Fire of the Gods
Two half-moons hung in the night sky. Their light flowed far to the ground, stopped short only by the trees that covered Falkreath Hold.
Even in the blackness, the beast that was Aela maneuvered through the forest expertly, scaling the rocky ledges and bounding over fallen trees as if she had been doing it for years.
Felwinter was right on her heels, keeping up the best he could. His paws were heavier when they struck the ground, his breathing loud enough to send the nighttime creatures scattering at their approach.
Aela jumped clear over a fallen log and through a thicket of leaves. When Felwinter followed, the world opened up into a wide clearing, where the light of the moons struck the ground unhindered. His eyes turned from the sky back to Aela and to Vilkas on her back. She was sniffing the ground, moving across the area. When she found what she was looking for, she lowered herself so that Vilkas could dismount.
Farkas slid off Felwinter's back, yawning deeply. It was late. They had departed through the Underforge when most of the Hold would be asleep and moved between buildings to avoid the guards on their nightly patrols. Aela returned to her human form and took the weapons Vilkas held out to her.
Felwinter stayed as he was, loping forward and scenting the ground for himself. Moving through the clearing, he smelled prey and lesser predators. He smelled solitary hunters trying to disguise their scents and bands of travelers grouping together for security and warmth. He smelled what he knew to be Falkreath, not too far away; it was how Aela could tell it was the right spot. But he did not smell what he was searching for. A month's worth of snow, rain and sun had cleared away any remnant of a trail.
Felwinter's fangs, fur and claws began to pull in, his spine shortened and straightened out. Felwinter rolled his shoulders, stretching the last of the beast's mind from his body. The anger stayed; it was his own, after all.
He took a moment to look west over the line of trees. He knew, not too far from where they stood, were the ruins of Helgen. He turned on Aela. "Which way did he leave?" he asked, making no attempt to soften his voice.
"I never saw their faces," she said, calm in spite of his mood. "Only smelled them and heard their voices. I tried to trace their scents but I could only smell them coming into the clearing, not leaving it."
'Them'. Two. Who…it didn't matter. The other one would be found too. "Could they have covered their tracks?"
"They'd have to have known Aela was there," Vilkas pointed out from the clearing's edge.
"No one does that until it's too late," his brother added.
"Then how did they leave?" Felwinter's voice echoed over the trees, "Where did they go?"
"There's something else I saw when I investigated." Aela stepped forward, towards the clearing's very center. "Camping supplies left behind here. No evidence of a struggle or hurry. And more than that, scorch marks. Tracing…" She pointed in one direction and then swept her arm around in an arc, forming a circle.
"And the smell…" she shook her head and grimaced. "Awful. Like rot; a carcass baking in the sun."
Following her direction, Felwinter went to the edge of the clearing. A small sphere of light appeared over his shoulder, illuminating the ground below and showing no signs of fire. Only tufts of dead foliage already being overtaken by those that were still alive.
He closed his eyes and delved deep into the magic at his core. With it, he reached out. Every part of Aela's description spoke to Felwinter of magic and he hoped against hope that even the smallest trace remained after all this time. Senses open to the world, Felwinter waited…and waited…and waited some more, until he could feel his senses failing, being clouded by his fear and doubt and anger. Was he too late?
His answer was subtle. A trace in the wind, it was small and in ordinary circumstances, would have drawn no attention. But these were not ordinary circumstances. The sensation hit him like a stone across his skull. In his mind, Felwinter saw green skies, smelled ink and felt his belly and chest squeeze with sickness and dread. The memory of the experience assaulted him so suddenly and thoroughly, the feeling of a hand on his back had him jumping and bounding several feet away, his near-panicked gasps the loudest sound in the forest.
Aela was the one who touched him. Farkas and Vilkas had approached while Felwinter had gotten lost in his own head. He was struggling to fill his lungs. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and back.
Then, the anger flooded in again. Without warning, he closed the distance between himself and Aela. He grabbed her by the arms. She resisted at first, trying to pull away, and the brothers' voices echoed against the trees, demanding to know what he was doing.
Felwinter ignored them all. "Are you sure?!" He was yelling, his voice almost shrill when he spoke through the tightness of his throat. "Are you sure it was him?!" He felt a hand wrap around his arm and try to pull him away.
Aela's chest was heaving as well. Not in fear but in fury. He could see it in her eyes. "I heard him when he murdered Kodlak," she seethed, her voice trembling. A murderous, furious glint appeared in her eyes. "I saw him laughing as he ran Kodlak through the heart. The heart, Felwinter. He was specific."
Aela looked down and sagged when Felwinter let her go. "He saw me when I saw him. He escaped before I could…" Her teeth clenched so hard, her head began to tremble. She turned her eyes back onto him, blazing now. "I will never forget that voice. He was here. I know it."
That was it. The final nail. The last, surest thing Felwinter needed to hear. Felwinter stumbled even further away from her, the world spinning around his head.
He pulled away from the others and moved even further back, hand going over his mouth. "You should have told me," he said. Quietly, at first. Then, he screamed it. "You should have told me!" His thundering voice reverberated off the trees and carried into the air.
"We would have!" Aela yelled back, "We wanted to. Moth made us swear not to tell you."
Felwinter eyes narrowed, the pupils as small as points. "What? Why?!"
She let out a rueful chuckle. "Your birthday. He wanted you to enjoy it."
Felwinter's breath began to come and go in heaves again. He started pacing, fists opening and closing. The smell of ink had wormed its way into his nose and refused to leave.
"Felwinter." Vilkas' voice was distant and quiet but still seemed to strike him like a bell. "This isn't necessary. You need to calm down."
"I don't need to do a godsdamned thing!" Felwinter turned on him.
Vilkas scowled. "We get that you're angry-"
"And you don't know a godsdamned thing." Felwinter stopped pacing. His shoulders and arms hung limply at his sides. "You don't," he said again, barely above a whisper. Louder, he said, "You don't know…because I haven't told you."
A few days. Nothing outside Whiterun's walls. That was his promise.
"Fel…" Farkas' heavy hand came down again on his shoulders. Felwinter didn't shake him off. "What are you talking about?"
Felwinter's mouth opened and closed. He swallowed thickly. "I…"
His eyes suddenly blew wide. They shot up towards the sky. Only a second later, a roar tore through their ears and rattled the world around them.
No time to warn, no time to think, Felwinter grabbed Farkas by his arm and wrenched him forward. As far as he could, Felwinter threw them both away from the center of the clearing. A ball of fire struck the spot where the two of them had been standing. The explosion rocked the ground and a choking black cloud of ash and dirt was thrown into the air.
Arm over his nose and coughing violently, Felwinter quickly got back to his feet, peering through the smoke for Aela and Vilkas. Just barely, he could make out both of them, unsteady but unharmed. Turning back, he held out a hand for Farkas to pull himself up but as soon as he did, another impact threatened to shake them to the ground. Felwinter didn't need to see to know what it was. It had been clear seconds before the fire, before the roar.
The dragon threw out its wings, covering the expanse of the clearing and roared again, sending birds fleeing into the air. Its eyes shimmered with the light of the fires it had set and the pupils were narrow as they stared Felwinter down.
He stared right back, wide and unblinking. Falkreath was near enough, he recalled. They would hear the roar, hear the explosion, see the smoke and stupidly send people to certain death to investigate.
This dragon could not still be alive by then. With a flash of light from the mark on his arm, Felwinter was armed and armored. At his back, he could hear Farkas retrieving the blade that had been thrown near the treeline by the dragon's attack.
From the dragon's back, four figures dropped. Stained brown robes, bonemold pauldrons, yellowed bone masks. Felwinter's teeth clenched painfully. His right arm began to ache.
As soon as their feet touched the ground, they were advancing. Thunder rumbled in the dragon's throat as it began to turn and face Felwinter and Farkas more fully. Before it could, an arrow suddenly cracked off his scaled head. Surprise silenced its growling for only a second. As it began to turn back, Aela had another arrow ready.
Felwinter wasted no time gaping. He took advantage of the distraction and charged the cultists. One of them turned and brought up a hand. Felwinter's left arm came up as well, a purple disc of magicka sprouting forward and stopping the bolt of lightning thrown his way. The spell was fired off again and again, Felwinter pushed through as he attempted to close the gap before his shield failed. But by the time it finally broke, the cultist was well within his reach.
Expertly, the cultist dodged left, narrowly avoiding Felwinter's blade from overhead. They jumped back. Before Felwinter could follow, the dragon's tail slammed the ground between them, throwing rocks and dirt into the air again, showering Felwinter and obscuring his vision.
The glint of moonlight on steel was his only warning. Felwinter twisted to face its source, another cultist moving in on his flank. They would have succeeded if Farkas hadn't shoved himself in between, sending the cultist hurtling back with the force of his charge alone. The other three moved in on them while the dragon turned its attention onto Aela and Vilkas, backing them to the treeline.
Out of the corner of his eye, Felwinter watched as Aela just barely avoided a gout of flame sprayed in her direction. She dropped the arrow in her hand but managed to hold onto the bow, breaking away from Vilkas and running in the opposite direction, forcing it to focus on only one of them. One of the cultists gets around Farkas and runs for Felwinter, short sword thrusting forward. The pressure that had been building within finally comes to a boil.
"TIID," He commanded and the world twisted to obey. The cultist's sword slowed in its movement, moving through the air longer than was natural. Felwinter twisted beneath, tearing a bloody swath with his own sword into the cultist's exposed belly.
He didn't wait to see his opponent double over and fall in slow motion. He roughly shoved them out of his way, running straight through an opening in the line of cultists for the dragon. Jumping, he landed and sank his blade into the monster's flank.
Time began to flow normally again. The dragon threw back its head and roared, throwing its leg to and fro in an attempt to throw him off but Felwinter held on for as long as he could. "Get to Farkas!" he yelled in the hope that he would be heard. In trying to save Aela and Vilkas, he had left Farkas to face three opponents on his own. He'd hold out but not long. "Quickly!"
Aela was the first to start moving. A short blade ripped from its sheath, she slid under the dragon's body, dashed towards the nearest cultist and ran the edge of her blade against the back of their knee. By the time they dropped to the ground, howling in pain, she had already moved on to the next. By the time they realized what had happened, the point of a greatsword sprouted from their chest in a fountain of blood, Vilkas kicking them to the ground right after.
Hanging from one hand, Felwinter ripped Zazikel from the dragon's leg, preparing to plunge it in again when the dragon reared. His grip failed and he went tumbling to the ground hard. He was on his feet immediately, moving away just before its foot could land. Running beneath its wings, Felwinter formed and cast a bolt of lightning into its torso, making it shriek again and jump away, rattling the ground. Facing him head-on, the dragon Shouted fire. Even with his ward so quickly thrown up, Felwinter could feel the heat scorching his skin.
The flames fell away quickly. Before he could start moving, the dragon threw back its wings and Shouted again. "FUS," it commanded and Felwinter felt as if the hand of Kyne had just lifted him off his feet. The breath was knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground again and his sword was sent clattering across the forest floor.
The dragon beat its wings once, twice, then lifted off the ground. The third beat took it even higher.
Felwinter deemed that to be far enough. Bringing himself up to one knee, he let the breath gather in his chest, rise to his throat, fly through his mouth and then rip through the world.
A wave of blue light struck the dragon head-on. Enraged, fearsome roars became confused yelps. Sure and steady wing beats became faltered and unbalanced. The dragon only managed to rise a tiny bit more before inevitably plummeting to the ground.
As soon as it landed with an earth-shattering slam, Farkas charged past Felwinter, sword stained crimson. With a fearsome cry, he sank his blade deep into the closest wing and tried as hard as he could to tear it down.
Vilkas took to the other side, moving while the dragon's eyes, teeth and voice were all aimed at his brother. He stabbed deeply into the leg, changing the oncoming Shout into a screech. It hopped away from him, nearly throwing Farkas to the ground. When the dragon's head turned to face Vilkas this time, two arrows sprouted dead center in its eye.
The monster screamed even louder than it ever had before, roaring and cursing in his language and theirs. When it lifted up on its hind legs once again, it was Felwinter who moved in. He ducked beneath the upraised body, barely-contained magic cupped in both hands. He brought them both up and with a yell, sent a narrow lance of lightning into the dragon's chest.
The magic ripped through scales and skin, charring both black. It pierced the flesh underneath and struck his heart. The bloodied, still-beating wings began to slow and soon its entire body followed suit. The dragon fell back down once more, its great body striking the forest floor hard enough to send crack the ground. It landed next to Felwinter who, without hesitation, thrust Zazikel into the side of its neck, pushing down to the tilt and spraying himself in the face with scalding hot blood.
The dragon's growls devolved into gurgles and then to nothing. The last echoes of battle faded to the wind, leaving the night silent again. Willing himself to release his vice grip on the sword, Felwinter turned to the other three. Aela pulled a sharp stone from her ribs with a grimace, Farkas helped his brother to his feet. All wounded, all breathing.
Felwinter turned back to the dragon. His teeth bared in a silent snarl. They followed him home. He should have expected this and deep down, he did. This hadn't been a close fight. Compared to the battles of his past, this was among the easier ones. Those cultists were given a dragon to attack him but not to kill; to send a message.
The entire world suddenly began to shift and twist in on itself. Magic filled Felwinter's senses as well as the air, deep and pervasive enough that everyone could feel it, instead of just him. Green bands of light began to shimmer between Felwinter and the corpse of the dragon but that was not what had him scrambling to put some distance between himself and it. It was the smell. The one that even in his short time having known it, he felt he would never forget. Above all, it was that same vicious tugging on something deep and hidden within him that frightened him the most.
The lights coalesced and took on a familiar shape. The golden mask appeared first and the rest of him close behind, narrow black eyes set upon him.
For a second, Felwinter dared to take his eyes away to look at his companions, confirming from their faces and the way they held their weapons before them that they could see him as well. And that they were a good distance away.
Slowly, Miraak lowered himself to sit on the bloodied, blackened neck of his dead dragon. He watched them, his silent gaze like a lance shoving its way into Felwinter's chest and out his back.
Silently, Miraak brought up his gloved hand.
Felwinter called Zazikel back in a blinding flash of light and held it between them.
Miraak never responded in kind. He never threw his hand out towards him. Instead, he brought it towards himself, almost contemplatively, staring at it like some kind of curiosity. Felwinter remained as tense as a metal spring, ready to jump, cast, Shout, whatever he needed to do to keep Miraak away from the others.
"Impressive, Felwinter." Miraak's voice was quiet. Felwinter felt as if the dragon was roaring in his ear again. "You are quick to a fight. And you can prove yourself an overwhelming foe with little prodding."
Hand still up, Miraak rubbed his fingers together. "I think…I am most impressed by your use of lightning. Since childhood, am I correct?" He asked. "The wrath of Kyne. The fire of the gods. It is hardly surprising that you are so drawn to it. One needs to be precise in its use and when done correctly, it evokes fear in the hearts of those with the sense to be afraid, like no other force does."
Miraak's hand burst. From his fingers flew bolts of lightning so brilliant and sharp and green that they lit up the entirety of the clearing like the morning sun. Felwinter staggered back, almost forgetting to keep hold of his sword.
"Ever since I was a boy," Miraak murmured, "You and I are so much alike."
Jaw clenching again, Felwinter demanded, "Tell me why you're here."
The emerald lightning disappeared, leaving them bathed in nothing but moonlight once again. Miraak's head turned towards Felwinter and the others behind him. "I was afraid I had been forgotten," he replied, unnervingly casual.
"You're a forgettable man."
Miraak's deep voice rumbled in a laugh. "I have an army-"
"And I have a sleep-deprived Farkas, what is your point?"
"And that army has swelled to even greater numbers in the time it has taken you to arrive at this spot."
Felwinter's mouth clamped shut, any rebuttal he had dying in his throat and nearly choking him.
"You rest, as is your right, by nature of your victory over one of my best. But can you afford to sit so idly by? Can the world?"
Felwinter's jaw flexed visibly under his skin. Beneath his temple, a vein began to throb. Through the strain, he asked. "The Khajiit. What happened to me during that fight?"
"You learned the futility of holding back on those who challenge you. I just had to…force your hand."
An avoidant answer. Felwinter let a long breath out through his nose. His hand tightened on Zazikel's handle. Then, he asked, "The elf who killed Kodlak Whitemane. Is he working for you?"
Miraak stared and said nothing.
"Don't lie to me, Miraak." Anger overriding his reason, he took a step forward.
Miraak continued to stare. Then he laughed again. "Time is running down, Felwinter," he said, his voice suddenly echoing off the trees. "My arrival and our battle will happen. Whether you and Skyrim are ready or not."
Miraak stood. The others tense up but Felwinter knew he would not attack.
Movement off to the side caught their attention. Hidden by the shadow of the trees he had crawled towards, one of the cultists rose to his feet, still alive, wounds seeping blood.
Felwinter heard one of the others behind him begin to move but put a hand up to stop them.
"Blasphemer!" The dying man roared, blade brandished. Slowly, he started forward.
Felwinter turned to Miraak. "You plan on intervening?" he asked, refusing to let the others move until then.
Miraak had turned towards his dead dragon, hands clasped behind his back. In response to his servant's voice, he hadn't bothered to turn back. "In what?" He asked, "The fight is over."
The priest put a hand to the dragon. From its body, roaring light shot up into the sky, curved and then plummeted, striking Miraak and flowing into him like water into a basin. By the time the last of the dragon's essence had been taken, Miraak had already faded into nothing, leaving behind the smell of rot and rain.
The cultist reached Felwinter. Twisting, Felwinter Shouted, ripping the blade from his hand and staggering his charge.
In a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, Felwinter saw the island of Solstheim around him again, felt the sand under his feet and ash in the air. A broken blade spinning away, a blast of fire destroying the trees. The Shout Felwinter had cast when he had been thrown from Apocrypha. The power it had given him. How it made everything go black. He could feel the word on his lips now and it took all his effort not to let it fall. His right arm began to tremble violently.
The world snapped back into place. Felwinter threw himself shoulder-first into the cultist's chest and knocked him to the ground. Then, he raked Zazikel across his face and neck, cracking the mask and sending a spray of blood across the forest floor. The cultist was left to silently gasp through an opened and gushing throat. He raised a trembling hand towards Felwinter standing over him, blood spurting past his lips as he tried to say something. Anger suddenly bursting through the seams, Felwitner took his other hand and shot lightning through the center of his chest.
The hand went limp and fell. The static made the man's body twitch for a few seconds more but soon, even that went still. Breathing hard, Felwinter looked at his hand, still stinking of magic and ozone and he cursed himself.
He looked back at the others to find all of their eyes upon him; waiting, wary. He leaned down to clean Zazikel off on the cultist's clothes, eyes catching on a face that had once been handsome before a blade had been taken to it. Felwinter closed his eyes and breathed.
Zazikel disappeared. "Make ready to leave," he told them instead of an explanation. Without waiting for their responses, Felwinter started towards the clearing's edge, leaving the dragon's bony corpse behind for the Falkreath guards to discover and pilfer.
The guards saluted as he and the others trudged up Whiterun's entrance. If they noticed the stink of blood and ash on their skin, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves, allowing them passage into the city proper.
Behind him, the others were whispering amongst themselves. "Head to Jorrvaskr and wait for me," he told them once they had passed Warmaiden's. "I'm going to get Moth."
None argue or comment but he can feel their eyes on his back as they pass him by. Felwinter stopped before his front door and watched them until they disappeared down the street. Then, he stepped off to the side, out of the light of the braziers lining the road. He pulled the crystal necklace from within his shirt and squeezed it until it was warm and Moth's voice filtered through. "Felwinter?" He had been asleep.
"Come outside. With Lydia. We need to talk." Felwinter cut the connection without saying any more.
Three minutes was all they needed. The door cracked open and Lydia passed through, eyes widening at his disheveled appearance and the very clear smell of hastily-scrubbed blood on him. Moth followed. His surprise was less obvious, his eyes only showing concern.
Felwinter pushed off the wooden beam. "Jorrvaskr, Lydia," he told her, "Walk ahead."
She nodded and started on her way, quickly putting distance between herself and the two men. Moth pulled their front door close and locked it. In step, he and Felwinter began walking together. "What happened?" he asked gruffly, getting straight to the point.
"What makes you think anything happened?" Felwinter kept his eyes straight ahead. "What makes you think he isn't long gone by now?"
Moth watched him silently for some time. Then, he said, "We were worried for you, Felwinter. We found out on a day that already held bad memories for you. I didn't want to add to that."
Felwinter was shaking his head. "That wasn't your decision to make. You should have told me, Moth."
"And what would you have done?"
"I would have found him and given him what he deserved."
"Exactly, Felwinter," Moth snapped, "You would have torn up the hold and likely yourself, just to get your hands on him. Do you think I enjoy seeing you like that?"
Both paused as a drunken pair teetered past them on the street. "It still was not your call to make."
Moth let out a long sigh, air rumbling deep in his chest. Then, he turned to Felwinter again. "I apologize for keeping you in the dark for so long."
His wording was specific. Felwinter was too tired to continue the argument. What was done was done. "I forgive you," was all he said, letting his hand graze Moth's just once.
Moth nodded. "Now what did you find in Falkreath? What came for you and the others?"
Felwinter let out a shuddering breath. "Reality, Moth," he said, "This little vacation is over. Probably never should have even started."
Felwinter pulled open Jorrvaskr's door and closed it once Moth was through. The central area was empty, everyone having retired in anticipation of their departures early tomorrow morning. Moth followed him to the lower level and down the hall towards the Harbinger's quarters. Felwinter still considered them Kodlak's quarters; his table, his weapons, his effects, his bed. Even boots the old Nord had thrown into a corner, likely to put them away properly at a later date, remained where they were.
Upon approach, they could hear the murmuring of low voices. Felwinter recognized Lydia's among them. They stopped as soon as Felwinter pushed his way inside. Divested of their armor, Farkas, Vilkas and Aela were patching themselves up the best they could. Felwinter pushed as much magic as he could into a healing spell and let it spread across the room. The dragon had been stronger near the end than he had anticipated. The spell it took to kill it had left his stores low and his body was too fatigued to replenish them properly. The best he could do was numb the pain. It would get them through the night at most.
Lydia stood from the chair she had taken to let him sit. Felwinter was too stiff to decline. His eyes flit about the room. "This everyone?" he asked, "No one outside this room knows about the Dunmer?"
His confirmation came in mutters. It was Aela who raised her voice first. "The masked man, Felwinter. Who was he? Those cultists, that dragon, I know he sent them. Why were you speaking to him?"
"You were attacked by a dragon?" Moth turned towards him.
"Aye," Vilkas answered, anger clear, "Just appeared over our heads from nothing."
"Why was his lightning so…green?" Farkas asked, likely more to himself than to the others. "Never seen you do something like that."
"It's rare," Felwinter answered. He reached behind his chair and picked up a bottle of liquor he knew would be there. The only things of Kodlak he helped himself to. He tore the cork out with his teeth. "I'm not that good of a mage."
"Felwinter!" Aela was getting angry.
Felwinter necked nearly a quarter of the bottle. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you." He pushed the bottle across the table towards Farkas. Felwinter pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the pressure building up within his head. "Those cultists were the ones who attacked me in Riverrun. The ones who found me on Solstheim and did…" he gestures to his still-healing face, "All of this. And the masked man is the one who sent them."
"Are they what kept you in Morrowind?" Lydia leaned against a small table in the corner of the room.
"Not directly. At least, I don't think so," he replied, "That..was another problem entirely. And the masked man…" Felwinter paused to swallow the lump in his throat.
He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together. "What I'm about to say stays between us," he told them all. "Not the Companions, not the Jarl. I'll tell them all in my own time but for now, what you hear does not leave this room. Are we clear?"
Looks were shared. Felwinter refused to speak until he was certain they understood. He still didn't want to speak, even now, with everything they had just seen.
But if they owed him truth, regardless of how he might feel, he owed the same.
So he told them. He told them of the All-Maker Stones, their corruption and those they had taken. He told them of the Ash Spawn who had attacked Raven Rock, delayed his return, and of Falx Carius. He told them of the ancient dragon temple near Solstheim's heart and the Khajiit who nearly defeated him there.
He told them of Miraak; who he was, what he was. He told them of Apocrypha; what was waiting, what was coming and how much everything rode on his shoulders.
His only hope was that he sounded braver than he felt.