A/N: Alana's attempt at making a life shall continue to drive her up the wall until morale allegedly improves. What, did anyone seriously think adopting a random street rat would be easy? Hell no. There's a lot of healing to be done, and I'm not just talking about Ciri.
Whispers of the Night
One year after Serana died and she left Astrid, Alana has left for Solstheim to be alone and never harm another innocent. Enemies new and old are rising, and it is never easy for one to free themselves from the shackles of their demons..
*Book 2: Oblivion Walker Part 17*
Alana half-limped, half-walked with Saoron over to the Earth Stone, Ciri still dangling off of her waist. She was twitchy, nervously ducking her head under the woman's black cloak whenever they went passed someone. 'Even if she's terrified of me, she still feels safe enough to know I can protect her.' Alana sighed and dragged a hand down her face. 'I'm really not cut out for this, am I? Father had the patience of a saint to put up with me as a child.'
Saoron heard her explanation as to why she showed up covered in bruises as if she had been tied to the back of a horse as it dragged her along a cliff. He took it about as well she expected. He pinched his brow, loudly asked to the sky who he killed for that to both make sense and make no sense at all, and received an answer in the form of Astrid's howling laughter.
Alana knew who was at fault. She wasn't that blind to think she wasn't at least slightly to blame. Still, at least her mistress was no longer in the mood to beat her to a pulp. Astrid had cooled off after their fight and was back to being her snarky and dangerously seductive self. 'It says a lot about me that I can connect more with a trained killer than I could a normal citizen. Not all of it good.'
'I remember Astrid once saying she rarely met an off person she hadn't liked.' The lone exception was Cicero, but Astrid wasn't the only one of the Family who couldn't stand the jester. The only one who didn't sincerely wish extreme bodily harm on Cicero for his mad ramblings was Festus, and that was because the old bastard was beginning to grow deaf in one ear before he died. He couldn't complain about something he couldn't hear.
Saoron kept pace with her; he had offered to lend her a hand, but Alana assured him she was fine and would only take a look. "So. An alternate version of you. I didn't exactly expect that to happen when Akatosh made you his Chosen One. You're saying he split your soul when he cleansed you? After he brought you back?"
"Seems like it," Alana answered. "I don't know if he meant to or if it was just a consequence, but it doesn't change it. It's done."
"How much like you is she?"
"Too much."
"Alana." Saoron's stare towards her was suddenly very flat.
The blonde woman sighed. "Okay, she's a version of me that's embraced the power of Oblivion. Imagine me at my most bloodthirsty and multiply it by ten. That's how she is. Someone who enjoys killing for the sake of it, with no regard for empathy. She has the power of a daedra on top of our own abilities." Alana looked away, out across the sea. "And she isn't afraid to use her power to win."
Ciri's grip on her waist grew tighter.
"What about her?" Saoron gestured to the girl using Alana as shelter from the wind. She flinched away from his hand and hid deeper underneath Alana's cloak, making the man step back with a frown.
"It's... not as easy to explain." Alana scratched the back of her head, chuckling awkwardly and trying to redirect the conversation. "You mentioned an associate of yours was looking into whatever phenomenon has taken hold of the town?"
"Don't change the subject." Saoron folded his arms. "Spill."
"She tried to pickpocket me while Astrid and I were in Windhelm," Alana gave in with a sigh.
"Cute." The brunet Breton snorted in laughter. "What did you do?"
"Nearly broke her wrist."
Saoron stared, eyes flat.
Alana cringed. "I healed her after. I took her for a meal since she obviously hadn't been eating well on the streets, and for some unknown reason she took my hand when I offered it." She really wasn't sure what the hell Ciri was thinking of. Maybe she felt since Alana was strong, she could protect her? It was better than the alternative and more likely thought process that Ciri viewed herself as a tool. Alana felt sick at the thought of it.
It was no good trying to give her a normal life; children who grew up on the streets were forced to mature early in order to survive. Those that didn't perished. 'And I can't call myself anything close to normal either.' How could someone understand what it meant to be a child when their own experiences forced them to act more mature than their age?
She could remember her life as a child in the Imperial City, but normal for her was getting up in the morning with her father to work the forge and front counter. Most girls her age, she didn't know what they did. Maybe helped run inns or whatever their family business was.
Alana had a brief vision of Ciri following her business and paled. 'No. Definitely not. But I'm not sure if I have a choice. She needs to be strong; I've unwillingly made her a target.' It would be just like the daedra to try and target the weaker link. Mephala in particular enjoyed meddling with children, using them to discover secrets that she could then use to manipulate the lives of mortals. The bitch used Jarl Balgruuf's youngest son to trick Alana into taking up the Ebony Blade the first time, all those years ago. She would not let that happen again.
A loud rumble came from underneath her cloak and she pulled it aside. Ciri was hiding her face bashfully and mumbled out an apology. Alana's gaze met Saoron's and he nodded slowly. It would be a long work in progress to make the girl not flinch upon seeing either of them, and Alana knelt down with an awkward smile. "Don't be sorry; people get hungry. It's a fact of life. I'll make us something when we go home, okay?"
Ciri nodded and looked over at the Earth Stone. "I... I can feel it."
Alana could too, and the barrier surrounding the Earth Stone shimmered with green light briefly before vanishing. Her eyes closed and she tried to let her magic interact with it, only to suddenly recoil as if she'd been burned. She flexed her fingers, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "As I thought..." This was one of the worst-case scenarios, one that shouldn't have happened so soon.
A daedric prince had its grip on the town.
She couldn't identify the specific prince behind it, but it was safe to assume that neither Vaermina nor Mephala was responsible for whatever had taken over Raven Rock's citizens. It just wasn't their style. If Vaermina wanted Raven Rock, she'd just inflict horrendous nightmares on everyone as they fell asleep. Mephala would merely cause chaos by whispering from the shadows, not blatantly taking over an entire settlement. She just didn't have enough power and wouldn't bother with enslaving so many. "Do you have any idea?"
"I do," Saoron replied gravely. "Hermaeus Mora."
The Prince of Fate and Knowledge. One of the most powerful of daedric princes, capable of turning even a scribe of Akatosh to the side of Oblivion. He was subtler than most princes, but still not to be trifled with. Many a wizard had gone to his realm of Apocrypha for his tomes of hidden knowledge, only to lose their humanity and become twisted daedra in service to their lord. His thirst for knowledge and secrets drove him, but what would a dainty little colony possible have to offer Mora?
Alana pointed that out.
"That's what I thought. Either way, I have someone investigating that Black Book of his. If old Mora is up to anything, we'll be the first to..." Saoron trailed off and looked behind him. Alana did too, whirling around with one hand reaching for the sword across her back and hiding Ciri behind her. Two strange individuals dressed in strange pale green robes stood in the ash, blocking the road back to Raven Rock. Each of them wore a mask with a white tentacled face on the front, and Alana's eyes hardened. Neither of them had a weapon on display, but they weren't quite harmless either. Something about them was off.
"You there!" The one on the left was male, and he pointed at Alana. "Are you the one they call Dragonborn?"
Alana and Saoron shared a glance, and the Breton shook his head. This was new to him, too.
"What does it matter if I am?" Alana pushed Ciri over to wall lining the road to Raven Rock, tossing her cloak aside. Saoron immediately took up a defensive stance to cover Ciri with his back to the girl, shield deployed and his hand gripping his sword.
"Then the lies of the false Dragonborn have already spread."
"False?" Alana wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. She devoured Alduin's soul and slew many of his lieutenants. Everyone in Skyrim knew she was the Last Dragonborn. This was just like dealing with Delphine all over again, when the bitch refused to believe that she was the last of Akatosh's dragon blood. "I think you might be drunk. Or idiots."
"Whatever you say, deceiver. There is only one Dragonborn and it is our lord, not you. When Lord Miraak appears, all shall know the truth. None will be spared!" One of the robed figures lifted their hand with a crackle of lightning and Alana reached behind her to draw her broadsword. The wide blade caught a thunderbolt, the Aetherium coating absorbing the magic spell. The crash of thunder alerted her of a second thunderbolt, and she held her sword in a two-handed grip, using its size to act as a shield. Ciri screamed and she cursed. Saoron immediately ran with his back to the girl, using his shield to ward off any potential collateral spell damage. Good man. With her out of the way, there would be no distractions and Alana could go on the offensive.
Alana pressed forward, driving the two robed figures back and away from Ciri. First Tsurugi was glowing after absorbing the spells, and she twirled it once overhead before leaping back and ramming the broadsword through the chest of the closest. A normal longsword would have pierced in and out, leaving a relatively small wound. Alana grinned savagely and pulled down, ripping the blade through and out of two halves of a body. The shock magic the blade had stored exploded in a bright flash, turning what was left into a charred mess.
Blood splashed over her legs and boots, and the last one recklessly charged, reaching for a hidden elven dagger. The attack was clumsy and amateurish, and Alana had no issue merely stepping to the side to avoid it entirely. The robed attacker stumbled, and flames flickered at the corners of Alana's mouth. Her lips parted and out came the fury of the sun itself, burning everything it touched. "Yol Toor Shul!"
Her Fire Breath set the bastard ablaze, and she clicked the button on her broadsword's handle. A smaller longsword sprung into her left hand and she stalked over to the smoldering body, ignoring the bastard's pained screams as the flames from her attack. Her twin swords separated his head from his body, spraying more blood onto her legs. 'Good riddance to bad rubbish. What the bloody hell was that all about?'
Her broadsword was rebuilt into its full form and she looked behind her, shouldering her weapon. "Are you alright?"
Ciri nodded, wide eyes staring at the bodies Alana had left lying in two matching pools of crimson, one of them still smoldering away. Alana winced and put her sword away with a heavy sigh. First a daedric version of her born out of her own soul, now another supposed Dragonborn? "Whole world is going insane..."
If Alana thought a hot meal and warm bath would be enough to make Ciri forget she had just witnessed people being butchered and burned alive, she was terribly wrong.
The girl hadn't so much as spoken to her since they made it back to the Severin Manor, flinching away from a bowl of stew placed in front of her. Ciri was in bed now, Saoron offering to take over for the nighttime duties so Alana could get some rest herself. Sleep was not on the menu, and Alana sighed as she placed another book back on the library's shelf. "Nothing... not a damn thing."
Miraak. The name sounded draconic, as if it perhaps belonged to a priest of the Dragon Cult. She had battled dragon priests before in her journeys across Skyrim, all of them in their undead form, and she figured Saoron's collection of tomes would provide some help on the subject. None of the priests buried in Skyrim shared the name, and it most definitely wasn't the dragon priest she fought in Bloodskal Barrow. The book had provided the name of that priest and two others that were rumored to be buried on Solstheim, but not a bloody whisper of the name Miraak. The names she had been provided were Zahkriisos, Dukaan, and Ahzidal. The latter of them she had at least heard of. Every Nord knew the tale of Ahzidal, the first great Nord enchanter and possibly the best mage in history. A man who once fought alongside Ysgramor himself and enchanted the weapons and armor of the original 500 Companions, before losing his mind in his hunger for more knowledge.
She dreaded to think of going up against an undead Ahzidal. 'God-given powers or not, a dragon priest is still a dragon priest. And Ahzidal was the strongest mage of his time.' Not to mention like most of the Dragon Cult's high priests, he was a master of the Voice. His burial ground, Kalbjorn Barrow, was constantly being buried over and over again by the ash storms that ransacked the southern half of the island, meaning anyone looking to even think about digging would find their time wasted and eventually give up. Ahzidal's undead form wasn't going to be rising any time soon.
Zahkriisos she and Saoron had disposed of already in Bloodskal Barrow. Dukaan... the name wasn't familiar to her at all and his tomb was buried in an old ruin high up on a mountain, in Solstheim's snow-covered peaks. She'd already drawn a rough sketch of the ruin on her map of Solstheim, penciling it in where it was believed to be. 'White Ridge Barrow. Might be worth a visit.'
Alana checked in on Ciri and found the girl sound asleep, curled up on her bed and clutching her blanket for dear life. It was probably the first time she got to sleep somewhere warm in years. Alana closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, tiptoeing back to not disturb her.
"Going somewhere?"
Astrid stood behind her in full combat gear, arms crossed over her chest and sword dangling across her back.
"I found something that might be worth looking into."
"And you think going out now is the answer?"
"I don't see why not. My enemies aren't going to sit around waiting for me to get a good night's rest. They're pressing and don't have any reason to be afraid. I aim to change that."
"You really are a selfish bitch, you know that?" Astrid said.
"I know." Alana's eyes closed. "I've accepted it."
"It makes you seem like a horrible person at first, but it means you won't settle for scraps when you can hunt the beast yourself. Anyone else might have packed it in after saving the world one time. You'd rather throw your life away than put someone else in front of the dragon's fire, and for that I respect you. But no more keeping me in the dark. Not if you want my help."
"Astrid..." Alana shook her head. It wasn't the time or place for this conversation. "I've found the location of a dragon priest's tomb. One I'm hoping will give me clues as to who Miraak is. The tomb is to the far north, in the mountains."
"Grave-robbing now? How the mighty have fallen." Astrid's lips curved into a coy smirk. "Do we have a name?"
"White Ridge Barrow."
"Good. We can set out tomorrow morning."
"W-wait, huh!?"
"What?" Astrid asked innocently. "If you're going out to poke around a Nordic burial ground that doubles down as a dragon priest's tomb, you'll need all the help you can get. Someone has to make sure to keep an eye on your back. Your track record of exploring the dungeons and ruins of Solstheim by yourself isn't the best, according to Saoron."
Alana groaned weakly. "That gossipy little... does he know nothing of keeping things secret?" What stung the most was the jab from Saoron wasn't entirely wrong. Her track record of poking around a Nordic ruin usually ended with her being forced to fight through wave after wave of draugr. Serana hated going on those dives and would always find something to complain about. Good times.
"It's a good thing he did tell me. Nearly getting yourself eaten by one of Vaermina's demons... stood there like a bloody statue. The hell is wrong with you?"
Many things, but if Astrid began listing all of her faults, they'd be here all day. Alana wisely chose not to delve into that sorry mess and made a half-hearted attempt to see if she could go out exploring by her lonesome. "The collateral damage is more of my concern. One person can dodge fire breath easier than two. If I promise to come back, will you let me go?"
"Nope!"
'Bloody called it!'
Alana sighed and glanced out a nearby window. Astrid wasn't going to let her go anywhere and any attempts to find the smallest bit of wriggle room would be stamped out. 'The barrow isn't going to grow legs and sod off to Red Mountain. Two of us should be able to clear it without too much hassle.' Like all Nordic burial grounds, it was sure to be full of vicious ancient traps and hordes of draugr. Nothing that couldn't be handled by the two of them. The dragon priest at the end of the ruin was going to be the biggest problem. Engaging a master of the Voice, undead or not, while tired wasn't the smart thing to do. The draugr would wear her down, too, and Talos knew what else was crawling around in its depths. Nordic barrows back home in Skyrim hid all manner of creatures, from giant frostbite spiders and skeevers to ice wraiths and trolls, and she was willing to bet her left arm that the burial grounds on Solstheim held the same kinds of beasts.
"Fine. But I'll have to let Ciri know she'll be with Saoron in the morning." Alana winced even as she said it. She couldn't bring a child, half-breed vampire or not, into a dangerous ruin. That was called child endangerment, not a learning experience. 'Just because I was fighting in a war at twenty years old doesn't mean a twelve-year-old should be hanging onto my hand while I search a dungeon for a dragon priest that may or may not be there.'
"So what did you do exactly to make her so terrified of you?"
"You noticed that?"
"Of course I did. She flinched when you passed a bowl down to her. So, what did you do?" Astrid repeated the question.
Alana dragged her hand down her face. "I... used my Voice."
Astrid's eyebrow rose.
"Fire Breath," Alana admitted sheepishly. She hadn't thought of it at the time, too focused on the battle and ensuing investigation in Saoron's library, but it was yet another instance of her natural dragon instincts taking over. To a dragon and those with their blood, Shouting came as naturally as having a verbal debate. Her own ability to Speak was so much stronger than normal, having been honed by Paarthurnax and overpowering even Alduin. She hadn't even once considered what a display of power that would be to a child who had just been taken off the streets. 'To her, I'm probably the monster who kills the monster under the bed.'
She groaned into her fist. "I really screwed this up, didn't I?"
"You did." Astrid's flat reply brought a snort of laughter out of her. Her mistress was always blunt like that. "Now off to bed with you."
"Are you joining me?"
"Not if you don't get moving."
The next morning, Alana was up at the crack of dawn to the sound of chittering birds and in Astrid's embrace. She wormed her way out as carefully as she could to not disturb her, and she shivered once her feet were on the floor. Despite the chill, she felt as if she had regained some of the energy from her youth, her bruised limbs already feeling much better than before. 'It got a lot colder overnight.' Her breath was visible in the dim early morning light, and she rubbed her hands together as she dressed in her normal attire. The black pants and cuirass may have provided ease of movement, but weatherproof it was not and she grabbed a thick bear-pelt cloak for added warmth. The ruin her and Astrid were going to poke around in for any clues on Miraak was built near the very summit of Solstheim's most northern mountain peak, and anything to give some protection from the harsh winds would not go amiss.
Fully dressed, she went downstairs to what was her new living room, putting some cut logs in the fireplace and igniting it with a simple Flames spell. The warmth started to circulate, and Alana heard the padding of bare feet behind her. Ciri had woken up and was looking all around Alana's house with wide eyes. Alana hid her smile and wandered over to a cupboard, opening it and wincing at the lack of food ingredients. Salted venison, a few potatoes, and a head of cabbage. 'What I wouldn't give to have a few chickens or a cow here.'
Farming wasn't the best on Solsthiem; the eruption of Red Mountain had destroyed a lot of the farms that were once on the island, and the Empire was in no hurry to even think about sending them aid and for once, she grudgingly couldn't blame them. The Empire had taken too many big losses over the last forty years. Not just the Great War, but Hammerfell and Skyrim both declaring independence threw the entire continent of Tamriel upside down. No one was expecting it, certainly not the Imperials, who thought it was just another rebellion.
Skyrim being free of the Empire for the first time in hundreds of years proved it was not just a mere rebellion. It was a successful revolution.
"Good morning," Alana greeted, trying to smile for Ciri's sake. She had a feeling she failed spectacularly and instead made herself look even more like a monster from the way Ciri looked down hurriedly.
Alana sighed and silently asked for help. 'This is going to be a long work in progress.' Someone was laughing at her, she just knew it.
"Did you sleep okay?" she tried.
A quiet nod.
Alana bit back a second sigh. This was harder than she thought. "I'll make some breakfast for us."
Ciri's stomach growled in response and her pale cheeks flushed, shamed and mumbling what sounded like an apology of sorts. Her thin arms wrapped around her body and her stomach rumbled again.
"You don't need to apologize for that." Alana dropped to one knee to try and appear less intimidating. Judging by the way Ciri flinched she failed at that too. "We all get hungry from time to time. It's just part of life." 'Am I really that terrifying to someone who hasn't been around me that long?'
"Okay," Ciri whispered.
An idea came to Alana as she remembered something her father would do whenever he noticed her acting dejected in her youth. It was a long shot, but she'd take anything right now.
"You want to help me cook?"
Ciri's eyes lit up.
Astrid rubbed her eyes and checked again to make sure she wasn't having a lucid dream. When she discovered she wasn't in fact dreaming and very much awake, she wasn't sure what to make out of the scene she had arrived at.
Alana was not what anyone would call normal. Astrid knew it from the first time she ever met the idiot. The nuanced movements, shadowed gaze, and way she moved through a den of murderers spoke of a predator. The others in the Brotherhood could sense it too, that Alana was not someone to be trifled with and Sithis help whoever was stupid enough to give her a reason to turn them inside out. None of the surviving Brotherhood members could exactly forget witnessing Alana's rage firsthand. Seeing daedric champions get torn in half from the skull to the groin wasn't so easily forgotten.
The poor Initiates really had no idea just how much of a monster their former Listener was and thought the stories were just exaggerations. If they only knew it wasn't fiction and she really was a woman who could bring armies to their knees. Bliss in ignorance.
And yet, there Alana was, helping a girl cut up a cabbage to put into a stew. It smelled delicious and undead or not, Astrid's mouth watered. 'What the hell kind of motherly instinct rubbish is she on now?'
Alana, with children?
Nazir would laugh himself to death if he saw this.
Even that testy Breton wasn't sure if he was seeing it correctly the first time, and he was supposedly one of Alana's best friends. Astrid liked him; he was the kind of no-nonsense she appreciated, and just like Alana, he was a little off. Not insane or mad, but not quite all there. Astrid hadn't found out what exactly had made him that way, but she was willing to bet it was something both he and Alana went through in their younger years. He had the look of a man who had seen what real cruelty is and lost something very dear to him. One who wasn't going to lose anything else and would give everything he had and more. That kind of stubborn willpower seemed to be something he either learned along the way or picked up from Alana herself.
Saoron was a decent person in spite of whatever Tamriel threw at him. It didn't take very long for Astrid to realize it. The man was beloved in Raven Rock for the work he had done for the community and his assistance with the Redoran Guard. Most sellswords would've only done those deeds for the promise of gold, but he never did. He'd only accept a payment when it became increasingly clear they wanted him to have it and wouldn't budge.
Alana was not. She was a killer, and a damned good one. For all their elite training and numbers, the Penitus Oculatus didn't stand a chance against her in a fight. She might as well have been a troll set loose in an orphanage. 'Seeing her fumble her way through this phase of her life is going to be a pain, isn't it?'
Astrid sighed. It was.
Was it a bad thing that she considered a dragon priest's tomb to be the more preferable option?
Breakfast was a very awkward affair and Alana wasn't sure what the hell she was supposed to do about it. Ciri's focus remained fixed on the bowl in front of her, ravenously wolfing it down with the speed of someone who wasn't sure when their next meal would be. Astrid didn't say anything, merely raising an eyebrow at Alana and silently telling her that this was her decision, and thus her responsibility. She wasn't wrong, and Alana sent a look back that asked for help. Her desperation was responded by a flat stare that practically said, 'I told you so.'
The Nord woman shrugged helplessly. Taking in a child was an impulse decision, one she knew she should've put more thought into for she was nowhere even remotely close to being what one could call a model parent. Astrid was right to chastise her for it back in Windhelm; she didn't know what she was doing and now she was beginning to feel slightly guilty about having to run off again so soon after making it back to Raven Rock. Ciri would not be happy about being left in a comfortable house with Saoron, but Alana trusted him and knew he was better with kids than her. He couldn't be worse than her or most of the people she called a friend over the course of her life. It probably said something that not a single one of them was in any way considered normal by most of Tamrielic society. Old wizards, thieves, soldiers, vampire princesses, and assassins.
Saoron could tell from one look that not all was well with Ciri. If he hadn't heard Alana say she only just picked her off the street, he might have asked if she was now a kidnapper. Which, in all honesty, she probably was in this situation. 'Can't blame any gods for this one. Only myself.' It was strangely nice to be able to direct her annoyance at herself for once instead of a meddling spider goddess intent on claiming her soul.
She didn't know who was in charge of Riften's orphanage after Grelod died from natural causes, but she imagined they wouldn't be the best pleased with how she was handling her newfound duties so far and would have something to say if they found out. 'Who else would know what to do here?' None of her remaining friends had settled down in Skyrim, and while she had some acquaintances in Raven Rock, she wasn't exactly sure who in Oblivion she could walk up to and ask for parenting advice. The only people she really interacted with on the island apart from Saoron was Captain Veleth and Geldis in the cornerclub, neither of whom had any offspring of their own to the extent of her knowledge.
'Astrid's right about one thing, though.' Alana blew on a spoonful of hot stew, glancing over at Ciri as the girl tilted the bowl up to finish the last dregs. 'Ciri's now a target by association. A potential hostage to get to me.'
'I've lost too many already. Anyone who thinks they'll take more will find my sword in their gut.'
She wasn't afraid to admit she was looking forward to delivering a beatdown on a dragon priest.
"Snow, wind, and ice. You sure know how to pick a nice adventure." Astrid grumbled as she trudged through the snow knee-deep, glaring at Alana through her cloak. "And I can see you laughing. If this is your idea of fun, I'm dreading to know what you'll do for a nice candlelit dinner." As usual, the barb had no real venom behind it and Alana grinned. Astrid complaining about horrible weather reminded her of simpler times, when it was just her and Serana against the world and the Tyranny of the Sun was prevented from ever happening. Complaining about the blizzard trying to turn them into ice sculptures was just another way to try and keep boredom down. Her unit in the Stormcloak Army was similar, making jokes at each other's expense and giving gentle ribs only to keep themselves from losing their minds.
She loved both of Astrid and Serana dearly, but by Talos did they complain whenever the weather was even the tiniest inconvenience. Snow that sank to their knees and the wind having it out for them was more than an inconvenience. It was downright dangerous. 'None of my adventures across Skyrim were ever nice and easy. It's nice to see nothing about that has changed.'
'No wonder this tomb hasn't been explored by any of the locals. The inclement weather alone is enough of a natural deterrent.' Maybe the odd bandit or reaver crew could have holed themselves up somewhere nearby, but there wasn't anything really of value once one got away from the ashlands that made up Solstheim's southern half. No sane mercenary or treasure hunter was going to come this far north looking for anything of value.
On the plus side, that did mean that they were likely only going to have to deal with some draugr, or maybe a troll at the worst.
"Where the bloody hell is it!?" Astrid had to shout to be heard over the wind howling around them, nipping at any hints of exposed skin. "And why does it have to be in the most unpleasant wilderness I've had the misfortune of gallivanting in?"
"The map says it should be to the north of us!" Alana yelled back. "Would you rather have a terrible blizzard or deal with the sun?"
"... I'll take the sun." Astrid pointedly drew her cloak over her head. "At least I can shield myself from that..."
Alana looked up at the grey clouds hanging over them and took a deep breath. When it was released, the world seemed to tremble and shake with a loud crash of thunder. "Lok Vah Koor!"
Clear Skies was a Thu'um she didn't use very often. Most usage of her Voice was displayed through her Fire Breath, Frost Breath, or Slow Time. The knowledge of the Shouts she learned still tumbled around in her mind, but most of them she hadn't bothered to use. She didn't need to Shout as much as she did when she was younger and not as good with a blade. Ironically, her own skills had slowly filtered out the need to constantly use her Voice, letting it become not as her primary method of engagement but rather as just another tool to use when the outcome of a fight began to look a little bleak.
The Shout did its work. The power of her Voice broke up the storm that minutes ago was doing its best to freeze them solid, and Alana grinned as she pulled her cloak away from her mouth, the sun finally having a chance to warm them up and give them a bit of a break from the frozen hell they had been trudging through for the last few hours. 'I do hope Ciri is okay...'
She really didn't want to leave her alone, especially so soon after getting back to Raven Rock, but the other alternative was bringing her along for an adventure and a healthy dose of child endangerment. Alana was messed up but not crazy or negligent enough to bring a child into an unforgiving wilderness to look around an ancient ruin. It just wasn't happening.
"So, you want to tell me why Ciri was giving you the evil eye before we set off?" Astrid asked with a smirk, poking only the smallest amount of her face out of from her cloak.
"I may have told her that she had to stay at home with Saoron..."
"Ah. That'll do it. She's messed up."
"Yeah, I know." Alana sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Still, he's the most reliable person I know. He's a good man, Astrid."
"He is. But even a good man can still not be all there in the head. He's your age, right?"
"Hmm. We grew up together in the Imperial City. He often got into trouble with his parents for sneaking off to my house to learn the ways of the sword and shield. They said it was unbecoming of a Breton to let his magical talents waste in favor of steel. He wasn't always as strong as he is now. He used to be so slim he could be mistaken for a broom." Alana smiled fondly at the memory.
"He got stronger."
"We both did. Didn't have a choice. The Empire may have not been the ones to kill my father, but they stood back and let the Thalmor do whatever they wanted. I wasn't going to bend the knee to appease a group that wanted to herd up all 'heretics' for slaughter. Better to die free than live as a slave."
The Empire couldn't understand that philosophy or wouldn't. To them, turning their backs on the world power that had once dominated most of the continent was treason. They believed in following orders. The Nords who fought in the Great War saw the signing of the White-Gold Concordat to be the moment when the Empire died. No self-respecting Nord would let an elf tell them what gods they could and couldn't worship, and so they refused. The culmination of forced debts, ban on Talos worship, and turning a blind eye to the Thalmor kidnapping and murdering citizens was enough to drive most of Skyrim's populace into a frenzy, and they wanted blood. The Empire, knowing that if it lost Skyrim they'd have no hope of averting their downfall, tried to stamp out the flames of rebellion before it was too late.
Funnily enough, it was Alduin's return that really ruined the Empire's best chance, saving not just Ulfric but Alana herself. There was some sort of irony in the World-Eater saving the one person who could kill him from execution. If she had been anyone else, she probably would've died at Helgen.
"Better to die free than live as a slave, huh? No wonder you ended up amongst the Stormcloaks."
"I was a lot angrier back then," Alana admitted. "Grieving, furious, and eager to make someone pay. Ulfric welcomed me with open arms, and while I agree that some of us are more hostile towards outsiders than they have reason to, our ideal was still the same. Skyrim is Nord land, and we don't need any help from a corrupt and dying Empire to rule it."
"Is this your attempt at a recruitment pitch? I'm not sure I'd do well in the army," Astrid teased.
"Of all the people I'd try and get into the military, you are far from being on that list." Alana snorted.
"Hey..."
"That pouty look doesn't suit you very well either."
Astrid could only grumble.
Of all the things Neloth neglected to warn Dissordia about, his incredibly accident-prone apprentice was the one that she really wished she knew about before the Mage Lord decided to sod off to Raven Rock and study the Earth Stone. The Nerevarine had previously thought she'd seen everything after her expedition to Akavir, but Tamriel appeared to have mastered the art of surprises, and she sighed before slowly dragging her hands down her face, pointedly ignoring the loud explosion several hundred feet away. "So, let me get this straight." She had already heard it twice, but she hoped hearing it a third time would be enough to assume she was just experiencing a lucid dream. "After you conjured an ash guardian without a heart stone, it turned on you and began attacking everything within sight."
She paused and stepped to the right, avoiding the chunk of rubble thrown at her by the rampant guardian. It sailed overhead and smashed into the unyielding stalk of Tel Mithyrn, raining down dust all over the previously clean staircase. The ash guardian's furious red glare promised pain. Dissordia ignored it and turned her attention back to the quivering apprentice. "What possessed you to try and learn a spell you're woefully unprepared for? Doesn't Neloth teach you anything about proper magic safety?" She slapped her head and groaned. Of course he didn't. It was Neloth. Trial by fire was just his way of teaching.
It was honestly a miracle his apprentice had survived for the last couple of decades.
'Experiments that end in disaster are the main reason why most races of man don't trust magic.' What sane person could trust someone who with a snap of their fingers could easily turn them to dust?
"I-"
"It was rhetorical." The Nerevarine sighed, rolled her eyes, and threw her right arm forward. A spear of ice came out of her palm and rocketed forward, impaling the ash guardian right between the eyes. It crumbled into a pile of rubble, and she looked at the shaking man. She felt a pang of pity for him; being the apprentice of one of the most powerful mages in all of Tamriel wasn't as fun as the average person assumed. Neloth's experiments all teetered on the edge of, 'extremely hazardous for one's mental and physical health,' on a good day. She didn't want to imagine what the crabby old bastard was like on days he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
"Did you learn anything?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound like a complete smarmy bitch.
"Don't try and conjure an ash guardian without a heart stone." The apprentice sighed, sounding about as dead inside as a drunk whose wife ran away from the wedding ceremony. "You're... not going to take a skin sample from me, are you?"
Dissordia choked. "W-what!?"
What in Oblivion was Neloth doing to this poor man?
"Neloth said that if I caused any more damage to his tower, he'll use a Nordic embalming tool to take a skin sample and use it for scientific research," the apprentice explained with a remarkable lack of concern for his physical health. Oh Azura, he was already mentally damaged by Neloth's nonsense. Dissordia mourned the lack of sujamma. "So... what limb do you want the sample from?"
"None!" Dissordia crossed her arms in a big X. "For the love of... why would you assume I'm going to be anywhere near as mad as the old grouch you call a master?" Did she really look that bad?
Not for the first time, she wondered just who in Oblivion Nerevar killed for her to deserve this. Either that, or Azura remembered she had a sense of humor and decided to throw a few more jokes into the mess Dissordia called her life.
Yeah, being the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar was not quite as easy as the history books led the masses to believe. They neglected to mention the parts of the Nerevarine Prophecy she wanted to forget, such as being infected with corprus disease. She wasn't suffering from any of its symptoms, but the disease was still present in her system hundreds of years after contracting it from Dagoth Gares. Being rendered ageless was a curse, not a blessing. Anyone who said otherwise was either insane or an idiot.
Dissordia hid her grimace and helped the poor apprentice up. "Come on, we'll grab a pickaxe from somewhere and dig up some heart stones so you can practice. With any luck, Neloth will believe a storm came along and whipped some ash up the tower."
"You really think he will?"
"Why do you think I said, 'with any luck'?" The Nerevarine rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's not every day I help a young clumsy man dig up volcanic rocks."
"You're making me feel like I'm talking to an old woman..."
Dissordia chuckled.
Alana looked at the snow and ice-covered ruin protruding from the rock and folded up her map, drawing her sword. "We're here."
"About time," Astrid grumbled, shaking snow off of her shoulders and out of armor. "I've had enough of this damn snow."
"We're in the mountains." Alana rolled her eyes. "Of course it's snowy."
White Ridge Barrow dominated the peak of the mountain. Like most Nordic mounds, the entrance was sealed by a black metal door with worn ancient Nordic runes etched into cold steel. Alana pushed the door open and the first thing she noticed was the smell.
She spotted the bodies second. Two dead mercenaries lay slumped against a bloodstained wooden door in the entryway, and Alana grimaced. Whatever was responsible for killing them was on the other side of the barricaded door, and she could hear an ominous clicking sound like many legs tapping across the ground. In no hurry to rush in and be faced with whatever was waiting for them, Alana rolled the nearest body over with her foot. The face was disfigured and warped, almost like it had been partially burned by fire.
"Think they ran into a fire trap?" Astrid asked, looking at the second one.
"No." Alana shook her head and stood up from the body, eyeing the bar sealing the chamber ahead. "I think they ran into something worse. I wonder... could someone have found those research notes?"
"What research notes? The hell are you talking about?"
"You'll see what I mean." Alana sheathed her sword and heaved the bar up and out of the protective locks. With it aside she instead selected her crossbow and kicked the door open. The weapon came up and the bolt loaded in was fired.
The flame-cloaked spider minding its own business at the other end of the web-covered hall was torn in half from the force of the bolt smashing into its exoskeleton, splattering its guts over a glowing red sac. The sac exploded, revealing another flame-cloaked spider. Its mandibles clicked once and it turned in their direction, slowly crawling over with its body wreathed in fire. Alana rolled her eyes and reached for the pouch on her belt, pulling out a bolt and loading it in with a satisfying click. Why was it always spiders?
And why did people keep warping them with magic? It was the kind of stuff that needed to remain in horror stories. Spiders were bad enough on their own. Giving them magic was nightmare fuel.
This wasn't her first run-in with arachnids of the arcane variety. She had been exploring the Reach and came across a warlock experimenting with frostbite spiders in the depths of the ruined fortress of Harmugstahl. The fortress had been claimed by frostbite spiders imbued with the elements, and Alana had hoped that would be the only time she ever had to deal with that cursed nonsense. Alas, life always found a way to make sure no adventure was ever normal.
She only hoped Ciri wasn't having anywhere near as bad of a time.
A/N: Sorry Alana, but you're the Dragonborn. You're a magnet for bullshit. No adventure of yours goes the way you plan it.