Phoenix Burned, Dragon Born

by Morality is a Spook

Wounded from his escape from Realms of Chaos, The Witch King of Druchii found himself in the strange world of Tamriel. In the 4th Era, year 201, the province of Skyrim has lost itself in Civil War and ominous prophecy comes true as fate foretold. A hero has come, but can one cast as villain eternal mantle this glorious fate?

6. The Voice and the Twilight III

Phoenix Burned, Dragon Born

Chapter 4: Extracurricular activities I – the Voice and the Twilight (Part III)

Rated M for Malekith

Disclaimer: I own naught of these fictional characters

The erstwhile ruler of Naggaroth sneered with distaste as he dispassionately dragged his spoon across the sorry excuse of a soup that had been served him by the exceptionally rude innkeeper's sister or so he assumed. Silently he pitied Orgnar whatever was the man's name was, for the bartender of this establishment had been captured by such an unsightly creature that masqueraded as a woman. There was something about Delphine that while not arousing suspicion immediately made him note that she was hardly suited for the environment she resided and with barely concealed bitterness hated every moment of it. Starting from the way she served the patrons and how little she did to maintain the inn to the very movement she made, it was frankly at odds with her entire lifestyle, but who was he to pry as he was passing through. If she had been intolerable towards only to himself, the Elf would have assumed that she was simply prejudiced as the most humans and ignored it. However, her rotten attitude extended to every customer who had visited the only inn in Riverwood.

With biting remarks and sour attitude, it would have been more fitting that she repelled most customers than attracted them, but then again there were no wenches to be had here. The town was too small for such things to happen and being the single inn in Riverwood, it would keep its customers for they had nowhere else to rest until Helgen or Whiterun.

At the very least, for being a doormat, the male innkeeper was tolerable company, entertaining the Elf with local goings and happenings as the beer was consumed at a lousy speed, if one were to liken them to the Dawi. Surprisingly, the one offered was decent, contrary to the one he had received in Winterhold. Perhaps, there was still hope left for the race of man in his eyes.

"Greetings, brother Elf. Good to see a familiar face so far from home. Well not familiar, but you get what I'm saying, no offense, right?" Beside him came a voice and the tall warrior looked to the source of the sound and saw a smaller, gray-haired elf with a slight tan, which if he was correct was a Bosmer, this world's equivalent of Asrai. However, this kind was stunted and more bizarre if the texts about Valenwood had any truth to them.

"Pray tell me, what is it that brings you to my table?" Malekith asked out of common courtesy and the Elf embarrassedly scratched behind his ears "I'm Faendal, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance" the Bosmer introduced himself and for all the blundering, he did not lack politeness.

"Malekith" the black-haired sorcerer nodded curtly and discretely inspected his new conversation partner, the watery soup losing whatever smidgen of interest it might have held as he left the wooden spoon sitting in the liquid. His green and brown clothes seemed to be common make in Skyrim, yet the colour and bow on his back showed that the elf beside him was someone with some archery skills and perhaps was a hunter of sorts, which would pair very well with the nature of his elven subspecies. Of course, Malekith could have been wrong, but he would be willing to bet on it. After thousands of years, his intuition rarely failed him.

"-to convince Camilla Valerius to marry him. As if she would say 'yes.' An intelligent, beautiful woman like her wouldn't fall for that nonsense... I hope." With mortifying realization, the Witch King then realized that during the inane conversation that he had almost ignored, he had become privy to a love triangle involving two humans and an elf. With the Elf in question not being half as comely as his human rival. He could have just not interfered in the matter and left to Ilinata's Deep immediately, but here was a local who could perhaps show him to the location and perhaps even help the elf in the search for the Star on his own right now. With an assistant that were not coerced Daedra, he could even be on his way to High Hrothgar faster than he imagined.

"You 'hope'? You sound uncertain..." he trailed off, humouring Faendal, who seemed to slump down and uncork his own flask, before taking a swig, ears dropping a bit as whatever confidence propelled such an inane plan.

"I've been thinking... maybe Camilla needs a little help seeing Sven for what he is."

This already sounded complicated enough, but Malekith could make do. How hard was it to curse a bard to appear as a beast or the very least ruin his bardic career with destroying his voice "Could you... could you give her this letter, and say it's from Sven? I think I've matched that Nord's lack of cleverness perfectly."

What?

The Son of Aenarion did a double take at the proposal and silently looked the presumed hunter as if he had grown a second head.

"Should I deliver this letter…" ignoring the sheer stupidity and childishness of this idea and willing to grab this opportunity, did the Witch King whisper conspirationally "I would help you, if you would help me to find a place near the lake? I have little experience with Skyrim and would appreciate a guide to lake Ilinalta…"

"Alright, you got a deal" Faendal whispered back without hesitation and procured a small envelope from his vestments "Here you go".

Picking up the small note, the sorcerer nodded and without hesitation stood, rolling his shoulders and approached Orgnar, who was busy cleaning mugs, while with the grace of Asuryan, Delphine was nowhere to be seen.

"It would be alright if I left my things here for an hour?"

"As long as you come back for it today." The bartender replied gruffly and nodded at the green-eyed elf, who wasted no time to do this menial errand. It was unimaginable that he was delivering mere forged love letters, when he had governed nations and bound daemons to his will. If Morathi saw him now, she would keel over laughing, before offering her unneeded commentary. Yet if Malekith now thought of home, he would quickly lose sight of his immediate goals and become a captive of dreams that would only impede progress that needed to be made.

"Thank you"

Thus, he left to find one Camilla Valerius.

Familiar with the town he was not but hearing someone calling out the very same name from the Riverwood trader and a comely tanned woman walking out of the Riverwood trader, with a voice calling behind her.

"Don't forget to post that advert on the job board by the Inn, Camilla!"

"I heard you the first four times Lucan!" The black-haired woman cut back and sighed, clutching at her warm yellow dress as she headed his way, intent to seek the small wooden board where common bounties were listed. As she passed him, the tall elf, just slightly put himself in her path. With a soft thud, he felt the female body bump into his own and looking down, he saw even though her tan cheeks were flushed, her eyes were hard.

"Watch where you're going!" she hissed and the towering figure nodded his head and apologized "My apologies, however, could you be Camilla Valerius?"

"What do you want?" her gaze softened and Malekith pulled the envelope from his robes. Such a small scheme weighed very little on his conscience, while pathetic and desperate, getting Faendal's limited fealty was easy and worthwhile enough.

"A charming lad, I believe Sven was his name, told me to give you this letter" he offered the envelope and for a good measure gave the girl his most charming smile "he was quite shy about it"

With giddiness that was expected from a maiden, the brunette took the small parchment from his hands and as her eyes darted across the parchment and the disposition waned, her staring pointedly at him as she threw the fake letter to the ground.

"Another poem, I'll bet. He does know how to make a girl blush. What's this? There is no way Sven wrote it, right?" the human asked with a strained smile and knowing that this was a failure, Malekith had no wish to further play along with this ridiculous game.

"Indeed." He simply shrugged "What gave it up?"

"I know Sven and his poetry, while nothing special, this is still miles ahead from whoever wrote this tripe" perhaps Faendal was not only slighted in beauty, but also in artistic talents. This however piqued his curiosity. With a flick of his wrist, the letter flew into his grasp, before Camilla's wide eyes and the sorcerer wanted to gaze upon this masterpiece with his own eyes.

"My Dearest Camilla,

I yearn to have you as my own,

Washing my linens,

And my fine blond hair,

To cook my dinner from my stove,

And tend to my house while I wander.

Yours Truly,

Sven"

"This is…something" the elf emotionlessly read it out loud and incinerated the paper in his hands without a word. There was little doubt that Faendal's quest was futile and he would do his best to elucidate the elf on why this development had happened. Still it was best no evidence remained.

"Now, I admit that now it seems that I was a part of a conspiracy of sorts" Malekith chuckled, humourlessly, and Camilla's features softened.

"To call this a conspiracy is quite the exaggeration. You know my name and yet I don't know yours, stranger" there was no doubt that she was interested in him, but unlike his subjects, the Witch King found little sport in humans. Though short conversations hardly harmed anyone, especially since they were heading in the same direction.

"I am but a wanderer" he lied effortlessly, experience of millennia "and merely passing through when this was request was made".

"Passing through?" she innocently asked "perhaps you could take care of my request I was about to put on the bounty board? You do look quite capable" no doubt she was offering because of his large stature that seemed to even dwarf the Nords of Tamriel.

"I must refuse" he shook his head, wisely refusing to partake in the path that would lead him to a place unexplored and coffers to be filled, but he had an agenda to stick to. Nirya needed a teacher before the Dhar embedded in her own magicka would spiral out of control and turn her into a slave to her wasteful whims. Still, he was confident in Faralda's ability and Nirya's willpower to keep the taxing powers at bay. The planted seed would create a mighty sorceress beyond the College's might and a future for all his retainers in Tamriel, if only she could leverage her base needs with her objectives.

"It's a pity" the tan skinned woman winked at him "Though I hope you'd reconsider. My brother would pay handsomely for it if my gratitude wouldn't be enough for a small request to a warrior such as you."

"Only time will tell, but any man would be honoured to help a beautiful maiden. Alas, I have prior engagements that must be taken care of" the Witch King gave the Imperial a most charming smile, insincerity hidden behind a thin veil of charm. She offered a smile in return and sauntered off to the notice board, where she pinned the note and stopped to talk with one of the patrolling guards, who was deep in conversation. Using the opportunity, the Son of Aenarion slipped back into the inn, where he found Faendal sitting in the same spot where he had left him.

"I am appalled at that sordid excuse for poetry you had me give her" he sat down, not caring how all colour drained from the Bosmer's face, and he set down the mug in front of him "You best forfeit the woman."

"W-what do you mean?!" he choked on his own mead and leaned in, to whisper in Faendal's ear "She found out it was me?"

"No, but it would be best if you would refrain from making such attempts in the future and perhaps attempt this at a later date and with honesty…"

"That's remarkably simple" the Bosmer admitted "But how can I compete with Sven"

"Brother elf" he used the term most loosely to talk with the rather pathetic Mer beside him "If your love was true then shouldn't you win her heart instead of the minstrel?"

"Yes, I suppose I should" the archer was not as depressed as he could have been, but there was a positive outcome to the situation as with his lifespan, Faendal would eventually find a life partner more fitting than Camilla Valerius in his disastrous attempts and one that would outlive him and if his judge of the huma woman's character was correct, make the Wood elf's life full of misery.

"Also, the poem you penned was so atrocious, she immediately recognized that it was not written by your rival. So, if you were to approach her after this, I can almost certainly foresee that any attempts at courtship on your part would end in a blazing failure."

Upon hearing these words, Faendal grasped his head in his hands and groaned, at last realizing his foolish actions, not that it would help whatsoever "What have I done? Now I'll never have a chance-"

Malekith would have had the minstrel's mead poisoned and be done with it or have him stabbed in the dark of the night.

"That I did not say" the taller elf interrupted his new acquaintance, tired of hearing him moan and cry for such a meagre loss "Now sit down, before everyone in this inn shall know what you did."

As the Bosmer rose from his seat, the elder elf forcefully pushed him back onto the bench. Looking at black haired warrior with eyes wide, the Witch King sighed and elaborated. His arrival in Nirn seemed to have granted him more patience than he remembered ever possessing as he had sat upon the dark throne of Naggaroth.

"Sit down and listen" he sneered, narrowing his eyes "What do you think will come to your precious woman's mind when she will see us leaving the inn together?!"

Not allowing the smaller elf to even retort the Son of Aenarion continued to illustrate all possible shortcomings "She, being your intellectual superior, will rightfully figure out that you are the mastermind behind this clumsy plot. However, not all would be lost. When her line will continue you would be able to try for her child's or even grandchild's hand. Of course, should you live long enough to see it."

As his insults broke down the male beside him, the ancient elf did not feel an ounce of pity. Maybe this one was useless, but should he perform his duties then the least the sorcerer could do was make him embrace his nature and coax out the elder spirit that had rotted and languished during his stay of Riverwood. If he were to use more flowery words, the Elf before him was a tree starved, its roots fruitlessly trying to feed from an arid soil. He would wither here and within a generation after his death, no one would remember his name. Not that this was an uncommon fate for many, here on Tamriel or in the world from which he had hailed from.

"I will leave now and after slowly counting to hundred you will walk out through the back door of the inn and meet me a hundred feet from the city gates in the direction of Lake Ilinata. Should you decide to assist me further after we find the location I seek, half of the spoils will be yours."

Faendal quietly nodded, yet there was a feeling that the topic was still not quite closed.

"What exactly are you looking for?" he looked at the tall warrior and to Malekith, the elf was much more subdued now, the previous nervousness and doubt slowly receding.

"An insane wizard took something that wasn't his and sequestered himself in a nearby fort. I wants this item, thus I shall have it" Malekith elaborated or rather factually informed his companion, eying him with hidden interest "I trust you have no problems with this?"

"As long as there isn't any undue slaughter" Faendal shook his head and that was an answer he was most pleased to hear. Perhaps he wasn't worthy of being an elven warrior or even capable of being a soldier of the Dark Elven hosts, but perhaps there was power, and purpose hidden in those greying hair that would reveal his potential.

"If the wizards will acquiesce to my demands, we shan't have a problem."

"I see…"

With that Faendal left with his shoulders slumped and Malekith turned to Orgnar, who eyed him with curiosity.

"Youth are often blind to their own rashness" he simply said and the Nord behind the counter shrugged as the elven sorcerer vanished in his room to retrieve his belongings.

As the two Elves later met on the southern outskirts of Riverwood, Malekith noted that Faendal was not discontent with the task ahead of him and that suited the elven king just fine. The Elf had come wearing no armour, only a bow and a hatchet by his side. A foolishly brave decision, giving the fact they were going to trespass on mage territory, but then again the Witch King noted that in Skyrim, the wizards seemed not to put a lot of stock in magical wards, barriers or traps, instead relying on their conjured, reanimated or employed minions to do their bidding, which just baffled the sorcerer, who had had enchanted Naggarond so that every move made was known and no crook or cranny was safe from his gaze, had he so wished.

"Ilinaltas Deep, what can you tell me about the place?" he asked Faendal as they finally passed the bridge and turned from the dirt road and on the opposite shore, knee deep grass bended as their footsteps trod past Riverwood.

"Where are you from?" Faendal asked as the two passed a small shack on their way

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Well" the shorter elf eyed him from top to bottom "I really haven't seen any elf that looks like you"

"No offense please" the Bosmer stammered at Malekith's raised eyebrow as the sorcerer looked ahead at the blue water of the lake. He had recognized that these elves were different than himself, but the difference had never seemed that noticeable to him. Perhaps Faendal just possessed better eyes or was just more polite than his acquaintances at the College of Winterhold.

"It is unlikely that you will see another" the emerald eyed sorcerer shrugged "and should you value your life, you will leave it at that"

"Alright, whatever you say…"

"Good"

Then the two settled into a comfortable silence and continued their trek. As the unlikely pair reached the spot where the White River flowed from Lake Ilinalta, the Witch King beheld the small islets that marred the smooth surface of the dark blue water as midday sun bore down on them. Far in the distance a roar could be heard, and the hunter whipped out his bow, arms clumsily clutching the bowstring as Malekith himself opened himself to magic that permeated the air. The Dov was likely on the plains of Whiterun and if the creature did not assail the Elven sorcerer, then the erstwhile king of Druchii had no reason to face the beast. Especially if he had a liability with him.

"Gods, what was that?!"

"A Dragon, most likely" he rolled his eyes at the archer's terror "Something that we can deal with rather easily once we return"

"How in Oblivion can you be sure about that?! The Dragon can raze Riverwood by the time we get back".

"Its kin was felled recently, and I doubt this one would be as keen to meet its demise the same way by attacking without caution. These beasts do possess some knowledge" he replied boredly, but Faendal wouldn't hear none of it. The Mer shook his head rigorously and if anything, Malekith was disappointed.

"Still, I have to go and warn them" the Bosmer's ears dropped a bit as he smiled apologetically "Maybe we –"

However, the pitiless gaze full of freezing cold stopped Faendal in the middle of the sentence. Before the Invasion of Ulthuan, he would have flayed the coward himself.

"Go, your help is no longer neccesary" the sorcerer uttered, looking at him dispassionately. Then he walked forward, not even looking back at his temporary guide. The Elfin Lord was reminded how few beings were truly reliable, and this was unchanged on Tamriel. The compliance of lessers could be only enforced by a position of power and further incentives. The ancient sorcerer noted to himself that next time such a venture would be accompanied by a loyal retinue, yet where could he find such elven individuals? He had Faralda, but that was too little. Perhaps summoned Daedra or Atronachs would serve well until truly exceptional mortal servants were found. He would even overlook race in this world for they all were not his kin, not truly.

Ilinaltas Deep was not what he could have expected from a wizard's lair, but it did make for a reliable hideout, in which one would hide from their foes. After all who would suspect a master wizard hiding in a decrepit, run-down fortress that had almost sunk into the lake's shore. It was little more than a mossy pile of rubble, with vague forms of battlements remaining out of the lake's grasp. If he had made an assumption, the defence infrastructure of Skyrim was more than lacking, yet its harsh climate and terrain, much like Naggaroth would make it a difficult battleground. Yet it had not experienced external warfare since the 2nd Era, according to the history books and it did make for a reasonable excuse why the two fortifications he had seen were left to rot in figurative sense. Over the tower which remained above the waterline, two figures of flying monsters, imps if he recognized the creatures from Varieties of Daedra correctly. From the treeline his figure was mostly obscured by the pines, but even if the trees had not blocked his way, the lesser daedra vicariously chatted with one another in the tongue of Oblivion, one to which Malekith had not privy to.

It was likely that they were summoned to keep guard and as half eaten corpses of three wolves bearing burn marks on their bodies surrounded the two, he had a reason to suspect that they knew some smidgen of magic.

Smirking, Malekith gathered magicka in his person and weaved from the magic of Tamriel a bolt of white light that had found its origins in his home realm. It sprung from his open palm and with a sound that was reminiscent of a clap of hands sailed through the air. In his mind, the sorcerer split the bolt in two and in flight it did so, spreading out to hit the two imps. The creatures raised their hands in attempt to raise a ward to protect themselves, but it was too late as the Witch King's spell penetrated their hasty defences, white lightning turning their small bodies to ash as they vanished from Mundus.

Hardly a challenge, but he supposed that it was better to act swiftly now. Seeing the hatch in front of him, the towering warrior understood that it was the likeliest of places of entry. Not risking any traps, he gathered magicka from the air and sent an incinerating bolt of orange flame at the hatch, watching it turn to black ash. A white mirror cracked and Malekith was fully aware that they knew he was there. It would be boring to catch them unaware and pulling out his curved sword from its makeshift sheath, the pale elf noticed that the Destroyer's runes were glowing more faintly than usual, perhaps it was the magic of this world that was influencing his weapon.

First thing that greeted the Witch King of Naggaroth as he entered the submerged complex was that the skeleton nailed on T shape wooden construction was quite tame compared to the Druchii standards and would have elected only the minimum emotional response from even the newest recruits in his armies. Shaking his head, the sorcerer cracked his neck, rolling his head from side to side as he grasped the Spellshield's brace, whose bent form he still needed to straightened out somewhat in near future.

Sword in one hand and shield in another, he was reminded of the days of hunting Morathi's cultists in Naggarythe. He supposed that they could be considered a similar breed and while he was now not on a mission to imprison and kill his own countrymen at the behest of incompetents, the practicalities did align quite well. Sardonically he thought to himself that there was no way in Ereth Khial's realm that he would spare Malyn Varen and waver from his quest to gain Azura's support. Independent he may have been, but the Witch King needed allies to fully thrive in this world.

To his disappointment, his foes were woefully unprepared for his assault and the Destroyer was bathed in blood as the Elven warrior carved a bloody path of limbs and viscera through the adept mages and their sellswords that were guarding their master. He had been assailed by thunder, fire, poison and frost as they sought to stop his massacre, but like rain, the spells splashed against the shield like raindrops or were absorbed by his wards, strengthening the shielding spell. As he butchered his way to a barred chamber door, his mind was awash with new knowledge and the basics of necromancy, which he had no wish of knowing. Such human perversion of Dhar had been beneath him and it had not changed here. Necromancy was for lesser peoples than the Elves.

As he came up the winding spiral stairs made from stone, he quietly pressed his back against the wall that hid him from the ajar door, where a conversation could be heard between two men.

"More souls are needed for the Star. The last one died before he could be harvested." One man clad in dark black robes tied by a green sash complained to his fellow as a skeleton stepped out of its wooden casket. Sighing his compatriot replied, another elderly elf with a white sash on his robes, denoting a rank, which Malekith had no way of guessing "We can't take another villager from the surface so soon. I told you to prepare everything properly."

To Malekith's amusement some things did not change among more amoral magicians were they his own sorceresses, vampire lackeys or these magelings "We can just sacrifice another disciple, Apprentice Haerlan will be no great waste."

Having heard enough, the sorcerer strode into the doorway and instead of casting a spell or rushing into battle, he shouted.

From the depths of his soul came the magic ensorcelled by memory of Skyrim's vicious tundra, the millennia spent in Naggaroth, cold winds licking at his form. Shards of ice freezing the unprepared to the very bone. This memory could only amplify the frigid cold that he knew deep within his soul.

"IIZ"

Unlucky younger necromancer and his reanimated minion were frozen in solid block of ice, while the older one escaped the same fate, by dodging to the side and throwing up a strong ward by two of his hands that managed to mitigate the strange ability of the dragons, only freezing the hem of his robes and the edges of its sleeves.

Wasting no time, the Druchii lord dashed at his foe, before he could prepare to cast a spell had swung his blade at his chest but found that his strike was blocked by an icy fist that was forming from the ice in front where the ward had been.

"I know not why you have come, but you seek death, stranger!" the dark-skinned elven mage snarled and gathered a crackling bolt of lightning in his hand and let it fly at the elven sorcerer. As it contacted the Spellshield, the harmful spell sunk into its depths, pushing its wielder slightly back. Whistling at the power of the spell, Malekith decided that it would be only fair that he would return the favour and unleashed the stored magicka of the shield.

Suffice to say his opponent was left in no shape to fight him.

His arms had been torn off by the sheer force of the blast and legs bent unnaturally as he had been knocked against the circular wall of the chamber, where tears streamed from the elderly Dunmer's face as he had gone clearly into shock. Leisurely approaching him, the tall elven warrior knelt down to his eye level and muttered a spell of healing. It closed the wounds and stemmed the bleeding but was not enough to bring back the spellcasters arms. As it was intended…

"Tell me where is Malyn Varen and I will make your death painless" he stabbed the shield between the incapacitated wizards legs and waited for the answer to come from the necromancer's lips.

"Heh, you can't take him, Master Varen is beyond your reach, N'wah" despite the pain, still came the smug reply from his victim and Malekith sighed.

"I rather hoped that you would make this easy-"

"Not on your life bastard-AGH!" the necromancer coughed and cried out in pain as the Destroyer was slowly stabbed in his chest, his stumps of what were his arms used to be flailed helplessly, but to no awail. With grim satisfaction the dark sorcerer watched as light fled his eyes in pain as the magic knowledge was siphoned into the blade.

"So be it" Malekith spoke lightly and let the body slump against the wall as he dragged the sword diagonally down the necromancer's chest and withdrew the bloody sword from the corpse as the smell of ruptured innards assaulted his elven sensibilities. Twitching his nose in distaste, the wizard tore down the nearest banner to clean his blade and spared one look at the most recent corpses left in his wake. None of them had wanted to parlay or beg to be spared initially as they had faced the Witch King and thus paid with their inaction by having their magic devoured and their short, inconsequential lives ended by his hand. A fate all too common for Malekith's enemies.

Treading onward he found no significant resistance, save for a room that was barred by a more powerful ward, one that required more effort in breaking than the magicka needed to cleanse the crumbling fortress from its enemies. Still, it was not Malekith's first time facing wards and other magical seals, thus it was more a learning exercise than a true trial for the Elven Lord as he grasped the underlying principles behind the magical barrier. A two-wheel matrix of runes and magic was what separated him from the locked chamber.

Its design was that of a large circle with two inlaid triangles and smaller circles, surrounded by runic script, which denoted that entry was forbidden once the seal was re-established. Supposedly this seal required two wizards to work in tandem and use mixtures of the same basic elements used in layman sorcery to synchronise magical energies emanated by the seal, acting as a key that recognized the magicka cast and the intensity of the spell. Luckily for him, Malekith was no novice and mixing magical energies was an exercise in the rudimentary. A mage of his power could have torn them away like a cobweb, but there was no telling what could happen if he hastily brushed the wards away.

The Necromancers or Malyn Varen had chosen the common, but opposite elements of fire and frost to power their seal, which pointed that this seal was not necessarily used to guard something too valuable, which made the sorcerer's task much easier. For a moment he put away his armaments and, in his hands, the magic was moulded into a crackling, orange flame in his left hand and frigid frost formed in his right one.

"And it's going to be like this, I reckon" the sorcerer muttered to himself, and crossed hands turned away from himself, so that fire faced frost and vice versa. The fire and frost now bloomed on both hands, each occupying two fingers on the hand. Twisting his wrists, the sorcerer imagined the action as if turning a key, which then was repeated with the gesture of his arms, moving the smaller circles, accordingly, eventually settling for the position where the largest residue of magic remained that he could sense. The last piece of puzzle required him to channel the spells for the seal to recognize his authority. Flame and frost flew from his fingertips impacted the seals, blue and orange light intermingling as a clear chime of a distant bell signalled that the barrier had been unlocked.

Inside a grisly sight welcomed Malekith. In the deepest reaches of the chamber, illuminated by almost burnt-out candles, surrounded by dozens of damaged skeletons, each in varying states of decomposition, apparently what was left of the mage Varen laid in black tattered robes on a makeshift throne- a yellow, eyeless skull staring at whoever would be brave enough to enter the crypt. On the ground in front of the throne was another circle matrix, only inside laid a dull purple gem- fashioned out in the form of a star.

Funnily enough, the Witch King had expected something grander, although from the magic radiating from Azura's Star it did make him wonder whether or not had the mad mage succeeded.

"A pitiful sight, I expected something more" he scoffed at the corpse and looked at the jewel in its grasp. Hand reached out to grab the trinket the Daedric Prince sought, but his thoughts turned to the moment where Malekith had first found the Iron Circlet that had rested on his brow for so long. When he had touched the artifact, it had allowed the force contained within to reach Malekith and if this wizard had tampered with the Star in the ways the Witch King knew that mortals loved to, there was little doubt that wicked surprise awaited him should he touch the item directly. Grinning viciously, the sorcerer sheathed his blade and extended his hand towards the Star of Azura.

However, his experience proved to be a boon as soon as he had grasped the blackened gem, it rose into the air before the sorcerer, flexing its spectral limbs to grasp him and pull the Elf's very being inside it. Grunting, Malekith gathered the energies of Aetherius and wasting no time, blasted the possessed crystal with all his might. The artefact was not deformed, but inside he could feel the immediate recoiling of this inanimate foe.

"So, you are Malyn Varen" he spoke aloud to the entity inhabiting the Azura's Star "It seems that you succeeded in your research, somewhat".

Receiving no answer other than the dancing glow of the artefact that dimmed and brightened as it mimicked speech, the sorcerer sheathed his sword and beheld the artifact. Once it had been a beautiful treasure of aquamarine gems and silvers, eight rays shaped like snakes. Yet now it was ruined, rays bent and some of the gems missing. Varen was evidently a madman who loved to scorn divine beings so openly, this was something of which Malekith was guilty of himself, bearing marks in the depths of his very soul. He had been burned for his impudence and if he could help it, he would never return to that state of being.

He could not imagine such the existence as Malyn Varen, trapped inside this gem, being fed souls for eternity and lacking a physical body to interact with the world, to feel mortal pleasures…These and many more were just more reasons to hate the undead sorcerer.

As he had the item in question within his grasp, albeit corrupted, the Witch King had completed his quest for Azura, only one problem remained- He could not kill the wizard without destroying the artifact. He was certain that it would be doable, however, with great difficulty and he would not rather destroy an artefact of a Daedric prince, lest he incur Azura's wrath, as benign as she might have seemed.

Instead, the Elven King had a different solution in mind…

Clasping his hands in front of him, he sat the ruined star on a table, kneeling on the floor, green eyes blazing at the gem. He was aware that should he draw the attention of Daedra willing and listening, they could be able to send their servant to him once his magic reached out to summon the being.

In tongue of Dunmer, Malekith chanted, having learned the prayer from the Book of the Good Daedra, one that was dedicated to the Prince of Dawn and Dusk, She Who Dwelt in Twilight- Azura.

His hands now were alight with sorcerous power as he sought a Daedra who would answer the call of the summoner. Feeling slightly drained, did only Malekith manage to finally beseech one of the daedra that dwelt in Moonshadow. Yet as the silhouette appeared from the depths of the swirling void, the sorcerer was almost struck how mundane it looked.

Before him stood a Daedra of comparable beauty to his sorceresses, gifted with a dusky tan skin and azure locks, clad in shimmering gown that covered her more like a cloak than a dress. Its colours changing before his eyes as a faint smell of sweet perfume filled the air. Only thing that betrayed her unnaturalness beside the hair was two small horns that seemed to be grown from pure gold, sitting above her eyes, picture of symmetry.

"Greetings Outsider" the Daedra bowed deeply "Fervently you have prayed to my Lady, but matters of Moonshadow are not to be ignored. Instead of Lady Azura,in your misfortune, you summoned one of her 8 handmaidens-Quinque, the 5th ".

It was illuminating and concerning that Daedric Princes themselves could freely traverse Mundus, unlike the Chaos Gods and it again reiterated the point that rules that bound Malekith in his own world did not apply here and if anything he needed to be more careful. Seeing Quinque, he rose from the ground and procured the artefact from his pack. Her reaction was severe, the beatific features twisted into a sharp toothed maw and her dress became a pair large wings with talons like knives, looking at the bejewelled star, the creature hissed like a hydra. Remarkably the anger faded quickly as she no doubt saw the desiccated corpse of Malyn Varen that undoubtedly would have offered a balm to the rage she felt.

"I summoned you here to witness the fulfilment of mine bargain and return Azura's Star to her rightful owner" he explained, but there was a shake of her head that made the emerald eyed elf to pause his next words about Varen's death.

"It is too late" she hissed, angrily throwing a ball of fire at the skeleton, incinerating it so nothing, but ashes remained "This faithless worm has already defiled my Lady's jewel, putting his disgusting anima within it. A curse beyond my powers to lift. Only my mistress can safely rid it of the taint and grant this parasite his just judgement".

"Are you at least able to take it to her?" he asked, and his spirits sank as she shook her head, looking dutifully ashamed of her own incompetence.

"My apologies" the being shook her head, biting her lip from the distress "The curse placed on it is made by a rival prince, though I know not who. I cannot touch it"

"So, what should I do with it?" Malekith asked, crossing his hands over his chest, eyebrow raised "I can just attempt to destroy it and it should destroy Varen's spirit and allow the artefact to be reformed-"

"NO!" the Daedric handmaiden protested, morphing again into her beastly form "YOU MUSTN'T!"

"What then?" he asked icily and her attitude changed as she once more calmed down, having the gall to look as if she felt a sliver of shame.

"Deliver the Star to my Mistress' shrine, where mortal hands are closest to reach and she shall see the parasite expelled" the Daedra explained and to the Witch King, it was not a reassuring sign. Still, he nodded to the spirit and clasped his hands together to concentrate on dispelling his summons.

"Thank you for your time, handmaiden of Azura" Malekith offered her a smile, which she returned whilst nodding her head "Inform your mistress to await my arrival"

"By your will, Outsider" were Quinque's last words and then Malekith was left alone with the corrupted artefact, the liche within and tomes upon tomes of unethical magical research. It truly would have been a shame to leave it all here for someone to find.

With each book Malekith perused, he couldn't help, but feel the lingering presence of the deranged wizard, whose mind was consumed by forbidden knowledge. These tomes, filled with great power and madness, offered both a tantalizing glimpse into the arcane and a warning of the perils that come with delving too deeply into the forbidden realms of magic. Perils which Malyn Varen thought that he could best.

The tomes, instructions and scrolls could have proven to be useful and without hesitation, the warlord shoved his spoils into a leather satchel to accompany his backpack and swung it over his shoulder and not sparing a single look at what had been the Dunmer, Malekith shook his head at the foolishness of it all and trudged to exit the lair of the insane mages, paying no heed to the dead corpses littering the hallways and one had even attempted to crawl towards the exit, his body barely clinging to life as he attempted to heal the wound the Destroyer had left. Malekith passed him slowly and extended a finger. The mage managed to wheeze out his last breath and collapsed, a hole in his blood-stained robes sizzling with smoke as flame licked at edges of the cloth surrounding the cavity. Once the sorcerer was certain that the soul had left his last victim's body, he surmised that perhaps he had not been thorough in his extermination of the pests and once he reached the chamber leading to surface, Malekith put his hands to his mouth and breathed out a cloud of deathly poison from his memory, one he had used prior in his failed conquest of Ulthuan.

As a creeping serpent, the cloud rolled throughout the room and the elven sorcerer let the magical doom settle in the halls of Malyn Varen, a clear warning and a trap anyone interested in the morbid rumors. Once outside, curiosity did get the better of him and the elven warrior trod along the shoreline to see if Riverwood had been assailed by the dragon and found it unmolested, no signs of the dragon's presence there, much to his own disappointment.

After two consumed souls, the Elven Lord could feel his power increase and naturally hungered for more.

When the Witch King finally reached White River that flowed from Lake Ilinalta, with distaste, he found that the closest bridge was where he had crossed the bridge with Faendal in their trek towards the submerged fortress and he was not going to waste his time heading back to the settlement and making his journey longer than necessary.

Gathering magicka, the sorcerer whispered, and the winds howled around him. His cloak and clothes fluttered, while his weapons rattled and with a blink of an eye, Malekith sailed over the river and gliding on the air found a road, a mile outside of Riverwood, where the stone road curved like a serpent along the coastline of White River, before travelling steeper towards Helgen, an old Imperial outpost in Falkreath and his next destination before he would stop in Ivarstead to spend the night before moving to High Hrothgar with appropriate supplies, for even his magic could protect him from the elements,but food he could not conjure.

His sabatons marched on the stones without caution as the sun started to descend from the sky. A beautiful view of the lake and its surroundings could be seen from the standing stones as he had read from the various guides to Skyrim, before his departure from Riverwood. The mystical stones were said to follow the movements of special constellations that effected every mortal on Nirn. It was understandable that they were useless to Malekith, even if he attempted to gleam their secrets. Still, he stopped to take in the sight and inspect the statues, running his hands down the intricate patterns etched in it, he could feel their power, but he could not touch it. No bitterness was there for Malekith enough powers that their boon was not needed. Turning his back on the stones he proceeded towards Helgen and when he found it, it let lot more to be desired.

The city was a husk. Battlements were left in disarray and a toppled tower was enough of evidence that recently the town had been stuck. One part of the wooden gates was lying underneath a hearty cover of snow and Malekith's ears picked up movement in the distance, that of feet treading on a branch. Two people, moving quietly and quickly. Not turning his head to see who it was, the elven sorcerer quickly entered the ruins and seeing the destroyed wooden buildings, their charred carcasses and burned corpses partly sticking out of stone, there were enough places for him to hide, but perhaps he did not want to…

Instead, he quietly tapped into the magicka of Aetherius and called forth a Daedra and this time, it was a pale and naked woman with inky black hair, darkness pooling at her feet, stepping out of her shadow at ease, fragile bone structure and features giving him the distinct impression of something avian. She met his eyes and her own was pitch black, the creature of oblivion smiled.

"Hide" Malekith commanded "Attack when I do and you shall have enough to sate your bloodthirst"

Tilting her head at him, the long black hair swaying in the wind, she nodded after a second of deliberation and smiled- revealing pearly black teeth. If this was some attempt at intimidation, it failed and Malekith watched her slink into the shadows and vanish, he thought that perhaps this was a Shrike, a servant of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal, who had a rather controversial actions in the 2nd Era of Tamriel.

Now all that he had to do was wait and, not wanting to be careless, he withdrew his armaments and with a spell turned them invisible, fading from his hands. Still that made it seem that there were chunks of his arms missing, but he was quite sure that to those who followed him it did not matter one way or another.

It was not long for him to finally see just who had been trailing him and their appearance seemed harmless, but they had reached him on foot and ever since he had landed, the elven king had seen no other travellers on the road.

"Good day to you" the old bald man spoke as he smiled kindly, which caused the wrinkles on his face morph giving him a wizened appearance. He was dressed in clothes that seemed to be that of a merchant, his hands behind his back, no weapons hanging from his belt "Might I be so bold to trouble on your journey?"

"You may, but make your words fast" the Witch King played along, looking at the old man's companion, who was a tall and quite hardy Nord, a large battle-axe of iron strapped to his back. Unlike his companion, his eyes were hard, and he could have easily been mistaken as a surly bodyguard. However, Malekith saw in his eyes an animalistic sort of hunger, a past-time for the most depraved of his minions, one that was stamped out with extreme prejudice.

"Are you Malekith of Naggarond?" the old man asked, his gray eyes squinting "I believe there is something important you may want to know…"

"And what would that be?" the emerald eyed warrior tilted his head and the two slowly approached him, stepping through the stone gateways, looking at the corpses and ruin with no emotion, except the hairy human sniffing as if he was tasting the human flesh in the air.

"I am uncomfortable with these news" the old man feigned shock, quite convincingly indeed. The two of them were within thirty paces and through the bond with the Daedra, the sorcerer-king directed her to take positions behind the pair and wait "But you have assassins after you…"

"Oh really…" Malekith raised a single eyebrow "And who you might be?"

"I'm Festus" the old man then pointed to the axe wielding Nord "and this is Arnbjorn. You seem like you could be challenge. Nothing personal, the Black Sacrament has been performed and the Night Mother calling for your head, surely there will be no hard feelings-"

Last part was said with a pleased smile and a fireball was lobbed into the Witch King's direction. Spellshield revealed its existence and the spell bounced off its enchantments and sailed at the wizard, who ducked out of the way and onto the Daedra's shadowy blade with which she exited her own invisibility.

"Festus!" the warrior called as he saw the naked creature slam her sword in the other assassin's sides, rushing towards them with his own axe drawn. It was all that was needed for the Witch King to prepare a pure bolt of Dhar to launch at these two interlopers and the caustic violet missile of pure might shot from the tip of his outstretched sword, sailing at the three beings engaged in violent battle.

The summoned Daedra managed to block the axe with her own sword, but leaving her wounded prey was pure folly as the wizard let loose a volley of crimson lightning bolts into the woman, something the denizens of oblivion were weak to from what Malekith had gleamed from what remained in the library. With a blood curdling shriek was she dispelled, but it was too late as the two were enveloped in the explosion of the Dhar that surrounded them. Shouts of pain and growls could be heard from the mist, but when they were revealed again, Festus was covered in horrific burns that marred his entire body, whereas instead of a man, there was a Skin wolf, white coat singed and two yellow eyes looking at him with rage. A creature of Hircine, even if they were unaware of it. Silver weapons were most effective, but he supposed that the Destroyer would make do in this case.

"You have survived" Malekith dejectedly shook his head and aimed his blade at Festus "It seems that I am still ways from my former powers, however, it is no matter at all"

"Don't be so cocky, elf!" the wizard cackled, his hands glowing blue and out of the ground rose burned corpses, easily numbering in dozens. Nothing for the Witch King, if he could kill the wizard faster than he could attempt to experiment what could kill the sorcerer. Asur Archmages, Daemon Princes had tried, and they had failed, this one would too.

"Do you expect me to be so infirm that a dog and a wave of corpses will keep me from ending you?" sneered the Witch King as he smashed at the pouncing werewolf with his shield, his knees buckling. The beast of Hircine savagely swung his arms in an attempt to maul the elf, but a slash of the Destroyer sent the wolf-man dashing through a group of the revenants with his bloody chest burning from the strike as Malekith kept a track of the enemy wizard, dashing at him through the crowd of the dead as his cloak fluttered and blade flashed. Tried as they might to have him caught by their dead arms, dead flesh did not impede the warrior. Before he could reach Festus, the werewolf jumped in front of him to protect his brother in arms as the corpses of the zombies fell on the ground beside them, torn to shreds by blade and magic.

The wound on Arnbjorn's chest was already healing, yet Malekith had no intention of letting the two of them rest as with a word his sword was alight with sorcerous flame once more, one that easily cut into the werewolf, who growled with pain and reached to grasp the elven king's arm.

"You think yourself clever" the Witch King drawled and pierced the werewolf, whose grunts of pain slowly turned to laughter.

"Arnbjorn, get down!" the mage called and knowing that the white furred assassin was a distraction, the sorcerer acted. Leaving his sword embedded in the werewolf, surrounded by still rising dead and a werewolf that had dropped onto the ground, intent on avoiding the crackling spell of fire in the wizard's hands. Could he master his magic as he had done in his home, the two would have been long gone, but slowly his might was returning to him and even new powers he could achieve and such was his next act.

Drawing deeply inside himself and shouting before the wizard could throw his deadly bolt, Malekith shouted!

"IIZ"

The two assassins were frozen by the breath that came from Malekith's icy cry, their bodies stiff as they had been when the spell had been cast, thin sheet of ice covering them as they struggled to move. In Festus hands a bloody spell remained in a limbo, as its caster could not even touch it. He felt the pressure mounting, apparently for such a volatile magic a price needed to be paid, the frozen mage proved that fact quite excellently as underneath the ice, his flesh bubbled and rippled, before his hands were exploding into chunks of flesh and bone , freeing him from his prison. It was lucky happenstance that Malekith did have the chance to let the Destroyer to feast on the soul of the mage and drain his knowledge, however that would have to wait as the werewolf was still alive and thus could be useful still. He had the pride of a warrior as the ice cracked under the sheer physical power. As the corpses slowly shambled into dust, magic of Aetherius powering them no longer, the ice burst and the skin wolf was ready to attempt mauling the elf again.

Yet the sorcerer was not unprepared as the beast was shackled by its own body, courtesy of a paralyzing spell, its eyes wide and full of violent rage. It would take a single push to send the beast tumbling back, but it was not what he had in mind for his captive. This transformation could not be held forever. Until then, Malekith would wait and when his patience was drained, would kill the werewolf and use its pelt as a cloak.

"Turn back and I won't skin you alive" he growled and grabbed his blade and pulled it loose, making the spell disperse. Yet the shout was on his lips, and he had doubts that Arnbjorn or whatever the Nord's name was would survive the second experience.

"I will shit in your skull" the beast attempted to jump at his tormentor, but a strong kick sent him sprawling on his back as Malekith kept him there, bloody sword in hand.

"Without arms, you will not" Malekith sneered and with two quick slashes, the werewolf was declawed, whimpering, and attempting snap at his boots. At the same moment, he spared a look at the other cripple, who tried to draw a rune of his own blood in the falling snow. The Witch King wasn't having any of it, however.

"Festus!" the werewolf howled, and the old Breton couldn't dodge the thrown sword, that impaled him in the chest. It was enough for the werewolf to seize his last chance and jutting maws clamped down on the wizard, or it would have, had Malekith not possessed his spellshield.

While the beast was still brave, even when smashed into the snow with the jagged edge of the shield, he was not so brave with what the Witch King had in store next. Summoning a bound Daedra in the shape of a long scimitar, the razor-sharp edge was pressed against Anbjorn's manhood, while the shield's edge pressing against his chest kept him down. Witch King looked down at the bleeding beast and sneered, slightly sliding the blade, enough to draw blood.

"Turn back, you mutt, and your testicles shall not stain this blade"

This time did the assassin obey and now there was a naked Nord underneath him. Wasting no time, transfiguration turned his limbs to lead, forcing Arnbjorn to lay in the snow, helpless and terrified before the Witch King.

As it should have been from the start, but he did not begrudge the Skin Wolf of not knowing when to kneel.

"Now since your more eloquent partner did not survive, you shall have to answer my questions" the blade still lingered in its place "I suggest starting with who hired you…"

The werewolf still had the gall to look defiant, but a yelp could be heard throughout the destroyed town.

During the rather short interrogation, Malekith received all that he could have wanted from the assassin, including the organization the two worked for and what their leader would do to him, if he was caught and at that point the Witch King's interest had fully disappeared.

"Should you live long enough to see your leader, you can regale her with what happened here" Those were the sorcerer's last words to the werewolf as he rose from the ground and started to walk away.

As a gesture of kindness, the Witch King had dismembered him and cauterized the wounds before he had left Arnbjorn amid the other corpses to go on his way. If the werewolf would survive then he would spread what had happened and if he did not, then Hircine would have his hide.

All were serviceable outcomes in his opinion.

Thus, the Lord of Naggaroth continued his trek ever onwards to Ivarstead, the Star of Azura whispering accursed promises from the depths of his satchel. He hoped that there wouldn't be anyone brave or foolish enough to attempt to halt him on his way to the monks. Certainly, the power of Voice was something to behold and a handy resource until he grasped enough magic to return to his own magical prominence. Upon torturing the werewolf, the sorcerer had learned of the Dark Brotherhood, a legendary group of assassins who did the bidding of another daemonic entity- one thirsting for secret slaughter. Once a contract was given to them, they would not stop and it was another chore Malekith would have to attend to, if he wished to cease worrying about attempts on his life every waking moment, when he was without his Endless and Black Guard to guard his rest.

"His wife will surely lament this outcome" darkly Malekith chuckled as cold was most unforgiving in Skyrim and werewolf or not, the Witch King doubted that the Nord would survive the snowy night.

As the sun slowly dimmed, the Son of Aenarion slowly started to whistle a favourite march of his. It had been his father's, when he had ridden against daemon hosts, Widowmaker raised high, for all to see. Irony was not lost to him as both Druchii and Asur forces still used it in their marches, though long distorted from the original melody.

A sudden pang of sadness grasped his heart in vice grip and refused to go. Looking up at the setting sun, the Elven Monarch sighed wistfully- for all intents and purposes, he missed Naggaroth and his people. This longing even surprised him this much, when he found himself longing for Morathi's catty nature and nine folded schemes. Yet, he was effectively immortal and possessed all time to return to his holdings, if they still remained, unmarred by infighting and certain newfound arrogance of the Asur. Still, despite it all, he had faith that his mother would lead his people until his return. Then he would gently remind her that it was his throne and resume where he had left off.

Now he had to reach Ivarstead as he had no wish to camp in the wilderness.

A.N:

I'm back. Sorry it took so long, but I've written my first complete novel and currently my life is busy with editing and rewriting. Thank you for all reviews and follows thus far, sorry again for making you wait this long.

I don't know how much of the next chapter should be devoted to Greybeards as I'm more interested in Daedric shenanigans and Mommy Azura.

Be merry! - Spook