haven't had the dream again."

Storn released his own fingers and leaned back in his chair, peering deep into Felwinter's unblinking, distant gaze. "You don't want to believe me, I'm sure. I didn't want to take it any more seriously than what it was; a dream. But I woke that morning from the dream and that same night, Felwinter, you arrived."

Whatever fog seemed to overtake him, Felwinter snapped back from it almost painfully. "Battered, bloody, unconscious but here. The first dragon." He put up his right fist and any protests, words of doubt or self-serving disbelief Felwinter still had died in his throat.

"You woke the next morning and one of the very first things you did was confirm for me what I had already dreaded. That Miraak was behind the corruption of the Stones. That he was still very much alive. The second dragon." His second fist came up.

"Two dragons." He put his hands together and locked his fingers. "Locked in a dance that will shake the world and shower it in blood. Maybe he rises in the end, maybe you, maybe neither. It is always the outcomes that are left unwritten and uncertain to us. Until they happen. Until we all make our choices and live with the consequences."

"'Living' being metaphorical, I take it?" Felwinter grumbled.

"Maybe, Felwinter. Maybe." Storn gave him a sad smile. "Grim portents, I know. But I would not disrespect you by mincing words."

Felwinter remained quiet for some time. He drew in a breath and then let it out in one shaky stream. Without, the only sounds were breathing and the crackle of flames but within, chaos rang behind his ears. The clamor of Daedra, the roar of Dragons, the screams of fighting and dying men. His name cuts through the noise and Felwinter returns to reality, Storn's gaze even and understanding.

"Why do you care?"

The older man blinked. His eyes filled with confusion.

"You're putting a lot into helping me," Felwinter said, "I know that you want your people back but this...this has clearly become something much bigger than that. I don't mean to seem ungrateful but...I just need to know."

Storn grunted his understanding and then turned his gaze back to the fireplace. After a slow minute of silence, he spoke again.

"I like the feeling of the morning snow against my skin, before someone yells at me to find a coat. The sprinkle of the flakes, the cold air stinging my lungs. Reminds me that I'm still alive." He turned back to Felwinter. "I like working through the day, knowing that this old, broken thing…" he pat his round belly, "Can still be of use to the world. I like coming home after all of that, back to the hall, to a warm meal, a full tankard and the people who matter most in this world surrounding me."

Storn gave a grin. "I like reminding my daughter of the feelings she once had for the neighbor's boy when she was so much younger. I like seeing her burn red, years after those emotions had faded into an amusing memory." His eyes became somber, his smile sad. "I like looking at her, hearing her speak, watching her make her way through this life and feeling as if her mother had never left us." He sighed. "I'm helping you because I like this world, Felwinter. I do not want it to end."

Felwinter kept silent but acceptance was clear, even in the storm of his eyes. "And if you are our best chance, then I will not see you face this challenge alone. Whatever help you require, you shall have it. All I ask is that you do what needs to be done."

Felwinter nodded. Then he said, "Sorry."

"For what?"

He gave a shrug and then mumbled, "That I'm your best chance."

Storn blinked again. Then he erupted into a deep, resounding laugh that filled the room and made his entire frame shake. Slowly, a grin began to spread across Felwinter's face; deeply uncertain but very much real.