Chapter 30 – After the Storm
The silence that hung over the grove was anything but peaceful. It was a heavy silence, buried in the ashes, suspended between the charred bones of a dragon and the still-warm remains of a dead Altmer. A silence that promised nothing good, like the fleeting calm in the eye of a storm. Lydia did not trust this kind of respite. It lulled you into lowering your guard, and that was when evil struck again.
Hunfen had fallen asleep, curled up in the back of Delphine's small cart. His face still bore the tracks of fresh tears, and his slightly parted lips seemed to form words no one could hear. Lydia had placed him there herself, with the same care one might use to sheath a rare blade. Delphine, for her part, was crouched off to the side, checking her weapons, her gaze turned towards the mountains. Part of her cloak had been burned away, revealing a wounded shoulder hastily bandaged with a strip of shirt. She hadn't spoken a word since the dragon collapsed, but Lydia had no doubt: she was merely waiting for everyone to be ready to walk—or run.
Lydia had expected to feel something. Pride, maybe, or at least relief: Hunfen had survived, and so had she. The dragon had been slain, and the Thalmor silenced forever. And yet, now that the sky stretched a little too clear, a little too vast above them, all she could feel was a hollow unease gnawing inside.
She had killed that Thalmor agent. It hadn't been a battle, nor a duel in the chaos of war. It had been an execution. Cold, deliberate. Because he knew. Because he had seen. Because he would have spoken. It was just, necessary even. Yet still, she felt no glory in it. No honor.
She had thought herself ready for such choices. She had sworn an oath to the Jarl, vowing to protect the child. She had accepted, the day she became a housecarl, that her blade no longer belonged to her conscience alone. Hunfen… Had he seen her sword move? Or had he only seen the Altmer fall? He had smiled—brokenly—halfway between relief and exhilaration. She had bent down, pulled him close, and let him cry as only an overflowing heart can. She had said nothing, letting her arms speak for her.
And now he slept.
"We have to move," Delphine said abruptly.
The warrior had straightened up. Her gaze was sharp again, methodical. She spoke with the same dry calm Lydia had heard from old swordmasters—those who had seen too many battles to ever lower their guard.
"More Thalmor will come," Delphine added. "That Justiciar wasn't alone. Their agents never are, even on infiltration missions."
Lydia nodded slowly. She didn't need a reminder about Thalmor protocols. Their "diplomatic visits" always left scars.
"He's still sleeping," she said simply.
Delphine stepped closer to the cart and cast a brief look at Hunfen. She didn't speak, but Lydia noticed her fingers tighten against the cart's edge. Something flickered across her face—something she clearly didn't want to say aloud.
"He'll sleep better far from here."
Lydia didn't answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on the dragon's remains, now just an empty carcass. Nothing was left of its former might but drifting ashes and the faint echo of its dying roar. She thought of the Thalmor, his gaze sharp as a dagger to the very end. He hadn't screamed. And yet… he had spoken the last word. A threat, cast like poison into the wind.
A weapon. A mistake. A threat.
"You need to tell us the truth," Lydia said finally, her voice steady and direct. "Who you are. What you seek. Who you serve. You're dragging us into your secrets, pushing him to risk his life... and you haven't told us a thing."
Her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword—not as a threat, but out of habit, for balance. "He deserves to know. And so do I."
Delphine didn't respond at once. Her gaze drifted to the sleeping child, tucked into his rough blanket. Then she looked down.
"You'll have your answers," she said quietly. "Tonight. Once we've left this place."
Lydia gave a brief nod. For now, it would have to do.
The wind had risen again, sweeping through the ruined grove, scattering the last wisps of smoke. Where trees had once stood, only blackened trunks and ashen earth remained. The sky, scoured clean by the dragon's final cry, now stretched above them, a cold, unfeeling blue.
Lydia climbed to the front of the cart, checking to make sure Hunfen was secure. He was breathing deeply, his cheek pressed against the warm wood, curled up beneath the coarse blanket as if trying to make himself small again. She placed a hand lightly on his head, almost without thinking. She was his housecarl first and foremost, yet the gesture felt natural—as though from an older sister, or perhaps a mother, or something in between. She looked at her hand for a moment, then sighed softly. Her attachment was not professional anymore. It might even be dangerous for a mission.
But she didn't care.
Delphine took her place behind the horse, checking the harnesses. She clicked her tongue, and the cart creaked into motion, rolling slowly over the stones. Behind them, the scorched grove began to vanish into memory.
oOo
The path had grown steeper, the sparse trees giving way to a rocky, steaming terrain. Thin veins of vapor escaped the ground, rising in wisps between patches of yellowed grass. Further down, a series of shallow pools shimmered here and there under the fading light, their waters heavy with sulfur. Lydia wrinkled her nose at the smell but said nothing. It was Delphine who led the way now, guiding the horse by the reins.
Hunfen still slept, curled up under a blanket on the rattling cart. His features were drawn, but his breathing remained steady. Delphine led them to a hollow in the rocks, half-hidden behind ferns singed by the heat. The place, sheltered from both wind and view, seemed to have once served as a campsite: a circle of stones marked an old firepit, and a natural wall shielded the northern side.
"This'll do," Delphine said.
Lydia gently lifted Hunfen from the cart and settled him in the driest corner. The ground was warm there, as if the mountain itself breathed beneath the stone. She pulled the cloak snugly around him, checking for fever. He barely stirred, his eyelids fluttering, but did not wake. Meanwhile, Delphine unhitched the horse and led it to a small puddle of clear, lukewarm runoff, where it drank eagerly. Then she returned to crouch near the stone circle and, with a few swift movements, rekindled a modest but steady fire.
Lydia sat beside Hunfen, leaning her back against the rock, and for a moment simply watched the fine mist floating in the air. The silence was no longer heavy as it had been in the grove, but it was still thick with exhaustion. Nothing stirred. Somewhere below, water lapped quietly.
At last, she turned her gaze to Delphine.
"We're far enough now. No one's going to find us. So?"
Delphine sighed and finally answered:
"You're right. I owe you some answers. To begin with, I'm one of the Blades—or what's left of them."
Lydia frowned. She knew the name—vaguely. An old order, once the personal guard of emperors, now dissolved since the Great War, long before her time. It meant little anymore.
"The Blades?" she asked, doubtful. "The old imperial guards?"
Delphine shook her head slowly.
"That's what we became. But before that, back in the days of Reman Cyrodiil, we were an order of dragon hunters. Guardians of the Dragonborn."
She paused. The wood crackled softly.
"The dragons died out, the Empire of Reman fell, but the Blades continued to serve the Dragonborn. Later, we became the guardians of the emperors descended from them."
A shiver ran down Lydia's spine.
"The Septims..." she murmured, as if the name still carried power.
She remembered the stories told by the fire in her childhood: of Tiber Septim, the Nord who became emperor, then the warrior-god known as Talos. The conqueror, the builder, the one who united the continent under a single banner. For her, as for so many Nords, the line of Septims was more than a dynasty—it was a sacred legacy. A time when Nords weren't merely respected, but revered as the founders of an empire.
And now, nothing remained. The Empire bowed under the yoke of the Thalmor. Even Talos' name was forbidden in the temples. The bloodline was extinguished—and with it, a part of their pride.
Delphine nodded grimly.
"All those emperors, yes. The blood of Akatosh. It was to them that we swore allegiance. And when Martin sacrificed himself to end the Oblivion Crisis..." Her voice darkened. "When the bloodline died out, we lost our purpose."
She raised her eyes to Lydia.
"For nearly two centuries, the Blades continued to serve the Empire. But our true oath never changed. To protect the Dragonborn. To find one if they ever reappeared. To guide them if they were reborn."
She paused again. Hunfen stirred slightly in his sleep, turning his head. His hand tightened briefly on the blanket before relaxing. Lydia watched him for a moment, then whispered:
"You think you've found him."
Delphine nodded. "The Greybeards don't summon a child without reason. And he absorbed a dragon's soul. I saw it with my own eyes. I don't know what it fully means yet… but I know what I saw."
She leaned closer to the fire.
"I searched. For so long. Too long. I thought it was a dead hope. Then he came, looking for the Horn. And suddenly, everything made sense again."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"But… I didn't expect him to still be a child."
Silence settled once more. This time, Lydia was the one to break it.
"You said your order came from dragon hunters. Then you must know why they're coming back."
Delphine shook her head, slowly.
"No. And that's what worries me most. There's nothing, in all the archives, the battle songs, the legends, that foretold their return like this. Not like this."
She straightened slightly.
"And that black dragon..."
"He's called Alduin."
The voice, weak and raspy, came from Hunfen. He had sat up against the rock wall, his eyes half-open but shining with clarity.
Lydia froze. Delphine turned her head slowly toward him.
"Alduin?" she repeated. "You're sure about the name?"
The boy nodded, his fingers clutching the blanket.
"I heard it... in the memories of the dragon from Riften, when it died. It was like... a fear that wasn't mine. It hated Alduin. And it was afraid of him too. Like he was... far above him."
A long silence stretched between them.
Delphine narrowed her eyes and murmured:
"Alduin... The name appears in old Nordic prophecies. The World-Eater. The one who returns at the end of time to devour Nirn."
Lydia bowed her head slightly.
"My grandmother used to tell me he'd swallow the sky and burn the earth. A story to scare us, back then. But the words stayed."
Delphine shook her head, softly.
"Maybe it's just that: a myth. A poetic dressing over a simpler truth. The oldest, strongest dragon... the one the others naturally follow, like a pack leader. If wolves obey the fiercest among them, why not dragons?"
She stayed silent a moment longer. Then, finally:
"If he truly is behind all this… we need to understand where he came from. Who brought him back—and how."
Lydia narrowed her eyes.
"You have suspicions?"
Delphine nodded slowly.
"The Thalmor seem the most likely. The dragon appeared at Helgen exactly when Ulfric was about to be executed. That's no coincidence. The Empire had him! The war was over! And then suddenly, a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war drags on."
She placed both hands on her knees.
"Who benefits from weakening Skyrim, from dividing the Nords, from spreading fear? Who wants the Empire crumbling apart, piece by piece?"
"The Aldmeri Dominion," Lydia said, her throat tight.
Delphine nodded.
"They nearly wiped the Empire off the map during the Great War. The White-Gold Concordat forced us to bow, but they paid a heavy price too. Now they watch. They infiltrate. They manipulate. Their greatest skill isn't in waging war—it's making sure others wage it for them."
Hunfen listened quietly, his hands clenched on his blanket.
"They want the dragons to destroy Skyrim?" he asked.
Delphine gave a dry smile.
"Maybe. Or maybe they're using them for another purpose. Or maybe they're meddling with forces they don't understand."
She stood and began pacing.
"I have no proof. Only instinct. And sometimes, even that fails me. But I can feel it. The answers are at their embassy, near Solitude."
She stopped and looked at Lydia.
"I can't sneak in myself. They know my face too well."
But Lydia shook her head.
"Neither can I. My role is to protect Hunfen, and I must bring him to High Hrothgar. The Greybeards have taught him several Words of Power… but he needs more. He needs mastery of the Voice."
Delphine raised a brow but said nothing. Her face stayed composed, yet Lydia caught a flicker of emotion there—a subtle, wordless disapproval.
"You don't trust them..." Lydia observed.
Delphine sighed almost inaudibly.
"They're not traitors, or enemies. But they refuse to involve themselves with the world. They talk of destiny, silence, peace—while we're at war. They sit in their meditation while dragons return, people die, and the Thalmor tighten their grip. Maybe they'll teach him how to restrain his Voice. Fine. But meanwhile, the world burns."
She crossed her arms.
"The boy doesn't need a spiritual master. He needs allies. Protectors. And knowledge of what he's fighting."
Hunfen looked up at her.
"So... I can trust you?" he asked.
Delphine regarded him for a long moment, the hard edges of her face softened by a weariness she no longer tried to hide. She knelt at his level, setting one hand lightly on the ground between them.
"Yes," she said simply. "As long as you keep fighting for what's right… you can count on me."
She rose and held her hand out to him. He hesitated, then grasped it firmly.
"I need time," she said, "to prepare. And you must continue your training."
She turned to Lydia.
"Stop by the Sleeping Giant Inn after High Hrothgar. I'll tell you what I've found. If I'm not there, there'll be a message. We're on the same side, after all: getting rid of the dragons."
Hunfen gave a thin but genuine smile. Something flickered in his eyes—not joy, but a quiet ember of trust. Lydia turned her gaze away, saying nothing for now. There was a light in that smile she hadn't seen in a long time—a glimmer of hope, naïve maybe, but real. And that was what worried her.
She knew those looks. Those outstretched hands. Those promises of shared battles. She had seen it before: in young soldiers, in kids who still believed an oath could save the world.
Hunfen was one of them. He wanted to believe. And maybe he needed to.
But she... she no longer did. Not so easily. Not so soon.
The fire crackled softly between them. And in the flickering glow, Lydia watched Delphine a moment longer—her calm, her authority, her certainty.
"We'll see," Lydia said at last.
And already, she was wondering what else this woman was still hiding.
