Tales of the First Era: Dragonborn

by Blackvvater

As the Nordic Empire is torn apart by civil war and an elven rebellion foments in the east, a hunter on the island of Solstheim discovers that he has the power to reshape Tamriel... or doom it entirely.

2. Chapter 2: The Skaal

Chapter 2

The Skaal

Vahkiir's eyes abruptly snapped open when he smelled something burning. He sat bolt upright, then winced as the light streaming in through the slit in the tent burned his eyes. With a soft hiss, he squinted, and once his eyes adjusted, he saw that his son was still sleeping peacefully atop his furs. As his mind began to climb out of the fog of sleep, he gradually realized that the scent must be coming from outside the tent. He poked his head out into the cold morning air, where he saw Brevyn sitting in front of a small fire, which he was feeding with small twigs. The elf glanced over at Vahkiir, who exhaled slowly and relaxed when he finally realized that there was nothing to be concerned about.

"Good morning," Brevyn greeted him nonchalantly.

"And to you," Vahkiir muttered, taking a moment to glance around the campsite. To his relief, it seemed that only about two additional inches of snow had fallen the night before, and the skies were now clear. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, before ducking back into his tent to begin pulling on his heavy fur-lined coat.

"Miserably," Brevyn replied airily once Vahkiir reappeared and began trudging towards him to take a seat on one of the broken fragments of the wall. "It was unbearably cold, and the wind was howling most of the night. However, it's also the first time I slept at all in two days, so while it was not the most pleasant rest I've ever had, I'm still grateful for it."

Vahkiir grunted as he began spearing cold slices of roasted meat from the night before onto a branch and held them over the fire to warm them. "That's something, then, I suppose," he remarked drily.

"I would also like to thank you properly," Brevyn added in a much more serious tone. "I have no illusions about the fact that I would have been slain yesterday without your intervention. So please, do not think me ungrateful for your aid."

Vahkiir shook his head. "As I said, I'm not the sort to leave a man when it is within my power to aid them," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Think nothing of it. Though, if you'll indulge me, I am curious as to why you seemed so eager to let the dragon take your life. You almost seemed to be encouraging it to slay you."

Brevyn chuckled grimly as he poked the fire with a long, thin stick. "It wasn't as though I wished to die. It was merely that I could see no other outcome. See it through my eyes – stranded on a remote island, miles from any of my people, alone, unarmed, and cornered by a dragon? How else could it have ended?"

"Yes, but you still had the claw," Vahkiir pointed out. "Did you not intend to return it to your people?"

"If possible. But again, I did not think that was possible at the time. I was certain that I was going to be slain," Brevyn replied. "As such, I decided to bluff and send the dragon on a fruitless search through the ocean. At least that way, the claw would have remained buried, and it could not have returned it to its master."

Vahkiir considered his response for a moment. "But the claw was nearby, and not very well hidden," he countered. "What if the dragon had seen through your deception and chosen to search the area first."

Brevyn shrugged. "Then I would have died in vain," he said simply.

Vahkiir stared at him, disconcerted by his response. "You seem to be far too comfortable with the thought of your own death," he remarked.

Brevyn chuckled again, sitting back on the broken section of wall he was perched on. "I have long since made peace with it," he explained. "My life has been in danger ever since I joined my people's rebellion. The Nords would execute me without a second thought if they suspected that I was helping to drive them from my homeland. Of course, if I must die, I would rather my death lead to the freedom my people from the Nords."

Vahkiir took a moment to withdraw the skewer and pull a few slices of warmed meat off of them, which he offered to Brevyn. As the elf accepted them with a grateful nod, he asked, "Are the Nords truly so terrible?"

Brevyn silently gazed at the steaming meat in his hands for a few long moments, before looking up and nodding grimly. "They are. They have occupied my homeland for over a century," he said in a soft voice, simmering with rage. "In that time, though they have never bound us in chains, we have become their slaves in all but name. They have stolen our lands and forced us to labor on their behalf. All that we mine and grow, they claim for themselves, leaving us with only bare scraps to survive. Even our most powerful leaders have been reduced to mere puppets. Our Great Houses cannot hold their own councils, and our villages are overseen by Nordic thanes. We are prisoners in our own land. As such… yes, I would gladly die for my homeland, so long as my death ensured that the rest of my people could walk free.

"I see…." Vahkiir said softly as he pulled another few slices of meat from the fire. "Yet… would you not better serve your homeland if you were to live?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Brevyn agreed cheerfully, his previously dark mood evaporating almost instantly. "Which is why I am quite pleased – and, again, very grateful – that you were able to slay the dragon yesterday. Make no mistake, while I am prepared to die, I do not wish to. So please, do not think me some fool who is eagerly seeking his own demise," he laughed.

Vahkiir stared at the Chimer, silently wondering if he might be a touch mad. Shaking his head, he bit into a slice of elk, then asked, "Do you intend to return home soon, then?"

"In time," Brevyn replied as he swallowed the last of his breakfast, then reached down to wash his hands off in the snow. "In truth, it would be wise for me to avoid my homeland for a while. If I return to Veloth straightaway, I have no doubt that the Nords will be awaiting my return. I would prefer that they believe I perished after I stole the claw. Perhaps I might sail to another land and spend some time there, though I don't know where. Cyrod does not welcome elves, and Valenwood and Alinor are months away, even by ship. Perhaps High Rock – the realm is ruled by a clan of Altmer, who may be willing to accept me as a refugee. Though I would need to sail by Skyrim to reach it…."

Vahkiir was silent as Brevyn mused to himself. He knew nothing about the lands he mentioned, so the elf's ponderings were meaningless to him. "Well, if you would like, you are still welcome to accompany Strunheim and I to our village," he offered.

Brevyn glanced over at him, then smiled uneasily. "I… would be grateful for the invitation, actually, but I do not wish to impose," he said slowly. "I already owe you a great debt for rescuing me. Besides, I know well how unpleasant it is to have foreigners invading your home…."

"You would not be an invader, Brevyn, but a guest," Vahkiir said firmly. One of the chief tenets of his people was to offer hospitality to anyone in need, so long as they were not a threat. While Vahkiir still did not fully trust Brevyn, the Chimer also did not seem to mean them any harm. "You would be welcome to stay with us for a few days, if you wish."

Brevyn flashed an embarrassed smile and glanced away. "Truly, this will be a debt I cannot possibly repay…." he murmured.

"Nonsense," Vahkiir said dismissively. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Strunheim crawling out of their tent, apparently attracted by the smell of the roasting meat. "With that said, though, we should depart shortly. We'll need to move swiftly if we wish to reach my village before nightfall."

"Then I would be glad to join you. Thank you," Brevyn said softly as Strunheim took a seat beside his father and accepted the slice of meat Vahkiir offered him.

Once they finished eating, they set about dismantling the tents and rolling them into tight bundles, which Vahkiir and Strunheim set on their backs. Brevyn offered to carry one, but while Strunheim was more than happy to agree, Vahkiir declined, stating that the boy needed to become accustomed to carrying his own supplies while on a hunt, much to Strunheim's disappointment.

As Strunheim doused the fire with handfuls of snow, Vahkiir wandered over to the bare dragon skeleton. He shivered as he passed in front of its hollow eyeholes, almost feeling as though the beast was staring at him accusingly, before crouching down and feeling around in the snow. His hand finally closed around the shaft of the spear he had used to slay the massive beast, and with a grunt, he yanked it out of the snow. As he did, he saw that the stone tip had shattered, much to his dismay.

"A pity," he murmured to himself as he began gathering the small, black shards littering the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brevyn approaching, and he added, "I rather liked that spear."

"I can understand why," the Chimer replied sympathetically, peering over Vahkiir's shoulder at the bits of stone in his hand. "That's ebony, isn't it? It's not uncommon in my homeland, but it is quite valuable."

"In truth, I'm surprised that it broke," Vahkiir remarked, closing his hand over the eight shards that he had managed to retrieve. "There is no sturdier stone on this island."

"In its unrefined state, it's hard, but not unbreakable," Brevyn commented. "If it struck the dragon's bones, that would explain how it broke. I've heard tales from the Nords that dragon bone is harder than ebony, especially if it's unrefined. Were it molded and tempered, it would not have shattered like that."

Vahkiir blinked in surprise. "Do your people know how to work ebony?" he asked.

Brevyn shook his head. "It's said that only the Dwemer who inhabit my homeland have yet unlocked the secrets of ebony smithing," he replied. "It's a secret they're unwilling to divulge to us, I'm afraid, as our races have a long history of animosity, if not outright enmity. However, I have seen refined ebony. When properly tempered, it can be used to craft arms and armor of unparalleled quality."

"Indeed?" Vahkiir asked absently as he stuffed the shards into his pack. "Then perhaps one day I should seek out these Dwemer and see if they'd be willing to craft me a new spear."

Brevyn chuckled and shook his head. "Good fortune to you," he said drily. "The Dwemer never speak with outsiders. They think us primitive barbarians, no better than goblins or orcs. You would be better served simply finding another stone."

Vahkiir grunted in reply as Strunheim approached them, announcing that the camp chores had been completed. With that, they tied the remains of the elk to a set of crude that Vahkiir had hastily constructed the night before and set off across the frozen plains, dragging the carcass behind them.

Fortunately, it was a bright, clear day with little wind, so the journey was quite pleasant. The freshly fallen snow barely impeded Vahkiir, though Strunheim and Brevyn did struggle through some of the deeper patches. Even so, Vahkiir remained on his guard, carrying his bow under his arm as he dragged the elk behind him. Even though the meat was cold, he knew that wolves had noses sensitive enough to smell the blood from miles away, and he had no desire to fight a hungry pack over their kill, especially while he was the only one who could defend their small party. If it came down to it, he would prioritize Strunheim and Brevyn's lives over protecting he carcass, but he would rather it didn't come to that in the first place.

Thankfully, while they did spot a single wolf pack on the horizon, the animals seemed far more interested in chasing a wounded deer in the distance than pursuing their small group, and they were able to make their way unmolested to the Isild River. There, beached on the shore where Vahkiir had left it, was a small canoe made of wood and horker leather, half-buried in the snow from the night before. He took a few minutes to clean it out, then pushed the small vessel into the freezing water. Strunheim and Brevyn climbed into the boat after him, with the latter taking one of the paddles. At first Vahkiir protested, but Brevyn insisted.

"You've done so much to aid me. This is the least I can do to begin repaying my debt to you," Brevyn explained, refusing to surrender the oar.

Vahkiir frowned, resting his own paddle across his knees. "If you must. That said, if you're unskilled at this, tell me now. No matter how well-intentioned, I'd rather not accept your offer if it's only going to hinder us."

Brevyn grinned in reply. "I sailed here, did I not?" he pointed out. "And the wind did not carry me the entire way."

Vahkir was still skeptical at first, but much to his relief, it quickly became apparent that Brevyn was not lying. He handled the paddle rather deftly, and soon they were gliding slowly up the narrow Isild River, the frigid water lapping softly at the boat's sides. Vahkiir had feared that Brevyn's additional weight might cause the boat to sink, but while it was low in the water, the river was calm, and they were able to make steady progress. The only danger they faced was a small pod of tusked horkers that were sunbathing near the shoreline, though the large animals paid them little mind as they floated past.

An hour or two before noon, the river opened up, spilling into the massive Lake Fjalding, the largest body of water on Solstheim. Here, the cold water was studded with large blocks of ice, which bobbed on the clear, glassy surface. Vahkiir and Brevyn deftly maneuvered the small canoe past the icebergs, occasionally pushing the smaller blocks aside and avoiding the larger ones altogether. This part of the voyage made Vahkiir the most nervous, as a single puncture in the hard leather would sink their boat and leave them at the mercy of the deep, arctic waters. Nevertheless, Brevyn continued to prove himself an able sailor, and after about an hour, they reached the frozen northern shore of the lake, where the ice coalesced into a single sheet. It was too dense to continue by boat, but it was thick enough for them to walk on, so they climbed out of the canoe and dragged it to the shoreline, where four other canoes rested. They then resumed their journey north on foot.

The terrain became more hilly as they traveled across the snow-covered tundra, and Brevyn and Strunheim soon began to tire. Even Vahkiir was becoming weary from dragging the elk over the rough terrain, though he at least had be benefit of having made the trek countless times before, so he knew what to expect and how to pace himself. Despite that, he was also mentally tiring due to the fact that he also had to keep watch on his companions' behalf, which quickly drained him of his stamina. When they finally spotted the Skaal village in the distance around mid-afternoon, he couldn't help but join Strunheim and Brevyn in letting out a sigh of relief.

A warm feeling of comfort filled Vahkiir as they approached the tiny settlement. Though he spent much of his time away from the village, he always found himself at ease when he saw the smoke curling out of the tops of the small, circular huts, the fish drying on racks in the cold air, and the chieftain's longhouse dominating the center of the village. He always inevitably became restless after spending a few days in the village, soon growing eager for his next hunt, but every time he returned, he felt refreshed. This village was the only place on Solstheim where he truly felt that he could rest.

"You were not lying when you mentioned that your village was quite small," Brevyn remarked as they approached the edge of the settlement, though his tone was not unkind. "How many did you say live here?"

"I'm poor with numbers," Vahkiir admitted. "However, I believe that at my mother's last count… around fifty?"

"Truly? Tiny indeed," Brevyn commented. When Vahkiir tilted his head and frowned, the Chimer added quickly, "Please, do not think I'm disparaging it! I've seen many similar villages in my travels, and in truth, I find them far more comfortable and welcoming than the large cities and strongholds. Even so, I cannot help but wonder at how you'd react if you saw some of the cities of my homeland. Some of them number over fifty thousand people."

Vahkiir paused mid-stride to stare at him. "You're lying," he said bluntly. "You cannot fit that many people into one area."

Brevyn grinned. "I swear to Azura, what I say is true. Perhaps one day you'll see for yourself."

Vahkiir continued to stare at him in disbelief as they approached the lone guard standing watch at the edge of the village. He nodded to Vahkiir by way of greeting, then tilted his head curiously at Brevyn. "Who is this, Vahkiir?" he asked.

"An outlander I met on my hunt," Vahkiir replied simply. "You needn't be wary of him, Bors. He's under my watch, and he shall not cause any trouble while he's in the village."

Bors considered the elf for a long moment, then nodded. "See that he doesn't," he replied simply. "Welcome to our village, stranger," he added, addressing Brevyn. "Make yourself comfortable, but please show respect while you're here. Do not steal, and do not fight with the villagers."

"I shan't," Brevyn replied, bowing his head deferentially. "I am grateful for your welcome, and I shall not abuse your hospitality."

Though Bors continued to eye him, the Chimer's response seemed to satisfy him, and he waved them past. Vahkiir led the other two across the snow-covered ground past the circular, stone and wattle huts that surrounded the central longhouse in the middle of the village. Most of the villagers were outside, attending to various tasks – cooking, sharpening spears and knives, tending to fires – and all that they passed by stopped what they were doing to stare at Brevyn. While their gazes were curious and cautious, they were not hostile. Most simply seemed to be wondering what Brevyn's business with their village was, though since Vahkiir was accompanying him, none made a move to stop them. Once the trio passed them by, they resumed their tasks, though Vahkiir could hear some curious whispering behind them. If Brevyn was uncomfortable with the attention, however, he did not show it.

Vahkiir led Brevyn and Strunheim towards the west side of the village, heading directly towards one of the huts near the edge of the village. Much to his annoyance, the high, conical roof was coated with snow – another chore he would have to tend to, he thought bitterly. Sighing, he raised his voice and called out, "Brit! Are you home?"

He could hear stirring from inside the hut, and a few moments later, the wooden door was pushed aside, and a small figure rushed towards him. Vahkiir laughed as his daughter threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in greeting. Behind her trailed her older sister, who was scowling irritably. "Odrath, the stew is going to burn! You cannot leave it when it's nearly finished!" She then looked up and nodded to Vahkiir. "Hello, Father," she added flatly.

"As warm as ever, I see, Gutha," Vahkiir replied with a chuckle. Though the girl was only ten years old, she often acted as though she was sixty. Her little sister, however, beamed up at him with all the energy and enthusiasm of an eight-year-old. "Were you helping your sister?" he asked Odrath, who was still clinging to him.

The smaller girl nodded and grinned up at him. "She was teaching me to cook!" she announced. "But when I heard you coming, I wanted to greet you first!"

Vahkiir smiled warmly down at her and put his hand on her head. "While I'm pleased to see you as well, Gutha is right," he said gently. "If you've taken a task, you must complete it. You should not allow anything else to distract you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Vahkiir saw Gutha relax slightly, mollified by his gentle chiding of her younger sister, while Odrath frowned up at him, seemingly annoyed that he was taking Gutha's side. Though the pair were two years apart and had completely opposite personalities, they looked almost identical, save for the fact that Gutha had four inches of height on her sister. They shared the same red-blond hair, bright blue eyes, slender build, and round faces.

"But I haven't seen you in three days!" Odrath protested.

"And you can wait a few minutes longer," Vahkiir replied easily. "I promise that we'll talk in a short while. Until then, go tend to the stew. We don't want to eat a burnt dinner, do we?"

Odrath's face fell further as she disentangled herself from her father and stalked back into the hut. Gutha watched her with an almost smug expression before turning back to Vahkiir and nodding. "Thank you, father," she said evenly.

"As for you, you should treat your sister a bit more kindly," Vahkiir admonished her.

Gutha's smirk vanished instantly, her face settling into her familiar, expressionless mask. "As you say," she replied frostily.

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes, then sighed and nodded to Brevyn. "We have a guest," he stated as Strunheim moved past him into the hut, carrying an armload of meat. "Would you see to it that another bowl is prepared for him? He will be eating with us this evening."

Gutha glanced at Brevyn, her expression unreadable, before nodding to Vahkiir. "Understood," she replied.

"Thank you," Vahkiir nodded. "Where is your mother?"

"She left to retrieve some branches, and she also mentioned seeing a tern flying overhead that she wished to catch," Gutha answered.

"Is that so? Is she almost out of materials for arrows?" Vahkiir asked. His wife was the most skilled bowyer and fletcher in the village, which for Vahkiir was just one more benefit of marrying her. She did also have some skill smithing copper, though she believed that Strunheim had more talent for metalworking than she did, which was why she was eager to make him her apprentice. Vahkiir, however, had insisted that he should also know how to use the bows he would soon be crafting.

"Yes. She claimed that she would return shortly," Gutha informed him. "If you remain here, she should return soon."

"Excellent," Vahkiir smiled. "Thank you."

"Of course. If there's nothing else, I should see to Odrath to ensure that she is properly tending to our dinner," Gutha announced. She started to turn back around, but she paused for a moment and gazed up at Vahkiir. "Welcome home, father."

Vahkiir's smile broadened, and he nodded again as the girl turned back around and disappeared into the hut. Brevyn watched the girls as they vanished inside, then glanced at Vahkiir.

"They seem charming," he remarked.

Vahkiir gave the elf a sidelong look, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. "Yes, well… my apologies for Gutha. She's always been a bit… distant, especially with those she's unfamiliar with. However, she also has a very keen mind, so we simply believe she has her eyes on the horizon rather than where she's standing. Her grandmother seems to think she may even have the talent to become a shaman herself. Of course, it runs in our blood," he chuckled.

"Though not with you?" Brevyn asked.

Vahkiir shook his head. "To my mother's eternal disappointment," he replied in a self-deprecating tone. "As I've said, magic has always eluded me. I've never been able to cast even a single spell. I suppose that I simply cannot wrap my mind around it."

"Well, you're not alone in that regard," Brevyn consoled him. "I'm certainly not a mage either. Besides, your lack of magic did not prevent you from slaying a dragon, a feat which even the most powerful mages that I know of would be hard-pressed to accomplish."

Vahkiir wasn't sure what to say in response, so he simply nodded in thanks. A moment later, he noticed someone walking around from behind the hut, and a slight smile spread across his face as a familiar woman appeared, carrying a bundle of branches in her arms.

The woman was a few inches taller than he was, and much more slender. Her pale blond hair was unbound and blew in the wind under her fur-lined hood, while her piercing, ice-blue eyes widened slightly as they fell on Vahkiir. She smiled fondly at him and nodded as she set the bundle of branches down beside the hut, before folding her hands behind her.

"Husband," she greeted him formally. "Welcome back."

"It's good to see you as always, Brit," Vahkiir replied warmly.

She smiled back at him and walked over to put her hands on his shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. She then glanced past him towards Brevyn, who nodded to her in greeting. Like most of the other villagers, she eyed him curiously, even suspiciously, but she still nodded politely in reply.

"A new friend of yours?" she asked Vahkiir.

"Something of the sort," Vahkiir replied. "Brit, this is Brevyn, a Chimer that I met while I was out hunting. Brevyn, this is my wife, Britmiin."

"Well met," Brevyn greeted her.

"And the same to you," Brit replied simply, before turning back to Vahkiir. "Will he be staying with us?"

"I'd like to request it, if only for a few days," Vahkiir replied.

Brit frowned and looked away, before turning to Brevyn. "Would you allow us a few words in private?" she asked. "If you'd like, please warm yourself by our fire."

Brevyn grinned. "Of course. Thank you for your hospitality."

"Not at all," Brit replied absently, watching him as he made his way inside their hut. Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Vahkiir and narrowed her eyes. "What happened? Who is he?" she hissed in a low whisper.

Vahkiir quickly summarized how he had met Brevyn and their encounter with the dragon. When they finished, Brit was left staring at him blankly. He wasn't certain if her expression was more shocked or disbelieving.

"Did you not think that an elven exile might be dangerous? Especially one who is being hunted by dragons?" she demanded. "What if he brings dragons to our village?!"

"I've had the same worries, believe me," Vahkiir admitted. "However, I already offered him my protection. You know our ways-"

"We offer hospitality to those in need, yes," Brit cut him off, folding her arms over her chest with a sigh. "That does not, however, mean that I trust him."

"Nor do I," Vahkiir agreed. "But I see little harm in offering him a bed and a bit of food before we send him on his way. At the very least, I do not believe he will steal from us or harm the children. He claims that he is in my debt, and if nothing else, he seems sincerely grateful for our hospitality. I do not believe he wishes us any harm."

Brit stared at him levelly for several long moments, then sighed and ran her hand along her face. "In all our years of marriage, you've never done something so rash," she growled. "Even when we were sixteen, you were not this foolhardy!"

"When we were sixteen, I did not believe that I could protect you as I can now," Vahkiir replied confidently.

"And we did not have three children to protect!" she shot back, before exhaling sharply through her teeth and shaking her head. "But… what's done is done." She peered up at him through her curtain of hair, then added, "You should speak with your mother about this. If what you say is true, and something happened when you slew that dragon…."

"That was where I was headed next," Vahkiir informed her. "I simply wished to offer Brevyn a place to rest first."

"Mm. The chieftain will not be happy that you brought an elf here," Brit pointed out. "He may worry our guest is a Falmer."

"Then he can confront me if he wishes. I would welcome it," Vahkiir replied coldly.

Brit's eyes widened, and she stepped a bit closer, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Please, do not provoke him," she murmured.

"I swear. So long as he doesn't provoke me," Vahkiir growled.

Brit scowled at him. "Vahkiir…." she warned.

Vahkiir sighed and put his hands on her cheeks. "You have my word, I shall keep my temper in check… difficult as it may be," he assured her.

Brit nodded slowly. "See that you do." She then leaned up, pressing her forehead against his. "And please, return quickly once you're done," she murmured.

Vahkiir chuckled, squeezing her face gently. "As I've said, I feel you have nothing to fear from Brevyn-" he began.

"It's not only that," Brit interrupted, before softening her tone. "Your daughters and I have also missed you."

"I was only gone for three days," Vahkiir pointed out.

"After only allowing us two days in your company. And you were gone for two weeks before that," Brit retorted. She reached up and framed his face with her hands. "Please swear to me that you will stay longer this time."

Vahkiir winced and glanced away. While Brit usually tolerated his long hunts, his restlessness did occasionally wear on her. When they were younger, they had frequently fought about it, loudly enough that the whole village could hear. Now, however, he simply smiled apologetically and nodded.

"I shall," he assured her. "I have several tasks to tend to that I've been avoiding anyways." When Brit glowered at him, he quickly added, "And I do cherish your company as well. Please, do not doubt that."

"I know," Brit replied with a soft smile. She then sighed and pulled back, nudging him towards the chieftain's longhouse as she did. "Very well. Speak with your mother, and be swift about it," she implored him.

"As you say," Vahkiir replied, though he remained where he was for a few moments longer, watching her until she disappeared into their hut. He then sighed softly to himself and glanced up at the sky, bracing himself for his next task. He reluctantly trudged away from the warmth of his hut towards the enormous longhouse in the center of the village, stopping short in front of the doorway, which was guarded by another hunter, armed with a bow and a stone axe.

"You have business with the chieftain, Wanderer?" she asked bluntly.

"I do," Vahkiir nodded. "And my mo- the shaman. Are they inside?"

"The chieftain is, and the shaman should return shortly." The guard considered him for a long moment. "I'll allow you inside, but if you start another brawl…." she warned.

Vahkiir held up his hands. "I'm not here to fight," he assured her. "I simply need answers, and I feel the shaman is the only one who can provide them."

"Hmph. Well, you don't look drunk on juniper, at any rate," the guard muttered. "Very well, but know that if you dare try to lay your hands on our chieftain again, I'll throw you to the wolves myself."

Vahkiir nodded as the guard pushed open the low wooden door for him, allowing him to step inside the longhouse. The interior of the yards-long house was smoky and dimly lit, but comfortably warm. Various pelts lined the walls and the floors, the latter of which were the only wooden floors in the village. An enormous fire burned brightly in the center of the longhouse, the smoke curling up to the ceiling and disappearing through a hole carved in the roof above. Benches were placed in a ring around the longhouse, and sleeping furs were scattered around the floor for any who wished to find respite in the hall. At the opposite end of the longhouse was an ornately carved wooden chair, upon which sat a large man, who snarled as Vahkiir stepped inside.

"Vahkiir!" he snapped, jabbing his finger at the door. "I did not give you permission to enter my hall! Begone!"

Vahkiir rolled his eyes and ignored the chieftain's command. Instead, he calmly made his way across the hall, his fur boots creaking along the wooden floorboards. He held the chieftain's furious glare as he approached, sizing the man up. The chieftain, Muldok was built like a bear, standing a full head taller than Vahkiir, and likely about forty pounds heavier, though Vahkiir was uncertain how much was muscle and how much was fat, especially considering how infrequently Muldok had been hunting in the three years since he had become chieftain. His shaggy brown hair fell past his shoulders, and his dark brown eyes gleamed with hatred as Vahkiir defied him, stopping short about five feet from him.

"I do not recall needing to ask permission to enter a longhouse that belongs to the village as a whole," Vahkiir retorted curtly, folding his arms over his chest.

"Such it was under our last chieftain. I rule now, and if I do not permit you to enter my home, then you must leave," Muldok snarled. "Besides, I will not suffer an audience with one who would dare attack his own chieftain."

Vahkiir sighed and ran his hand over his eyes. "By the All-Father, it's been three years. I've already apologized for that. In front of the village. Four times," he growled. "Besides, it was a celebration, I'd had too much juniper, and I was not in my right mind. You know this." Lowering his hand, he narrowed his eyes. "What's more, lest you forget, you were provoking me, claiming I would not dare strike the new chieftain." He then smirked slightly. "And I would have thought that the one who was chosen as chieftain would not nurse a grudge over two blows to the face after this long. Surely you, as the supposedly mightiest hunter in the village, have suffered worse injuries."

"Your blows were as weak as a child's, yes, but I have never forgotten the insult!" Muldok snapped. "Nor shall I ever! You show me no respect-!"

"I show respect to those who have earned it!" Vahkiir shouted, his blood rising in his face. "When was the last time you led a hunt, chieftain?! When did you last hold a bow or a spear?! You gladly take a portion of our kills for yourself, but the leader of a pack of wolves must show from time to time that his fangs have not grown dull! He should not lie warm in his den, growing fat while his pack hunts for him!"

Muldok pushed himself up from his chair, towering over Vahkiir, but the latter continued to glare up at him, refusing to back down. "Do you wish to challenge me for the title of chieftain, then?" he growled in a low voice.

Vahkiir could feel the blood pounding in his ears. A burning sensation filled his stomach, and he could feel something within him begging him to unleash the power that he had gained the day before. It would be so simple to throw Muldok through the wall of the longhouse. All it would take was one word.

Reluctantly, he inhaled sharply, trying to dispel the sensation, even as his face burned with anger. "If I had wanted the title of chieftain, I could have taken it three years ago," Vahkiir snarled. "Most of the village supported me, and I am the son of our shaman, so I had a greater claim to the title than you. I chose not to take the title, because I would rather be free to roam the island as I please, rather than chained to that chair as you are." He then smirked and glanced down at Muldok's large belly. "And clearly, I made the right decision, seeing how soft you've become."

Muldok's eyes widened with fury. "You-!" he bellowed.

"I did not come to see you anyways!" Vahkiir shouted over him. "I must speak with my mother! Where is she?!"

Muldok was about to roar a response, but before he could, a curt voice shouted from the other end of the hall, "Enough! You're both over thirty years old! Stop snapping at each other like pups!"

Both men turned to see a short, elderly woman glaring at them from the doorway of the longhouse with her arms folded over her chest. Her bright grey hair was braided into two separate tails on either side of her head, and her dark brown eyes were narrowed in disgust at the two men. Vahkiir and Muldok shot a last glare at one another, then reluctantly stepped away from each other as the woman made her way towards them.

"Kunsil, you cannot allow your son to continue to speak to your chieftain like this-" Muldok began.

"Silence," Kunsil snapped, glaring up at him. "Are you so weak a chieftain that you must whine to an old woman about how you cannot control a single hunter?"

Muldok's opened his mouth furiously, but when Kunsil glared at him, he snapped his jaw shut and looked away. Vahkiir quickly swallowed a laugh as his mother turned to glare up at him.

"As for you," she continued, jabbing a sharp finger into his chest. "Whether you like your chieftain or not is irrelevant. Show him the respect his position is due. He did not flee his duty because he wished to prowl about the island like a wild dog. If you do not wish to abide by his rule, then begone from this village. Go make a new home for yourself in the wilds and allow us to live in peace."

Vahkiir felt as though he had taken a knife to his stomach. Chastened, he nodded meekly. "My apologies."

"I am not the one you must apologize to," she said sharply.

Vahkiir turned to glare at Muldok, who tilted his head back with a smug smirk. His anger began to flare in him again, but he managed to suppress it enough to mutter through gritted teeth, "Forgive me… chieftain. I forgot myself."

"Indeed you did. See that you do not do so again," Muldok replied imperiously, before settling onto his chair. "Now then. Why are you darkening my hall with your presence?"

Vahkiir glanced at Kunsil, who prompted him with a nod. After taking a deep breath, he once again retold all that had happened while he was out hunting, from his meeting with Brevyn to his slaying of the dragon. When he finished recounting the tale, Kunsil was staring into the fire with a pensive look on her face. Muldok, meanwhile, let out a derisive scoff as he paced back and forth, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

"While I will not begrudge you the right to boast, you must make your stories more believable, Wanderer," Muldok commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "You dare call me a liar?" he growled.

"What else should I call you?" Muldok retorted, flicking his fingers dismissively. "The mere thought that you could fell a dragon…."

Vahkiir's eyes flared with anger as his fingers unconsciously curled into fists at his sides. "If will not believe my tale, I can summon the elf and my son, who both witnessed all that I've said," he snarled.

"Yes, they are such reliable sources, aren't they?" Muldok sneered. "Your boy would say anything you told him to, and the elf… well, setting aside the fact that he's a stranger in the first place, elves are notorious liars and tricksters. Were he to tell me that there was snow outside, I would first wish to check myself before I believed him."

"You-!" Vahkiir shouted.

"Enough!" Kunsil interrupted before they could continue, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Control your temper, Vahkiir!"

"I will not suffer him calling me a liar!" Vahkiir snapped.

"Very well. Then look into my eyes. Is this the truth?" Kunsil asked grimly.

Something in his mother's tone made Vahkiir hesitate. For some reason, she almost seemed to be begging him to tell her that it wasn't true, that he was merely embellishing his story. However, he nodded firmly. "I swear in the All-Father's name that all I have said is the truth," he stated.

Kunsil's face fell, her shoulders sagging. "I see…." she murmured sadly. She took a seat on the floor, crossing her legs and resting her elbows on her knees. "I prayed this would not come to pass…."

Muldok frowned, tilting his head at her. "Shaman… surely you do not truly believe this ludicrous tale?" he asked slowly.

Kunsil looked up, narrowing her eyes at the chieftain. "Tell me, chieftain, did you not hear a mighty voice last night, shaking the very heavens themselves?"

Vahkiir's eyes widened, while Muldok's frown deepened. "I did," he confirmed.

"And what did it say?" Kunsil asked.

"I… am uncertain," Muldok admitted. "It was one word, was it not? Dorvakin, I believe?"

"Dovahkiin," Kunsil corrected him, looking back down into the fire. "Or, in our tongue, 'Dragonborn.'"

Muldok and Vahkiir glanced at each other, trading uneasy looks, as Kunsil continued to gaze sorrowfully into the fire. "Mother, what does that mean, exactly?" Vahkiir asked.

Kunsil sighed heavily and looked up again. "Do you know why I gave you your name, Vahkiir?" she asked.

"Yes. You told me that in the ancient tongue, it meant 'Spring Child,'" Vahkiir replied, confused. "You said that it was because I was born shortly after the snows began to recede in the south and the air began to warm."

"Indeed, and I did give you that name for that very reason," Kunsil said. "But that is not the only source of your name." She closed her eyes and leaned forward, folding her hands together. "One night, when I was carrying you in my belly, I had a dream. I was lying alone in my hut, warm and comfortable in my furs, surrounded by darkness. There came a knocking at the door, but before I could rise, it flew open, as though blown in by a gale. Into my hut flew a small, ghost-like wyrm, no longer than my arm, and glowing like fire. As it flew over the hearth, the wood within burst into flame. I watched, unable to move, as it circled the room three times, then suddenly dove into my stomach. I felt heat spread throughout my body, and my skin seemed to glow. In that moment, I heard a voice echo in my mind, speaking a single word to me – "Dovahkiin." It was then that I woke with a start. The door was shut, the hut was dark, and the hearth was cold, but I could still hear the voice echoing in my ears. I have never forgotten that night."

Vahkiir stared at his mother with his mouth slightly open, before shaking his head. "What does that have to do with my name?" he asked.

Kunsil turned to him and smiled faintly. "Do you not see the similarities, boy? Vahkiir. Spring-child. Or, more properly, 'Child of Spring.' In the ancient tongue, 'Do' is the word for 'of.' What's more, while the word for 'child' is 'kiir,' it is very similar to the word for 'born,' 'kiin.' You are Spring's child, Vahkiir, but you are also Dragonborn. Dovahkiin. Your true name."

Vahkiir was silent for a few moments, uncertain what to think of this revelation, until Muldok let out a sigh. "Very clever," he said sardonically, rolling his eyes. "But what does this mean, exactly?"

"And why did you not tell me before now?" Vahkiir added.

Kunsil shook his head at Vahkiir. "In truth, vivid as it was, I was uncertain if it was a vision or merely a dream. I even prayed that it was the latter, though it did compel me to give you your name. I simply hoped that it meant nothing." She then turned to Muldok. "A Dragonborn is a man or woman who was born carrying the soul of a dragon. They have the potential to wield immense power, and are often entwined in the threads of destiny. Some say that a Dragonborn is not revealed unless there is a pressing need in the world for one who does carry such power."

Muldok stared at her, then jerked his head at Vahkiir. "And you believe he does?" he asked incredulously.

Vahkiir glared at Muldok, then turned back to his mother. "Much as I hate to concur with him, he's right. I cannot wield magic-"

"A Dragonborn's power is not born from magic. Not truly," his mother explained in a grim voice. "Rather, you possess a different sort of power, one more akin to a dragon's. Dragons rewrite the fabric of the world through their voices and their will, rather than by manipulating magicka. You need not cast spells when you can draw upon the very strength within your very soul."

Muldok's eyes narrowed. "You speak as though you fear this power," he remarked.

Kunsil looked up, meeting the chieftain's gaze. "I do not fear my son," she said emphatically. "But it would be foolish not to be mindful of the power of a dragon's soul. Especially if we recall one who, in the distant past, wielded the same power."

Muldok tilted his head back slightly. "Who?"

Kunsil sighed softly, turning back to the fire. Almost too quietly to hear, she whispered, "Miraak."

The color instantly drained out of Muldok's face, and his mouth fell open slightly. Vahkiir, meanwhile, shot his mother a look of confusion and concern, though she refused to meet his gaze.

"I remember that name, Mother," he said softly, walking over and taking a seat on the floor across from her. "I asked you about it once before, though you refused to tell me. Who is Miraak?"

Kunsil looked away, seemingly unable to meet her son's gaze. "It is not something that we speak of lightly," she said softly.

"Yet you are speaking of it now," Vahkiir countered, leaning forward a bit more. "And if this concerns me, I feel that I have a right to know more."

Kunsil peered up at her son, her eyes heavy with regret, before she glanced away again. "In truth, son, I do not know if it does concern you. I hope not." She sighed softly, then looked up at Muldok. "But that decision is not mine to make alone. Chieftain, I would confer with you and Agrein. We must decide what is to be done about this revelation."

"Certainly. I shall fetch him immediately," Muldok replied in a far graver tone than Vahkiir had ever heard him use. He started towards the door, but paused to glance at Vahkiir one more time. To his surprise, the chieftain's expression was devoid of its usual contempt. Rather, he was gazing at Vahkiir with naked fear, something he had never displayed before. Under most circumstances, this might have pleased Vahkiir, but at the moment, it merely made his stomach turn with worry.

"Vahkiir," Kunsil said, drawing his attention back to her as Muldok hurried out of the longhouse. She took his face in her hands and smiled softly at him. "It is growing late, and you must be hungry. Please, return to your home and enjoy a warm meal with your family."

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes suspiciously and pulled his face out of her grasp. "Do you think me a fool?" he demanded. "Do you expect me to simply ignore all that's just happened?! You and Muldok just acted as though I claimed to have brought a pack of rabid bears to the village! Yet you won't even tell me what it is that has you so concerned!"

"Yes, because in truth, I'm uncertain if there is cause for concern," Kunsil replied soothingly. "As I've said, I must first confer with the other leaders of this village."

"And in the meantime, you expect me to simply wait patiently?! You're acting as though I'm being judged without even telling me of my crime!" Vahkiir cried. "How do you expect me to remain calm?!"

Kunsil reached out, taking her hands in his, as she had often done when he was a boy. "I understand your frustration," she said softly. "However, these are grave matters concerning a dark chapter of our history, and until I speak with the others, I am honor-bound to say no more. I swear to you, in the morning, I will explain everything. Until then, please, return home and wait."

Vahkiir snarled, pushing himself up and stalking away from her with his arms folded over his chest. In truth, he wasn't angry so much as confused, though the latter emotion was certainly stoking the former. He spent a few moments pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the throne, struggling to control his simmering temper. Finally, he took a long, slow breath, then turned back to his mother with a reluctant nod. "Very well," he agreed in a harsh tone. "However, I expect answers before midday. No later."

"You have my word," Kunsil assured him as she pushed herself up, groaning as she did. The sight of her struggling to her feet doused the remnants of his anger, and he hurried over to help her up. His mother smiled gently up at him as she straightened up, then put her hands on his shoulders. "Thank you. Also, please know that whatever else happens, I am proud of you. I do not believe you were lying when you said you slew a dragon. You would not have made such a claim lightly. It must have taken a great deal of strength and courage to fell such a beast."

"It did. I still have the wounds," Vahkiir replied, rolling up his sleeve to show the fang-marks still in his arm. "Perhaps I should have shown these to Muldok as well. He might have then believed my tale."

"That fool would have just claimed you were savaged by a bear or the like," Kunsil spat as she took his wrist and inspected them. "You should have come to me straightaway. This will need to be cleaned."

"Yes, well… I felt it wiser to take Brevyn and Strunheim to my home first. They were in need of rest and warmth," Vahkiir replied.

Kunsil smiled warmly up at him as she released his wrist and made her way over to a low table along the eastern wall of the longhouse. "And that brings me even more pride than your feat of slaying a dragon," she said softly. As she walked back over, carrying a bowl of herbs, she noticed Vahkiir frowning at her in confusion. "Your compassion," she explained as she began placing wet leaves over his wounds. "Any brute with a large enough weapon can slay a beast. Not every man would have stopped to help a stranger – an elf, no less – and offered them a place in their home."

Vahkiir shrugged as Kunsil began wrapping his arm with a thin layer of horker skin and stitching it closed. "It's our way. I wasn't going to let him die in the cold if I could help him," he said simply.

"It may be our way, but not every member of our tribe would have done the same," Kunsil replied, looking up from her work to peer into his eyes. "To say nothing of the fact that the deed seems so natural to you that you think nothing of it. That speaks much more highly of who you are than your mere skill as a hunter." She reached up to gently frame his face with her hands. "You're a good man, Vahkiir."

Vahkiir cleared his throat, glancing away uneasily as he felt a wave of embarrassment prickle over his skin. "Thank you," he said gruffly. "Is there anything else?"

Kunsil chuckled to herself and released his face. "See me in the morning so that I can change the leaves. You may be left with a scar, but the wound will heal swiftly enough. Now, off with you. I'm certain your family is impatiently awaiting your return."

Vahkiir hesitated, but when she motioned insistently for him to leave, he quickly made his way out of the longhouse. The sun had already vanished over the horizon, and the twin moons were rising in the sky – Jone half-full, Jode in a crescent. He paused for a moment to gaze around the area, half-expecting to find Muldok lurking about, listening to their conversation. The chieftain was nowhere in sight, however, and after a few moments, a chill wind swept over him, encouraging him to make his way back home.

As Vahkiir pushed open the wooden door of his hut and ducked under the low opening, he felt a wave of warmth wash over him. A large fire was blazing in the central hearth of the one-room house, bathing the surroundings in a dim but comfortable orange glow. The light illuminated the stone walls and the bare earthen floor, both of which were covered in furs for warmth, sitting, and sleeping. Woven baskets full of various foodstuffs were stacked against the walls, and rope lines were strung across the wattle and daub ceiling, which were being used to dry herbs and meat. Against the western wall was a low table littered with half-stripped branches and arrowheads, where Brit did most of her fletching, and beside it rested Vahkiir's own bow and arrow. It was a very simple house by any measure, but Vahkiir had built it with his own hands, and he was quite proud of it.

Brit, his children, and Brevyn were sitting around the fire, upon which bubbled a large copper cauldron. Brevyn was apparently in the middle of telling a story, gesturing wildly with his arms, while the children listened raptly. As Vahkiir stepped inside, however, he paused, and every head turned towards him.

"There you are!" Brit exclaimed, pushing herself up and walking over to him as he quickly shut the door behind him. When she noticed the grim expression on his face, however, she frowned. "What happened?" she asked in a low voice.

Vahkiir shook his head. "I'll explain later," he said softly.

Brit scowled, but didn't press him for answers. "Very well," she murmured, taking his arm and leading him towards the fire. "You've brought us quite the interesting guest," she added in a louder voice, nodding to Brevyn. "Either he's led a rather exciting life, or he's merely an excellent taleteller."

Brevyn put his hand over his heart and grunted. "You wound me, muthsera," he chuckled. "I swear in Azura's name, all that I've said is true."

"What has he been saying?" Vahkiir asked as he settled onto one of the furs beside his wife. He noticed that Brevyn had finally stripped off his fur robe, and the garb he wore underneath was unlike anything Vahkiir had ever seen. He was wearing a one-piece garment made of tan cloth that covered his upper body and fell to his knees, embroidered with red and blue triangles along the collar, sleeves, and hem, and further decorated with strings of glass beads. Beneath the skirt of the garment were a pair of brown woolen hose, which were partially covered by a pair of calf-high leather boots. While the garment seemed comfortable and fairly warm, Vahkiir immediately realized that it was woefully inadequate for Solstheim's harsh climate. It was little wonder Brevyn had been on the verge of freezing to death when Vahkiir found him.

"He was telling us that he once climbed a mountain made of fire," Strunheim explained as he stirred the contents of the cauldron with a wooden spoon.

Vahkiir stared at his son, then turned to Brevyn and raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, the mountain itself is not made of flame," Brevyn admitted. "But it does spit smoke and fire from time to time, and when it does, ash falls from the sky like snow, turning the world grey and black."

"And you claim to have climbed this mountain yourself?" Vahkiir pressed, unable to keep from smiling slightly, doubt clearly written on his face.

"Not all the way to the top, no. But I have scaled partway up its slopes," Brevyn replied easily. "I spent much of my life as a herder, and one of my journeys took me quite close to Red Mountain. Fortunately, it was not belching fire at the time, else I certainly would not have lived. But I could feel the heat of the magma nearby, far greater than this little fire here, and I could taste ash on my tongue each time I breathed in. I lost two netches on that run, but it was either that or risk encountering a group of Nordic bandits that were stalking my usual route. I decided that I'd rather take my chances with the mountain that might kill me than the bandits that would kill me."

"What is a netch?" Odrath asked.

Brevyn hesitated, clearly searching for the right words, as Brit began ladling the stew into bowls. "Do you see that leather bag there?" he asked finally. "Picture that, but as large as this house, and floating in the air like a cloud. Then take its strings and imagine they're as thick as your arm, and as long as a tree, and dangle them from the bottom. That is a netch."

Vahkiir and Brit traded amused looks as Odreth gaped at him. Strunheim rolled his eyes in disbelief, and while Gutha's face was unreadable, she commented, "I cannot believe such a creature exists."

"There are many strange things in this world, child," Brevyn replied easily. "And none of us have seen them all. For instance, I have never seen a stew quite like this one," he added, grinning and nodding gratefully to Brit as he took the bowl she offered him. "But it smells wonderful. May I ask what was used to make it?"

"It's mostly elk, though not the one that we brought back today," Strunheim replied as he plucked a piece of the meat from the bowl and blew on it to cool it.

"There is also wild rutabaga, pine root, mushrooms, some lichen…." Gutha listed dutifully.

"And a little bit of frost mirriam!" Odreth interjected with a cheerful grin. "That was my idea!" Her smile faltered, however, when she saw Gutha shooting her an annoyed look for interrupting.

"Is that so?" Brevyn asked, tilting his head at the bowl. Vahkiir could tell from his expression that the ingredients were foreign to him, and for a moment, he wondered if the elf was going to refuse. Just as that thought crossed his mind, however, Brevyn brought a piece of meat to his lips and tore into it with his teeth. As he chewed on it thoughtfully, he winked at Odreth and added, "An excellent addition, my dear." As Odreth beamed at him, he turned to Vahkiir and inclined his head. "And once again, thank you all for your hospitality. This is the finest meal I've had in days."

"You should thank our daughters especially," Brit remarked, which made Odreth grin even wider, while Gutha nodded. "Please, eat as much as you like. If you would like, we also have some pine nuts and dried snowberries."

Brevyn laughed and shook his head. "This is more than enough, thank you. I would not wish to be a discourteous guest by eating you out of your home."

"It's no trouble-" Brit began.

"Can you tell us more of your homeland, Brevyn?" Odreth piped up, gazing up at the elf with wide, expectant eyes.

Brevyn hesitated, glancing over at Brit and Vahkiir, who both nodded. The Chimer chuckled and turned back to the girl. "Very well. I suppose I could tell you of my first journey through the calderas of Vvardenfell. I had just tamed a young guar-"

"Guar?" Odreth interrupted.

"A large reptile with a round head and an enormous mouth, which walks on two legs and has two tiny arms," Brevyn explained. Odreth's mouth fell open, while Gutha and Strunheim traded skeptical looks.

Vahkiir set his bowl down and half-listened to Brevyn's tale with a pensive look on his face, lost in his own thoughts. He only stirred when Brit nudged him with her shoulder and gave him a worried frown. Vahkiir considered answering her unspoken question, but then simply shook his head. His impending judgement – whatever it was – was weighing heavily on his mind, and he doubted that he would sleep well that night. He also still feared that in slaying the dragon, he might have invited others to their tiny village, and he wondered if that was what had his mother concerned enough that she felt the need to deliberate with the other leaders of their village.

For now, though, he decided to push his worries aside until the morning. After all, there was no point in fretting about what he could not change. Right now, he was warm, well-fed, and surrounded by his family. While the wilds would always inevitably beckon him back, for now he was content. That, he supposed, was all he could wish for.