Cura lay asleep in her bed. She rested soundly under her covers as the gentle sounds of wind blew through the windows lining her ceiling.
The night air was cold, but kind. It fell upon her like a feather.
Kyne's gentle kiss, as it were. Like a mother the goddess comforted the purposeless heroine as she rested soundly under the roof.
Brother Adalvald entered the Hall of the Vigilant and sought out the Keeper, who was awake in her room next door, penning a letter. "It's ready, Keeper Carcette." he kept the information withheld, should Cura be awake the wall over.
"Which 'it' are you referring to?" Carcette lowered her quill until it was flat on her desk as she faced her loyal subordinate. "The... Dawnguard 'it', or the other 'it?'"
"The other 'it.'"
Suddenly, the Keeper's austere expression shifted into a warm smile. "Excellent. She's going to be thrilled. I just know it!"
"Will you tell her when she awakens? It is finished, but Tolan and I are going to continue with the inspection, so maybe it would be best if you wait for a few more days." Adalvald asked.
"Perfect. Excellent work."
Truly it must have been a reward fit for the Dragonborn of the Vigil, as it's secrecy was so prioritized.
"Oh, and, Adalvald? Have you heard the news? A Priory dedicated to Lord Stendarr has been formed in the southeastern hills near Haafingar." Carcette appeared greatly pleased as she declared this. "And in Winterhokd, to its Southeast, another Hall has been repurposed by the Agents of Righteous Might. Stendarr's influence is growing. People are flocking to our God in droves. This is wonderful news!"
"He saved Tamriel. Cura is his follower. That must be why." Adalvald mused. "It is true, I haven't seen such faith outside of our ranks in a very long time."
"Stendarr is rising." Carcette rejoiced. "And now the cultists are afraid. They're making mistakes. A cult of Boethiah was discovered in the mountains east of Eastmarch. A cult of Namira was weeded out in the Reach. The Mythic Dawn resurgence has again reared its ugly head. We and the Agents have acted in pursuit of them for over a decade, as you know."
"And you had Silus Vesuius captive. Yes, I recall that." Adalvald remembered way back when.
"And I learned something else that was quite intriguing. Though, I kept it from Cura." Carcette began. "At the beginning of her journey, she encountered a Boethiah cultist attacking Rorikstead."
"I heard about that."
"That Cultist was not of Boethiah." Carcette revealed. "The Vigilants who examined his corpse at the Hall of the Dead in Whiterun some time after the confrontation had noticed a symbol branded on his right arm; a tattoo depicting a rising sun."
"The Mythic Dawn."
"Yes. He was pretending to be a cultist of Boethiah to throw off our suspicions. I suppose he hadn't expected to fail." Keeper Carcette surmised. "I didn't want Cura to know, because she already had so much to deal with, and she would have gotten involved as soon as the words left my mouth. You know that, and I know that."
Brother Adalvald solemnly nodded. "I do."
"It's only a matter of time. We're going to stop them." Carcette reassured him. "I just fear that the damages will be hard on Skyrim if we handle this without careful preparation."
She had no illusions that the cult would go down easily. They haven't thus far. Tearing them out root and stem would take more than just her own faction's labour. The Agents of Righteous Might had been tracking this remnant group for ages, and she'd left them to it. Nirtius, the leader, had often kept his matters to himself, very rarely sending her information on the subject. And even less now, due to all that had transpired within the Vigil and Skyrim.
She was mainly shooting in the dark, though now the Vigil had to move. They stood idly by for long enough, barely accomplishing anything. Isran was absolutely right about her in the past. She was afraid to take real risks. Afraid to see the world crashing down upon their heads.
Her lack of assertion led to exactly that. Doom upon her doorstep.
She would follow the bold Redguard's example. The Vigil had no room to play with caution any longer. Cura herself had proven as much over the years. And with the Dragons gone, morale had grown higher than it had ever been in recent times.
Now was the time to act.
"I want our strongest men sent to the Velothi Mountains. I want them to patrol the northern border region of the Rift surrounding Red Scar Cavern, especially." Carcette decreed. "I want them to surround the mountainside and set up camps in high places, where they can overlook activity from below."
"Of course." Adalvald agreed.
"I want other able-bodied members to scour the Rift. around Ruunvald and Shor's Stone, in case the activity is linked to a camp around there. And I want patrols in Eastmarch, as well. I want reports by the end of every week. In detail. We are going to bring this den of foxes to justice." She was not going to sit back and be struck first again. Never again.
If she was going to have one last deed ascribed to her legacy as Keeper of the Vigil, it would be the elimination of the Mythic Dawn.
It was quite amusing, that now, at the end of her tenure, she cared about her legacy. With all that the Vigil has been blessed with in recent times, she would be a fool to not take advantage of it now.
No Keeper after Carcette could ever claim having had guardianship over the Last Dragonborn though. That gave her a sense of pride.
History would remember her not as the Keeper who failed, but instead as Keeper Carcette: mentor and guardian of the Dragonborn, Cura. Avenger against the Volkihar Clan. Obstructor of the Mythic Dawn.
She turned back to her letters. "You're dismissed, Brother Adalvald. Keep up the good work."
"Thank you, Keeper." Brother Adalvald left her chambers to pass the order along, followed by his shadows that smoothed the wall.
The oil in the lantern beside her was running out, and she decided that it was time to finish her notes for the night. After extinguishing the flame, she descended into her bed and retired for the night.
It was better this way. She'd nearly forgotten what a good night's sleep was like.
The Blue Palace in Solitude was peaceful that day and Jarl Elisif was tended by her court. A few civilians brought requests and gifts in equal measure; Taerie from the Radiant Raiement used the court day as an opportunity to flaunt her wares to the court as she presented a new line of summer gowns to the fair Jarl. Elisif was more than thrilled when she saw a beautiful light blue fine raiment and requested one for the future.
The Bards College too came up with requests to allow them to hold the Burning of King Olaf festival, but the Jarl was less than impressed. This would be the third year that she's outlawed the festival, due to the poor taste it left in her mouth after the death of her dear husband Torygg. The director of the college, Viarmo, looked extremely crestfallen. "But Jarl Elisif, how are we Bards supposed to make a living if we can't perform during holidays?"
"There's nothing 'holy' about that day." Jarl Elisif denied him. "We don't need to burn the same king over and over and over. He died once. Let him rest in peace!" Her voice trailed away sadly, and though unspoken, all who had ears understood that this was more about Torygg than Olaf One-Eye.
Viarmo looked disappointed. "Then what do we do?"
A High Elven man came upon the court with a set of sketches. "Jarl Elisif, our plans for the new statue."
Falk Firebeard, Sybille Stentor and Jarl Elisif gathered with the artist around a table nearby and he laid them out.
"The statue would look wonderful at the center of the new marketplace, where that old well was located." Falk Firebeard suggested.
The artist was a High Elf named Saulas. "I've spent all month making these various designs under the eye of Viarmo."
As the four sheets spread along the table, they revealed the subject of Vigilant Cura, the Dragonborn.
The first was an isometric depiction of her leaning on Spellbreaker with her left hand and raising her Elven Mace to the skies as she gazed upwards to Aetherius.
The second depicted her on her knees with her hands clasped together in prayer and her forehead pressed upon them, signifying her eternal devotion to the God of Mercy.
The third depicted her with her foot on Alduin's neck, mace ready to deliver the killing blow to the World-Eater.
The final depicted her as an adventurous, warlike figure, leading an unseen party into the fray with her mace pointed forward in a charge.
"Wow, the resemblance is uncanny. You really paid attention to my description." Jarl Elisif proclaimed. She had, after all, seen the Dragonborn in person.
All of Skyrim was singing her praises after the Dragons had flown away. When Alduin was defeated, the power that burst forth from the heavens told all of his destruction.
The Temple of the Divines had seen a flow of worship unlike anything seen in the last century. Stendarr's shrine in particular had been granted flowers worthy of a florist's shop. The Shrine itself was barely visible under all the greenery.
As words of a miracle got out, waves and waves of pilgrims passed through the capital daily, pouring in from boats and from the Wrothgarian Mountains.
One would almost forget that they were in the middle of a civil war at this rate, with all of the mirth in the air.
Jarl Elisif cast the vote among the members there, and they decided that perhaps, from the little that they'd seen of the Dragonborn, they could get the opinion of one who knew her more intimately to decide which design would be the best for the new statue.
"We don't have time to go searching the province for her friends, Jarl Elisif." Falk Firebeard informed her regretfully.
"She's a Vigilant of Stendarr, isn't she? I imagine she wouldn't be mad if you went with that sanctimonious prayer pose." Sybille crossed her arms, unimpressed. She knew very well where she stood with the Vigil and what Cura would do to her if they met.
"Well, she defeated the World-Eater. She brought a temporary truce to Skyrim. I was there." Jarl Elisif began to search for a sensible reason. "I think that, for that reason, she should get the third sketch." She pointed to the heroic image of Cura with her foot on Alduin's neck.
After some indecisive murmuring amidst the group, they eventually decided that the third sketch was indeed the way to go. Saulas rolled up his sheet and tied a blue band around it, effectively marking it to go. "All right, then. I will return to the Bards College and begin as soon as possible! The fresh marble arrived from the docks yesterday morning, so I should be all set. Truly, my sculpture will be as rememberable as the Dragonborn herself!" He gathered up the other papers and hurried away.
Jarl Elisif turned to Viarmo, who was waiting patiently behind them for an answer. "I have an idea, Viarmo." the Jarl lifted away from the table and approached her throne. "Let the day of the Burning of King Olaf be instead replaced with a celebration of the Dragonborn, Cura, who defeated the World-Eater."
Viarmo's eyes lit up and his jaw hung open. How did he not think of that himself? It would draw tons of attention to the College if they covered that! A recent event that shook Skyrim as they knew it and changed the trajectory of their History should be commemorated!
"Yes... yes! My Jarl, that is a wonderful idea!" Viarmo proclaimed with great excitement. "That's sure to excite the masses! And - and..." he seemed to recall something as he spoke. "Giraud Gemaine told me the other day that Jorn wrote a song last week about Dragonborn Cura's defeat of the wyrm... or something to that effect." His excitement was practically choking him. "Merciful Stendarr-I'll be right back! You have got to hear this!" he rushed down the dual set of stairs and left the court briefly for the time.
Shortly thereafter, Viarmo returned with the white-haired bard and they presented themselves before the court. Jorn had his poem in his hands.
"You seem proud to be a bard." Falk Firebeard noted Jorn's gleeful grin.
"And why wouldn't I be? We sing tales of kings, queens and their politics, 'tis true. But do you know who really makes history? The person who writes it." Jorn beamed with pride. With the flick of a pen, a bard could record a King's history of slaying a Dragon, or spin it to make the King a fraud worthy of a pyre. The pen truly was mightier than the sword.
"Your poem seems accurate enough, but maybe their criticisms might help you fill in the blanks." Viarmo muttered.
"Viarmo is too concerned with precision. What of instinct? Hmm? What of passion?" Jorn proposed to the court as he opened his page.
"Let's hear it." Jarl Elisif pushed past the mild disagreement to hear what he came for.
Jorn cleared his throat and held the paper up to the light.
"Vigilant Cura, so strong and devout,
to Stendarr you pray, to your enemies Shout;
none dare step upon your domain,
neither Dragon nor Vampire should sunder this Thane,
but the World-Eater hath come to profane.
The land you travelled, friends strong as the tide,
bearing magic and weapons, they remained at your side.
Fighting the night and the shadows profound,
all who can hear fell to your sound.
A Dragonborn you are, ancient, mighty and feared,
when all had seem lost, by mercy appeared,
to save Skyrim, when our hour drew near.
Sparing our sun from a fate so dire,
defeating the beast who would quell us with fire,
Cura, the sweet, your spirit we adore,
for you protected Skyrim, forevermore."
As Jorn slowly folded the paper, the Court stood up and applauded the Bard's work. It was a simple, yet effective poem, and the Jarl herself clapped in its wake. Jorn bowed and Viarmo claapped beside him.
"That was very good, Jorn!" Jarl Elisif proclaimed with great enthusiasm. "It's settled, then. Next Mondas, we are going to hold the 'Vigil of the Dragonborn.' An appropriate name, wouldn't you say?" she laughed softly.
Viarmo was more than thrilled. "So... the festival can go on? Just... with a new subject, that is?"
"Yes." Elisif smiled.
Viarmo nearly jumped with excitement, but was careful to compose himself in court. He took a quick bow instead. "We could build an effigy of Alduin and burn that instead! A-after all, i hear that is what happens when the Dragonborn takes a Dragon's soul - their flesh alights and melts to bone."
The Jarl pondered on that for a second, because the spirit of the Burning of King Olaf was still present, however in the context of a Dragon, it seemed well and good enough. She relented. "Very well; as long as it's a black Dragon. If I hear word of a King effigy on the pole, I will have you thrown in the dungeons."
Sybille looked at them with her piercing gaze and grinned, showing off her fangs for a second. Motivation to stay out of those dungeons if there wasn't any incentive enough before.
"O-of course not! You have my word!" Viarmo held a hand to his chest as he swore before the court.
"Then be off and begin your preparations." Jarl Elisif dismissed them. She was oddly excited herself to see where this would go.
After taking a bow, the Bards College Headmaster and his student descended the stairs and exited the Blue Palace. Outside were other Bard professors; Giraud Gemaine, Pantea Ateia, and Inge Six-Fingers.
"So? What's the story? Did she accept it?" Pantea was the first to ask as the two exited the castle.
Viarmo nodded. "She was thrilled!"
"So, let me get this straight... no more burning King Olaf?" Giraud asked for clarification.
"No, but we can burn Alduin instead! Who wouldn't want to burn the World-Eater?" Viarmo informed with enthusiasm.
"Go to Evette San sometime today." Viarmo instructed Giraud. "Tell her the festival is on and we'll need Spiced Wine. Tell her about the changes, too. In fact... Jorn, you, Ildi, Lisette and Aia get to work on the new promotional posters. I want them all over Solitude! And, if possible, through all nine holds!"
"Sounds like a plan." Jorn said as he made haste to start.
Viarmo was ecstatic. It was working out better than he'd hoped. Not only could they go on with the show, but the fresh topic was sure to invite curious eyes and ears from around the province.
And how greater still, should the Dragonborn herself come to the festivities to see? No doubt she would hear of it.
"We have preparations to make!" Giraud rubbed his hands together and hurried back to the college.
"You youngfolk can't be trusted to handle it all correctly. This sort of thing needs seasoned, experienced hands." Inge Six-Fingers proclaimed arrogantly. "Let me make the effigy of that old Dragon called Alduin."
"Fine. All yours." Viarmo said. "And what of you, Pantea? You've been awfully quiet."
"I've been thinking on what I can contribute to this new festival." the blonde Imperial admitted as she scratched her chin. "I'd like to do something spectacular. Like... decorate the city."
"Decorations?"
"Yes, we're a new Solitude!" the epiphany hit her as she spoke. "We should have a parade, too! Ooh! What if we made a procession of sorts? And a portable effigy? We could bring Alduin through arches lain around the city and then lay him at the college and burn him!"
Viarmo loved it. "A splendid idea, Pantea! And... seeing the rising popularity of Stendarr in the province... we could ask the Vigilants to carry it!"
"Do you think their Keeper would allow it?" Pantea wondered.
"I will have Arria send an invitation to the Hall of the Vigilant. Explain everything! There's no time to waste!" Viarmo ordered quickly. "And I want you to get on those decorations! I want lanterns! I want banners! I want grandeur! This is a take of heroism! Get Ataf to help with the decor. He has a good eye for it."
Pantea nodded and rushed like a madwoman, followed by Viarmo. They had so much to do, and so little time.
The following midday, Keeper Carcette checked in on Cura. "How are you doing, dear?"
Cura was happy to see the Keeper. She slowly rose to speak. "I'm doing much better this morning."
The Keeper was happy to hear it. She slowly reached into her satchel and pulled out a letter. "I want you to see this. And know that I'm absolutely thrilled for you!"
Cura raised her brows and examined the page.
"Salutations, Keeper Carcette of the Vigil of Stendarr.
We of the Bard's College in Solitude are writing this message to you in the hopes that you would collaborate with us in a groundbreaking project.
Formally, this upcoming festival would celebrate the Burning of King Olaf, but due to the tasteless was of such a festival in this day and age, we have instead supplanted that archaic, barbaric holiday with something much more befitting the new era: the Vigil of the Dragonborn.
We want to commemorate Vigilant Cura for her defeat of Alduin and we intend to do so by a procession, beginning at the City Gate and progressing towards the College, where an effigy of the fell Dragon will be burned.
We would request, at your leisure, of course, that the Vigilants be the ones to carry Alduin to his doom, as the symbolism of Stendarr's mercy overcoming great evil cannot be ignored.
We would also, in addition, extend to you an invitation to join us this following Morndas for the festivities. There will be Evette San's famous Spiced Wine, and many pastries accommodated by the court of Solitude, and we would be honoured if you would attend.
sincerely,
Viarmo, Headmaster of the Bard's College,
penned by Bard, Arria"
Cura's eyes were wide like saucers. They were throwing a festival in her honour?! The shock nearly caused her to drop the letter. She looked at the Keeper. "I... I don't know what to say..."
"I do." Carcette responded. "Absolutely! Of course we'll do it!" She playfully shook Cura's shoulder. "Cura, this is wonderful! I'm so proud of what you've been able to accomplish."
Cura shrunk in her bed. She sought only to hide her blushing face.
The festivities were certainly deserved, to be sure, but she couldn't help but feel bashful. What was she, a celebrity now?
"Should I attend?" Cura foolishly asked.
"Of course! Cura, this is your big moment! You absolutely must attend it!" Carcette tapped her on the back. "I'll inform Vigilant Tolan and Brother Adalvald as well."
"Say, where have they been? I haven't seen them since... almost three weeks, now." Cura counted the days.
Come to think of it, where was anybody? Inigo, Lucien and Vilja disappeared into the aether as well, it seems.
"They're..." Carcette tried to work her words around the subject properly. "... they're handling business in the Rift."
Cura understood; or rather, thought she did. "Ah. And what about Inigo, Lucien and Vilja?"
"I haven't a clue."
Cura clicked her tongue. Now that she had this exciting news, she desperately wanted to share it with her friends. Unfortunately, the mere thought of Fast Travel made her feel nauseous this day.
And the Bard's College! Wow. She knew both Inigo and Vilja would be excited. Both of them loved music. Inigo with a lute and his voice, and Vilja with a flute and her voice.
Heck, even Lucien enjoyed a song every now and then.
He and Inigo with their thousands of renditions of "Ragnar the Red."
Then she remembered Inigo's "Cura the Wise who killed Draugr with fists and big men with her thighs" and hoped to the Nine that he wouldn't perform it in public.
It was hilarious though. She remembered that day fondly, on their way to castle Volkihar's undercroft. She couldn't stop a smirk from showing on her face.
"What's so funny?" Carcette was bewildered by her sudden smirk.
"I was just remembering the time we all travelled to castle Volkihar. Inigo's song." Cura held back a giggle.
"Was it something stupid?" the Keeper cocked her head to the side.
"You don't remember?"
"Not really. I do recall being annoyed, though."
Cura shrugged it off. "Well, it was humorous, but kind of dirty."
"Keep it out of my Hall, then." Carcette brushed the topic off. It didn't merit being repeated in a sacred establishment, as she saw it.
Cura chuckled and slowly pushed herself up from her bed. She was wearing a set of sleeping robes. She walked over to her desk and pulled a random book off of it to read and relax back on her bed. She sat up and laid it on her lap and flipped it open using her right hand.
Keeper Carcette walked to the door. "I'll send the Bard's College a confirmation letter. This should be good!"
She headed out and left Cura to her book in peace.
Lucien peered over Gunmar's shoulder and examined the Dwarven metal with awe. "It takes special talent to forge with Dwemer metal. I admire your gumption."
Gunmar scoffed. "I could mold this with my eyes closed. Don't worry, your friend is in good hands."
Inigo leaned over Sorine's workbench and watched her project as it took shape. "Wow... this looks great, Sorine! If Dwarven Mechanics were an art, you would be Dibella!"
Sorine briefly stared at him in response to the comparison.
"Er, Dibella, but without the kinky stuff, I mean." Inigo reiterated.
Sorine smiled with amusement. "Well, I'm no Divine, but I've just performed a miracle with this, I think." She leaned back from her work and shifted her stiff shoulders.
Vilja, who was reading books on Tamriel's History nearby, put it down to come and see for herself. "Wow, that really is amazing! I think she's really going to love it. I know I would if it was for me. I'm no Halvdan."
Gunmar came over, followed by Lucien, and handed Sorine the finishing pieces of metal. "Here, this should reinforce the bottom. The measurements are perfect."
"Excellent!" Sorine exclaimed as she mounted it in place at the base of her project and cast Flames to weld it in place with her left hand.
"Do you think she'll be surprised?" Lucien asked. "I really hope so."
"Nobody has spilled the beans, so I don't think she'll be expecting it." Inigo stated.
Then he and Lucien both glared at Vilja.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, unnerved.
"You didn't say anything, did you? We were supposed to stay away for a while." Lucien stated.
"Of course not! Sheesh. It's not like I'm a blabbermouth or anything!" Vilja crossed her arms as she left the room.
Sorine finished tweaking things in place. "It's perfect. All that remains is to see how Cura adapts." she gestured for Inigo to get a wooden box, and she mounted it within.
"Let's get going." Gunmar led the way out of the fort.