Chapter 18

Bromjunaar

After reluctantly accepting Jarl Olaf's offer of a meal before they left, Vahkiir and his companions were able to slip out of Dragonsreach the following morning. It had snowed the night before, and the cobblestone path was covered in slick piles of white powder that crunched under his, Brevyn's, and Ilga's feet as they made their way through the town. Fortunately, given the early hour and the frigid weather, then streets were still relatively quiet, so they did not have to fight with crowds as they tried to learn where their companions had bedded down for the night.

They finally found the elves when they checked a longhouse that served as an inn for merchants who were visiting Whiterun. As they stepped inside, Vahkiir noticed that the majority of the floor of the longhouse was covered in sleeping furs, which encircled a massive central hearth that presently contained a roaring fire. The elves were huddled together against one side of the wall, eating their breakfast well away from the primarily Nordic patrons, who were eyeing the Chimer warily. Voryn – who was once again wearing his full-faced helm, as was Vehk – spotted Vahkiir and the others first, and eagerly waved them over.

"And here we were just wondering if we were going to have to ask permission to retrieve you from the Jarl's palace," Nerevar commented, setting aside his clay bowl of gruel to face the trio properly as they settled onto the hard earthen floor beside him. "Would you care to share the details of your visit with us?"

Vahkiir launched into a quick retelling of what they had discussed with Jarl Olaf, particularly the fact that they had managed to secure an escort to Bromjunaar. Nerevar traded looks with Vehk while Voryn listened intently. Beside them, Llervu ran his hand over his thick beard, frowning slightly to himself.

"So you intend to travel to these ruins next?" the merchant asked in a low growl.

"I must, if I am to meet with Vokrijun," Vahkiir replied, crossing his legs under himself. "And since the Jarl is providing armed guards…."

"That is all well and good for you, but what about the rest of us?" Llervu demanded, swinging around to Nerevar, his frustration evident on his face. "Certainly, you have the luxury to gallivant across the land, but in case you have forgotten, we still must make a profit. We cannot conduct trade in an abandoned ruin."

Nerevar held up a hand, attempting to placate the merchant. "You are correct, and you have been very patient with us," he conceded in a soothing tone, lowering his hand when Llervu settled back on his furs, though he continued to scowl. "However, I concur with Vahkiir – this journey of his is of paramount importance."

"If it is beginning to trouble you, then perhaps we should go our separate ways at last," Vahkiir added, giving Llervu a sidelong look. "If you all feel that you were indebted to me for my actions in Veloth, then let me assure you that you have more than repaid them with your kindness and hospitality. As such, if my diversions are becoming bothersome, then I do not wish to hinder you further."

Llervu continued to stroke his beard. From his expression, he was seriously considering accepting Vahkiir's proposal to finally go their separate ways. When he glanced at Nerevar, however, and noticed the deep frown on the captain's face, however, he sighed. "No," he relented in a low mutter. "Your presence is not a bother to us. In truth, it has been something of a blessing, even without considering what you are. As we've stated before, even having one Nord accompany us through this land deflects a great deal of ire… much less two," he added, glancing over at Ilga. "However…."

"However, you still must make coin for yourselves," Vahkiir finished. Llervu grimaced slightly, but nodded.

Nerevar exhaled slowly as he leaned back on his hands. "Well… if you'd like, the caravan itself can remain divided, as we have been for the last leg of the journey. I for one would like to investigate this Vokrijun as well, and I'm fairly certain that Vehk and Voryn would like to accompany me."

"We would," Vehk confirmed in a low voice.

"Yes, but the nature of trade requires us to travel as well," Llervu countered. "We cannot stay in Whiterun for very long, as buyers will quickly lose interest in our wares. To say nothing of the fact that, as Chimer, we will soon overstay our welcome anyways."

Nerevar looked up at the ceiling, sighing deeply. "A fair point," he admitted softly.

"Why not trade with some of the outlying farms and villages?" Vehk suggested. Llervu turned towards him, raising an eyebrow. "You may not earn as much coin as you will in Whiterun itself, but the locals will likely be interested in perusing your wares."

"Or attacking us," Llervu countered. "They are quite unused to mer, after all, and I fear that they might not be as tolerant as their city-dwelling cousins… strange as that is to say, given our rather icy reception here."

Nerevar's easy smile faded, replaced with a stern look. "Llervu, I am presenting you with three options," he said shortly. "One, you can remain in Whiterun and trade with the locals until we return. Two, you could take to the countryside and ask the locals if they wish to trade. Or, three, you can return to Veloth." When Llervu's eyes widened at Nerevar's ultimatum, the captain added, "I trust you do not wish to pursue the third, but it is available to you. However, we will not travel any further west until Vahkiir's business in Bromjunaar is completed."

Llervu gaped at Nerevar, then glanced at Vahkiir, his brow furrowing with anger. "And why does this… Nord take precedence over us, your kinsmen?" he demanded.

"Because I wish to know if the danger he is examining also poses a danger to us," Nerevar replied simply. "And, if so, I would like to prepare for it. We are already facing a grave threat in the Nords. We came to this land to learn the full scope of it. Therefore, if the dragons and the priest that is supposedly controlling them are indeed a problem that we must be wary of, I wish to know of it sooner rather than later."

Llervu glowered at Nerevar sullenly, but when Nerevar held his gaze, the merchant finally sighed and threw his hands up. "Very well. It seems that I cannot dissuade you either way," he surrendered reluctantly. "However, I would ask that you conclude your trek within ten days, else I fear we may be forced out of town."

Vahkiir glanced between the two elves. "If… remaining in the city will prove difficult, perhaps I could speak with the Jarl on your behalf," he suggested. "He seems intent about earning my favor, and I suspect that if I were to speak with him, he would be happy to make arrangements for you for as long as you wish to stay."

Llervu turned to Vahkiir, his expression softening slightly. "That is kind of you," he said, his tone genuinely grateful. "However, even if he kept to his word, I doubt that the jarl could restrain his people from forcibly evicting us from the city if they wanted us gone. If they formed a mob and chased us from the city, it is unlikely that he would be particularly interested in rallying his men and turning them against his own citizens for the sake of a few Chimer." He shook his head. "No, there is no need for you to bargain for us to stay, generous as your offer is, Vahkiir." He then turned and glowered at Nerevar. "He just has to make certain that he returns quickly enough that we do not wear out our welcome here."

"I can promise nothing," Nerevar replied, returning to his usual tone. "However, Bromjunaar is not far from here, so I do not expect our journey to take very long. We will likely be on our way again quite shortly."

"We'd best," Llervu said sullenly. When Nerevar continued to stare at him, however, he sighed again and lowered his head. "Very well."

"Good," Nerevar nodded, turning back to Vahkiir. "Then we should pack our belongings before we set out again."

"As always," Vahkiir murmured. Nerevar raised an eyebrow, and a reluctant grin spread across his lips. "Even though I am called 'the Wanderer' by my people, even I did not expect to travel this frequently when I was cast into exile."

Nerevar chuckled faintly. "Yes, well, you may yet grow used to it," he said as he picked up the cold bowl of gruel that he had set by his side. "After all, I imagine we have many miles yet to go before this journey is at an end."

Later that day, a messenger approached Vahkiir, informing him that he and the elves were given a day to prepare for the journey. The Jarl would be providing a wagonload of supplies, more than enough to make the trek to the ancient capital, but he encouraged them to bring their own provisions and to arm themselves as they saw fit. After all, it was a dangerous journey, and even inside his own territory, he could not guarantee their protection.

Fortunately, Vahkiir had not unpacked after they had arrived in the city, and if it had just been him, he likely could have left that day. Nevertheless, he was grateful that they had time to prepare, and that he at least had a day to rest and recover before they set out again. He spent much of the day sleeping in the tavern, only rousing himself for meals and to help the others pack their own belongings before curling up on the sleeping furs again.

Another messenger arrived around dawn the next day to tell Vahkiir and the others to meet the caravan at the front gates. Vahkiir and the others dined on a quick breakfast of bread and hard cheese, then wound through the dark, empty streets towards the entrance to Whiterun. There, they found a wagon guarded by thirty warriors clad in bronze and fur armor, accompanied by a half dozen men dressed in grey, wool robes, many of whom were clutching gnarled wooden staffs entwined with ivy and flowers.

"Priests of Kyne, Vahkiir," a voice said to Vahkiir's left. He turned to see Tarius standing slightly apart from the other men, clad in much heavier fur robes than his compatriots. Hanging from his belt was a thin, bronze sword, with a clear crystal in the pommel and an aquamarine gem in the crossguard. He flashed a grin at Vahkiir when he noticed the confused look in his eye. "You seemed to be wondering who they were."

"Perceptive," Nerevar remarked, smiling warmly as he approached Tarius. He held his arm out in greeting. "I am Nerevar. Do you know Vahkiir?"

Tarius visibly hesitated, his eyes lingering on Nerevar's outstretched hand, eyeing it as though it was diseased, but then he swallowed, matched the elf's grin, and clasped his forearm. "We have met before, yes," he replied easily. "Well met to you as well. I am Tarius Telepius."

"Telepius… you would not be related to Telepe, would you?" Vehk asked suddenly. "The former Chancellor of Cyrod's empire?"

Tarius' eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and delight as he turned to Vehk. "The very same!" he exclaimed, a broad grin spreading across his lips. "I am surprised that you know of him."

"I have read some of his writings," Vehk replied evenly, his face inscrutable under his mask. "He was a sound legislator, and while I do not agree with all of the laws that he proposed, he seemed to have provided a stable enough base for your early Empire to work from. At the very least, he and your Empress were able to consolidate the fallen Ayleid kingdoms ably enough, barring the occasional rebellion. An admirable feat, given the fractured nature of Cyrod before you Nedes conquered it."

"A fair assessment," Tarius replied evenly. "Admittedly, though, both I and many of my fellow Cyrods feel that much of his legislation was too… conciliatory towards the defeated Ayleids. In truth, I believe much of it was pragmatic – neither he nor the Empress could afford to alienate the subjugated kingdoms by punishing them too harshly, which is why much of his legislation offered equal treatment to both the Ayleids and the Nedes. However, once the Empire had stabilized, there was no need for us to continue to suffer the heresy and belligerence of our Ayleid vassals. That is why Marukh's reforms were so enthusiastically embraced when he proposed them."

Vehk tilted his head. "You speak as though you are ashamed of your ancestor," he remarked.

"Not at all!" Tarius replied. "Telepe was a wise administrator, and of course I am grateful for what he and his wife Tari were able to accomplish. After all, I would not be in my current position without them," he chuckled. "But that does not mean that he was not without his faults, and I believe I would be dishonoring him more if I did not acknowledge them."

"I see," Vehk said slowly. "I suppose there is wisdom in that…."

Vahkiir glanced back and forth between the pair, then leaned over and whispered to Brevyn, "Are you… following any of this?"

Brevyn shook his head. "Something about an ancient councilor that Tarius was related to, I believe," he said with a shrug. "Likely irrelevant. I wouldn't trouble myself about it if I were you."

Vahkiir nodded, then stepped forward to address Tarius directly. "If I may?" he asked. Tarius turned to him and nodded. "Why are you and the other priests accompanying us to Bromjunaar? You mentioned that it was some sort of pilgrimage?"

"It is, but it's more than simply paying our respects and offering our prayers at a holy site," Tarius replied, tugging his robes more tightly around himself as a shiver wracked his plump body. "According to my fellow priests, a dark spirit has been sealed away in the depths of Bromjunaar, and while the wards containing it have held thus far, they must be periodically strengthened with magic and prayers. That is why I elected to join them, given the strength of both my faith and my magicka."

"A dark spirit?" Vahkiir asked, frowning.

Tarius nodded, turning his gaze towards the sky. "My compatriots claim that a powerful sorcerer by the name of Morokei dwells within the bowels of Bromjunaar. They say that he was a profane high priest, a worshipper of the dragons in a bygone age. His skill with magic allowed him to cheat death as an unholy, undead abomination, and he now haunts the ruins of Bromjunaar, gathering his power to one day break free and unleash his evil upon Skyrim once again."

Vahkiir's eyes widened. "How weak have the wards become?" he asked slowly.

Tarius shook his head. "By my reckoning, they have held fast, though supposedly this war has made it more difficult for the priests to conduct their regular journeys to Bromjunaar. It is possible that they have been loosened, though I suspect that if they had failed, we would know of it, and would be traveling with far more urgency." He then noticed Vahkiir's expression. "What is troubling you?" he asked in a lower voice.

Vahkiir ran his fingers slowly through his beard. "I wonder if Vokrijun might have had contact with this Morokei. It would explain why he has garbed himself as a Dragon Priest, and how he learned to Shout…."

Tarius tilted his head back thoughtfully. "I see. Perhaps," he admitted, folding his arms over his chest. "However, it is also possible that he simply learned magic and the thu'um from another. While uncommon, Shouting is not a unique gift here in Skyrim, so it would not be difficult for him to find a teacher. Likewise for learning magic. Perhaps he was simply inspired by the legends of the Dragon Priests for some unknown reason." When Vahkiir scowled at him, he chuckled and added, "However, I am simply trying to consider other possibilities. In truth, your guess does seem to make the most sense, though I sincerely hope that is not the case."

Vahkiir grunted. "Yes, well… we shall see soon, won't we?" he muttered as he trudged through a deep pile of snow.

The trek to Bromjunaar was, thankfully, a rather uneventful affair. With an armed escort, an open road, and clear weather, there was little to impede the group as they traveled towards the ruins of the ancient capital of Skyrim. While the path they were following was clearly very old, it was also surprisingly well-maintained, apparently treated with a reverence and care that belied its age. There was little snow on the cobblestones, and much of it looked as though it had been swept away by someone who was dedicated to ensuring that it remained clear – perhaps Olaf's own patrols, Vahkiir surmised.

They also encountered few people during their journey. On the first day, they met a merchant who was traveling in the opposite direction, but she simply gave them a brief nod and a smile before driving her oxen onwards at a quicker pace, clearly not wanting to invoke the ire of the armed guards. For their part, the guards simply seemed amused by her reaction, as Vahkiir could see them chuckling with one another for a short while afterwards.

They were also briefly watched by a brown bear, who was perched on an outcropping above them, its beady eyes watching them intently. The guards, however, kept their spears drawn and their eyes on the bear, so that a tense standoff ensued as they passed the beast by. Neither party moved to attack, however, though the bear did let out a gruff roar when they were directly beneath it. Once they had passed by, however, Vahkiir understood why the bear had watched them with such wariness – a pair of young cubs wandered out to stand beside the bear, watching the men curiously as they walked into the distance. For that, Vahkiir could hardly blame the bear for its wariness, and once they were almost out of sight, the larger bear turned and climbed off of its perch, quickly followed by the cubs.

After following the road west for most of the day, they eventually arrived at a longhouse that was built near where a fork in the road split the paths to the north and south. The longhouse had a low, wooden palisade surrounding it, and within, Vahkiir could see a few other horses and wagons, the former of which were hitched inside of stables for the night. The guards asked their charges to wait as they went into the small settlement, and when they returned, they announced that the owner of the longhouse used it as a sort of inn, and that they were accepting visitors for the evening.

The group brought the wagons into the encampment, then made their way towards the longhouse. They were greeted as the door by a middle-aged man, who gave the Chimer a suspicious look, but when one of the guards approached him and handed him a small cloth bag, he sighed and reluctantly stepped aside to invite everyone inside. Vahkiir watched the exchange curiously, wondering at the exchange, until Brevyn noticed his confusion and murmured in his ear, "I'd presume that the jarl gave our escorts coin for the journey, likely for just such an occasion. I suspect that it was always the intention of the guards to guide us here and have us spend the night in this tavern. We are still in Whiterun's territory, after all."

"A reasonable conclusion," Vahkiir replied evenly with a shrug. "Either way, I certainly will not complain about not having to spend the night in a cold tent."

The innkeeper had laid out several sleeping furs along the wooden floor, which surrounded the central firepit in a manner very similar to the longhouse the Chimer had stayed at in Whiterun. The only real difference was the décor of this longhouse, as brightly-decorated shields and bronze weaponry lined the walls. Vahkiir wondered how much of it was meant as decoration, and how much of it was intended to be used as a makeshift armory if they were attacked by bandits, though he decided not to pose the question aloud.

As evening gave way to nightfall, they and the other patrons spent their time swapping stories while a massive copper pot bubbled over the fire. Vahkiir studiously kept quiet about who he was, which suited the other merchants just fine, as they were far more interested in the Chimer and the tales they had to share. Unlike their more warlike brethren, they found the elves genuinely fascinating, and seemed grateful that they spoke Nordic. Vahkiir was genuinely surprised to see the Nords and the Chimer getting on so well, but Nerevar's easygoing demeanor seemed to charm the Nords into a jovial mood. Soon, they were exchanging information about the goods they could purchase in Veloth, and even offered Nerevar and the others advice about which commodities were dearest in the various holds in Skyrim.

When the pot began bubbling, the innkeeper's plump wife pulled it from the fire and began ladling the stew into wooden bowls, which she passed around to the guests. Vahkiir examined the contents to find that it was simple fare – barley, onions, carrots, and cabbage. It was fairly bland, but hot and filling, and the innkeeper served it with a heavy, dark beer that filled Vahkiir's stomach even more. By the time evening gave way to proper nightfall, Vahkiir was already dozing on the comfortable furs, and the conversation around him steadily lulled him to sleep.

They arose fairly early the next morning, and thanked the innkeeper and his wife before departing. The guards then directed their caravan along the northern path, which was gleaming with frost in the early morning sun. They ate as they walked, choking down a hard, dark bread and dried berries, while drinking a cold tea. Vahkiir soon found himself yearning for the hot stew of the previous night as he dipped the hard bread in the bitter tea, trying to soften it before chomping down on it and trying not to break his teeth on the seeds and hulls hidden inside the coarse bread.

Thankfully, despite the cold morning, the trek continued without incident, until they eventually reached the end of the road around late afternoon. From there, the guards directed them along a much smaller side-path, which led through a low canyon that had been carved between two high, flat boulders. As they passed through the opening, Vahkiir was met with a powerful, yet haunting sight.

In the distance was a large city, on par with any that he had visited thus far in Skyrim. However, unlike the lively cities of Windhelm, Winterhold, and Whiterun, this city was as eerily still and silent as a graveyard. A thick, heavy grey wall surrounded dozens of abandoned stone buildings, with ice and snow blanketing the neglected structures. Interspersed between the buildings, lining the ice-covered streets, were tall, rune-covered pillars, which he supposed might have once held up statues or archways, but whose purpose was now a mystery.

Looming above the hollow city was a massive structure resting atop two long flights of stairs, which Vahkiir concluded must have been the city's palace. Unlike the palaces that he had seen before, however, this one seemed to be carved directly into the large mountain behind it. Only the entryway, with a sloped triangular roof and a circular portal, was visible. Vahkiir could not help but wonder if the city's ruler actually dwelled in the mountain itself, or if the palace was little more than a fortress to retreat to, and the mountain itself a deception.

"Is that where we must go?" Tarius asked behind him. Vahkiir turned around, frowning in confusion, until he realized that he was addressing one of the other priests.

"It is," she confirmed with a nod of her hooded head. "Fortunately, it seems that the wards are still holding, though I can sense that they have weakened… more than they should have."

"Does that mean that Morokei is gaining power?" another of the priests wondered, their tone clearly worried.

The first priestess shook her head. "No. If he was, he would have escaped by now, and those wards were specifically crafted so that he could not shatter them. It is far more likely that someone on the outside has attempted to weaken the barriers."

Vahkiir, Brevyn, and Ilga traded looks with one another. "Vokrijun," they all said simultaneously.

"Interesting. It seems likely, then, that your friend has indeed been taking lessons from one of the Dragon Priests," Tarius concluded, favoring Vahkiir with a slight smile. "Your intuition serves you well, Dragonborn."

"Yes, I am so pleased to have been correct," Vahkiir replied drily.

"In any case, shall we head inside?" one of the younger priests asked.

The head priestess nodded, then turned to the captain of the guards that had been escorting them. "Would you mind leading the way, captain?" she asked softly.

The captain answered with a bow of his head, and then he turned to his men, who drew their weapons and fell in line behind him. The captain pulled his own bronze sword out of his sheath, then spun on his heel and led his way through the open front gates.

As they began prowling through the deserted city, Vahkiir felt a shiver run up his spine, which he knew had little to do with the cold. He could not help but wonder what had caused the ancient Nords to abandon their capital, and whether their spirits yet lingered. Could they have been subjected to a tragedy like the Night of Tears in Saarthal? Or had the citizens intentionally left after the fall of the dragons, as the city held too many painful reminders of their cruel reign? Was it perhaps because this Morokei simply still held sway over the city?

Regardless of the reason, the eerie stillness of the dead city unnerved him far more than if they had been attacked straightaway. The wind whistling through the stones of the empty houses seemed to be whispering, and in the dimming light, the long shadows seemed to move of their own accord. Vahkiir could not help but wonder if the spirits of the ancient Nords might yet linger in their abandoned capital, waiting to attack visitors foolish enough to disturb their rest.

Vahkiir was clearly not the only one feeling ill at ease as they crept through the city. The guards seemed especially alert, with their weapons cocked back against their shoulders and their shields raised high. Behind him, he could hear one of the priests chanting something, which might have been either a prayer or a spell. Either way, her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, since it simply added to the feeling that people were watching them and whispering to one another, only to disappear when they turned to look.

"This is concerning," a voice said behind him, causing Vahkiir to jump. When he looked over his shoulder, however, he saw that it was simply Tarius, who was gazing around the city with a deep frown on his face. "The air is heavy with magicka. It seems that the wards have indeed weakened."

"More than we anticipated," the lead priestess agreed grimly. "That is concerning. Given Morokei's aptitude for magic, I must wonder how far his influence has spread."

"And what he has managed to affect," Tarius nodded. "To that end-"

"Well now!" a voice called out suddenly, echoing through the empty city. "When I invited the Dragonborn, I did not realize that I would need to entertain a score of additional guests. A pity. If I had known, I would have set additional places at my table. As it stands, I'm afraid that you have me at quite the disadvantage."

Vahkiir swung his head around, as did the others. He immediately recognized the voice as Vokrijun's, though it was coming from a fair distance away, as though he was shouting at them from halfway across the city… which was entirely possible, he realized. "Where are you, Vokrijun?!" Vahkiir shouted back.

"Dragonborn, I will not begrudge you traveling with an escort, but when you come into my domain with such a large entourage, you must understand why I feel a bit threatened," Vokrijun chided him in a mocking tone. "Come now, if I tell you my location, I must have your assurances that you will not unleash your pack of dogs upon me. I did not invite you here to fight, but rather to speak with one another as civilized men."

Vahkiir hesitated, but then he felt Brevyn's hand on his shoulder. To his surprise, the Chimer nodded to him encouragingly. "I say that you accept," he said in a low voice.

"I do not!" Ilga protested, her eyes widening with irritation. "You said that you intend to guard Vahkiir, yes?! So you cannot allow him to speak with this Vokrijun alone!"

Brevyn held his hand up to placate her. "I did not say that we allow him out of our sight," he said quietly. "Only that we agree to Vokrijun's terms. In the meantime, Tarius and the others can make their way up to the temple and harden the wards."

"What are you saying?!" Ilga demanded.

Brevyn sighed, exasperated. "Ilga, Vokrijun may as well have claimed this city. If we do not accept his terms – if we try to attack him – I suspect that he will simply play a cat-and-mouse game with us. We could chase him all over the city and never find him, and even if we did, he would know the terrain better than we. He would be at a major advantage over us." He shook his head. "It is better if Vahkiir goes to meet with him alone." He glanced at the palace. "In the meantime, Vokrijun will also be distracted, and that will give Tarius and the other priests time to reinforce the wards. If this Morokei is indeed a threat – especially if he has been training Vokrijun – then it would be better that we deprive Vokrijun of an ally, especially if it does come to a fight."

"But… Vahkiir…." Ilga protested.

"Is a Dragonborn," Brevyn finished. "And an excellent warrior besides. Ilga, I know that you are sworn to protect him, but Vahkiir is not some helpless child. He has slain two dragons, one of which he fought on his own, without my aid, with weak weaponry, and without having ever seen a dragon before in his life. He has become far stronger since then. I trust that if Vokrijun does choose to fight him, he can triumph without issue. Do you trust him?"

Ilga stepped back slightly, as though Brevyn had physically struck her with the question. "I…." she hesitated, glancing at Vahkiir warily. "It's… if he's harmed, then I will have forsaken my oath…." she muttered.

Vahkiir sighed. "Then if you're sworn to me, let me give you a direct order," he said firmly. "Allow me to meet with Vokrijun alone. Brevyn is right – while I appreciate your support, and I am grateful for your concern, I am not helpless. Furthermore, he invited me, so whatever he wishes to say to me must be important. I must confess that I am curious, else I would not have asked to come here in the first place. Therefore, I am asking you – stand down and allow me to speak with him."

Ilga's jaw clenched so tightly that Vahkiir could see a muscle jumping in it, but she reluctantly lowered her eyes, tacitly agreeing to his request. Vahkiir nodded to her, then turned to Nerevar. "In the meantime, will you all help the priests complete this ritual?" he asked.

"I'm uncertain how much help we'll be, but we will certainly protect them along with the guards," Nerevar nodded. "Just so long as a dragon does not appear, we should not encounter too many difficulties." He then smiled faintly. "Azura watch over you."

"Hopefully, that shall not be needed, but thank you all the same," Vahkiir replied. He then turned to Brevyn and added, "And thank you."

"You needn't thank me," Brevyn waved him off. "Just remain cautious."

Vahkiir raised his brows in acknowledgement. He was about to turn to Ilga as well, but she turned away, apparently ignoring him. He hesitated for a moment, then decided that it was wiser not to press her. Instead, he moved past her and inhaled a deep lungful of cold air. "I accept your terms, Vokrijun!" he shouted into the city. "Where are you?!"

There was a long pause as his voice echoed down the cold, empty streets. Then, in the distance, atop a ruined watchtower on the wall, he saw a gout flame erupt. Squinting, he could just make out a small figure standing in the watchtower, clad in a heavy, brown wool robe and wearing an ornate bronze mask, though their features were difficult to distinguish from where he was.

"And now you know where to go if I do encounter trouble," Vahkiir remarked as he pulled his bow from his back and strung it. "I shall return shortly."

He turned away from his companions and began walking down one of the empty streets alone, his feet crunching loudly in the otherwise undisturbed snow coating the ground. He kept his eyes on the watchtower, where he could now see that the figure standing within it was watching him intently as well. They stared at each other as Vahkiir made his way slowly through the empty city, until he reached a low stone staircase, which he quickly climbed to emerge on top of the ruined wall.

Vokrijun stepped out of the watchtower, leaning lightly on the ornate bronze dragon staff he carried. He bowed his head in greeting as Vahkiir approached, saying in a low voice, "Welcome, Dragonborn."

"You greet me as though you consider this to be your city," Vahkiir remarked drily as he gazed around at the hollow ruins.

Vokrijun chuckled faintly, the sound slightly muffled behind his mask. "And why shouldn't it be?" he replied calmly. "No other has chosen to seize it in centuries, and Skyrim has no king to dispute my claim. It may not be inaccurate to call me the Jarl of Bromjunaar, if I had the desire to claim such a title."

"If so, then you seem a rather poor jarl to me," Vahkiir replied icily. "Though I suppose it's a simple matter to claim the title in a city of one."

Despite his taunt, Vokrijun let out a merry laugh. "I cannot disagree," he admitted with a heavy sigh as he gazed out over the stone buildings below them. "Even so, this was once the capital of Skyrim. Who is to say that it could not be so again?"

"To what end?" Vahkiir asked pointedly, folding his arms over his chest. "Is that what you desire? To conquer Skyrim yourself?"

"I? No, I am under no illusions that I should rule the land as its overlord," Vokrijun replied calmly. "Rather, I consider myself little more than a herald for the return of the true rulers of Skyrim."

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "Then you mean to restore the dragons?" he demanded with a snarl.

"Ah… so you already understand what I hope to accomplish," Vokrijun remarked airily. "Excellent. This makes it much simpler."

"Simpler?!" Vahkiir repeated incredulously. "Clearly you have taken leave of your senses! What makes you believe that you can command the dragons?!"

"I do not. Nor have I ever claimed that I could," Vokrijun replied evenly. "I am, and would be, a mere servant of the dragons. The same as any other."

Vahkiir stopped short, then narrowed his eyes. "You would surrender your freedom to vicious beasts that seek to crush every other being beneath their talons?" he demanded.

Vokrijun chuckled grimly. "Freedom? Tell me, do you truly believe we are free?" he replied quietly, turning to stare out over the wall at the distant landscape. "In this age, none but the jarls are free. All men are born into a city, where they swear allegiance to a ruler who inevitably orders them to fight and die for a few scraps of land. We are trapped in a war without end, where entire generations are born and are slain pointlessly, without ever accomplishing the purported goal of the jarls – to reunite Skyrim." He turned back around, his eyes burning coldly behind his mask. "Do you believe that is freedom, Vahkiir?"

Vahkiir was silent for a long moment, then replied in a low voice, "Yet you would happily subjugate your own homeland under the dragons again?"

"I would. At least in that era, we had order," Vokrijun replied simply. "We had stability. We had rulers who were worthy of ruling. The jarls of this era are nothing more than petty children squabbling over their toys. They have squandered the wealth, power, and prestige that their forefathers left for them, and instead spend their days demanding that their peers bow to them without any of them earning it. It is no wonder the Moot cannot decide upon a High King, because none of them are worthy of wearing the Jagged Crown!"

"And I say again – the dragons are?" Vahkiir insisted.

"They are more worthy than the fools who now call themselves the masters of this land, yes," Vokrijun stated emphatically. "In ages past, the dragons were harsh, true. But they were also just, and they rewarded their followers generously. They understood true fealty, and showed gratitude to those who worshipped them with true devotion in their hearts."

"You know this because you lived in those days?" Vahkiir retorted sardonically.

"Not I. Master Morokei," Vokrijun replied, turning towards the distant temple.

"Master?" Vahkiir asked, folding his arms over his chest as he followed Vokrijun's gaze. "So it was he who instructed you?"

"In many arts, yes," Vokrijun replied calmly. "I was once nothing more than a commoner, a boy of sixteen drafted from Whiterun and shoved onto the battlefield. I watched two of my brothers die in my first battle, a meaningless skirmish with Morthal over a farm which we were not even able to claim. Though I was also badly wounded, I was able to flee into the wilderness. After wandering for four days, I finally found refuge here, in this long-abandoned city. Here, I heard a voice calling to me – Master Morokei."

"Yes, one should always heed ghostly voices that summon them," Vahkiir interjected tartly.

Vokrijun chuckled faintly. "In truth, at first I thought that I was simply going mad from hunger and loss of blood. My master, however, told me that there was once an apple tree growing a short ways south of here. He bade me to collect the fruit, eat my fill, and then return. Though I still did not trust him, I followed his instructions, and lo and behold, he was correct. I gathered as many apples as I could carry and returned to him.

"As I ate, he asked for word of the outside world. When I told him of the chaotic state of Skyrim, he regaled me with tales of the ancient dragons, who ruled the land as unchallenged kings. He told me that if any beings could restore Skyrim to order and glory, it was they. Though I will confess that I was skeptical, I also came to realize that an empire of dragons must be preferable to the chaotic, petty warlords of this era.

"When I told my Master of this, he was quite pleased. He offered to train me in his ancient arts, and took me as an apprentice. Under him, I learned both magic and the art of the thu'um." A note of pride entered his voice. "He was pleased to find that I was an able student, and that I learned quickly. In a mere twenty years, he declared me ready to begin my duties as a dragon priest. He instructed me to construct my own mask, and to shed my old name for a new one. I chose the name Vokrijun – a name which meant 'restorer of the king.'"

"Fascinating," Vahkiir said blandly.

"And I also see that your companions are beginning their ritual to restore the wards on my master's prison," Vokrijun added idly. Vahkiir tensed, but before he could act, Vokrijun held up a gloved hand. "Peace. I will not attempt to stop them. After all, I would be hard-pressed to defeat them all. In any case, it is not as though they can silence my master, and his voice is all that I require to guide me. I will not hinder them, just as I have not the past few times others arrived to tend to the wards."

"Is that so?" Vahkiir remarked absently. He made a mental note to mention that to Tarius and the other priests, so that they would be aware that Morokei's danger did not merely extend to his magical ability or his attempts to escape the wards that they set. Turning back to Vokrijun, he continued, "Then my next question is this – what do you want with me?"

Vokrijun again tilted his head. "Why… I wished to ask you to join me in restoring the rule of the dragons," he replied simply.

Vahkiir snorted in disbelief. "And why would I ever agree to that?" he asked.

"Why should you not?" Vokrijun replied. "As I said, the dragons reward their servants well. If you were to aid us, you would undoubtedly be given a kingdom of your own to rule. Perhaps you would even be named the king of Skyrim itself. Tell me… are you not tempted by the thought of seizing a throne for yourself?"

"The thought has never crossed my mind, no," Vahkiir replied firmly.

"Truly?" Vokrijun pressed. "Look around you, Dovahkiin. This realm is weak. The people are beyond weary of war. And, as I said, there is no worthy candidate to take the throne of Skyrim… but a Dragonborn might certainly be considered such."

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "You mean to tempt me with dreams of conquest?" he snarled.

"I mean to offer to help you obtain what should be rightfully yours," Vokrijun replied calmly. "Nations are reforged and healed when those who bear the dragon's blood assume their thrones. Look upon Cyrod, a formerly fractured land, made whole and powerful by the first Empress, able to challenge even Skyrim itself. Consider the reign of the dragons themselves, how none dared challenge their majesty, and how their empire was only undone by another dragon. The world benefits when a Dragonborn is crowned… and I feel that Skyrim could prosper under your leadership."

Vahkiir stared at Vokrijun silently for several long moments. In the back of his mind, he could feel the greedy part of his soul stirring. It was tempting. The Dragon Priest was correct – he had seen how weak Skyrim was. Weak enough that Paarthurnax had called him to the summit of the Throat of the World, to beg him to ensure that Alduin could not simply conquer it himself in one fell swoop. What's more, he couldn't help but agree – the jarls that he had met seemed to be greedy, grasping figures who cared little for the people in the lands they ruled, seeing them as mere tools to perpetuate their own dreams of conquest. To them, the crown of Skyrim was not a responsibility to be shouldered, but a prize to be won. They were not unlike Muldok, the chieftain of his own village, who cared more for the prestige of being named chieftain than actually leading his people to prosperity.

So then, why shouldn't he make a claim? If none of the purported rulers of Skyrim were going to solve the issues of their realm, why shouldn't he? What's more, if he did claim the throne of Skyrim, he could resolve the war with the elves as well! All of his companions could return to their lives, content with the newfound peace!

And how would you go about forging such a peace? Another part of his mind asked cynically. You know nothing of rulership. Nothing of leading armies. Would you dominate the people with your thu'um? Become no better than the dragons? And most importantly, would you be willing to risk never seeing your family again, for the sake of slaking your greed?

Vahkiir smirked to himself and shook his head. Even without that cynical thought, he knew what his answer was going to be anyways. Turning back to Vokrijun, he replied coldly, "You are a fool."

"Am I?" Vokrijun asked calmly.

"First off, if you believe the dragons would let either of us truly reign, then you are mistaken. I too have heard the tales of the dragons, of their cruel reign. The dragon priests were not rulers. They were slaves, the same as any other men. You clearly do not understand the dragons. I do, for I have fought them. In fighting them, I gained a measure of understanding about them, which you seemed to have failed to grasp." Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "You claim to want to stop this endless war by reviving Alduin. However, even if Alduin did conquer this realm – even if he conquered all of Nirn – it would not bring war to an end. That is simply due to the nature of the dragons. They have a need to dominate, just as you and I have a need for food. Alduin's victory would not lead to peace; it would simply lead to his draconic minions plotting against him as a single, common enemy. Worse, the people you claim to feel so much sorrow for would suffer all the more, as the dragons unchecked would resume treating their thralls like cattle… even if they faced no resistance from the Nords themselves, who would be sure to rise against them again, using the power of their thu'um once more." Vahkiir shook his head again. "No… reviving Alduin is a fool's gambit, and it would never end peacefully."

"Are you so certain?" Vokrijun pressed.

"I am," Vahkiir stated firmly. "Because I too have the blood of a dragon, and like them, I would be driven to fight constantly, to prove my own dominance… and to slay them. I doubt any other man in Tamriel understands the dragons as I do. I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that if Alduin were to return and reestablish his empire, it would be a catastrophe for all who inhabit this land. So, no, I will not join you in this mad scheme." He then lowered his head slightly. "But you expected that, did you not? You called me here in a vain hope to draw the greatest threat to your scheme to your side. After all, I more than any other being on Nirn have the potential to end Alduin's dominance before it even begins. Therefore, you hoped to win my allegiance so as not to risk your own plans."

Vokrijun let out a soft chuckle. "Quite astute," he remarked, without denying the accusation. "Yes, it would have been preferable for you to join us… partially because you could indeed pose a threat to Alduin's return. However, it is also for another reason – my offer was meant as a kindness."

"A kindness?" Vahkiir scoffed. "In what way?"

Vokrijun chuckled again. "Simply because you cannot hope to defeat the dragons that I serve, to say nothing of Alduin himself. You are a Dragonborn, true, but you lack the power to prevent Alduin's return, much less the power to defeat him. You are inexperienced. The thu'um is new to you, and while you have a fair amount of power, you cannot fully control it. Yet, even the power you do possess is insufficient to fell the mightiest of the dragons that I serve. Therefore, I thought that I would offer you the opportunity to save your own life… before it was taken from you."

Vahkiir's eyes widened with fury as rage began to boil inside his chest. "Weak, am I?" he snarled as he inhaled sharply. "FUS… R-!"

"IIZ SLEN!" Vokrijun Shouted. Vahkiir, who had been focusing his energy for a full-powered Fus-Ro-Dah Shout, was caught by surprise as Vokrijun's own thu'um washed over him. Immediately, a thick coating of ice enveloped him, his limbs stiffening immediately and his breath dying in his chest. Only his eyes remained unfrozen, widening with fear as Vokrijun let out a cold chuckle and slowly approached him.

"As I said, you lack control," he said calmly. "Nor do you utilize your Shouts effectively. It would have been wiser for you to knock me off-guard with a mere 'Fus', and then perhaps struck me with an arrow. Of course, I have measures for that as well. No, Dovahkiin. You cannot defeat me, and if you cannot defeat me, then you cannot defeat Alduin. You are no threat." He lowered his staff, letting out another faint laugh. "Though you may yet become one. Perhaps I should prevent that-"

"Molag!" a voice shouted. Vahkiir could not see what was happening, but he felt a rush of flame pass by him on his left-hand side. Vokrijun held up a hand and quickly chanted, and just before a gout of fire engulfed him, his body became enveloped in a shimmering pink shield of magicka. As Vokrijun backed away, Vahkiir spotted a figure out of the corner of his eye – Tarius, accompanied by the priests of Kyne.

"Quite impressive, mage," Vokrijun remarked as he lowered his hand. "A fair bit of power in that spell."

"Not mage. Priest," Tarius boasted, his left hand still raised. In his other hand, he gripped the slender bronze sword tightly. "A mere mage would not have been able to call upon the power of St. Telepe and St. Tari, my own ancestors, to seal away your profane master."

"Telepe, is it?" Vokrijun asked thoughtfully. "A notable bloodline in its own right, and with the gift of prophecy, yes…?"

"Surrender now, heretic!" Tarius interrupted. As he spoke, Vahkiir heard more footsteps climbing up the stairs, and out of the corner of his other eye, he saw Nerevar leading the elves up the steps. "You can no longer draw upon the power of the daemon that dwells within those cursed ruins. His whispers will aid you no more. You have no allies to call upon, and all who stand present before you would see you dead. Lay down that cursed staff and come with us, and perhaps your execution will be swift and painless."

"Then I have no incentive to obey, do I?" Vokrijun retorted sardonically. He suddenly held his hand up, and shouted another curse. There was a flash of fire, and in an instant, he had disappeared. Tarius let out a hiss as he whirled around, holding his hands up.

"Did he teleport?!" one of the guards demanded.

"No! No, this is a combination of two spells," Tarius snarled, his eyes fixed on the snow before him. "First, he used a fire spell to draw our attention and distract us, and then he cast invisibility upon himself. Watch the snow, see if there are any new footprints…."

At that moment, the ice surrounding Vahkiir cracked, then shattered, abruptly freeing him. He shivered as he fell to one knee, his limbs trembling from the cold. Immediately, Brevyn and Ilga hurried over to him to help him to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" Brevyn asked in a low voice.

"N-no," Vahkiir stammered through his shivering teeth. The chill of the spell had pierced him deeper than any blizzard ever had – it was the first time in a long time that he actually felt cold. "D-don't fret about m-me… go after him!"

"Guards! You heard him!" Tarius snapped. "Spread out and search the ruins! He could not have run far!" He then sighed and added, "Though even knowing to watch for footprints, it will be difficult to track him now, I'm afraid."

"Indeed," Nerevar said softly, running his hand over his chin. "Though in his haste, it seems as though he has left something behind."

Tarius frowned as Nerevar pointed behind him. The corpulent priest stepped out of the way, and Vahkiir's eyes fell on an object that had been hidden behind his bulk. Half-buried in the snow was an ivory-colored tube, marked with a golden star-shaped symbol and jewels. It seemed to glow lightly with an ethereal radiance, and he could swear that he heard a faint humming coming from it. Tarius' eyes widened as he knelt down and slowly picked the object up out of the snow.

"I cannot believe that he would have left this behind," he whispered, his tone almost reverent.

"What is it?" Vahkiir asked, leaning forward to examine it.

Tarius looked up, his face having gone quite pale. "This… is an Elder Scroll."