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?

5. The Voice and the Twilight II

Phoenix Burned, Dragon Born

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

Rated M for Malekith

Disclaimer: I own naught of these fictional characters

"It's going to be two very very long weeks, you know" Faralda noted as the two of them stood before the winding bridge from the College "Perhaps… you could take me with you"

"And leave the hopeless students without your cherished presence?" Malekith raised an eyebrow at this blatant propositioning and shook his head "My cruelty has its bounds Faralda" a ghost of a smile played across his lips, however his thoughts lied elsewhere.

Today he would leave Winterhold and its insulated environment for the beguiling unknown. He already knew that the path would be treacherous with the Civil War raging in the provinces. There was no doubt that he would encounter bandits, wild beasts even deserters who had turned to pillaging instead of soldiering as they had sworn to do. Without companions in arms, such a journey would be more difficult, but this was his true test against Tamriel and its peoples.

Currently, he had to admit that he was not quite as prepared as he had wanted to be for this venture as Savos Aren in understandable petiness had withheld a half of what the Dunmer had promised in the beginning. Of course, no one held any pretences that this was due to the Spellshield and the Destroyer, which he had taken from the College's safekeeping, but with 700 pieces of gold, Malekith was sure that he could make enough profit to fund the expedition. While drawing out a strand of Chamon from Nirn's magic was harder than corrupting the Hysh's equivalent into Dhar, he supposed that with enough practice the sorcerer could make do.

There was another problem that had arisen with the transport. Normal horses would exhaust themselves and impede his travelling time, but there were no Cold Ones or similar beasts to the cold province and Dragons were thought to be extinct until know. Perhaps he could convince one to serve him in return for riches and food aplenty or until it was broken and ready to serve the Witch King. While Malekith was not a beastmaster by profession, his affinity with the Black Dragons was something he took pride in.

"What's on your mind?" the Altmer elbowed the taller elf in the arm, shaking the sorcerer out in his inner monologue "You're obviously scheming something, so spill it"

"You know me too well" he nodded "I am apprehensive about what will happen in my absence."

The Lector of Destruction nodded "Yes, undoubtedly, the Thalmor will definitely take interest in all of the recent findings and those who were involved in them. Though I can take care of myself, are you per chance worried about Nirya?"

"Indeed. She is our weakest link in this blossoming enterprise" he sighed "It is most likely that in my absence as the major witness will make the Thalmor turn to your newest pupil. She has to remain silent on those matters or at very least lie more convincingly"

There was no need for divination or any attempted mind reading to see her doubt and he could not fault her. After Nirya's little outburst in the morning, the news or rather hearsay of Faralda's unprofessional conduct had spread like wildfire across the College and even as they had departed, he had spied curious and envious stares of pupils and one grouchy Bosmer in particular, who quickly disappeared from his gaze. This had driven another wedge between the women and promised more headaches to the Witck King if the younger elf wasn't shown her place in the hierarchy, which was at the bottom. Their gamble rested on the fact that Malekith's true persona and powers remained hidden until a sufficient power had been built up to be able to resist the influence of Thalmor, Empire and even the apparitions that had appeared in the tomb. This meant that he had to expedite the speed at which he grasped theory and practice of the magic of Tamriel.

Sharing his thoughts, she nodded and after a moment of shuffling through her robes handed the black-haired elf a scroll that she had retrieved from her pockets. Eying the sealed roll of parchment, he took it and raised an eyebrow at the symbol of conjuration pressed into the violet vax seal.

"An Iron Atronach, hopefully it'll be strong enough to take the form of a horse or a different mount " she explained "It will require some effort of your magicka to maintain its existence on the physical plane of Nirn, but in my experience the Atronaches are quite willing to obey if you indulge them."

"And what would an Iron Atronach want? There is only that much I can gleam from the Arcaneum in such a short time" he asked incredulously at his companion, who smugly enjoyed her brief moment of superiority. He knew of fire, ice and storm elementals that were richly described in all conjuration thesis' that the Dark Sorcerer had an opportunity to peruse, but it was the first time of him hearing about such a breed, but the idea of such creatures existing was not that outlandish, all things considered.

"Well, Iron" she shrugged "or at least any metal should do well enough to keep it compliant during your journey. Never summoned one of them myself, but it should last until you dispel it or you come face to face with something really nasty"

"I suppose that it lacks the weaknesses of mortals, but should you leave it a certain range, the contract will become null and void, allowing the Daedra to flee back to its home plane in Oblivion" Faralda elaborated as the Witch King deposited the scroll in his robes.

"Thank you" he nodded "I will repay you for this kindness after I have returned from High Hrothgar"

Shaking her head in rejection, the destruction mage smiled "I'd love for you pay in advance, but you do seem the sort to keep his promises. Now are you going to stand here or chase after the strange magic you kept raving about? I might reconsider if you stall for too long…"

Shrugging, the Elf whose name had struck fear in civilizations for millennia, whose will drove nations to ruin and prosperity, now without anything to his station, save the clothes on his back and his weapons, bid the Altmer goodbye by a wave of his gloved hand. As he descended the bridge and braved the biting winds that clawed at his skin, the Witch King of Naggaroth was hopeful. In his eyes the marvels and perils that the tomes had described had become alive, itching to be seen, faced and overcome.

Behind him, almost as if his ears were caressed by the freezing winds around him, he could make out a whispered prayer that accompanied the sorcerer in a breeze.

"Thank you Faralda" he muttered under his breath "your sentiment is appreciated"

The clear cold sky hid the sun from his gaze but passing through the stone arch of the bridge's end Malekith could not care less about what or who he was leaving behind. Those he had chosen had strength in them and they could suffer his absence for a little while. His leather boots trod upon the snowy cobblestone of Winterhold's central road, and the city was not in an enviable situation as behind the relatively well kept buildings on the main street, more dilapidated houses of stone painted a jagged outline of the city. He of course knew of the Collapse, by Khaine, he had lived through and caused the Sundering. While millennia ago, he would have regretted it and longed for a chance to undo such a mistake.

Clinging to the past was not a luxury that men such as him could afford.

People in the street, mostly travellers and guards, gave him a wide berth for despite the lengths he had gone to conceal his sword and shield, still under the bandages the outlines of weapons could not have been mistaken for what they were. Looking around his eyes easily found the weathered wooden sign depicting a frozen stove in the cold region's peculiar script. Without hesitation the dark-haired elf walked towards the wooden building and as he neared the door, Malekith realized that he couldn't recall ,in his ancient soul, when was the last time when he had ventured to a tavern visited by ordinary citizenry.

Not that this bothered him, for the memory was inconsequential and likely forgotten for a good reason, but something about visiting a simple tavern now was enticing.

Entering the establishment, the Witch King instantly recognized why it was named so with a raised brow. Scarcely there were any patrons milling about, most of them sitting with their back against the large hearth whose coals slowly died as the gust of wind that accompanied the elven visitor shot across the tavern. One of the grizzled Nords turned his head to gaze at the stranger, but immediately meeting the cold emerald orbs turned away, scoffing.

Closing the door behind him, the Elf walked towards the fire and stretched out his gloved hands over the simmering hearth, the green-eyed sorcerer started to listen.

Deep within the mug of mead, he could hear a patron slurring a man's name mournfully as the naked fist meekly thumped against the wooden surface of the table. It was another price of war. The Lord of Druchii had fought his own share of wars and such a shameful sight was common, he surmised, for even his own advisors were ailed by this inability to retain their composure when it was asked of them. Of course, during the state of warfare such actions could not have been allowed and thus those that were unable to deal with casualties were fit to join their ranks.

What was more interesting to the elf was the conversation that was happening by the counter, where the apparent barkeep was at the edge of patience with a mage, who was the Mer that the sorcerer sought or so it seemed.

"-some horrible monster was turned inside out, and then exploded. What did you do?" the barkeep pointed the finger at the hooded figure who had raised his hands disarmingly, revealing the scars that looked like bolts of lightning dotting the golden skin.

"It was a minor miscalculation." The Altmer retorted non-apologetically as the human narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest "I've already corrected it for future experiments, you needn't worry"

Barkeep sighed "This is why people have a problem with your College Nelacar."

"It hasn't been mine for a long while" the mage spoke almost too quietly and left to a room on his left, while the presumed owner shook his head and picked up a mug to clean with a dishrag that the Elven King was certain would not hold up to the standards of even lowliest Elven hygiene of his homeland.

As the mage had departed, Malekith now saw an opportunity to begin his move on uncovering the whereabouts of the Star of Azura and the situation pertaining to the exodus of Malyn Varen. Pulling his hands back from the fire, the sorcerer slowly approached the barkeep, who now had his full attention.

"What can I do for you, Elf?" while there was no bite or threat in his voice, the Witch King narrowed his eyes at his tone and while it would have been as easy as stepping on an ant to kill the entirety of the tavern and disappear before anyone knew what was happening, he could be civil.

"A mug of your best ale, barkeep"

"Thought your kind preferred wines, but here you go" a wooden mug of frothing beverage was placed in front of the elf "that'll be 5 Septims"

"In a long life, one should never miss a chance to broaden ones horizons" the black haired elf retorted and placed the gold pieces next to the mug, before picking up his newest purchase. Ales were an experience that was well kept secret from his subjects and closest confidants. Agents were often dispatched to deliver in utter secrecy barrels of finest Dwarven ales, failure meaning death. Now as he stared at the white foam, the warrior couldn't resist and raised the mug to his lips. In his mind's eye there was the memory of feasting in Dwarven holds and the raucous banquets after hunts.

As soon as his tongue tasted the ale, his disappointment was immeasurable.

There was nothing that reminded the aged elf of the particular taste of feeling of the beverage that he had enjoyed for millennia. It was just a fermented swill bearing only the barest traces that the drink could be called as such. Now that his curiosity had been punished, the sorcerer had no intention of dallying in this miserable establishment.

"What do you want?" Nelacar's eyes narrowed as the sorcerer walked into his room, with the innkeeper on his toes. Not bothering to reply, the taller elf shut the door in the innkeeper's face and muttered a spell under his breath as the lock turned on its own accord.

"I am in pursuit of Malyn Varen and I believe that you may be able to help me find his whereabouts."

Behind them a clank of the door handle could be heard as the Nord tried to enter the room, but that did not matter now.

"I already told the Jarl and Aren all I know, we agreed that there would be no more questions. Though I am certain you were sent by a certain witch" the wizard sighed, but while his answer itself was not helpful to Malekith, it did remind the sorcerer that in his haste he had forgotten to interrogate the Archmage. It was evident that the Witch King was getting too used to his new life if he acted with the grace of an ogre.

"I am afraid that you are wrong in your assumptions about my reasons, however you can be assured that Varen's luck has finally caught up with him."

Without a warning two white bolts of lightning sprung forth from the mage's sleeves, bouncing off harmlessly the shield the warrior had raised in front of him. Before the Altmer could react, a hard shove had him slammed against the wooden wall, creaking and moaning under the strength of the blow. He gasped as the very air was pushed out of his lungs, his foe only smiled as the crack of broken ribs could be heard underneath the ruckus.

"You could just have told me where I may find him, you know" Now there was no need for Malekith to pretend to be benign. Black light twisted and coiled around the sleeves of his hands, slithering and rolling before springing towards his uncooperative attacker.

The flames of Cytharai were one of the lesser-known incarnations to the sorcerers proficient in Dhar and Malekith considered himself to have mastered the unruly magic to a successful degree and watched with grim satisfaction as the offending sorcerer grasped for air as the black flames licked at his nerves. Nelacar spat bestial curses while writhing on the ground as the dark curse danced upon his body, while his tormentor stood before him proudly.

"Now you can tell me what you know, and your torture will cease" Malekith rested his spellshield on the ground "Or you can be the first soul I will use. Perhaps you'd like to be bound into a tome of your own skin? You would be an astute tale of warning" the Witch King found much satisfaction in torturing the impudent and suicidal.

Struggling, Nelacar raised a hand, attempting to appeal to the sorcerer's non-existent mercy.

Interested in whatever the mage had to say, the dark-haired elf lifted the spell, dark flames vanishing as if water was poured on them. Looking at the fallen Altmer, Malekith fixed his eyes with the Altmer in a baleful gaze that was devoid of compassion.

"This is your final chance. I will have what I want in the end" the shadowy flames once more manifested on the tip of his index finger.

As if beaten like a dog, Nelacar rose from the floor on his knees, arms barely supporting his body to stand up and at least give himself a fighting chance.

"I see." He extended the blazing finger "I admire your tenacity-"

"Wait!" the High Elf lay down his head and shouted "Wait, damn you!"

"Now this is what I wanted to hear Nelacar. Your cooperation will bring a dangerous wizard to justice. You ought to be proud."

"You're as evil as is the master you serve" he spat and whimpered as the shields edge was slammed into his palm, making him collapse with a howl of pain.

"Malys Varen, I require his whereabouts" the emerald eyed elf smiled and lifted the bloody shield off the injured hand. His victim merely groaned and the sorcerer hoped that he had gotten through to the other elf.

"Malyn wanted to alter the Star. He was dying. Disease. He thought he could store his own soul inside. Become immortal. It drove him mad." The mage started to rant, whether it was from pain or blood loss, Malekith cared not "Students started dying. Eventually, the College exiled him. He took a few loyal disciples to Ilinalta's Deep and vanished. Look, I know who asked you to find the Star, but don't take it back to Azura. The Daedra are evil. They're the reason Malyn went insane!" The bleeding mage spat the name venomously and there was hilarity to the situation.

"You honestly expect a being such as a Daedric Prince to allow a mortal to experiment with one of its artifacts?! That fact alone reeks of your foolishness! You honestly expected that there would be no repercussions? Do not expect me to be sympathetic to his circumstances."

Malekith spared a look at the mage lying on the ground and muttered a spell of sleep. Nelacar collapsed on the ground and with another word, his wounds started to close. He would not die, however, his waking would be full of pain and misery. There were clearly consequences of attacking him and the mage was lucky that any more murdered mages would implicate the uncharacteristically tall Elf and he could not have it yet. Still the Lord of Druchii pondered whether or not the mage's memory be wiped of this exchange.

Turning on his heel, the sorcerer opened the door and faced the barkeep armed with a sword.

"You better teach that elf manners" the sorcerer slightly nudged his head at the body lying on the ground "It is in poor taste to shoot lightning at a guest."

"That doesn't make this right, you pointy eared bastard"

Dark flames enveloped the entirety of Malekith's arm, harmlessly clinging to his robes and threatening the burly man to react.

"I have no wish to remain in your establishment or cause further trouble" he eyed the sharp steel sword by his side "However, should you decide to act, You will find my well of mercy and patience drained. Wood is a splendid source of fire, is it not, Human?"

The Barkeep, a stout and tall man, looked conflicted by the threat. There was the underlying need to avenge his acquaintance, but Malekith was certain that the tavern keeper would not be willing to risk his livelihood and life. Then again, humans were quite foolish.

"Go" the word was spat out as it was poison and the erstwhile King of Druchii took this as his cue to take his leave of the tavern, not caring about the stares that watched this exchange and the children cowering behind their mother's skirts. Their lives would pass what was to be in a blink of an eye to the ageless ruler and to the vagaries of time, he thought to himself and closed the door behind him, the loud thud echoing as he exited the tavern.

Once outside the city gates, the elf withdrew the scroll of summoning the daedra and inspected the sigils in the Daedric tongue inscribed on the parchment. Unlike the spoken tongue in Tamriel, The Witch King had to learn it somewhat, with The Destroyer helping only so much, as its victim wasn't nearly as proficient in its use.

"Arrive…Home…Safety?" he raised an eyebrow, but the vixen's seal still held the spell in place "Faralda, what is your trick this time?"

"Hmm, Come home safely? Would it really be something as sentimental, your foolish woman?" he shook his head bemusedly, but still a light smile graced his features.

Mutely the scroll unravelled before the warlord's eyes and a symbol of gates of oblivion surrounded by an intricate runic matrix bloomed on the paper. Smiling, the sorcerer grasped the scroll that seemed to fold around his wrist, creating a small violet orb of energy that needed to be released. Raising an eyebrow, Malekith pointed his hand at the stone road and unclenched his fist.

Thankfully the road was sparse this time of the day as most were working and only few travellers stopped in shock and stared at the summoning in front of them. Malekith paid no heed to them and only looked at his newest companion.

The stone in front of the sorcerer shook and cracked as the tell-tale shimmering portal of Conjuration school opened in front of him and the first through the gateway came a molten hoof of iron whose sharp and knife-like shards seemed to be a norm with the Daedra aesthetic that he had encountered thus far, including that of the Atronach class.

Slowly, but confidently the beast came through the portal, and it reminded Malekith of a broken daemon engine of Zharr Nagrund, yet there was no bull like motif that the chaos worshipping dwarves used. Instead, it could've been easily described as a jagged mass of metal with magma for body using surrounding shards of metal to pull itself around. Seeing the summoner, the creature neighed in what was a parody of what a mortal horse would utter.

"Greetings beast" he nodded and slowly approached the summon. It was then when Malekith noticed that the creature already had saddle on him. Surprisingly the metal felt cool to touch and much like a natural well-trained horse, the creature leaned against the hand.

"Curiouser and curiouser" the sorcerer muttered as he deftly climbed up on his magical steed and grabbed the reins with one hand, while the other held the Spellshield. While this poor creature was no Seraphon, Suleh or even the Cold Ones he kept in his stables, Malekith found it less temperamental and disciplined as a mortal creature ought to be. A small breeze had risen and thrown snowflakes in the Elven King's face, but Malekith found himself surrounded by warmth that seemed to radiate from the core of him summon.

"Let us ride forth!" he silently commanded the beast and with hooves sparking against stone the Iron Atronach took off in a gallop as shouts of excitement accompanied them. The Witch King laughed loudly and as the wind blew his head back and speed overcame them. Sun shone brightly above Elf and Daedra as they ran downwards and out of the frigid cold and closer towards their goal.

The sun had started to down as the Witch King and his trusted mount came across a disgraceful sight on the road. Five bandits, for how else would one describe the fur clad brutes? Two held the woman with a crude iron dagger pressed against her throat and holding her hands behind her back, two were ransacking the merchant's cart, while the last and supposed leader was busy beating up the presumed merchant, not using the cudgel that hung by his side. Laughing as fists pummelled the other man.

"Ha, is it all the Imperial scum has to say now?" even if it was not precisely what was spoken, the sorcerer could make out the words in the distance "We'll just take your wares and your woman you limp dicked coward! Look at yourself and know that your ancestors will be crying in shame. Pathetic!"

Distasteful.

This was all that Malekith had to say about the situation. His own soldiers had done worse, and he had allowed such mentality to arise due his vicious hatred that had all but consumed him before his arrival on Tamriel, perhaps it still did, but had to rear its head from the depths of his soul.

One thing was the sins that soldiery committed against enemies; however common banditry was a vice that was dealt with swiftly. As the vicious beating still continued, the Iron Atronach slowed down to a trot and the dark-haired Elf wanted to see whether or not the scum before him would realize that doom was approaching.

Perhaps the Son of Aenarion had tarried too long as the victim was spitting blood and the remaining bandits had started to prepare unravel their spoils. However, as fate would have it, the leader stopped in his beatdown and stared right ahead at the newcomer on his strange steed.

"What do you want Elf?" he called, spitting the name as his victim was still held by the collar of his tunic "Can't you see this is Stormcloak business? You better leave or we'll have real elven ears to show back at the camp, haha."

The ripped and torn uniform did give some credence to the blatant lie, but even if they had been soldiers, the last comment had sealed their fates. It was not as if he wanted to kill, but after his previous opponents, the Witch King craved to cross swords with someone living and not undead. What needed to happen next was to stroke their ire and it was no coincidence that what he had spoken was ridiculous.

Malekith snorted in amusement.

"If this is what the Stormcloaks can muster, then it perhaps it is time for men to perish." The green-eyed elf sneered "Especially when the race of man has fallen so low indeed."

"You speak a lot of shit whoreson" the Bandit leader let go of his victim and withdrew his mace "Let's see if your smug smile will remain after I bash your skull open"

The hilarity of the situation was too much for the sorcerer to bear and he started laughing as he descended from his mount. With his cloak billowing in the wind and Spellshield by his side there was little that could threaten the warrior, unless they had a dragon hidden in that cart.

"Arrogant and stupid, what a winning combination" The Elf sneered "You would only stain my blade with the refuse that runs through your blood."

"You talk too much, DIE!" the chieftain roared and darted towards the mage, who did not even raise his shield as the iron club aiming for his head descended. In that moment, the King of Dark Elves wondered if he should have just blasted the humans with lightning or flames and continued his trek onwards, but instead grabbed the offending limb and with strength cultivated throughout millennia with training and magics known to his people, the sorcerer closed his fist.

"Aargh!" the bandit cried out in pain as the sickening crunch and the subsequent splash could be heard. Behind them, the atronach hit its hooves against the snowy stone and exhaled a jet of flame in exhilaration. Through their bond Malekith knew the creatures' bloodlust and was keen to grant it.

"Worthless trash, perhaps a horse will be a worthier opponent!" he snarled and threw the man like a sack of flour behind him, who with a cry of agony landed at the volcanic hooves of the beast. Looking at the remaining bandits, Malekith did not wait.

With a whispered spell, the bandits who held the woman fell, groaning in pain as foam spilled from their mouths, eyes rolled to the back of their heads, body convulsing. His eyes landed on the two remaining bandits, who stood there as if paralyzed by fear. Behind him, the smell of burning flesh, cries of pain and unholy neighing could be heard as his summon presumably gorged itself on the hapless bastard.

"And now there are only two of you remaining" the warrior extended his index finger and the two relatively unharmed brigands broke into a frightened sprint. However, before they could get too far, their sins caught up with them. The couple who they had attacked had recovered somewhat and had tackled the two bandits and it was an interesting sight to see a woman in a peasant dress driving her dagger into the bandit, while the battered merchant cried out in rage as he choked the other assailant. Turning from the two, he gazed upon his stead that was feeding on the metal parts of the brigand's armour that had melted into a sludge, while the rest of the body was near unrecognizable due to the seared flesh that assaulted his elvish sensibilities.

Though he was not bothered the least by it.

"Hopefully you will be sated" he spoke to no one in particular and approached the survivors, ignoring the rescued victims as his leather boots slowly trod upon the stone road. Before him lied bodies that still breathed, though not for long as the Witch King cut the man's insignificant life short with the shield driven in his neck and snapped the other's with a whispered name.

"Thank you, stranger," from his right came the laboured breathing "I don't wish to think what would have happened if you hadn't interfered."

"It was nothing. Think of it as cleansing the province" the emerald eyed elf answered and turned to face the humans. The man had suffered the worst, under both his eyes violet rings of bruising could be seen and a vicious punch had split his lip and there was a gash on his cheek that was only visible due the open wound darting out of his brown stubble, while his female companion sported a scowl, dishevelled black hair and a bruised cheek, not to mention the partly unravelled clothes.

"Thank you anyhow. Though I doubt you can do anything about the Dragon in Whiterun" he scratched the back of his head, while the woman seemed to eye the Elf with distrust.

"A dragon?" the Sorcerer was itching for a fight against such a beast and if his miraculous recovery was correct, then there was a chance that slaying these beasts gave him powers of some sort, one of his more useful Dreadlords had once complained that he was too greedy when it came to the taxes levied against the Privateers of Naggaroth and the armoured giant privately had agreed to the sentiment, now his greed had been piqued again, roused from its slumber.

"Yeah" breathing heavily, Imperial rested his hands on his knees, the woman immediately reassuringly putting her arms on his shoulders

"One nasty creature has sieged Whiterun recently. It flies by odd hours and spits fire at houses and vanishes before anyone can catch it. Sometimes it even starts to taunt the Jarl by suggesting a trial by single combat. The Companions and Guards can only do so much, but there were rumours of ballistae being prepared at the keep of the city. Anyhow we decided that it would be best for us to leave for a safer city, one that isn't made of wood."

So not merchants, but rather refugees fleeing the conflict, that explained the small cart and the horse.

"It is unlikely that I will get to the city today, is there any inn on the way there?" Malekith asked, for all his Tamrielic knowledge and the locations added on his map, he had no idea where to look for lodgings and while there were spells that could protect him from the weather, he rather wished to sleep underneath a roof and someplace warm.

"There is a place called Nightgate Inn, half a day's ride from here. I can't say anything bad about the place." This time it was the woman, who answered the question, letting her lover or husband take a breather before they would gather their things and continue onward.

"I see" the black haired warrior nodded his head "Goodspeed in your travels" with this well-wishing , the Witch King considered his heroic deeds for the day done and whistled for his Daedric mount. The Iron Atronach obediently trod beside the Elf, still reeking of burnt flesh and mightily satisfied with the stares of the humans and the atrocity committed.

He climbed the saddle and shared one last look at the unlucky travellers and sped off without a word, cloak billowing behind him. His destination now clear and there was the thought that his next steps might delay the estimate return to Winterhold quite a bit. On the bright side, Faralda would have more time to deal with Nirya and perhaps then the two would be ready to begin tutelage in Dhar and High Magic.

It was early morning when Malekith woke up in his room to hear banging on the door of his room. While lowly, these living arrangements were quite comfortable indeed. He had warded his door to disallow entry and his belongings still were by his side. Rubbing his temples, the Elven King rose from the straw mattress and stretched out as the knocking got even more impatient.

Caring not about who was on the other side, the tall elf washed his mouth with the mug of water on his nightstand, before arming himself. It seemed to be a wise move as when he picked up the Destroyer, his guests had finally ran out of patience as angry shouts pierced through his wards, a hindsight that needed to be improved somewhat.

"Open up you Knife-eared bastard!" the insult was accentuated by more knocking "You will answer for your crimes!"

Now that made him pause, he had not committed any noticeable crimes and there should be nothing illegal on his person. The Atronach was safely sequestered behind the inn, should anyone with great wisdom decide to approach the beast. It even was threatened to not to attack unless threatened. But what could threaten such a beast?

Without worrying, the sorcerer dispelled the wards, purple sigils vanishing from the door as if it was paint washed away with water. The infuriated voice behind the door took this as a sign to introduce himself and tearing open the door, four men armed with swords, garbed in scale armour with blue sashes were in front of him. Their leader wore a helm made out of a bear's head and in his storm grey eyes, anger raged.

"Why do you interrupt my rest?" he asked the four, hand lazily resting on the blade's hilt as it barely touched the wooden floor.

"Foul conjurer" he spat "By the law of Sons of Skyrim you have been found guilty of Daedric summoning and the murder of seven Stormcloak warriors. Come quietly outside or be prepared to meet your elven gods" the last part was undeniably bitter, and it was hilarious how he had found himself in this situation. It needed no explanation of what had happened. Though it was a shame, for Faralda's mount was something that he would have treasured.

"Before I head outside, a question, Brave Warrior" Malekith barely kept the derision out of his voice "Which one of your imbeciles decided to assault my steed?"

"How dare you speak of Fjor like that?!Why I oughta-" one of the warriors with veiled helmets shouted from the back, while the others tried to keep him from attacking the mage.

"You obviously could not just go inside and ask the barkeep, now could you?" Malekith sighed and put the sword on his back, the ribbons still covering its true shape "Fine, let us get this over with, I have other endeavours planned, which does not involve you."

"I'm sure you have, but this'll come first. Come on Elf, none of your magic tricks" The bitterness had seemingly vanished from his voice, but he had not survived hundreds of assassination attempts for these men to succeed. While murdering soldiers was bad, none of them would know his name as he had not given it to the bartender as well. The warrior nodded and waited patiently for the men to shuffle out of his room so that Malekith could retrieve his backpack that he had stowed in the closet. As well as decide what exactly he would do to these poor sods. Proven that they would not rush for a pre-emptive execution.

As he exited the room, he locked eyes with the bartender, who shied away, which confirmed his suspicions. Oh well, perhaps it was time to practice something that he hadn't had the chance to use even under Saarthal. Surrounded by the Stormcloak soldiers and ushered outside, he had to admit that the weather was fine. The previously finger freezing cold had mellowed out so that the Son of Aenarion did not even feel the tips of his ears freezing, there was a light breeze in the air that promised pleasant weather for the following day. Though, some part of him regretted what would soon happen. Casting was better done without an empty stomach.

Instead of the place where he had stoved his steed, Malekith was led through a small snowy path through the pines. The trek itself was not long and on the way, the Witch King made sure to check the connection with his steed only to find nothing. That confirmed one more thing and created a problem that needed to be solved. His boots brushed aside the small firs and he saw broken branches in the distance, which was also a thing within the expectations of the future events. Once they had come into the clearing, the Elf was surrounded by at least thirty men, swords, axes, maces and bows pointed in his general direction.

"This is the end of you, Elf scum." Behind him sneered the man in the bear helmet.

"Indeed"

From the Nightgate Inn, an ear spitting crack of thunder could be heard as black bolts of lightning struck somewhere in the forest, causing birds to take to the skies as animals uncharacteristically fled their homes. The innkeeper, pale as snow, looked through the window at the phenomenon in horror.

"Sadly, you destroyed my mount" the sorcerer winced as he pulled the third arrow out of his shoulder. Before him lied his would-be killers in various states of paralysis as the black bolts surged through their bodies, siphoning the energy of their souls and returning to the caster, who casually reached down to the eye level of the leader of Stormcloak group, whose face still could grimace even if he himself could not, as blood ran down his mouth.

"Swallowed your tongue?" the sorcerer jested "Take solace that you will see the death of your men first" the Nord's eyes widened and he tried to claw at the Witch King's boot, who instead just stomped on the offending limb.

"The Atronach was a dear gift, perhaps I will sate my anger by flaying you alive, but now watch!" Passionlessly the tall elf drew a circle with his free arm and forth surged a purple mist that suffocated and melted flesh in its way. With terror the unaffected Stormcloaks watched as the noxious gas surrounded the clearing, leaving the caster and his chief victim safe. Others lacked this protection and before Malekith's eyes the flesh fell of bone and bones turned to dust before the wizard's might.

Beneath him, without tears, the Stormcloak cried as few tried to reach out to him, only to receive a kick to the face, sending him sprawling on his back.

"You doomed them, Son of Skyrim" his green eyes almost glowed in the darkness "Enjoy your oblivion."

"IIZ"

The icy breath enveloped the lone survivor of the massacre into a block of ice, eerily reminiscent of a statue as the hand was outstretched towards the murderer, dagger clenched in a fist.

"Good riddance" the sorcerer surveyed the scene of carnage and approved of the skeletons in this makeshift icy tomb of his would-be assassins. When he would regale Faralda of his exploits, the warlord promised himself that this encounter would remain with himself. Surely, she would understand his decisions, but there was no need to for her to know everything.

"Now, where to find myself a horse…" Malekith trailed off, deep in thought, but then he realized that the innkeep most likely had a horse and while the King of Druchii considered himself above petty theft, his journey was impeded long enough.

Later when the Innkeeper would go to feed his white mare, he would find it gone without a trace, only 100 pieces of septims laying in the hay.

When the Witch King rode into the plains of Whiterun, he was pleased by the fact that there was more to this land than snow and cold, even though the books described the province aptly. It was lightly said that the Son of Aenarion abhorred cold.

His steed panted with exhaustion as they stopped to rest. Patting the animals head, the warrior climbed down the saddle as the hill they were on gave them a scenic view of the surrounding plains and the structures that dotted it. In the middle of the plains rested a great city with tall stone walls and watchtowers, while above them all stood a castle that, while not as impressive as the College of Winterhold was a sight to behold regardless.

"I'm not as heartless to keep you riding without rest" he whispered to the horse and with a wave of his hand, the ground erupted and a large stone emerged, just tall enough for the mage to take a seat "Sadly your diet does not consist of iron"

The mare neighed in response and chuckling at his conversation with the horse, came the repeating thought that had bugging him ever since Saarthal: he really had no long-term goal in this realm. Sure, there were his plans to entreat with the Daedra and learn the mysterious power behind the wall he had seen in Saarthal as well as achieve the same power of the mages who seemingly could stop time, but beyond that, there was nothing!

Only that he needed to return home.

Malekith frowned and gathered his head in his hands.

But then came the question, where was home exactly?

Was it his father's Kingdom, resting underneath the waves, cities and castles in ruin? The Colonies, now inhabited by younger races? His own cold throne room and Morathi with her poison? Or perhaps even the accursed flames of Asuryan that had consigned him to a life of pain and suffering? All he knew was that if this world promised to be kinder to him, he still had responsibilites. The wrongs done to Aenarion's line needed to be repaid thousandfold and Elvenkind reunited- even if they protested all the way through and he had to drag the Kingdoms screeming into his vision of Elven return to continental prominence.

Sighing, the ancient elf rubbed his temples and looked at the City of Whiterun. This was where his destiny would diverge. He could rest here then ride to Lake Ilinata and proceed to High Hrothgar with the Star in tow or he could attempt to slay the Dragon plaguing the city and gain the humans gratitude.

Choices indeed, he thought and out of boredom pulled out his map to chart his future course. Dragonslaying, undoubtedly, would be a time-consuming business, he realized and with a charcoal stick, gently mapped his alternate route and did his calculations, should he decide to aid the humans.

Three days at least, he surmised from what he knew of the winged reptiles and his own experience against them. Hardest part would be getting into the city as it was very likely that the gate would stay shut in order to contain the panic that was inevitably spread throughout the city. In the distance a dark shape was seen in the sky as it flew pat the walls of the city, smoke rising from where it had struck. With speed unimaginable from such a creature, the Dragon, for who else would attack the city with impunity, flew towards the keep, only to swiftly retreat, roaring loudly, if Malekith could hear it this far.

Maybe the Nords had a secret up their sleeves that could make the beast retreat, perhaps an analogue of Reaper bolt throwers or the cannons that the dwarves and humans loved, however this impressive firepower would pale before magic that could be utilized on the battlefield. There would be no such repeat of the battle near Azura's shrine, of that the damned beast could be sure.

Looking to the skies, the Witch King decided that he would move closer to the city as soon as the horse had been watered and rested properly or else, he might risk the Dragon escaping his sight before they could bid words, elf against a dragon.

Speaking of Dragons, the Lord of Naggarond was familiar with most of them, even the elusive dragons of Cathay, who claimed to be superior to mortals. Once the rightful Elven Clay was reclaimed, he had considered sending his armies to cow the proud beasts and perhaps even find better steeds than the Naggarothi bred Black Dragons. However, this is where his speculation ended, and his own theory crafting began. How would he safely dispatch a very intelligent beast who with speaking would destroy castle walls, at the very least?

Thus did the sorcerer ponder his course of action and found himself stumped, even after reviewing his rich history of using and inventing spells of Dark Magic. His brows furrowed, hand resting on chin. The man who single handily had wiped out cities pondered his course of action and whether or not it was worth enduring the human presence more than was necessary.

After what seemed like hours, the stolen horse had found a stream nearby and with hearty gulps was sating its thirst. In his thoughts, the monarch only noted buzzing in front of him as by reflex a small bolt of lightning shot out from the tip of his finger and vaporized the insect. The horsefly did not even fall to the ground, its small body turned to ash beforehand and was vaporized by the wind.

"In theory" Malekith scratched his chin and ground his boot into the ground "with enough winds, it would be possible to conjure a power destructive enough to down the creature if it would be unaware of the build-up of the energy…Hmm, yes, while hard to gather, it would still be possible…" there was an idea and now only a suitable location needed to be found before, the dark sorcerer could put it into action. A smile dawned on his lips as in his free hand, he conjured an arrow and started to scratch into ground. Perhaps he could keep to the schedule set for himself.

The sun slowly set, and his newest mount still had not deserted, obediently staying with its new master. While it may have been a stupid animal, it still had instincts and there were predators prowling the plains. Patting the beast upon its back and climbing onto the saddle, the warrior whispered a spell of hastening in Eltharin and took off in a search of a suitable location to fell the beast that was attacking the human settlement.

Initially, the castle seemed a great place from which to mount his attack from, but it would be most likely place that the dragon would assail, and it would be difficult to enter. Better it was to find a place which the beast would not expect, but there remained the issue of being disturbed. If someone interrupted him the result would be disastrous, to say the least. So, when the horse and its rider came closer to Whiterun and the farms surrounding the countryside, the dark-haired elf was quick to notice that a lone, ruined tower of stone stood out from the rest, safely sequestered between the mountains and the plains.

"Hiyah!" the warlord called and nudged the stirrups, riding in the direction of the abandoned battlement or so he hoped. If it was not, then it would soon be.

To the Wich King, battlements were things he knew well and this one was downright pathetic. Perhaps once it had been a decent enough for a small bastion that would serve as an outpost for the Nord Hold, but either through wars or disuse, the structure had crumbled, leaving only a partially unscathed central fortification in the middle, while the stone from what could have been its walls surrounded the tower like piles from a quarry. Perhaps the bastion was no longer needed and the stone from the walls was used to make roads. Understandably, the idea was preposterous, however, Tamriel was nothing but bizarre, at least when compared to his own plane where he had come from.

Only thing that indicated that it still was used, was the dirty yellow banner with a pale head of a horse, that fluttered in the breeze. No lights were there and coming closer, the sorcerer saw patches of burned ground and gashes on some piles, as if cut by a sword. It was evident that his prey had visited here and most likely began its reign of terror. Since there was no one there and the horse could be hidden, it would fit with the logic of a dragon to disregard his barren feeding spot for the more lucrative Whiterun.

At least it was what Malekith would do if he was an overconfident lizard that possessed admirable magical powers.

Sighing, the wizard jumped off the staddle and with the Destroyer drawn approached the entrance of the tower, the remaining hand pulling on horse's reins as it neighed in protest.

"Either you come with me beast, or you can defend yourself from hungry wolves or bandits all by yourself" it was a foolish thing, talking to animals, but lacking intelligent companionship, the warrior had to make do. In response the horse refused to budge and voiced its displeasure by kicking at the dirt. Malekith responded with a curse of sleeping that felled the horse, leaving it in slumber as the Witch King entered the structure.

It certainly was used before, he noted that despite the time wounded stone, there were new bedrolls, a burnt-out bonfire along with simple eating utensils littering the ground. Now this is where he knew his preparations needed to begin. Grasping the strands of magicka, Malekith called upon the myriad planes of Oblivion to summon a guard that would heed his orders.

Somehow it felt too much like gambling for his tastes.

Through sorcerous might, a sigil appeared in the space before the sorcerer, before being swallowed by a violet swirling vortex that sucked in light around the edges. Slowly, a small, clawed foot emerged from the gate, followed by another,then its arms dragging to the ground.

"Mortal calls this one to serve?" the small thing asked snidely and to say the least, the summoner was disappointed "Oh why this one could not be summoned by a great wizard" the thing had the gall to grumble.

"I think you will not enjoy reforming in waters of Oblivion, creature" the sorcerer uttered the word of pain in Drukh-Eltharin and watched in grim satisfaction as the little creature was wracked with pain as it writhed and groaned on the stone floor as sickly green light travelled all over its body.

"When you are ready to serve with respect, do inform me."

" Agh! O Great Torturer-Argh-…" it cried out "This humble scamp will serve you to the best of his abilities." While not perfect, it would suit his purposes well enough.

"A satisfactory answer, scamp" he addressed the creature that struggled to stand back up on its feet "Now you are to guard this very entrance of the tower and keep yourself out of sight. Should anyone try to enter, deter them with courteous rebuke and should that fail, use force. You will be dispelled defending this entryway, is that clear?"

The summoned daedra eyed the sorcerer with barely disguised hatred and nodded silently.

"It is good that we have an accord, creature" Malekith smiled mirthlessly "Your assistance will be invaluable and appreciated."

Grumbling something under its breath and grasping its face, the small creature walked towards the entryway, its batlike ears fluttering as it listened. While he had a clear preference for Dremoras and atronaches , at the very least the scamp was intelligent enough not to try and attack its summoner. It still was aesthetically ugly, and he refused to pretend otherwise.

Climbing to the top of the tower, the Witch King of Naggaroth summoned another Daedra, this time one in the shape of a flaming spear in his hand and slowly started to carve the symbols in the stone. Grimly, he wondered what would happen if he would make a mistake. It was doubtful that another benevolent Daedric Prince would have a shrine nearby.

As in every hunt, the timing was crucial as well as patience, having lived for so long, it was inescapable that the Lord of Druchii would possess a wealth of it. After painstakingly carving the runes and sigils, the sorcerer looked upon his work and momentarily rested. Hunger pangs was something with which he was familiar but squashed the momentarily weakness as he focused upon the intricate matrix before him. Its purpose was quite simple but required complex work to be able to channel the power he could have effortlessly wielded in his native lands.

The Darkness surrounded him, but in the distance the homes were alit with light, hundreds of small dots could be seen in the distance. Now all that was required of him was to wait the approach of his quarry. His backpack was downstairs, but the risk of missing this opportunity was too high. Looking to the stars, he noted that instead of the two moons that could be observed in the night sky, a third, more hidden, celestial body could be observed with naked eye, looking more of a shadow than a proper moon.

It certainly was an interesting phenomenon, but he refused himself to be swayed from his noted to investigate the phenomenon later. With complete certainty, the Dragon was nesting in the mountains behind the watchtower, which would make sense with the devastation wrought here. Because if the beast had come from elsewhere, it was unlikely that it would attack the dilapidated outpost, especially as barren as this.

"Come on" Malekith whispered as he extinguished the bound weapon and settled into a comfortable position and waited. The Dragon had attacked during the day and there was no reason for it not to attack again as night raids would allow it to attack with more impunity and spread more terror.

In the distance, a dark shape could be seen, whose wings silently glid through the night, obscuring splotches the Firament wherever it flew. A gleeful smile tugged at the green-eyed sorcerer's lip corners and seeing the shadow travel in the direction of Whiterun, the Witch King began.

When the winds were high, talented sorcerers could use the currents of the energy to amplify their spells or even use their raw power with devastating might. This was one of such instances, but herein was the hurdle for the magic of Tamriel was largely constant and peaceful, with only notable fluctuations being in the College, which the sorcerer suspected was why it built in such a place, where magicka gathered in abundance.

With no winds available, the diagram served as a quick process to divide magicka in eight balanced portions and to weave them back into pure Dhar, wilfully ignoring the balance that was needed for high magic.

The air around him grew hot and despite the cold climate, Malekith was sweating as he was in the deserts of Nehekhara. Underneath his feet the matrix started to glow in sickly green colour as the magical power seemed to melt through the stone. Immediately, he could feel the sorcery taking place was successful, his own power swelling and almost yearning to find a release.

Gathering the energy in his arms, the Lord of Druchii clasped his hands together and pulled them apart manifest a pure spear of Dhar that vibrated and wobbled, its form fluctuating between his vision of a spear and a serpent. Grasping it firmly, he drew back his arm and waited, holding the budding energy at bay.

Soon.

In Whiterun a torrent of fire came from the skies and the sorcerer recognized the approximate location. The sickly black lance of Dhar burned and grew. Instantly he remembered Morathi's rare words of wisdom as she had whispered to him after their stress relief.

"Either you control the magic, or it devours you" the sorceress stated as she toyed with a small, conjured flame sphere, lying beside him.

Currently he was precariously balancing on the precipice with the amount he had never attempted previously in Tamriel, but there was still time for him to cast the spear at the beast, before it could be fatal.

Now focusing his vision, the warrior could make out the Dragon as it hovered in the air. Only little more…

Through his bond, he felt the summoned scamp return to oblivion return and then the immediate sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs.

"Gods damn you" he snarled and with bated breath waited the last possible moment for the scaled beast to stay still and hit its mark. However, the intruders reached him first.

Out of the corners of his eye, Malekith was saw the intruders and praying to Anath Raema to guide his strike let the javelin loose, before being tackled to the ground with shouts of "foul sorcerer" and the typical "how dare you"

He felt punched raining down on his face and someone trying to grab his hands, but let it be known that the Son of Aenarion was powerful in body and no stranger to fist fighting, as inelegant as it was. There was no hesitation as with a powerful blow, Malekith caved in helmets, punched through chainmail and haulberks with an angry yell as blades shattered against ebonyflesh as the Ocato's recital fulfilled the last conditions set by him.

When the last of his assailants met their end the Witch King, his robes covered in blood and viscera, rose from the ground, the Destroyer pulling itself from a corpse with a sickening squelch. Around him laid men in chainmail and leather armor, with same yellow as the flag covering their chests as a means to differentiate their allegiance. Some had carried axes, maces, but most had used spears and momentarily it was evident why they had tried to take him alive.

However, the Witch King had no time to ponder the murder of guards as the bellowing roar full of anger answered his most pressing question: whether or not he had slain the dragon with a single hit.

"Fahrax Joore, Hein Krongrah Kos Qahnaar"

"Clever Mortal, Your conquest will be denied"

The beast now was before him, bronze like scales glittering in the night as two baleful yellow orbs looked at him as its horns were missing from its head. Two powerful claws bore into to the stone before him and all the Witch King could see was the razor toothed maw ready to destroy him.

"Saluk!"

"Perish!"

"YOL TOR SHUUL"

"IIZ"

The malice was unmistakable, but the sorcerer refused to fall to such a creature and answered in kind. From his lungs came a freezing gale which met the torrent of flames, but as Malekith was pushed back, it gave the sorcerer enough time to pick up his shield that rested on his back.

Regardless of how well the shield was made, it could not fully protect him and the Witch King was almost sent over the tower's edge as his back collided against the remaining portion of the wall.

"Impressive, to survive my Thu'um, Joore" the creature taunted as Malekith groggily stood up, the Destroyer in one hand, the Spellshield in another "Krilot, Vutharaak Brahnu "

"Admirable, However, useless"

In response, the Elven warrior placed the shied before him and breathed steadily as the beast laughed maliciously, no doubt preparing the strike. He could have tried the same trick, but such a monster would not fall for it. At least not the second time. With his back to the wall, adrenaline coursing through his veins and spite in his heart, the Son of Aenarion did not give the enemy a chance to enjoy his existence a moment longer as he dashed towards the Dragon, shield held in front of him as he unleashed the armaments true power.

"yOl ToR sHuUl" it reverberated in a twisted, corrupted parody of the Thu'um and spat back black flames of Dhar in a stream that could only come from a breath as potent as a Star Dragons as it completely enveloped the head of his adversary.

"JOORE!"

"MORTAL!" Through the flame cloud a singed and smoking visage of the Dragon appeared. It was even more crippled, its eyelids now milky white as if the flames had burned the iris and sclera clean off.

It snarled and in blind rage chomped down on its foe seeking to end the attacker. Instead of the soft flesh of and elf, it cried out in agony as the Spellshield was wedged in its mouth, cutting into its gums with its razor-sharp edges.

Spitting it out, the shield hit the edge of the tower, but it was too late for the Witch King to reach it. However, this moment of elation was short lived as grasping the sword with two hands, the Elf brought down the enchanted sword in a mighty swing, strong enough to crack stone. The Destroyer cut through the Dragons scales with ease, only feeling resistance when it met bone. The Dragon in its agony tried to whip its head around to defeat the mortal, but in losing blood, it lost its grip and together with the sorcerer tumbled below.

With a loud crash, the dragon had fallen on its back, wings were extended like that of a moth, still it twitched and rolled its neck. The fall had not killed either of them, but it left the once apex predator of Tamriel disoriented enough, for the King of Druchii to climb up its chest.

"Saluk, Dovah!" Malekith roared with hateful mockery as he slashed the unscathed part of the Dragons neck with all his might, sending a spurt of blood at the victor, whose face was covered in black blood.

Honestly, he was part expecting such beasts blood to be acidic. Unwittingly, he licked his lip and found that the blood tasted very much like his own. Still the sorcerer winced as his form was enveloped by rays and spirits coming from the beast, whose dying throes were replaced by roars as its flesh was stripped clean from bone as Malekith felt as he understood…something…Before his eyes flashed images of flying, likely from the Dragon's perspective, the fights, flashes of using the Thu'um, its descent to Whiterun and finally staring down an emerald eyed menace.

Touching his chest and muttering a healing spell, the golden glow enveloped the sorcerer as he slowly trod up the tower, noting that once more his mount was gone. Grumbling under his breath, he grabbed his backpack and procured a bottle of ale. He put the sword on his back and pulled out the cork with his teeth, spitting out the cork and taking a large swig of the beverage.

Now to get his shield back and proceed to Ilinata's Deep. Then he would be able to take a bath and reappear in civilization. As he continued to drink and climb upwards, Malekith wondered just how many more of these dragons he would need to slay and just sighed.

"It's best not to think about it right now" he breathed deeply and inspected the corpse, ready to tear out some talons and teeth for Faralda and his own experiments. Maybe he would give some to Toldfir, he was sure that the Nord would appreciate his gift.

The ale was awful, but it tasted of victory, and thus, he declared it good.

Upon coming to the top of the tower, his pack full of Dragon's teeth and talons, the Elf noted that the Spellshield had faced admirably throughout adversity and had come through almost unscathed- being only bent slightly when the dragon had fallen for the bait. There was no time left as curious people would be riding out to find the dragon and it was still too early for the Witch King show himself on the wider scale than the College.

Cursing underneath his breath, a hand was stretched out and once more a violet portal was opened before the elf. There were no particularly high hopes for him that this time the Daedra that would answer him would be of use as a mount, yet still he tried. However, there was some satisfaction when the being reared its head along with two wings.

Immediately Malekith was reminded of the bestial harpies that the beastmasters found myriad uses for, yet while the harpies were feathered, the creature before him reminded him more of a Slaneeshi daemonette in its beauty. Yet unlike the creatures of the warp, these daedra while not benevolent, were creatures that possessed internal underlying logic. This particular one was of purple skin with patches of black scales that covered ridges of the beings body. Another particularly daedric feature were the two small horns on her forehead. If the Book of Daedra was right on the matter of the subject, the creature that was in front of him was one of the Winged Twilights, a group of daedra, most often associated with the Prince of Twilight, Lady of Roses- Azura.

"Greetings, summoner" the creature bowed its head before the mage "Lady Azura keenly wishes to know how goes your task"

"Malyn Varen is hiding not far from here and by the next time sun sets, the Star of Azura will be in my hands. However, this was not why I summoned you"

The creature nodded and floated past the sorcerer to see what was happening at its base and almost landed when it saw the bone white skeleton of the Dragon lying in the stone. It whipped its head back at the sorcerer and back at the scene before the Winged Twilight. It rose from the ground and flew towards its summoner.

"Incredible! Surely it was no easy feat-" Malekith wished to hear no more prattle from the creature and the raised hand swiftly cutting in whatever the creature had to say. He locked eyes with the summoned Daedra and asked plainly:

"Can you carry my weight to Lake Ilinata?"

The creature flew higher and then descended, as if gouging his weight and then circled around him, before settling the talons of its feet on the shoulders of his cloak. Then it tried to heave him off the ground, but soon found that the strength of Daedra was not enough to lift the summoner into the air.

"Apparently not" the green-eyed Elf sighed and threw the mead bottle off the roof "However, your cooperation was delightful. You may return to your plane, daedra."

"By your command, summoner" it replied cordially, and it was gone, a cloud of disappearing magical energy. Sighing, Malekith gathered the magicka in his palm and attempted again, after all, he was nothing if not stubborn and he would have a mount capable of flight or the very least, riding speed, before he would have the need to flee the inevitable gathering of the locals.

In the end, the sorcerer decided that attempting to summon such a creature was a waste of time in his current situation and he would rather attempt to divide Azyr from the Qaysh in order to cast the Wings of Heaven and leave the tower and the consequences of the slain dragon, Whiterun's guardsmen behind.

It was interesting that the now extinct Ayleids had a similar worldview regarding magic as did his own people. Instead of the Eight Winds, they recognized five elements and thus their magic was created accordingly, their marvels were never replicated even after the thousands of years. If he had the time, the ruins of these ancient peoples would deserve proper investigation. However, his mind returned to Azyr. Even though this magic was far different from his own, with enough understanding how exactly the winds mixed and split, he would be able to do what he had done with the artificial Dhar and manage to wrangle the spells into existence.

Breathing deeply, he manifested magicka in his palms and flowing strands of the energy of Aetherius was released back into the sky until only a very small part remained. Now he only required to gather more and then he would be able to reach his destination faster than with any horse, for they needed to tread the earth and its obstacles, but such a thing would not bother him, once the winds would carry him to his target.

Akin to a ghostly breeze, did the Witch King whisper so and the winds around him grew into a fierce gale, making the singed wolfskin cloak flutter chaotically even though it was pressed to his body and the backpack. The Spellshield rattled as it clung to his arm, just as the Destroyer did, pressed to his body by his elbow.

The length of the spell was only measured in minutes, but with sufficient speed, it was possible to land nearby the village Riverwood and the White River, should he time his flight properly. Within a blink of an eye the Witch King of Naggaroth was lifted into the air by currents of magic and catapulted through the night sky. One downside of this spell was that the course already needed to be charted beforehand and once in motion, the spell could only be cancelled, leading to downfall. Of course, it could be avoided, but most practitioners of magic lacked the willpower and understanding of its principles to work.

As he left the ruined watchtower, he saw dozens of torches, to his eye, little more than distant fireflies, approaching the enormous skeleton that he had left in his wake, while even more were arriving. In the night sky, at such an altitude it would have been difficult for anyone to see him with a mere eye, unless there was beastman, vampire or a mage with ability to see in the dark as clear as day. Surrounded by winds, Malekith flew over pines, his raven black mane blasted back by the velocity of his travel. It was a common thrill for mortal races to fly and with Sulehk and Seraphon, the Lord of Druchii had enjoyed the privileges whenever he could, but this brief transition could not compare to the sensation of allowing one to fly wherever his or her heart desired.

In the distance he saw lights of Riverwood, he remembered with a nod to himself. His descent had already slowly started, and he was sure that he would land just past the bridge leading to Whiterun and clean himself up, before heading further. There was little doubt that after today he needed to clean himself and there was no chance that he would allow himself to stroll into the human settlement covered in blood and head straight to the inn. The less he had to do with guards the better.

Especially since today had been full of manslaying.

Descent of the spell was untroublesome, as if sliding down a gradual slope. In front of him was the aforementioned bridge, but as the elven sorcerer sailed past it, still four elves could stand atop of one another and still the green-eyed tyrant would be above them.

His leather boots hit the ground, sending little bit of mud around the landing zone. As expected, he had landed roughly a mile from the slumbering settlement and by the banks of the White River as he had charted his course.

Surveying his surroundings, the Witch King slowly trod towards a grassy patch, bit further ahead, because if he needed to clean his clothes, the rest of his belongings needed to be within reach if someone decided to help themselves to his arms. While the Spellshield was capable of being used by anyone due to much simpler enchantments, the Destroyer- forged by his own hand, the blade had only one owner. Laying down his arms, backpack and cloak by the closest rock, the Witch King knelt by the river stream and cupped water with his hands, before splashing it on his face. The refreshing coolness that the water brought could not be underestimated and without a second thought, the sorcerer began rubbing his face clean of the Dragon's blood. Now that he thought of it, it was curious that it had not burned away with the rest of it, when he had absorbed its powers, memories? Malekith still was not sure.

He would ask the Greybeards, the supposed experts on Thu'um when he arrived in High Hrothgar.

A.N.: I owe you all an apology for being gone this long. I found a promising job, which demanded a lot of my time and time for writing was sparse. Also got a puppy, who also is being a handful in addition to an old cat, I call her the Old Lady as she is very vocal and graceful. So, this chapter indeed is mostly filler, but it does set up future entanglements and problems for Malekith, based on his current actions. Skyrim AE still isn't fully compatible with mods, which is a pain for my huge mod list. Ah, the pain.

Anyhow, I appreciate your comments, thoughts and criticisms, feel free to reach out to me.

Next chapter is about Greybeards and Malyn Varen's fate. I'll try to squeeze in Azura and her goodies, but perhaps I should save it for a separate chapter. After that its an interlude and we're officially in the middle of the first arc of Malekith's journey through the strange world of Tamriel and he has seen only the tip of the iceberg.

Thank you again for reading.

Be merry, marry, have fun

-Spook