Chapter Text
Five thousand years of isolation. Perhaps only four thousand? Or had he been asleep for six millennia instead? The passage of time was difficult for the lich to discern. He floated around the confines of his magical cell. Undead eyes glaring at the enthralled wizards who maintained the potent energy field. He would have left this forsaken tomb decades ago if not for that accursed Dunmer. His fist clenched around the Staff of Magnus. He had been so close to saving Durnehviir. Ahzidal had agreed with his theory, Nahkriin had discovered how to open the correct portal, Vahlok had convinced Alduin to give them a chance…then everything fell apart. If only Miraak had not been so wicked and foolish! If only he had not murdered Alduin’s beloved Konahrik, the World-Eater would not have encouraged the already prevalent cruelty against the remaining commoners! Then they would not have revolted and-
Morokei dismissed the thoughts that had tormented him for years. “If only” helped no one. He stiffened, alerted to a new presence within the ancient ruins.
“Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?”
He titled his head as he wordlessly siphoned their magika. The intruder’s magical energy felt both ancient and youthful, yet not akin to the mer. Morokei was intrigued by this, but he issued another warning regardless.
“Nivahriin muz fen siiv nid aaz het.”
Silence, yet he felt the strange aura venture further into Labyrinthian, heedless of his words and his consistent draining of their power. He frowned.
"You do not answer... must I use this guttural language of yours?"
The intruder paused and Morokei was able to further sense their lifeforce’s signature. His violet eyes flickered in thought. They were affected by some sort of time displacement…perhaps from a Kel itself! The dragon priest sighed, his curiosity dampened by realism. A more logical explanation was that he had lost all skills of discernment in this prison. A new thought struck him.
"Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?"
Their essence did not feel like Aren, but Morokei was beginning to doubt his own senses. His lip curled in disgust as he remembered the cowardice of the Dunmer.
"Do you seek to finish that which you could not?"
Still no response and the dragon priest chuckled without mirth.
"You only face failure once more..."
He straightened abruptly. The trespasser’s aura was undoubtedly altered by Time!
"You...you are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?"
Finally, a distant reply echoed through the massive catacombs. “S-Savos Aren? No, I am not the archmage.” Hesitation. “…Where are you, exactly?”
Morokei blinked in genuine surprise. The voice was young, feminine, and rather confused!
“What trickery is this?” He demanded, his voice booming throughout Labyrinthian. “Does that craven charlatan send a child to face me in his stead?”
Sounds of a skirmish, followed by another long pause occurred before the female responded. She seemed rather indignant. “I am no child, sir! Archmage Aren does not-” The roar of a troll drowned out her words and the clamor of combat resumed once more!
Morokei scoffed, his words reverberating throughout the tomb. “Archmage Aren…how ludicrous! Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?”
Her speech sounded breathless now. “He knows-knows not that I am here.”
The metallic creaking of the ancient gate opening signaled the stranger’s approach to his prison. The dragon priest peered through the translucent barrier, intrigued. The cadence of her footsteps slowed, and he finally saw the naive mage with the Kel-touched aura as she ventured down the stone staircase. Her apprentice robes were covered in dirt and blood and her pale curls bounced in all directions. Her turquoise eyes were bright however and she regarded the enthralled wizards with an expression of horrified realization. Then her gaze turned toward him and her expression became one of excitement; a reaction Morokei was not expecting!
“Praise Akatosh, you are a dragon priest!” She exclaimed, foregoing all caution, and practically running toward the energy that encircled him. The young creature did not even glance at the Staff of Magnus, clearly more captivated by Morokei himself! He was uncertain whether he should be insulted or amused. The lich’s eyes narrowed behind his mask as she held aloft a familiar looking dagger that was used only by esteemed members of the Dragon Cult.
“Where did you find such a relic?” Morokei inquired, floating over to the edge of his small cell, towering over the petite woman on the other side. He suspiciously examined those shining turquoise eyes for signs of an illusion spell that would conceal vampirism.
“I know not, save that I awoke with it.” She replied, honestly. “I was hoping a true follower of the dragons would know which sect it originated from.” The Nord finally seemed to realize her ridiculous lack of caution, yet she did not retreat. Fascinated by her aura and her boldness, Morokei inclined his head. “Each blade does carry the unique signature of the craftsman who forged it. Continue.”
“I overheard Archmage Aren warn Professor Tolfdir against expeditions to Labyrinthian and he sounded so oddly frightened and secretive, it was suspicious to say the least.” She glanced over at the enthralled wizards. “I now understand why…” Her thoughtful expression met his intense stare. “To keep a dull tale brief, after much research I decided it was worth the risk to investigate for myself. I know not what I can offer in return that would be of interest, or considered a fair trade, but is there a chance that you would aid me in discovering who created this blade?”
Morokei arched an eyebrow, though his visage was hidden. This was not at all what he had expected! He folded his decrepit arms. The ancient priest had felt Alduin’s return. He could do nothing to serve his master here. Even if this brazen female was not a time displaced member of his order, Morokei was now completely certain that the young woman had encountered an Elder Scroll itself. Knowledge of a Kel’s location would be invaluable.
The lich idly gestured to the barrier. “I am rather preoccupied at the moment.”
The woman took a deep breath. She knew this was a ridiculously stupid idea, worthy of Viintaas, but she had no choice. Feeling the unrelenting gaze of the dragon priest upon her, she crept up behind the closest thrall and plunged the archaic dagger into its ghostly back!
Chapter Text
Estormo was impressed when he saw the apprentice mage stumble out of the hidden entrance to Labyrinthian. Despite being bloodied, half frozen and covered in dirt, Ofan was still alive. Ancano was right; she was dangerous.
The petite woman startled when she spotted the Thalmor agent.
“What-?”
“Ancano has been watching you,” Estormo interjected. “He surmised that your interest in the Dragon Cult and discovery of the Eye of Magnus would lead you here.”
Ofan peered at the Altmer with uncertainty. “…Does your superior often watch young maidens? That is unsettling!”
Estormo scoffed. “His interest is purely professional, I assure you. Your deeds have been deemed a threat to Thalmor interests, so Ancano wants you dead.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But-but I have no quarrel with either of you!”
He smirked. “I am afraid you do…”
Estormo swiftly hurled two ice spikes directly at her heart! Ofan desperately tried to summon a ward but her magika was drained! She squeezed her eyes shut, heard the ice shatter, yet felt no pain. The scent of ozone filled the damp air and she opened her eyes just in time to see a massive bolt of lightning surge toward the Altmer! Estormo was disintegrated where he stood! The ward around Ofan was dispelled and she turned to see Morokei hovering behind her, his gaze fixed on the ashes of their foe.
“I dislike cowardly mer,” he said, nonchalantly.
Ofan sighed in relief. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
Her sincere tone drew his attention.
“You would have survived. His skills were mediocre at best,” the dragon priest replied, evenly.
She offered him a sweet smile regardless, utterly unphased by his eldritch form. “I failed to properly introduce myself. My name is Ofan.”
He fully faced her. Ofan. Dovahzul for Gift. Interesting. “I am Morokei.”
“Just Morokei?” She inquired, curiously. “Not Lord Morokei or Sir Morokei or…?”
“No. Such formalities are for council and court functions.”
The young mage nodded her head, frazzled curls bouncing. “Very well.”
They wound their way toward the exit in silence, though the lich easily discerned that the apprentice’s injuries were giving her trouble. Morokei inhaled sharply upon feeling the fresh air as he flung open the iron door. The light was dazzlingly bright, but he did not mind in the slightest. It was wonderful. Ofan watched quietly as the ancient dragon priest ran his bony hands over the snow-covered stones. She was unable to imagine how awful it must have been, locked away in a dark crypt for eons!
Morokei closed his eyes in concentration. He felt immense joy at the presence of so many living dragons! And they were not the only beings from his past that stirred. His zeymahhe…his zeymahhe were awakening! It was enheartening, but in truth, there were three life signatures he cared about above all others. Ahzidal’s presence was unmistakable; he was creating quite a bit of chaos! Vahlok was growing more aware, yet another energy sought to block Morokei’s probing. He frowned. Someone or something wished to keep his brother asleep! No matter. The Guardian was not in danger and nothing could defy the will of Alduin for long! Nakhriin’s aura felt incredibly vibrant, almost as though his counterpart was no longer a lich. How strange.
He suddenly glanced over at the pale haired maiden, his raspy voice echoing almost as much as it had in the tomb. “Before aught else, I must call upon my Master and declare that I am able to serve his will once again.”
Ofan had been struggling unsuccessfully to heal up a particularly bad gash on her arm. She searched him, turquoise eyes wide. “Your-Alduin? The Alduin? Should I leave?”
Morokei held up a decrepit hand in a placating gesture. “Nay simply remain as silent and reverent as you would within a king’s audience chamber. More so, for great Alduin deserves more adulation than any mortal ruler. He may or may not even appear.”
She nodded, looking a little nervous. Morokei took a deep breath, sending forth his thu’um across the vast landscape. Ofan was frustrated that she only knew a few words of dovahzul. She squinted, searching the afternoon skies for any sign of the legendary black dragon. Just as the young mage was beginning to relax, a roar unlike any other reverberated throughout the stone ruins. Morokei stiffly yet readily bowed on one knee as the massive ebony beast landed before the priest with a resounding thud! Ofan shrank against the stone wall, unable to take her eyes off of the World-Eater. He was magnificent, yes, but also terrifying!
“Alduin, sahrot thur! Zu’u lahney aam!” Morokei declared, keeping his gaze low in deference.
“Morokei, mid sonaak!” The ebony dov greeted, his deep voice vibrating through Ofan’s chest. Suddenly his piercing red gaze fell upon her and she felt the blood drain from her face. “Who is this bronvahdin that flees not from my presence? Aariil?”
Morokei hesitated for a moment. Every mortal that was not a coeval priest was considered subservient. Yet it also seemed ill-mannered to address a woman he barely knew and who had released him from his bonds as a servant.
“Of a sort, Thuri,” he answered, respectfully. “This young mage is responsible for releasing me from Aren’s entrapments.” He paused, then added, “and back into your service. Ofan, you may approach our master.”
Our master? She thought, even while obeying the lich’s command. Alduin tossed his savagely elegant head, discerning her Kel-touched aura. Along with something else. “Ah, you are of the Sossedov; Dragonblood.”
Both humans were equally surprised! The World-Eater observed Ofan keenly for a few moments, then continued. “I see the colliding currents of Time written in your essence, Malbron. You were not born in this age, but in the eon mortals call the Merethic Era.”
Ofan gaped at him, momentarily forgetting that she was before a monarch like no other! “I-I am? I was? Truly? How do you know?”
Morokei gave her a warning look beneath his mask, half expecting the dovah to snap his jaws at her in rebuke. Fortunately, Alduin seemed to be in an unusually patient mood.
“I am the Firstborn of Akatosh! Devourer of the Souls of Sovengarde! Who may know the tides of Time better than I?” The enormous black dragon declared, lashing his tail for emphasis. The young woman straightened as much as she could, inclining her head. “Forgive me, great one. I-I know not nearly as much as I would like to know.”
Morokei remained tense, but Alduin’s snort sounded rather like a chuckle. “Serve my will in this age faithfully, Ofan Sossedov, and perhaps you shall prove yourself worthy of the true knowledge that only the dov can bestow.”
The lich regarded his master, pleased that Alduin was pleased, but also perplexed. What had inspired such a forgiving, merry mood in the World-Eater? Was he simply joyful at his own return?
“Nahkriin!” Alduin called, his voice and will unhindered by distance when speaking to his own. “Aak Zeymahiil!”
A portal whirled into existence, as though the other dragon priest had been awaiting their king’s call.
“Nahkriin?” Morokei inquired with a softness Ofan had not yet heard from him as the living, breathing man stepped out into the snow.
With his warm russet skin and long mahogany locks, the lich’s counterpart reminded Ofan of the warrior nobles that would oft pass by her home on their way to important cities. This man, however, possessed a power and regal demeanor that they never matched.
“Zeymah,” Nahkriin answered quietly, unshed tears glistening in deep amethyst orbs. “It is time for you to return from undeath.”
Morokei hovered toward his very first friend, before halting and searching their wondrous overlord. Alduin had never promised to raise his priests the way he did his fellow dov. They were granted immortality through becoming lichs, nothing more, nothing less.
The ebony beast gave no reason for this change in his plans. “Remain still. Rebirth is agonizing for mankind.
The ancient priest did not even have time to process his master’s words before Alduin’s shout pulsated through his decaying form!
“Morokei! Slen Tiid Vo!”
The lich hissed in bitter pain, falling to his knees, and dropping the Staff of Magnus! Nahkriin rushed to his brother’s side immediately, though there was not much he could do yet save be a supportive presence.
Morokei’s bony fingers dug deep gouges into the snow as his decrepit body convulsed! He was accustomed to pain; all dragon priests were. They did not earn such coveted positions by being weak or sickly. But the agony that surged through him now was beyond any physical ailment he had ever experienced before! Organs renewed, bones repaired, muscles regrown, ligaments reattached! Morokei had not realized his vocal cords had healed until he heard himself groaning in excruciating torment!
“Mul, zeymah,” Nahkriin encouraged, gritting his teeth in empathy. “It is almost complete.”
He was unable to reply, barely managing to tear the mask from his face as he felt suffocated!
Ofan could not bear to watch! One did not need to be a sensitive or have senses even to feel Morokei’s agony!
It felt like ages had passed, though in reality it was only minutes, before Morokei could finally breathe again. He blinked at not hearing his shriveled lungs rasp. He took another deep breath. The pain was fading swiftly. The snow felt cold on his hands. His hands. He peered down at them in astonishment. They were flesh and blood.
“Slowly, zeymah,” Nahkriin cautioned, as Morokei unsteadily rose to his feet. There was no tearing of old skin or grinding of bones against one another. He felt as he had in life…better even. As though he was returned to the prime of youth! He grasped at his raven and azure locks that had long been lost to time. Nahkriin chuckled. “Of course you fret about your hair.”
The reborn priest was unable to keep a few tears from falling from his bright violet eyes. “Zeymah…”
They grasped forearms in a warrior’s greeting.
“All will be well now, brother,” Nahkriin reassured softly, sincerely. “Our master is reordering the world as it should be. And now we are able to aid him fully.”
Ofan remained facing away from the touching reunion. It felt discourteous to intrude on a family moment. She did risk a glance at Alduin, but his expression was unreadable. His body language however seemed protective.
The dragon priests turned toward the Firstborn of Akatosh, and Morokei bowed once more. “Thuri…thank you…I know not what to say.”
The World-Eater spread his great wings. “You have proven your loyalty long ago. I will call when I have need of you. Go now, vanquish your captors in my name! Nahkriin saraan lingrah!”
Whipping up a gale, Alduin soared effortlessly into the air, flying to the east. The portal conjurer began rummaging through a large satchel. “I brought a few supplies for you. You may not feel it for a few days, but your hunger will return with a vengeance!”
“Any news of Durnehviir?” Morokei asked, hopefully.
His counterpart’s gaze fell. “Niid. Krosis, zeymah.”
Morokei nodded wordlessly, bending over to retrieve the Staff with ease. He was flexible again!
Nakhriin smirked faintly as his counterpart began to stretch. “It is wondrous to live, is it not? Even so, cease your preening and put on some clothes! Ahzidal would flay us both alive if I allowed to you to traipse around Skyrim half naked!”
Ofan could not resist peaking over at the dragon priests now. She felt herself blushing. Morokei was rather handsome. Pale, tall and muscular, he cut quite an imposing figure, even with the ancient robes fallen around his waist like a beggar!
Nahkriin dramatically tossed a rich blue robe over his friend, who swore in dovahzul as his pleasant exercise was so rudely disrupted! His fellow priest chuckled. “Be swift, our lord will resurrect more of us soon and I wish to aid them all!”
~ ~ ~
As vain as it sounded, Morokei could hardly handle his amazement with his own face. He had a nose again! And his beard! Trim and healthy! There was life in his eyes and the sun felt glorious upon his skin! The dragon priest kept his sacred mask safely hidden for now. He enjoyed the sensation of the wind for a few moments before returning to his ally and the young mage. It appeared that Nahkriin had healed the worst of her wounds and was in the midst of explaining dragon society to a very eager listener!
“Such greetings seem violent to us but speak volumes to the dov themselves; they can discern much about one another through a single shout.” His deep amethyst eyes flickered over to meet Morokei’s bright violet ones.
“You fit the part of an ordinary mage well. Try not to drain everyone in Winterhold until you are certain that they cannot serve any purpose under Lord Alduin’s reign.”
Morokei smiled faintly. “You know me so well.”
His intense gaze met Ofan’s pensive one. “Let us hold tinvaak with the archmage, shall we?”
Notes:
The Firstborn himself appears!
Aproximate Dovahzul Translations:
Dovah = Dragon
Dovahhe = Dragons
Dov = Dragonkind
Zeymah = Brother
Zeymahhe = Brothers
Sonaak = Dragon Priest
Malbron = Little Nord.
Aariil = Your slave (that serves out of duty or loyalty)
Thuri = My Lord
Aak Zeymahiil = Guide Your Brother
Tinvaak = Speech
Chapter 3
Summary:
Ofan warns Morokei about the malevolent policies of the Thalmor. Canonically they're a super racist bunch, basically elf Nazis, so possible trigger warning.
Chapter Text
Ofan felt rather queasy after travelling through Nahkriin’s portal but did her best to hide it. Morokei stood beside her on the lonely expanse of icy road south of Winterhold, surveying their surroundings intently. Her mind burned with questions, but the young mage remained quiet, studying him with concern. The ancient priest had just returned from death…undeath…and was already prepping for a confrontation with an entire college of mages. There were few students left and most of the professors struck her as incompetent, but was a battle so soon after resurrection truly a wise plan? Would there even be a skirmish? She hoped not, for the Dragon Cult was not known for its mercy and Professor Tolfdir and his class, at least, seemed kindly and honest.
Ofan bit her lip, then finally broke the silence. “The town is not far, but there is not much to see. Would you like to take a few moments and-” She struggled to find words that would not sound patronizing, “erm, talk?”
She mentally facepalmed. Well put, Ofan! He will probably think you are an idiot!
Morokei arched an eyebrow and the maiden’s next words came out in a rush! “I mean, you were trapped for so long! So much has changed…I need not tell you that, I apologize! It is just, Winterhold’s Jarl hates magic, the Stormcloaks and the Empire are waging war, and the Thalmor are horrible to everyone who is not a part of the Dominion.” Her turquoise eyes flickered in thought. “…I do not think any of the books I am carrying will be helpful to you…”
She looked embarrassed, but the dragon priest gave her a slight yet sincere smile. “The error is mine, Ofan Sossedov. I am unused to voicing my thoughts aloud or sharing plans with another. Krosis.” She relaxed a little and he gestured northward, his velvety baritone slicing through the frigid air. “Shall we speak as we travel? Far too much is overheard in minor settlements.”
The apprentice mage nodded, having to practically run to keep up with his naturally long strides.
“Tell me about Winterhold,” Morokei said, keeping a watchful eye on their snow-covered surroundings.
“Most of the city fell into the Sea of Ghosts seventy-seven…no, seventy-nine years ago,” Ofan began. “Most blame the college, but the professors believe the eruption of the Red Mountain in Morrowind was the cause. Regardless of the truth, most of the city remains derelict. Korir is the prejudiced Jarl and he fully supports the Stormcloak rebellion against the Empire from Cyrodiil.”
Morokei’s keen gaze fell upon her. “And what caused this rebellion against the…Cyrodilic Empire?”
“A great deal,” Ofan replied, pondering the best way to explain. “There is a sect of Altmer and Bosmer elves that comprise the Aldmeri Dominion known as the Thalmor, like the mage that tried to kill me. I only know what I have read, seen, experienced, and what they themselves have proclaimed. The Thalmor believe in the superiority of mer over man and eventually want all of mankind dead so they may ascend to divinity or something horrid like that. They despise that the dragonborn Tiber Septim, also known as Talos, was made a divine alongside the Eight, because he was a ‘mere Atmoran’.”
Morokei’s violet orbs glittered in amusement. “They adore Auri-El yet still deny the true superiority of Akatosh’s children and his chosen… how ironic. Continue.”
“Maybe Talos’s transformation further hinders their ascension? Maybe they are cross that he proves how untrue their supposed supremacy is? I do not know. Long story short, once the Cyrodilic Empire signed a treaty with the Thalmor after the Great War between their factions, worship of Tiber Septim was banned. That was the final insult for Ulfric Stormcloak it would seem, and he founded a rebellion of like-minded Nords to fight the newly formed alliance. And I use the term alliance loosely,” she added, fidgeting with an unruly curl. “Even the diplomatic Thalmor can barely hide their disdain for anyone of a different race than their ‘exceptional mer bloodline’!”
The tinge of aggravation in her tone drew the ancient priest’s attention once more. “And what do you think of this conflict, malvahdin?”
“It is foolish!” The petite woman exclaimed, clearly having bottled up her true feelings about such matters for a while. “The treaty oppressing religious freedom is appalling, but the Thalmor themselves are far, far worse. The Stormcloaks should be saving their strength for when the war between elves and men begins anew. The peace treaty is not going to last long, even the Imperials despise those genocidal high elves! Instead of preparing for a second Great War in secret, Ulfric decided to start an outright rebellion. From what many locals have said, the Empire turned a blind eye to private worship of Talos until the Stormcloaks drew the attention of the Aldmeri Dominion, who in turn threatened the Empire. Then Thalmor agents began kidnapping and torturing innocents and matters in Skyrim have been growing more and more difficult for her people!”
Morokei paused, turning to fully face her, intrigued. “There is an underlying ire in your words that is greater than mere investment in the strategies of war and politics of rulers.”
Ofan stopped beside him, sighing wearily. “Truthfully, Morokei, the Stormcloaks are just as prejudiced as the Thalmor. Granted, they do not preach the genocide of non-Nords, not yet, but they do nothing to aid or defend those of different races within their holds. Even if women and children are in danger! It is aggravating how hypocritical they can be and how blind they are to it! I simply do not understand hating a stranger so deeply for their race and race alone, with no knowledge of who they are or what they have endured. It is so unfair…”
The dragon priest tilted his head, testing her. “If you cannot bear hypocrisy, why are you studying under a coward like Savos Aren?”
The young mage blinked at him, then her shoulders drooped further. “I always thought him to be a very lackadaisical teacher, but I had no idea what he did to his own friends until I saw their memories and then their enslaved spirits…” Her turquoise gaze flickered downward in thought. “The College of Winterhold is the only place where they teach magic freely in Skyrim; present day Nords do not hold the arcane arts in the same high regard as they did during your…our time. Still, I would rather learn on my own than under the archmage’s authority after what Labyrinthian revealed.”
Ofan glanced upward at the priest’s silence, but he had already turned away, once again inspecting the forlorn wilds. “You will not be without instruction,” Morokei finally replied. “You are of the Sossedov. You belong with the followers of Thuru Alduin.”
The petite maiden stared at him quizzically, pale curls shimmering. “Was-was that your cryptic way of initiating me into the Dragon Cult?”
“Proving loyalty and earning a place among the Order is quite an intensive process,” the priest began, “but our master himself approved of you.” His piercing gaze met her inquisitive one. “And perhaps you were one of us already. I believe I owe you a dagger examination.”
Ofan handed him the weapon, the curved blade glittering coldly in the morning light. Morokei inspected the hilt with a practiced eye. Ofan watched him eagerly, frowning a little when he frowned. “…Morokei?”
“This is indubitably one of Dwiininhus’s creations, for neither man nor mer could surpass his skill in the shaping of sacred blades. This chaotic enchantment however is very peculiar.” He gave the dagger back swiftly, but his rich voice was sincere. “Zeymahi Ahzidal will be able to discern the exact wielder of this blade. I know not when he will be reborn, but I will remember to seek aakii. I give you my word.”
She offered him a grateful smile as she returned the dagger to its scabbard. “Thank you, Morokei. Truly.” The young maiden hesitated, trying to contain her curiosity, then asked, “…is this the Ahzidal you referred to?”
The newly resurrected priest arched an eyebrow at the inconspicuous book she grabbed from her travel stained satchel. He blinked upon reading the title. Ahzidal’s Descent…
He quickly flipped through the pages, his incredulous expression turning solemn. “Yes, malvahdin. This book claims to have chronicled the life of my Zeymahzin. Are there more such tomes in circulation?”
She nodded as she removed two more books from her bag, offering them freely. “Amongst the Draugr seems to only pose theories about lichdom in the Dragon Cult and the draugr, obviously, but the Guardian and the Traitor speaks of a great battle.”
She watched inquisitively as he zealously flipped through the pages of the larger tome. “Vahlok,” Morokei said softly to himself, his tone surprisingly fond. “He would be utterly embarrassed at having a book written about any of his deeds.”
The dragon priest’s earnest lilac orbs met the maiden’s gentle turquoise ones.
“Keep them, please!” Ofan said swiftly, before he could even give voice to his inquiry. She grinned. “I ask only that you reveal truth from myth once you have finished reading so that I can cease wondering!”
He returned the smile. “Paaz. A fair trade.” He straightened as he placed all three books in his own leather satchel. He needed to focus. The pair resumed their journey in silence until the shadow of the massive college building loomed on the horizon.
“This magic fearing Jarl,” Morokei began, “does he harbor the same disdain for foreign mages as he does for those he deems responsible for his city’s downfall?” The fair-haired woman thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He dislikes all magic users but holds a particularly deep-rooted hatred for the college.”
Morokei smirked ever so slightly. “Excellent. He will not be difficult to bend.”
Ofan regarded him carefully. “May I be privy to your plan?”
He placed a large, yet not domineering, hand upon her dainty shoulder. “I think it is time for your justified misgivings about the Thalmor to be made known unto Korir.”
Chapter Text
The Jarl of Winterhold was lounging on his throne when the newest addition to his court stumbled into the longhouse. The young woman was covered in dirt, ice, and dried blood. She was accompanied by a tall man in rich mage’s attire.
“Thane Ofan?” He inquired with a frown. “What’s wrong?”
“A member of the Thalmor tried to kill me,” she answered, honestly.
“The Thalmor!?” Korir exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat. “Here?”
“He was from the college, my jarl,” Ofan replied, brushing an unruly curl away from her face. She glanced up at her companion. “Morokei saved my life.”
The brusque Nord examined the pale man apprehensively. There was something…dangerous about him. More so than the practice of magic and his possession of an ornate staff. “Well met, traveler.” His gaze went back to the petite woman. “Of course the wretched wizards would house those bloody high elves! But why were they after you?”
“If I may, my jarl,” Morokei interjected, “what reason would they need other than she believes in a free Skyrim and is a member of your court?”
His velvety baritone was reassuring, persuasive, the very sound of enchantment.
Korir gestured to the tall man's azure touched locks. “You speak like a true son of Skyrim, yet you don't look like one.”
“Alas, a side effect of Aren's imprisonment!” Morokei bemoaned, rather dramatically gesturing to a shimmering tress. “A permanent reminder of justice unfulfilled.”
Korir frowned. “Aren? The blasted archmage? What crime did he commit against you?”
Ofan blinked, surprised that Morokei had caught the Jarl’s interest so swiftly, even with his natural charisma and mesmerizing tone. The jarl’s wife Thaena and his advisors regarded the ancient priest with rapt attention also.
“Not against me alone, your grace,” Morokei corrected, his demeanor a perfect blend of humility and sorrow. “But against his own allies as well.”
Murmurs filled the court and the Jarl scoffed. “That is hardly surprising. What happened?”
"I was meditating in Labyrinthian's greatest barrow. Troubling rumors had reached me regarding members of the college disturbing the rest of my forefathers for nothing more than amusement. Amusement!" The dragon priest thundered, causing the wooden floorboards to tremble beneath their feet. "I discovered the traitorous elf at the heart of the tomb, having already desecrated numerous shrines! I challenged Aren and his accomplices to battle, but rather than face me, the oh so honorable archmage cast a curse upon his friends! He enslaved their very souls to forever imprison me within Labyrinthian!"
More exclamations sounded throughout the longhouse. Those within were both intimidated and in awe of Morokei, but their mutual distrust of the college held sway over all other thoughts or misgivings.
“First the college destroys our home, then they want to defile the graves of our ancestors?” Thaena exclaimed, indignantly. “Not to mention sending those murderous high elves after a young girl! What evil will they plan next?”
Korir however was stuck on one particular concept. “Aren-Aren enslaved souls?”
"It is true, my jarl," Ofan confirmed softly, sincerely. "I saw the enthralled mages myself. It was horrid..."
Even the stoic guards shifted uncomfortably and Morokei moved to place a hand on the petite maiden's shoulder. "If not for your intrepid courtesan, I would be languishing in the barrow still, and the extent of Aren's crimes would remain unknown."
Korir nodded slowly. "Thane Ofan has always shown that she truly cares about Winterhold, despite her wanderings within the college. I assume you want revenge, justifiably so. How do you plan on luring that traitor Savos out of his accursed domain?"
"Grant me your blessing and I will meet him on his own ground and rid his wicked influence from Winterhold myself," the ancient priest replied, allowing genuine hatred of Aren to fill his voice. “I need only an escort of guards to the beginning of the bridge to show the town your approval. Afterwards, I will proceed alone.”
“Not alone,” Ofan declared in a soft, yet firm manner.
She felt Morokei’s violet eyes rest upon her for a moment, but the chestnut-haired Jarl looked uncertain. “My men will not be harmed?”
“I swear it. No true son of Skyrim should die at the hands of treacherous mer!” Morokei answered, passionately.
“Hear, hear!” Thaena said as Korir’s courtiers also voiced their gusty Nord approval! Even Ofan wondered how much was of this speech was genuine and how much was playacting, such was the power of dragon priest’s voice!
“Winterhold was once the seat of power in Skyrim,” Morokei continued, his charming tone filled with compassion. “Why should it not be again? With Aren gone and his lapdogs subdued, naught will stand in your way of making this city which you love so dearly flourish once more.”
Korir nodded once more, fully convinced. “Yes…yes, you’re right!” He rose from his wooden throne, gesturing to the guard captain. “Gather your men to accompany our kinsman and Thane Ofan to the broken bridge. Make certain that none of the mages can escape or attack our homes!”
“Yes, my jarl!” The captain replied, moving swiftly to carry out his orders!
Morokei smiled inwardly. Convincing Korir had been even easier than he first anticipated. “It is time for the archmage to pay for his transgressions against our fair Skyrim.”
Without another word he strode out of the longhouse, his long ebony locks billowing behind him. Ofan followed swiftly, remaining silent until she was certain they could not be overheard by any passersby. “I knew not you were so masterful with words.”
“The intricacies of vocal illusion can be arduous to grasp, but the key is to tell your listeners what they desire to hear. What aligns with their beliefs, logical or no. Utilizing half-truths and sincere emotions will aid in bending their minds to your will as well.”
Ofan’s turquoise eyes flickered in thought. She smiled a little, trying to calm her own growing nerves. “You should have been a thespian.”
Morokei arched a chiseled eyebrow. “Rather brazen of you to assume that I am not.”
Ofan laughed a bit, softly. Morokei was surprisingly easy to converse with. She straightened. “I know it is not within my right to ask this of you, but spare Professor Tolfdir and his students, please. He is kind and wise. I do not dare to presume what traits Lord Alduin favors in his followers, but Tolfdir’s knowledge will be boon rather than a bother. His students too, are innocent. They simply desired to study magic in peace, as I did.”
The dragon priest regarded her. “I seek only Aren, but any who defy the will of Alduin must be destroyed.”
“I know,” she replied softly, anxiously twirling a hapless blonde tress. “I ask only that they be given a chance.”
“If they submit unto the rightful rule of the dov, there will be no need for hostilities,” Morokei assured her. “Dissenters are punished, certainly, but loyalty is praised and well rewarded.”
They paused at the arched entrance of the extensive yet frightfully narrow and damaged stone bridge.
A contingent of guards joined them a few moments later and Ofan’s heart sank when she saw Arniel Gane waltzing down the bridge toward them. Out of all the faculty members they could have met first, why did it have to be him?
“What is the meaning of this?” The conjurer demanded, glaring at the guards.
“Savos Aren has committed crimes against Skyrim and her people,” the captain began. “By order of the Jarl, he is under arrest. Move along.”
“I most certainly will not!” Gane cried incredulously. “This is outrageous!”
“Arniel, please,” Ofan insisted, not wanting to see him harmed. “Savos is not the upstanding leader we thought he was.”
“I don’t care!” The man shouted. “Aren’t you supposed to be a student here? You have no authority over the archmage, and the Jarl definitely has no right to-”
“Stand aside!” Morokei commanded, towering over the Breton, unimpressed. “It is a perilous decision to waste my time…”
“You don’t scare me!” Arniel declared, swinging a fist wildly at the dragon priest!
Morokei adeptly caught the man’s fist in a grip of iron, twisting Gane around and bending his arm with a sickening crack! He tossed the screaming Breton at the feet of the captain with all the nonchalance and disgust of discarding rotten vegetables. “Take him. He shall be unable to cast spells within his cell now.”
The guards performed his bidding as the ancient priest boldly stepped onto the bridge, Ofan once again having to hurry in order to keep pace!
“Thank you for trying,” she said, her tone genuine yet sad as she tried not to think about the sound Arniel’s broken limb had made.
Morokei scoffed, though his frustration was not with her. “I do not understand why you expect reason from them. Cease putting faith into such fools, malvahdin. They will continuously disappoint you.”
The were halfway across the bridge when Morokei abruptly paused, tightening his grip on the staff of Magnus. It was being drawn to something potent within the school. Could it be?
The young woman glanced at him in concern, then her gaze went to the staff, which was faintly glowing.
“It must be reacting to the Eye…” she whispered, concerned.
“The Eye of Magnus,” Morokei murmured, straightening as she nodded. His original plan to free Durnehviir was not lost!
Ofan saw a myriad of emotions cross the dragon priest’s fair face, from realization to hope to determination and even joy! Perhaps she would ask him about it later. Morokei redirected his attention to the mission at hand. Neither Miraak nor Savos Aren would stand in his way now!
~ ~ ~
“J’zargo, while I admire your initiative in creating your own fireball scrolls, please stop asking other students to test them,” Tolfdir said, as he finished healing an understandably upset Onmund’s arm.
The Khajiit chuckled sheepishly. “This one will be more careful from now on.”
Onmund did not believe a word his fellow pupil had said, but the young Nord simply sighed and thanked Tolfdir for the healing. J’zargo playfully punched him in the shoulder, which was rewarded with a flabbergasted death glare! The dunmer student Brelyna simply ignored the boys’ antics, quietly watching the archmage. He was conversing with Mirabelle Ervine before the Eye of Magnus, his back facing the grand doors to the courtyard.
“I continue to hear things about dragon sightings in Skyrim,” Mirabelle reported.
“Dragons?” Savos repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Well, that's fascinating. We should have someone look into that.”
“Would you like me to send someone? Faralda or Phinis, perhaps?"
“I'll think about it,” the archmage lackadaisically replied, turning his attention back to the Eye once again.
The doors opened behind him, but the dunmer paid little heed, for students and faculty came and went from the Hall of Elements often. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and chills go down his spine. How odd. Suddenly a deep voice all too reminiscent of the one that still haunted his nightmares reverberated throughout the circular chamber.
“Did you miss me, Aren? My old friend?”
Notes:
Yes, Arniel trying to punch Morokei is a reference to the awkward moments in game where, instead of using conjuration magic in combat, he only uses his fists. HIS FISTS!
Sorry I haven't posted in a while! New job has very long hours. But time to write is a welcome source of joy!
Chapter 5
Summary:
There's cut content dialogue where Savos Aren's ghost actually interacts with the player in Labyrinthian! I used some of it here to convey Aren's feelings. I recommend looking up the entire unused scene, it's fascinating!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“No-no! Impossible!” The archmage stammered, staring into the cold, moonstone mask of the dragon priest. “I sealed you away!”
"Yes..." Morokei's velvety baritone seemed to rise from the depths of Oblivion itself. "You did imprison me...after disturbing my rest and that of my faithful followers in the first place! After pressuring your frightened classmates to venture further into forbidden Labyrinthian!”
“Archmage...?” Mirabelle inquired apprehensively while simultaneously entering a combat-ready stance. “What is going on?”
Savos struggled to find an answer as he gazed upon the very manifestation of his worst nightmares, red eyes wide in terror. Ofan stood off to the former lich's left, observing the confrontation with a pensive expression.
“Tell her, Aren...” the dragon priest's voice was a velvety purr. “Reveal unto your adoring professors and naive students the arcane technique for enslaving the free souls of one's peers.”
The students’ eyes were wide and Tolfdir looked confused. He did not display hostility as openly as Mirabelle, but he was on high alert. Savos stood rigidly in place as the slits of the remorseless sonaak helm bore into his very soul.
“Does my mask trouble you?” Morokei asked, mockingly. “Let it not be said that Durnehviir's glorious pupil is discourteous.”
With a flourish, he removed the dreadful helm to reveal a surprisingly comely face, despite the faint smirk that graced his lips. Brelyna inhaled sharply in consternation. The ancient Nord's glittering orbs were the color of vibrant purple mountain flowers, though far brighter. She had never seen a human with such brilliant, fell eyes. Onmund and J'zargo kept looking back and forth between the dragon priest and the Archmage, bewildered. Mirabelle's tense gaze flickered between the ancient Nord and the Dunmer as well.
“Archmage?” She inquired again, eying the Staff of Magnus shimmering in the bold intruder's grip. Aren remained unmoving.
“Girduin,” Morokei began, his baritone as cold as the icy winds that howled outside. “Evali. Takes-In-Light. Hafnar. Atmah. Promising proteges of the college. So woefully arrogant and ambitious. Seeking power that was beyond their right.” The dragon priest nonchalantly twirled the aedric staff as he slowly paced before his enemy. His voice and demeanor, however, were anything but lackadaisical. “You invaded my tomb. You attempted to slaughter my followers. You sought to steal the artifacts and the knowledge written, forged and gathered by my people. And yet you still have pahlok, the audacity, to stand before your own gullible community while feigning ignorance!” His piercing eyes possessed a fey glow akin to an angry daedra’s.
Savos labored to form a response and Mirabelle was ready to attack the intruder! Tolfdir, by contrast, remained calm. Outwardly anyway. He was well aware that only the most powerful and elite members of the Dragon Cult received unique masks like unto the stranger’s. There was precious little information in the library regarding the identities of those favored by the dragons. But if this man was truly from Labyrinthian, or Bromjunaar as it was known unto the Cult, he was most likely one of three legendary figures: Nahkriin, Morokei, or Volsung. The alteration professor knew that, even together, they stood no chance against such a being. And he was determined to keep his students alive by any means necessary!
“You’re lying!” Mirabelle challenged, moving protectively before the petrified Dunmer!
Morokei discerned the spells she conjured in her hands, the wards she cast around her body and he was unimpressed. He glanced at Ofan, purposefully leaving himself open to attack. “Which one of your prestigious professors is this, malvahdin?”
“Mirabelle Ervine,” the petite mage answered, tense and vigilant. “The Master Wizard.”
The ancient priest laughed, a devastating yet oddly hypnotic sound. “How far the study of magic has fallen in fair Keizaal!” His steely gaze leveled on Ervine. “Such loyalty. A pity it is so misguided.”
He conjured a powerful storm spell within his left hand, but Ofan spoke up again, interrupting the impending strike!
“Lord Morokei is not lying,” she said in a tumultuous voice. “I saw the souls of Hafnar and Atmah myself! They were unceasingly casting a barrier and were unresponsive until attacked.”
Ofan looked at the archmage, turquoise eyes pleading. “I-I saw the echoes of memory with you and your classmates. It was awful…” Her gaze suddenly sharpened. “You pretended to have no knowledge of the Staff when Professor Tolfdir and I inquired after it, even while saying that we should investigate! Why would you deceive us so?”
Savos took a breath and kept his eyes on Ofan and Mirabelle, even while Morokei’s unrelenting glare made his skin crawl.
“I-I never meant for any of what happened at Labyrinthian,” the Dunmer stammered, finally finding his voice. “Tried to seal it up, lock it away forever. But now it all comes out again. I-I don’t know why I pressed the others on, convinced them to keep going. If we can just make it through, it’ll all be worth it, I told them. And the fools believed the words I myself didn’t trust. What happened after was my fault. All mine.”
Utter silence had fallen on the hall save for the whirling energy of the Eye of Magnus. Savos was wringing his hands, staring at the floor. “When we came upon the final chamber, we all knew this was the end. Without even opening the door, we knew what was behind it would kill us. None of our spells were potent enough, none of our wills were strong enough. No matter what, we stay together, Hafnar had said. I looked him in the eyes and lied to him.”
He met Mirabelle and Tolfdir’s dismayed stares, his voicing breaking. “I had no choice, don’t you see? I had to leave them behind, had to sacrifice them so I could make it out alive. If we’d all died there, if we’d loosed this-” he caught himself and chose his words more carefully. “-priest of dragons on the world, who knows what might have happened? That’s how I consoled myself for years, after I’d sealed Labyrinthian shut and vowed never to let anyone open it.”
The forlorn archmage looked at Ofan. “I see it was all in vain, now. But how…why-why are you still alive?” Aren risked a glance at the former lich, who glowered at him still.
“Ofan did not enter dii vul junaar with pahlok, nor the intention of thievery,” Morokei replied, violet eyes flashing. “But we have held tinvaak long enough, Aren.”
With the speed of a striking serpent he hurled a paralysis spell at the hapless archmage, causing the Dunmer to collapse in a frozen heap! Morokei then slammed the butt of the Staff of Magnus on the ground, cracking the stonework and startling the college mages! His wrathful orbs met each of their frightened and overwhelmed gazes. “Thuri Alduin claims dominion here. Yield to his divine authority and I will show you mercy. Rebel, and your corpses shall decorate the walls of your precious sanctuary and be left to rot.”
Ofan gave her fellow students an imploring look. Brelyna nodded subtly, understanding. Her friend was not trying to get them to forsake their personal beliefs or hold a We Love Alduin parade. She simply wanted to keep them alive until they had a chance to escape! J’zargo and Onmund discerned this as well and remained respectfully silent, although they feared what the ancient priest would do to the archmage. Tolfdir carefully approached the imperious sonaak, keeping his tone neutral. “We want no quarrel with you or the World-Eater, I can assure you of that! However, there is one person here we have no control over, the Thalmor ambassador Ancano.”
“The fool who sought to have Ofan assassinated?” Morokei said, arching a sculpted eyebrow. “Leave him to me.”
The elderly Nord blinked. “He tried to what?”
“Fret not, Professor Tolfdir,” the young woman said, softly, making a point to address him by name. “Lord Morokei turned the would-be slayer into dust.”
The alteration teacher studied the former lich, who observed him in turn. “Ofan assures me that your expertise would be a boon unto our Order,” Morokei stated bluntly.
“Well, I won’t presume to know what sort of information such an ancient society desires, but I’m happy to help where I can,” Tolfdir answered honestly.
Savos Aren coughed violently as the spell wore off, trembling on the cold floor. While the former lich was distracted, Mirabelle seized her chance!
“Savos, run!” She cried, hurling two massive ice spears at the dragon priest!
“Mirabelle, no!” Savos cried, but he was too late! The projectiles shattered harmlessly against the sorcerer whose wards were far beyond the present age. Morokei whirled around, eyes blazing in ire!
“Mey!” He exclaimed! “Rii vaaz zol!”
A blinding flash of arcane energy tore through the master wizard’s body, rending her very soul asunder! The others watched in horror as her corpse slowly rose as an undead thrall under Morokei’s control.
“Does anyone else seek to challenge me?” He shouted, angrily.
Not a sound was uttered.
“Pruzah,” the priest growled, seizing Aren by the back of his neck and tossing him toward the door as if he weighed nothing. “Move. I feel the presence of Thuri Viinturuth approaching. He will wish to look upon you.”
Notes:
Approximate Dovahzul translations:
dii vul junaar = my dark kingdom
Pahlok = Arrogance
Tinvaak = speech
Mey = fool
Pruzah = good
Thuri = my lord
Chapter Text
“Faas Ru Maar!” Viinturuth’s devasting voice echoed throughout the town, his indomitable command sending the mortals scattering! With mighty wingbeats he soared above the college, alighting himself on the encircling alure to the left of the Hall of Elements. He arched his neck proudly, pleased as the joorre in the courtyard followed Morokei’s example in kneeling before him.
“Rise, Glorious One!” The emerald dragon commanded. “Thuru Alduin is pleased with your swift victory.” He eyed the husk of Mirabelle and snorted. “Durnehviir taught you well, despite your fleeting time under aakii.”
Morokei rose while the rest stayed kneeling, although Ofan risked a glance upward at Viinturuth. He was what Viintaas had referred to as a blood dragon, but the beast looming above them seemed larger than the typical blood dov that roamed around Skyrim. His dorsal fins were lined with rich black stripes and his yellow eyes glittered with cunning.
“Thank you, thuri,” Morokei replied, relaxing a bit even while maintaining a reverent demeanor. He had always felt more comfortable with Nahkriin’s patron than most of the other overlords. Viinturuth was uncompromising in following Alduin’s law, unforgiving of dissidents, but fair and even friendly to the loyalists that earned his respect. “There are still possible foes within the college grounds. I shall sort the wheat from the chaff promptly.”
Viinturuth tilted his head, as if listening. He glanced toward the tower of the Hall of Countenance, then unleashed his terrible shout of dismay once more!
“Faas Ru Maar!”
The group outside cowered, though the dreadful decree was not aimed at them, and only Morokei’s stoic presence kept Ofan from trembling. She still flinched however when the dov’s booming voice caused the very ground beneath their feet to tremble.
“Nikriin joorre, I know you hear me! Come forth from your hiding place lest I bring it down upon your shameful heads! Nahkriin saraan lingrah!”
Brelyna sighed with relief when the remaining professors came quietly, confused and terrified though they were. She wanted no more bloodshed this day and doubted very much that any of them could best the tall priest, much less the dragon!
Morokei allowed a small smile as he looked toward the emerald overlord. “Well, that is one way to ensure their obedience, thuri. You never did waste time during the war.”
Viinturuth chuckled with a swish of his long tail. “Neither did you. One of the many reasons dii mid sonaak enjoyed fighting by your side.”
Morokei inclined his head, his velvety voice sincere. “You honor me, thuri.” He was careful not to let his face reveal how much such a compliment meant to him. Dragons could read the eyes and aura well enough and his feelings were no business of anyone else here! He glanced over at Ofan, straightening a little as he could tell from her gentle expression that she had discerned his emotions quiet clearly!
Viinturuth followed Morokei’s gaze, scenting the air. “Rise and approach me, Sossedov. You were the one to free nonvul Morokei, yes?”
She nodded, carefully meeting the dragon’s keen yellow stare.
Nahkriin’s patron gestured with his fearsome head toward the shivering Archmage. “You know Morokei’s hokoron?”
Ofan’s expression fell. “Forgive me, my lord, but I understand naught in lovely Dovahzul save for a few words…”
“Paak!” The emerald creature exclaimed, startling all save the dragon priest. “Whosoever raised you neglected the most important part of a dragonblood’s education! That shall be remedied.” His shimmering tail lashed in a wide arc as he spoke. “Hokoron means enemy, little one.”
The pale haired maiden bowed her head in acquiescence. “Then yes, great one, I do.”
Tolfdir admired how Ofan’s kept her composure despite her nerves. He noticed that the ancient priest was studying her as well.
“Pruzah, good,” Viinturuth replied. “then you shall advise Morokei on the most just method of execution for this modern age.”
Ofan paled but remained silent. The emerald dragon regarded the second group of mortals who still shrank before their tower, searching for resistance. There. Without warning he swept down with a rush of wind into the small courtyard, snapping up both Enthir and Phinis Gestor in powerful jaws! With a great gulp they were gone, save for a spray of blood upon the snow and the horrified mages. Viinturuth returned to his perch, arching his neck once more.
“Let that be a warning to all who defy the will of Alduin,” He growled. “Dov are not blind to your hearts and minds. Heed sonaak Morokei, for he speaks with the voice of our master.”
His glinting orbs met the priest’s violet ones. “Mu fent uth mid aar vosaraan.”
Morokei inclined his head. “Yes, thuri.”
“Thuru Alduin shall join you soon. He wishes to see the Eye for himself. But he has business on Solstheim.”
The ancient priest’s head shot up. “Vahlok?” He inquired softly, unable to keep the hope from his tone.
Ofan could have sworn Viinturuth gave the dragon version of a kind smile. “Yes, mid sonaak. The Guardian shall walk Keizaal once more.” He growled. “For the Traitor may soon do so as well.”
“He will not escape death again!” Morokei declared, the sudden volume and hatred in his voice startling everyone save the dragon. “Mora is a capricious master. He will not intervene a second time.”
“Nahkriin and Krosis share your sentiments,” Viinturuth said, eyeing the joorre that surrounded them. “We shall speak of such matters later. Farewell, Morokei. May your thu’um grow ever stronger.”
The ebony haired man bowed fully as the emerald dragon took to the skies, letting loose a final, dreadful roar over Winterhold. Morokei straightened, whirling around to face both groups of traumatized college mages. His discerning amethyst eyes seemed to look through them as they slowly rose to their feet. “I do not see Ancano.”
“He is most likely hiding in the Archmage’s quarters,” Tolfdir said, watching Aren with a worried expression.
“Hah! A fitting place for cowards,” Morokei scoffed, adeptly casting another paralysis spell on Savos. He glanced at the alteration teacher. “Send your most competent people to seize him. I want him alive.”
Tolfdir nodded slowly. “As you wish.”
The former lich began pacing around the frozen mer with all the grace and intensity of a saber-toothed cat. “I have anticipated this moment for what seemed an interminable count of days, Aren…” He growled, clutching the Staff of Magnus.
Tolfdir sent the Altmer destruction instructor Faralda and the Dunmer illusion professor Drevis to search for Ancano before returning to his distressed students. He saw Ofan wince when Morokei’s voice suddenly boomed across the keep. “What sort of execution would send the proper message to the rebels of this era, malvahdin? Has being flayed alive truly lost its compelling effect on the masses?”
The petite woman gathered her thoughts, then finally spoke. “Death is too swift for what Savos Aren has done unto you and your followers, Lord Morokei.”
Onmund gaped at her in shock but J’zargo simply watched. The khajiit had a hunch about where their fellow apprentice was going with her suggestion.
“There is a vast array of tortures that can inflict brutal punishment while forcing the guilty to stay alive for days,” the ancient priest replied, glancing at Ofan almost quizzically. “Surely even a spirit as temperate as yours is aware of this?”
“But that penalty does not fit what he did to you,” she insisted, approaching the towering Nord. She met his violet gaze with confidence, her words sincere. “Let Savos Aren experience the isolation you endured while imprisoned. Let him feel the helplessness his classmates surely did as they were betrayed. Do not free him by executing him, my lord; incarcerate him.”
Morokei frowned at first, but his expression became thoughtful as he mulled her idea over. Ofan was careful not to meet Savos’s gaze as the broken archmage stared up at her. He knew that, despite freeing the monster, she was trying to save him from terrible torment. The sonaak regarded the stone pavilion at the center of the alure and his eyes gleamed with a fell light.
“An interesting proposal, malvahdin,” He said, his unrelenting gaze falling upon his former jailer. “I believe the college already possesses the perfect place for a fitting cell.”
~ ~ ~
Korir could not help but smirk at the sight of the Savos Aren suspended in a large energy orb above the grand entrance to his own college. He stood within the cursed courtyard for the first and only time, but it was worth it for that spectacle alone. He disliked magic, always would, but if it must be practiced, let it be used like that! He smiled at the Nord in the rich blue robes, who stood beside Thane Ofan as the once proud mages meekly went about their business. He had truly humbled them.
“Well done, well done indeed!” The Jarl praised. “You have accomplished what no one else dared to do! Even repelling a dragon attack. Join my court tonight for a feast in your honor!”
Morokei inwardly sighed. True, he missed the respect his position afforded, but he was also weary of having to be so polite to commoners who played at royalty and knew nothing of his beloved dov. Even so, he kept a diplomatic expression and a charming tone.
“I cannot celebrate yet I fear, for there is much yet to be done to stabilize the magic within the college, though I am honored by your invitation.” The former lich beckoned to someone across the courtyard. “Perhaps this gift will suffice until I am able to accept your generous hospitality.”
Korir’s brow furrowed in curiosity as he followed the lich’s gaze. Drevis and J’zargo dragged a bound and gagged Ancano toward the jarl.
“This is the Thalmor fool that sought to murder your thane and manipulate the mages for his own agenda,” Morokei said, regarding Korir intently. “I know not if he has valuable intelligence to the Stormcloak cause, but it is my sincerest hope that he proves useful.”
Korir laughed heartily! “Hah! If only half of our kinsmen had your initiative, we’d have already sent the Empire fleeing back to Cyrodiil with their tails between their legs!” He declared, clapping an unsuspecting Morokei heartily on the back! Ofan had to bite her lip to keep from snickering at the priest’s ruffled expression. A sudden wave of nausea gave her pause. How odd.
Winterhold’s ruler gestured for two of his five guards to step forward and seize the elf. Morokei had reassembled a proper, courtly expression, inclining his head when Korir looked at him again. “Allow me to banish the snow to ease your journey across the bridge, my jarl.”
The red-haired Nord canted his head. “Eh? What did you say?”
Morokei simply stepped onto the stone span, standing unmoved by the bitter winds.
“Lok vah koor!” His indomitable command echoed across the town!
“The thu’um, he summons the thu’um!” A guard cried simultaneously with Korir’s own exclamation. “By the gods, that’s a shout!”
The jarl gaped at the ancient priest. “Did you study with the Greybeards?”
The who? What sort of guild is named for their facial hair? Morokei thought to himself before replying. “Indeed.”
“Just like Jarl Ulfric!” Ofan added, helpfully.
“Yes,” the once lich agreed, smoothly adding, “a pity we were never properly introduced.”
“That will change, my friend, you can count on it!” Korir said, though his expression turned to awe as the icy winds had calmed and way across the bridge was clear and safe.
“I look forward to it,” Morokei said, summoning an amicable smile. “I will visit your great hall as soon as I am able, my jarl.”
“I’ll hold you to that! Take care of Thane Ofan, she likes to get into trouble!”
“Talos guide y- wait what?” Ofan sputtered, as the soldiers chuckled. This sparked a genuine grin on the ancient Nord’s pale face. “So I have learned.”
The Jarl and his contingent of guards departed, and Morokei rolled his shoulders. “Now that such tedious business has concluded, I can finally examine the Eye of Magnus. I wonder if it has changed at all?”
The young maiden felt another wave of dizziness wash over her, yet she could not help but giggle. “Enjoy yourself, Morokei. I for one would like a nice, hot bath and two…no three, sweetrolls.”
“Three?” He inquired, amused, glancing at her tiny frame.
“I deserve them all,” she answered with playful adamance, turning and walking toward the Hall of Attainment where her chambers were. His rich chuckle behind her was a surprisingly comforting sound. She was hit by another rush of sickness, exhaustion. Ofan figured that she just needed rest and perhaps treatment for her smaller wounds that remained. It had been quite a day…the world started to tilt and the last thing she heard was Brelyna and Tolfdir shouting before everything went black.
Notes:
Viinturuth's appearance and abilities in-game vary based on player level, so I decided to make him a blood dragon.
Approximate Dovahzul translations:
Nikriin joorre = Cowardly mortals
Paak = Shame
Nonvul = Noble
I shall send you loyal servants without delay = a very rough translation of Mu fent uth mid aar vosaraan
Chapter 7
Summary:
Time to meet another sonaak!
Chapter Text
Viintaas inhaled sharply at the sheer size of the tomb’s massive final chamber. The floor was covered with dubious looking stone tiles and a lone ebony coffin sat before the elevated word wall on the far side. Despite himself, he felt his hopes rising. Surely the dragon priest known as the Guardian would listen to his plea. He had to. Viintaas was uncertain who else he could turn to otherwise. As he waited for Tharstan to catch up, his mind wandered over the unusual puzzles throughout the elaborate tomb. He had never seen magical bridges that were still so strong and responsive after millennia. In fact, he had never seen such ethereal paths before at all! The Word Walls had called unto his curious dragon’s soul with an allure more intense than any others he had yet encountered. Even so, it was the three plaques that had intrigued him most.
A sacrifice will bring you closer to that which you seek.
A clue on how to access the deeper parts of the ornate memorial, but perhaps also a hint at the Guardian’s deeds?
Continue along the path, don't tread where you've been.
A clear warning regarding the nature of the magical bridges, but was it also an indication of the priest’s philosophy?
All Men must die, often by their own means.
That…disturbed the young Nord, to say the least. Did the Guardian commit suicide? Is that what the first Wall had meant by an honorable death? Was the revered priest sacrificed to the dragons he worshipped as some sort of twisted reward? Or was he simply reading too much into the poetic prose of the ancients?
Viintaas rubbed his head in an effort to ward off a dull ache. Tharstan paused beside the intrepid explorer he had hired to navigate the ruins, frowning in concern. The lad’s skin was even paler than usual, a vibrant contrast to his short yet unruly coal-black tresses.
“Are you alright son?” The elderly scholar asked. He managed to keep from flinching when his companion faced him fully with a bright smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed by all this.”
“It’s an amazing discovery,” Tharstan agreed, tearing his gaze away from Viintaas’s face. Such brutal scarring…they were not visible from the young man’s left, hence why they startled him so. The academic prayed he had not revealed any sort of impolite reaction. Those hopes were dashed when Viintaas’s warm, clear voice echoed through the catacombs.
“You wish to know how a Nord received such burns, eh? Don’t worry, they’re not from tomb exploration.” He said with a smirk, though his gaze remained on the solitary sarcophagus. Viintaas ran a hand across the imperfections that began below his right ear and curved in a savage crescent down his cheek, chin, neck and likely beyond. “The Falmer are merciless. Anyway, let’s see if the Guardian will permit us to read the final Wall, shall we?”
“Be careful,” Tharstan advised as the young man adeptly navigated the pressure plates. “Reports from the mainland are still inconclusive regarding the state of the dragon priests.”
Viintaas once again felt the pull of the Word Wall and desperately wished he could read Dovahzul without Tharstan’s assistance. He skirted a respectful distance around the coffin, coming face to face with the wondrous tongue engraved in the archaic stone. Momentarily forgetting his mission, he reached out to touch the word that resonated with him most: Shaan. Viintaas’s dragon soul nearly left his mortal body when the lich suddenly burst from the sarcophagus, tossing aside the stone slab like it was made of cotton. The young Nord inhaled sharply, gathered his thoughts, and knelt swiftly.
“Hail, mighty Guardian,” he greeted sincerely, keeping his tone steady.
The dragon priest’s glowing orbs bore into him with what Viintaas guessed was suspicion. Not a sound was made in the gargantuan crypt save for the lich’s raspy breathing, the fluttering of his tattered red robes…and the scratching of Tharstan writing furiously in his journal. Someone had to record these unprecedented events!
The young Nord swallowed. He felt the draconic power that radiated off the priest keenly. It was familiar, almost comforting, despite the circumstances. All of his planned speeches abandoned his mind as Viintaas was utterly baffled by the strange magnetism that stirred within his soul. It was not the Word Walls that called out to him this time, but the dragon priest himself!
“Dovahkiin…” The ancient being declared, his hoarse voice reverberating throughout the crypt.
Viintaas’s golden yellow eyes lit up. “Yes, I’m Dovahkiin!” His expression turned to one of horror and he quickly added. “But I’m not like the idiotic blades and guards want me to be! I don’t traipse around slaughtering and harassing random dov. I hate fighting them, actually…”
The lich hovered ominously, his gaze impassive.
“Not-not that I don’t enjoy a good battle!” Viintaas stammered. “Proud Nord warrior spirit and traditions and all!”
The dragonborn could have sworn the lich raised a non-existent eyebrow at him. Viintaas offered a sheepish grin. “C-can we start introductions again?”
The priest remained silent, much to Tharstan’s amazement. Taking courage from the entity’s now thoughtful gaze, the young Nord continued. “My name is Viintaas, I only recently learned that I am Dovahkiin, and I uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, honey colored eyes flickering in thought. “It’s difficult to explain, but I don’t think I’m from this era. Anyway, I’m not here to rob your tomb, or foolishly challenge you, sonaak thur. I am here to seek your advice.”
Viintaas met the undead gaze of the Guardian. “Miraak has returned. He is not yet on Solstheim itself, but he plagues the island from Apocrypha by corrupting the All-Maker stones.”
The dragon priest did not show much emotion, but Viintaas could keenly feel his indignation and sorrow, yet not surprise. He had no idea why he discerned the lich’s feelings so clearly, but now was not the time to ask.
“I encountered Miraak in Mora’s realm after an incident with one of those accursed Black Books,” He confessed. “He declared his purpose to return to Tamriel and I-I was unable to so much as shout at him…” Viintaas hated showing weakness, but he did not try to hide his genuine fear from the Guardian.
“His aura was so malevolent, so wrathful, yet so indomitable…I am no match for Miraak. The Skaal told of a warrior in their legends that vanquished him, and with the help of allies I found a few texts that spoke of you as well. With news of other sonaakke awakening I thought, I hoped-” He stood slowly, his desperate expression and voice sincere. “I really need your help. We all do.”
The lich hovered closer to the Word Wall, taking a few moments to process such a plea. He faced the young dragonborn. His voice was raspy, yet somehow kind.
“In the name of thuri Alduin, I will aid you however I can. My vow, unlike my body, has not withered with the passing of time. I will not abandon my people in their hour of need.” His undead orbs almost had a glimmer of life. “Nor a fellow Dovahkiin.”
Viintaas’s jaw dropped, his eyes shining with joy! “That’s why I can feel your aura! We’re the same! That’s fantastic!” He exclaimed, forgetting all manners in his excitement! “It’s horrible being dragonborn alone!”
The ancient priest’s face seemed to soften as much as it was able. “We were never meant to endure such a burden without the dovahhe to guide us. Or trusted zeymahhe to provide more…human wisdom and support.”
He would have smiled at Viintaas if he could. The lad could be no older than twenty. “My purpose is my name. I am Vahlok, often known as the Jailor.” He suddenly felt claustrophobic, despite the vast chamber. “Let us speak more in the open air; I miss the sky.”
The young Nord beamed. “O-of course!”
He enthusiastically headed for the entranceway…and right onto the pressure plates! Fire shot up from the deadly tiles and Viintaas flailed about, desperately trying to stifle the flames yet blundering onto more of the numerous traps as he did so! A telekinetic push sent the dragonborn tumbling into the shallow pool of water at the very center of the cavern. He spluttered, examining his arms and legs. Fortunately, only the brown mage robes had been singed. Viintaas shoved his black bangs out of his eyes, seeing Vahlok and Tharstan both peering at him with the same concerned fatherly demeanor from opposite sides of the pool.
“Thanks,” he said, coughing.
The Guardian simply laughed. Despite his rattling breaths, it sounded like it would have been a very nice laugh once, full of benevolence and happiness.
By the gods, Vahlok thought. This boy is like Zahkriisos on moon sugar.
“Viintaas,” he said finally. “Would you happen to know the thu’um for a whirlwind-like sprint?”
Chapter Text
Tharstan could hardly believe his eyes as Vahlok the Jailor emerged from his hidden tomb. He was truly ancient history given life! Vahlok's expression of wonder and joy at the outside world quickly turned into one of dismay. The once lush forests were dying!
“What has befallen my island?” He whispered, hoarse voice filled with sorrow. Viintaas's gaze fell and Tharstan grew solemn. “The Red Mountain erupted approximately two centuries ago and has been spewing ash ever since. But the Skaal people endure despite hardship.”
Vahlok's undead orbs flickered in deep thought. Viintaas keenly discerned his fellow Dovahkiin's conflicting emotions. The Guardian was proud of the indomitable spirit of his people, yet remorseful that he had been unable to protect them.
The young Nord's voice was sincere, his expression earnest. “You had been dead for millennia by that time, Vahlok. There was absolutely nothing you could have done.”
The ancient lich was taken aback at being read so clearly. Growing up in a society that praised power above all else, he was accustomed to being unreadable, with or without his mask. His glowing eyes flickered downwards, then rested back on his counterpart.
Viintaas offered an encouraging grin. "I bet they'll be overjoyed that you're back to kick Miraak's titanic ass!"
Vahlok's ragged exhale sounded very much like a chuckle. The boy's enthusiasm was familiar and comforting. “They will likely need a warning regarding my current appearance.”
The younger Dragonborn blinked, reddening a bit. “Oh. Good point.”
He gave Tharstan an inquiring look. The scholar nodded, bowing low before the Guardian. “I shall go on ahead and inform the Skaal. Please, take all the time that you need! I cannot imagine how strange it must be to live again after so many centuries.”
The ancient priest studied the man for a moment before inclining his head in acknowledgement. The elderly Nord shouldered his satchel and began the relatively short trek back to the village, murmuring excitedly about archaic knowledge!
Vahlok's keen gaze turned back to the boy. “I sense you are burning with questions, Dovahkiin.”
Viintaas laughed merrily! “So many questions! I'm uncertain where to begin! In all seriousness though, such matters can wait.” His amber gaze lowered briefly, and his voice softened. “The first time I regained some of my muddled memories was while exploring the ruins of Saarthal and it was...bad.”
Understatement of the year, he thought, pausing briefly before continuing. “Anyway, like Tharstan said, rest a few moments. If you desire to, that is!”
A thunderous roar cut off the Guardian's response. The sky darkened and the World-Eater himself descended, his black wings whipping up a gale as he landed before them with a tremendous thud! The ground cracked beneath his talons as he proudly arched his neck, crimson gaze piercing the two Dragonborn before him. Vahlok knelt swiftly, though not without trouble, inwardly flinching as bone ground on bone and undead flesh tore. Viintaas remained standing, his posture rigid. He had no idea what to expect from Tamriel's angriest dragon!
Alduin bared his fangs, new wrath welling up within him. Vahlok was among the most loyal and powerful of his sonaakke. As selfless and bold as his father Konahrik. He was the sole connection the lord of all dragons had left to his beloved first priest. And now Akatosh's new favorite dared to disturb his tomb? His baleful stare focused fully on Viintaas.
“Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi. You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.”
“Now wait just a moment!” Viintaas exclaimed, forgetting all caution at such an accusation. “I never wanted to be Dragonborn! I’m not even sure why I’m supposed to battle you and your people in the first place! Clearly, you are not trying to devour the world, but getting ready to rule it. With all the corruption and prejudice among mer and men, I fail to see how the dov could do any worse!”
Alduin snorted, his ruby orbs glittering. He remembered that Vahlok had also dreaded his own dragon soul when his abilities were made manifest all those centuries ago. Judging by the almost pleading way in which the lich stared at him, Konahrik's kul was reliving the same memories. The World-Eater frowned.
"Niid," he rumbled, swishing his great tail.
Viintaas was utterly confused until he realized that the ebony dovah was looking at the Guardian.
"He speaks the truth, sahrot thur," Vahlok insisted, slowly rising to his feet. "Viintaas sought my council regarding traitorous Miraak. He is no enemy to our people. Please, lotgein, allow me to guide him in the way of the true Dragonborn, as you taught me."
The young Nord's eyes widened. The Guardian himself was offering to be his teacher?
Alduin scoffed, sizing up the boy. He abruptly straightened. Yet another time lost child? Was his father playing some sort of demented game? "...you do not belong in this age, Dovahkiin."
Viintaas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, I found that out the hard way." His eyes lit up, but his demeanor was respectful now. "Am I from an ancient Nordic clan? Is that why my name is Dovahzul?"
Kel-touched aura or no, Alduin had no time to hatchlingsit, but of course Vahlok had already grown attached and was invested in discerning his counterpart's origins.
“Viintaas. Shining.” The lich murmured, stroking his chin. He inhaled sharply as a poignant memory flashed before his eyes. The boy's personality was akin to Zahkriisos, but his appearance was strikingly close to-
“Thuri,” Vahlok began, earnestly.
“I know, kiir,” Alduin interjected, though his voice was less irritated and more thoughtful now.
“Is it possible?”
“Perhaps...”
“I must find him immediately!”
“Drem, nonvulbron,” Alduin commanded, his fathoms deep baritone stern in an almost fatherly manner. “Sizaan kiir hofnik fen saraan. Hin laas fent kos vokrii.”
Viintaas could only understand the words peace, Nord, wait and restore. He decided against annoying the massive dragon further with even more inquiries and remained silent. He glanced at Vahlok and the Guardian too, looked as confused as a lich possibly could. A whirling portal opened beside the Firstborn of Akatosh, revealing a tall man in indigo dragon priest robes.
“Nahkriin??” Vahlok exclaimed, hovering closer to the newcomer. “It does my heart good to see you again, zeymah! But how is this,” he gestured to the living man’s hale form, “possible?”
Nahkriin smiled warmly. It was wonderful to find another of his zeymahhe safe and sound. He had feared for the Guardian’s wellbeing due to his tomb being in such proximity to the ruins of Miraak’s accursed temple. Nahkriin briefly glanced at the young Nord, but he had stopped questioning Vahlok’s choice of friends, followers, and pets long ago. “Thuru Alduin calls us unto greater service, indomitable Jailor.”
Alduin advanced toward them, his every movement causing the ground to tremble beneath their feet. “Prepare yourself, Dovahkiini.”
The ancient priest remained still, regarding his master. Alduin’s shout was like a clap of thunder!
“Vahlok! Slen Tiid Vo!”
The elder Dragonborn collapsed to his knees as his body heeded the World-Eater’s command! Viintaas looked on in horror while Nahkriin winced in empathy. The blue priest moved to aid his brother when Vahlok’s trembling frame was abruptly enveloped in fiery light!
“Zeymah!” Nahkriin cried in dismay! This was not how the resurrection was supposed to be!
“Drem,” Alduin ordered, staring intently as Vahlok’s form was reborn with the swiftness of the Dov themselves.
The brilliant light dissipated, revealing a very much alive Nord amidst the decrepit dragon priest robes. His rich skin tone reminded Viintaas of honeyed bronze and his short ebony curls were touched by frost, though his face seemed youthful. A jagged scar that appeared to have been inflicted by savage talons crossed his left eye and his flickering orbs were a startling, vibrant sapphire hue.
Vahlok carefully rose to his feet, glancing at his hands in wonder and alarm. Nahkriin approached with a dark cloak, draping it around his overwhelmed comrade’s shoulders.
“Breathe, zeymah,” He instructed calmly, though inwardly he was still trying to regain his own composure! Nahkriin surmised that the Jailor’s dragon soul must have hastened his rebirth.
Vahlok searched his brother, dumbfounded. Nahkriin offered a small smile. “Living again will require some adjustment, yes.”
Viintaas looked back and forth between the dragon priests, their overlord, then back again.
“Holy Akatosh…” he murmured, summing up Vahlok’s own astonishment quite well indeed!
~ ~ ~
Ofan awoke to find herself in a large, luxurious bed. She blinked slowly, trying to figure out where she was. This was not her room in the dormitory. The petite woman vaguely remembered regaining consciousness briefly to find herself surrounded by her peers and Lord Morokei before blacking out again. She also awoke to argue with Colette and Faralda about helping her bathe, then once again to lament to a seated Tolfdir about how weak she felt before fading back into slumber. Ofan slowly sat upright, grateful that the dull throbbing in the back of her head was gone.
“Oh thank Azura you’re awake!” Brelyna exclaimed, rising from a nearby chair where she was reading. “The longer you were asleep the more in danger everyone was due to the suspicion of the dragon priest! It took a great deal of persuasion on Professor Colette’s part to convince him that you were simply exhausted from your ordeals and not stealthily attacked out of rebellion to Alduin’s will.”
Ofan blinked again, still trying to shake the weariness from her mind. “Oh dear…I am glad no one was hurt.” She looked around, crinkling her nose. “Am-am I in the Archmage’s chambers?”
“Lord Morokei didn’t trust us enough to watch over you in the regular living quarters,” the dark elf maiden explained. She grinned wryly. “You should be flattered.”
Ofan laughed a little, pushing her unruly ringlets out of her face as Brelyna headed toward the exit. “You should get dressed. There’s another priest here now and I think Lord Morokei will want you to meet him.” She shrugged. “They speak in the dragon tongue almost exclusively and it's difficult to know exactly what their intentions are.”
“I think the dragon priests prefer it that way,” Ofan replied with a smile, throwing back the plush covers and dangling her feet over the side of the bed. “It makes them even more mysterious than they already are.”
Brelyna giggled, then headed out the door, leaving the young Nord alone with her thoughts.
Notes:
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi. = So, you are Dragonborn? I see none of the dragonkind in you.
Kiir = Child
Drem, nonvulbron = Peace, noble Nord
Sizaan kiir hofnik fen saraan. Hin laas fent kos vokrii = The lost child’s birthplace/home/heritage will wait. Your life shall be restored.
Dovahkiini = My Dovahkiin
Chapter 9
Summary:
Dragon priest shenanigans.
Chapter Text
Morokei's rich voice echoed throughout the Hall of Elements as Ofan entered the vast rotunda.
“...is immaterial. If Thuri Alduin would only liberate his life force with his undeniable commands, the empowered Staff will be more than capable of bringing Durnehviir back from the Soul Cairn permanently,” the tall priest explained, facing the whirling sphere. A slightly shorter man stood beside him, also studying the Eye of Magnus. Both were clad in the traditional robes and golden armor of Dragon Cult royalty, the only differences being that Morokei's fabrics were of a dark purple and his counterpart's were the hue of a hearty pine.
“Lord Morokei?” Ofan ventured, respectfully.
Both priests turned around and the young mage noticed that while Morokei was content without his mask, his companion's face remained hidden.
“Malvahdin,” Morokei's rich voice was a pleasant purr. “I am pleased to see you are well.”
“See zeymah? You had these strange mages skulking about in terror for naught,” the second man jested, his expressionless mask belying a youthful voice.
Morokei scoffed. “They needed to be rattled. The mediocre standards exhibited by this 'prestigious' institution would have been swiftly rebuked in our era.”
“By fire you mean?” His fellow inquired innocently, knowing full well the answer.
“How else is corruption supposed to be purged?” The taller priest replied. “Ice?”
From the teasing grin that traced its way across Morokei's fair face, Ofan assumed that his ally must specialize in frost magic.
The other priest snorted. “Ha! The next time you go gallivanting aimlessly in a blizzard and even our Nordic blood cannot keep you from frostbite, you shall regret such haughty words, zeymah!”
Relaxed by their playful banter with one another, Ofan voiced her own inquiry. “The next time? Has Lord Morokei been lost in the snow before?”
The masked man's voice was filled with mischief. “More than you might think!”
“Ofan, please, simply Morokei will do,” the violet eyed Nord insisted, seeking to change the subject. “It is only Krosis here now.”
“It is good to know how much you truly respect me, zeymah,” the newcomer joked, turning to face the petite maiden. He removed his mask, inclining his head courteously. “It is a pleasure to meet one of the Sossedov.”
She bowed her head properly in turn, smiling sweetly. “The honor is mine...just Krosis?”
The green robed priest laughed. “Yes, 'tis I, Simply Krosis!”
Morokei chuckled good naturedly and Ofan studied Krosis's face. His pale skin was dotted with freckles and fiery red tresses peaked from beneath his hood. Despite his merry demeanor however, his emerald eyes held great sorrow, as though he had endured great tribulation in the past. The young mage was curious but would never be so rude as to inquire about something so personal of a stranger! Although she did have another question.
“Did Lord Viinturuth send you to study the Eye of Magnus as well?”
Krosis grinned. “Rather to make certain that zeymahi does not lose himself in his own investigations.”
Ofan could not help but giggle at Morokei's rather dramatic grumbles of protest.
“All jests aside, Thuru Viinturuth desired to put my observation skills to good use.”
“He means assassination skills,” the other priest explained, brushing his azure touched locks away from his face.
“Only when absolutely necessary, brother,” Krosis replied, giving a genuinely kind smile to Ofan. “My presence will also allow Morokei proper time to instruct you in Dovahzul, the Dragon Tongue.”
Her eyes lit up and she glanced over at the taller priest. “That sounds lovely, I am very eager to learn!” She wanted very much to be a proper, Dovahzul fluent Sossedov!
Morokei inclined his head. “Pruzah. We shall convene in the courtyard in an hour next to that ridiculous statue.”
Ofan's voice lowered conspiratorially. “Are you going to shout it apart?"
Morokei smirked faintly, amethyst orbs gleaming.
“She knows you well already, zeymah!” Krosis said with a laugh.
The pale haired woman grinned. “I will confess to having pestered him with many questions!”
“It was a fair trade of information,” the ebony maned priest replied. “Go now, partake of nourishment. You have been asleep for nearly two days.”
Ofan wondered if the former lich had eaten anything, but she simply smiled and bowed her head. “Very well. It was nice to meet you, Simply Krosis.”
The priest with pine green eyes chuckled. “And you as well, Ofan Sossedov. We shall speak soon I am certain.”
Krosis’s keen gaze turned to Morokei as his counterpart thoughtfully watched the petite mage exit the Hall of Elements. “Malvahdin, zeymah, really? Little Maiden? Do you still desire to convince me that our fellow joorre are worthless even while using affectionate nicknames such as that?”
“We are not quite mortal,” the taller priest retorted, without hesitation. “And Ofan is of the dragon blood. She belongs with our people, her people.”
Krosis tapped his clean-shaven chin. “Mhm…and quite a pleasant sight to awaken to after a few thousand years, yes?”
Morokei’s glittering violet orbs narrowed. “Now I recall why I disliked letting you into my library. Remain focused on the task at hand, please.”
The redhead’s infuriating grin was the sole response he gave. Morokei grumbled about young ones and their wasteful mischief, the irony of which only served to amuse Krosis further! Despite his brother’s impertinent insinuations, Durnehviir’s priest confessed to himself that it was rather comforting to have his fellow priest back. He prayed to Akatosh that the others were safe and would be reborn soon.
~ ~ ~
Alduin had settled down behind Vahlok, looking imperious even while resting. He kept a close eye on the humans, occasionally scenting the cool evening air. The elder Dragonborn could feel the World-Eater’s hot breath on his right side and was struck by the sudden temptation to seek shelter under his mighty ebony wing. The thoughtful Dovahkiin had often done so as a child, especially when overwhelmed by the awareness that having a dragon’s soul granted to mortal senses. The Firstborn of Akatosh had been surprisingly patient with him and the other young acolytes who had been given the chance of becoming high priests someday. Vahlok would never dare to approach his overlord in such a needy manner now, but the massive black dragon’s aura was soothing. Even with the increasingly loud conversation his zeymah and his fellow Dovahkiin were having across from them.
“Wait, wait, wait…so you didn’t constantly sacrifice your followers?” Viintaas inquired, flabbergasted.
“Of course not!” Nahkriin exclaimed, deeply offended. “Where in all of Keizaal would you receive such an odious impression of our culture?”
Viintaas ran a hand through his wild locks. “Well, records have not remembered the Dragon Cult kindly, though perhaps that is due in part to history having been told by the -” He thought better of saying ‘winners’ while Alduin remained close by. “- By the majority, and most joorre didn’t enjoy being ruled over by dragons very much. Mistranslation over the ages has no doubt been an issue as well. And to be frank, Lord Nahkriin, that crazed poisoner in Forelhost did not leave a favorable impression.”
Vahlok tilted his head. “Vosis? He was a fine blacksmith, but no alchemist.”
Nahkriin’s mouth set in a hard line. “After your death, Thuru Alduin’s banishment, and the progression of the war, all bonds of brotherhood were forsaken by even those in our elite circle. Rahgot used his authority as high priest to execute Vosis and take over his city for himself.”
Viintaas sensed sudden wrath kindle in the aura of his counterpart. “Rahgot. Of course.” Vahlok’s azure gaze focused on the young Nord. “What did that pahlok mey do now?”
“It was pretty horrific,” Viintaas began, growing solemn. “Judging by the archaic letters I discovered and-and the positions of the bodies, Rahgot ordered his followers to poison themselves in order to discourage King Harald’s men from reaching his sanctum…” his voice trailed off.
Nahkriin grew very still. “All of them? There were a number of children in Rahgot’s cult, were there not?”
“Do you truly believe that would have stopped him from doing anything that would aid in self-preservation?” Vahlok growled, sapphire orbs blazing.
“It looked like his head alchemist tried to reason with him, at least,” the amber-eyed Nord said, quietly.
Silence fell for a few moments, then Nahkriin regarded the boy keenly. “I assume you made it to his sanctuary?”
“I did,” the younger Dovahkiin answered. “I pondered simply sneaking past his sarcophagus in order to reach the word wall on the outer battlements, but after seeing so many children’s bodies I-I welcomed a fight.”
Alduin craned his long neck around to better scrutinize Vahlok’s latest adoptee. “He should have been more than a match for you.”
Viintaas rubbed the back of his neck. “…Do you have to sound so disappointed? I was injured, yes, but your egomaniacal sonaak fled first.”
Alduin glared at the boy, but neither snapped his jaws in rebuke nor snarled. It was no small feat to best one of his high priests, Dovahkiin or no.
“His cowardice did grow after we lost you, Thuri,” Nahkriin added, trying to balance his personal disdain for Rahgot with professionalism. “None of us were the same without your guidance.”
“That shall be amended,” Alduin declared with a toss of his beautifully savage head.
“…So once he is returned to full life I am permitted to punch Rahgot in the face?” Vahlok inquired, his innocent tone causing Viintaas to grin.
The World-Eater gave his Jailor the side-eye, but it was not anger that gleamed in his crimson orbs. As Nahkriin chuckled and offered a more diplomatic solution, Viintaas observed the dragon king. His demeanor toward his sonaakke was lordly, yet also affectionate in his own brusque way. The Dragons and their Cult had slaves and committed atrocities, of that the young Dovahkiin had no doubt. Yet the societies of men and mer were guilty of such cruelties as well. Viintaas began to wonder if what the history books told of Alduin was even more inaccurate than he had previously suspected.
Chapter Text
The moon was at its zenith over mighty Bromjunaar as the Nord in gilded armor stepped out onto the massive balcony overlooking the westernmost training arena. He paused to tie back his unruly mahogany tresses just in case he would be called upon to demonstrate any shouts. A few stray locks rebelled and fell loosely around his angular face, but the tall mage paid little heed and proceeded on his way. Despite his official status as an acolyte priest only, the other pupils and their teachers still treated him with deference as he confidently wove his way through the crowd. He smirked slightly to himself. It was good to be Dragonborn.
His smile faded however when he discerned a sorrow radiating from somewhere nearby. His magical abilities did not lie in restoration or empathy, so this puzzled him until he noticed a familiar lanky teenager standing alone by the railing.
“Vahlok,” the Dovahkiin called, brow furrowed in concern. “Hi krosis, zeymah. What troubles you so?”
The boy flinched, whirling around to stare at him with wide sapphire eyes. “Miraak!” He straightened, his startled demeanor swiftly turning defiant as his ally approached. “Ni! Zu’u mul! Bo!”
Miraak’s frown deepened. It was unlike Konahrik’s indomitable child to be startled by anything, even wrathful dovahhe. It was also strange for him to be so defensive and rude.
“Vahlok?” He asked again, as he gently yet firmly took the younger Nord by the shoulder and guided him even further away from any listening ears. “What’s the matter?”
The lad trembled, then finally sighed in defeat. “I think there’s something wrong with me, zeymah. I’m not like the other students…”
Miraak exhaled with a chuckle. “Is that all? You and the other acolytes in training were chosen specifically for the unique abilities you can each offer in service to the dov. You know this.”
“Not like that!” The younger dragon cultist protested, before lowering his voice once more. “Haldriin keeps insisting that I’m not a proper Nord. I have no desire to fight in battles like Korthor or Ronaan. I mean, I’m always willing to defend my friends, but I see little point in constantly attacking those who not are not our enemies. Even in the conversations and interests the other apprentices have I-I have trouble finding common ground. And it’s not for lack of trying!”
“Paaz. A fair viewpoint. Nothing wrong with you there. And most of our peers are often dull and juvenile.” Miraak grinned at his little brother but Vahlok did not return his smile. “In all honestly, zeymah, these seem like petty differences and not actual problems.”
The Dovahkiin’s wry demeanor grew solemn when he felt the fresh pain that radiated from the younger boy’s aura. He recalled how isolated from his own peers he had felt at Vahlok’s age. Loneliness was a despicable emotion.
“Forgive me, zeymah,” Miraak said, sincerely.
The blue-eyed child regarded him apprehensively. “…I know these are small matters, Miraak, but they sure seem to pile up into something large and impossible to figure out.” He turned his back to the older mage and sighed dejectedly. “I can’t even talk to girls…”
Miraak hid a smile. “I did not know you desired to talk to girls.”
“I don’t!” Vahlok exclaimed, whirling back around. “But Master Kodaavah said I was an aberration for having no interest at my age!”
Miraak paused, a dangerous glint coming into his eyes. “One of your teachers said such foolishness? Did you tell Konahrik?”
The boy shook his head, ebony curls bouncing. “No, he’s been really busy dealing with the splinter sect.”
“I’ll handle ‘Master’ Kodaavah,” the Dragonborn insisted, placing a reassuring hand on the lad’s shoulder. “You are not an aberration, zeymah.” His voice softened a bit. “Do you fancy boys instead?”
Vahlok became contemplative, sapphire orbs glittering. “…No. Honestly zeymah I don’t feel attracted to anyone.” He exhaled heavily. “See, this is what I mean! Something is wrong with me!”
Miraak had a suspicion that Kodaavah had been filling his pupils’ minds with more than the laws of the dovahhe. He gazed the ramparts that surrounded the city and saw a band of smaller dragons engaged in a rousing mock hunt of one another! His eyes lit up.
“Come here,” He commanded, gesturing toward the mirthful group. “Look at the dovahhe. You are fourteen, yes?” At the boy’s nod he continued. “Dragons that size would be about your age if they grew the way men do. Do they seem interested in searching for possible mates?”
Vahlok crinkled his nose. “They’re adolescents. Thur Paarthurnax says that dov do not seek mates until they reach full growth.”
Miraak smiled. “Pruzah, exactly!” He knelt to meet his brother’s gaze better. “There is nothing wrong with you, my dear, overthinking malzeymah. You are young, you need not fret about relationships or preferences at your age. Nor about fitting in with a group of prattling apprentices that are beneath you.”
Vahlok regarded him thoughtfully for a few quiet moments, then rushed to embrace his brother! “Thank you, Miraak…”
The Dovahkiin chuckled and ruffled the lad’s hair. A dreadful, wrathful roar silenced all conversation among men and dragons alike! Alduin soared over the training arena, a battered and rather unimpressive by comparison blood dragon writhing in his great jaws! The pale glint of golden armor in the moonlight caught the brothers' attention from across the parapets as Konahrik moved to address the denizens of Bromjunaar. Alduin’s chosen priest projected his rich voice easily across the ornate city of stone.
“Behold the fate of the pahlok, tahrodiis mey who dared to oppose our sovereign lord and master Alduin!”
With a swift twist and sickening crunch, the World-Eater snapped the offender's neck and cast his enemy onto the cold earth far below! The dragons roared and sang their praises of the Firstborn of Akatosh. The priests too, joined in the adulation. The ordinary citizens however remained respectfully, or fearfully, silent. Miraak's eyes gleamed when he realized that none of the dovahhe were closer to the broken body than he, which meant the rebel's soul would empower him with its knowledge. Good.
He grinned at Vahlok, having been desensitized to even the most brutal of dragon behaviors long ago. "Bormahiil will no longer have to worry about dissidents. Let’s speak with him now regarding Kodaavah."
The boy nodded, having deeply missed his father. He raced ahead of Miraak, who chuckled, striding a bit faster in order to chide anyone who did not make way for the son of the Warlord!
The traitorous dovah's corpse began to burn as his spirit was pulled to the nearest fellow dragon soul. The Dovahkiin paused to relish in the power he would soon feel. Only it was not unto him that the primal energy surged toward. Vahlok stumbled when the fiery blue and orange light enveloped him, his sapphire eyes widening in alarm. The dov and their cultists let out cries of shock and wonder as the adolescent mortal absorbed the life force of the fallen blood dragon!
The boy began to breathe rapidly, his eyes darting from side to side as if reading something unseen. He swayed unsteadily, staring at his hands as though he no longer recognized himself. Miraak snapped out of his stunned daze and clamped his mouth shut, finally aware that it had been hanging open! He knew the overwhelming sensation of an abrupt comprehension of a dragon’s mind well. What the Dovahkiin could not comprehend was how and why his adopted sibling was also a Dragonborn! A myriad of emotions radiated in his chest. He should have known. He had always been able to discern Vahlok’s emotions more keenly than anyone else’s, and even Ahzidal’s masterful knowledge of the arcane could not explain why. He had always been able to sense his little brother’s presence, reminiscent of Alduin’s connection with his mighty race through their souls. Until this moment, Miraak had been regarded as the sole Dragonborn in all of Mundus. It was an honor he had readily accepted. The gifted mage had never seen such power as something to be feared, but there were moments he had felt like a misfit among both the dovahhe and his fellow joorre. Miraak inhaled sharply. He was no longer alone.
“Yet another kinsman wrapped in mortal flesh?!” A frost dragon snorted, his incredulous tone capturing Miraak’s attention. “Why would Akatosh not send forth a warning?”
“He is a god, he answers to no one, especially not unto you!” A slender striped dov snapped, lashing out with her tail. “We should be pleased at this discovery.”
“A discovery of trouble!” A muscular brown beast scoffed. “One Dovahkiin has unleashed enough chaos upon the world as it is.”
“NAHLOT!” Alduin’s thunderous voice once again trounced any arguments or exclamations.
“How dare you disparage any child of our father’s,” Paarthurnax rumbled, his cultured voice full of reproof. He alighted on the alure next to Alduin, who balefully glared at the ignorant dovahhe. “You should be ashamed of such nivahriin tinvaak.”
Akatosh’s Firstborn vehemently showcased his agreement with a chilling growl, then he lowered his head to better examine a stunned Konahrik. Relieved by the support of the two eldest dragons, Miraak turned back to Vahlok, whose eyes were filled with unshed tears.
“Drem zeymahi,” Miraak soothed. “All is well.”
Vahlok's aura only grew more turbulent. Instead of rejoicing in his newfound divine might, the younger Dragonborn was devastated. Miraak inwardly flinched. Of course such a monumental change would occur just as his malzeymah was starting to feel comfortable with himself. Miraak was beginning to suspect that Akatosh had a sadistic sense of humor.
“It's okay,” the First Dovahkiin began again, but the boy backed away, shaking his head.
He desperately tried to remain brave before that the eyes of so many dovahhe, especially his father's patron, but he was utterly overwhelmed! His first instinct was to flee, and the newfound ability acquired from the fallen dragon’s soul gave him a way to do so. Vahlok ran to the edge of the balcony, gripped the railing, and cried, "Feim!"
His physical form became ethereal and untouchable at the ancient command! Miraak realized too late what his counterpart had planned as the dismayed child leapt over the balustrade! He landed unharmed on the hard ground below, desperately searching for the nearest city gate as his body returned to a tangible state.
“Vahlok!” Miraak cried. “Wait!”
The last thing the boy saw were Miraak’s wide turquoise eyes glowing in the darkness before he fled into the night.
“Vahlok!”
Vahlok.
“Vahlok!” Alduin’s rumbling call from his right snapped the dazed Dragonborn out of his solemn reverie.
“Forgive me, sahrot thur,” he said, embarrassed. “My mind was elsewhere.”
The dark-haired man straightened in his seat as his three allies stared at him incredulously.
“Obviously,” Nahkriin commented, his deep purple orbs flickering with in concern.
“It’s Miraak, isn’t it?” Viintaas inquired. “His creepy, probing presence still infects this island through the stones. I break his hold whenever I find one hypnotizing people, but I’ve only come across four, and the largest stone by Miraak’s temple still feels…wrong.”
“There are six in total, if the volcano destroyed them not,” the elder Dovahkiin said, his expression thoughtful.
Viintaas shifted uncomfortably as Alduin’s crimson gaze found him once more. “And how, exactly, did you learn such a rare Rotmulaag?”
The dragon king still unsettled him but the younger dragonborn was not about to let it show! “I’m a simple man. I sense a word wall, I investigate.”
The black dragon seemed to arch an eyebrow at him. “Vahlok may come to regret taking you as a pupil…”
Vahlok shrugged. “I practically raised Zahk, so…”
This diffused all tension as Nahkriin sincerely laughed and even Alduin relaxed ever so slightly. He seemed to enjoy his priests’ mirth.
“No one is wilder than Zahkriisos!” The portal conjurer declared in amusement, rising to his feet. “I only hope he remembers me fondly.”
The World-Eater whipped his tail back and forth. “He will heed my call. Vahlok, gather your people and regain their allegiance. Nahkriin will retrieve Zahkriisos and Dukaan and together you shall confront Ahzidal.”
The azure eyed Dovahkiin did not like the certainty with which Alduin proclaimed a battle with his brother, but he simply bowed his head. “As you command, great one.”
Viintaas abruptly jumped to his feet, causing Akatosh’s Firstborn to snort at him in unnoticed reproof. “Great! Come on, Vahlok! Let’s introduce you to the Skaal!”
Notes:
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Hi krosis zeymah = You (are) sorrowful, brother.”
Ni! Zu’u mul! Bo! = (It’s) nothing! I (am) strong! Go!
Tahrodiis = Traitorous/Treacherous
Nahlot = Silence
Chapter Text
Ofan rocked back and forth on her heels as she waited for Morokei beside the statue of Shalidor. She spotted Tolfdir leading his class into the courtyard from the stone bridge and hurried to meet them. The elderly Nord's eyes twinkled when he saw her. “Ah, Ofan, it is good to see you are well!”
“Thank you, professor,” she replied, looking relieved. “Brelyna said that things became rather tense...”
“Nothing we couldn't handle,” the alteration teacher assured. “You seem to have made powerful ally.”
“I don't think dragon priests have allies,” Onmund said, quietly. “Be careful, Ofan.”
The petite maiden gave him a gentle smile. “I shall be fine, thank you.” Her mirth faded as her gaze traveled to the uppermost stone gazebo. “How fares Savos?”
“Physically he's okay, but mentally he's not doing as well,” Brelyna answered sadly. “The purple priest had decided to execute him as a sacrifice to Viinturuth but the newcomer changed his mind.”
“What about the other professors? And the scary Librarian?”
“Urag gro-Shub scares you but the masked men do not?” J'zargo inquired, ears swiveling.
“They scold me less,” Ofan whispered, as if the old orc would appear and yell at her for keeping library books for too long.
“That is fair,” the khajiit conceded, remembering his own library mishaps.
“Regardless, everyone is holding together well enough, considering the circumstances,” Tolfdir said, reining in his distractable pupils. “But what are you doing out here? The sun will set soon.”
“Morokei is going to begin my instruction in Dovahzul,” Ofan answered, twisting a hapless shimmering tress around her index finger. “I am both excited and nervous. I truly wish to do well.”
“What do you think that big green dragon will say if you do not learn quickly?” J'zargo pressed.
Brelyna saw greater anxiety blossom in her friend's teal eyes and elbowed the khajiit reprovingly!
Tolfdir abruptly shushed them as Ofan heard the great doors of the Hall of Elements open. The petite mage turned and smiled at the approaching dragon priest, although Morokei's gaze was focused on Tolfdir appraisingly.
“Greetings, Lord Morokei,” the alteration professor said, tranquil as the frozen plains.
“Tolfdir,” the former lich acknowledged, coolly. “I trust you were not taking your students back through Saarthal...”
"Only to learn more about our ancestors I assure you," the elderly Nord replied, while his class shifted uneasily.
Morokei was rigid, but his tone remained calm. “Your ancestors, my people, Tolfdir. Their graves have been disturbed quite enough. If Zeymahi Ahzidal grants you permission to roam through the desecration of his home like tourists, I will allow it, but not beforehand.”
“Ahzidal? The Ahzidal?” Onmund exclaimed, surprise overriding his fear.
Morokei's gaze remained impassive. “Yes, the Ahzidal. The masterful mage who stood in the ruins of that once great city after the Falmer massacred our people. The greatest enchanter in all of Keizaal who could not even give his wife a proper burial because the Falmer had hacked her body to pieces!”
He did not move, but his violet orbs burned with fury. “Saarthal's devastation may be a fascinating historical event for you and your students, Tolfdir, but for dii zeymahhe and myself it is an appalling tragedy!”
He pushed past the group without waiting for a response. “Huzrah, Ofan,” he commanded, striding onto the bridge.
She followed swiftly, grateful that the cold winds were gentle today. The young woman called out to the dragon priest once they had reached the middle of the stone span. “Morokei!”
The former lich whirled around. “Defending these pahlok joorre yet again, Ofan Sossedov?”
His ire was terrifying, but under all of his understandable rage she discerned his bitter anguish.
“No,” the petite mage answered, meeting his wrathful glare. “I-” She was at a loss for the correct words. ‘I’m sorry’ offered little comfort. “I-just-just tell me what I can do to aid you,” she said sincerely.
Morokei straightened, a bit taken aback by her words. He ran a hand through his long locks and exhaled slowly. Durnehviir’s chosen chided himself for not keeping his emotions hidden and yet he could not shake his grief for the fate of his once mighty people. Morokei had lamented their loss for decades, but now that he had grown more aware of just how decimated his society had been, old wounds had been reopened. Ofan’s heart went out to the ancient priest, who seemed to be warring within himself.
“They are not simply draugr and bodies to you,” she ventured, softly. “You knew them in life…”
“Not personally,” he replied, his velvety baritone quiet. “But many of my brothers did. I dwelt at Bromjunaar.”
“All of those skeletons in the inner chambers of Labyrinthian…” Ofan began, regarding him sadly.
“My followers; some were even my friends,” He interjected solemnly, eyes swirling in sorrow. “Talbjorn and Ingrid were expecting a daughter. Silvar had been chosen to ascend to the priesthood. In time, I believe he would have joined us in the ranks of the High Priests. Lalia’s little son had just turned three. None of that matters in war.”
He sighed once more, rubbing his eyes tiredly. A living body certainly grew weary faster than an undead one.
“Recollection accomplishes little,” Morokei declared abruptly, striving to regain his usual confident demeanor. “There is much for you to learn and demonstrating shouts here will ensure the safety of any ignorant observers. Later we shall focus on proper grammar and scribing.”
“I do not mind waiting…” Ofan said, her voice trailing off.
The former lich turned to find her regarding him still, not with pity, but compassion. Her genuine and consistent empathy was both an irritation and a solace. He did not need to be coddled and soothed like a weak-willed child. And yet…he longed for the time when he was able to unabashedly confide in more allies than his zeymahhe. A rare few among his zeymahhe. Anyone who trusted Hevnoraak or Volsung with personal matters was an utter fool!
“Niid, no. Zu’u los pruzah. I am well.” Morokei insisted, speaking with greater emphasis on the phrases in Dovahzul so she could start to take note of every nuance in the dragon tongue. “Let us begin with any questions you may have first.”
She regarded him carefully, then swiftly nodded, her curls bouncing. “Well I have been wondering why, when you shout in Dovahzul, things happen but when you speak the same words, nothing occurs.” She seemed a little embarrassed.
“Firstly, do not be ashamed about being unaware of anything you have never been taught,” Morokei answered. “Secondly, it has everything to do with utilizing the Voice, or Thu’um. The Thu’um is one’s vital breath, one’s inner spirit, the su’um, projected into a shout. Simply speaking the words of power without focusing one’s energy and without true comprehension of their full meaning will not result in flames, resurrection, and the like.”
He paused. “However, it is most unwise to get into an argument in a small council chamber filled with young dragon priests that do not possess full control of their Voices nor their tempers…”
Ofan smiled a little at that, eyes brightening. “Oh dear…”
“We fixed the tower, Hevnoraak’s blindness healed, Vokun proved his voice was just as strong as Volsung’s, Otar’s beard grew back, all was well in the end,” Morokei insisted, lilac orbs gleaming.
The petite maiden giggled a bit, then her expression became inquisitive. “What made the Dov decide to teach their priests shouts in the beginning?”
“A myriad of reasons, different for each Dovah,” Morokei stated. “Such sacred knowledge was mainly bestowed as a reward for unquestioning loyalty, or as the means for a man to be capable of enforcing the will of the Dovahhe he served. But some shouts were given as a gesture of trust between individual dragons and their chosen priests. Konahrik was the first mortal to master the Thu’um due to his latent abilities and education by Thuru Alduin himself.”
Ofan discerned the mix of familial affection and regret in the priest’s velvety baritone and gave him a questioning look. Morokei’s gaze turned to the setting sun which painted the horizon in vivid hues of orange and purple. “Konahrik was like a father to many of us, though only Vahlok was his biological child. Miraak betrayed and murdered him at the start of his insidious rebellion. We were all devasted, but none more so than his son and his patron. Thuru Alduin was never…”
He sighed and glanced back at her. “Krosis. Apologies. So los maar horvut mah kotin. Feelings of melancholy are a terrible trap to fall into. Dovahzul needs not the plethora of words that Tamrielic utilizes to convey deep thought and meaning.”
She nodded, having listened intently. The pale-haired maiden tried to think of a question that could inspire merrier memories. “Is there a particular shout that you enjoy using the most?”
Ofan was rewarded with a slight, yet sincere smile. “I am fond of the Thu’um that rends souls because its rare comprehension was a gift from my patron. I also enjoy summoning a thunderstorm, but that is not safe to do here.”
His vibrant eyes shone, and he gestured for her to remain behind him as they faced the horizon.
“Ven Gaar Nos!”
A massive whirlwind swirled into existence before the dragon priest, tearing through the frigid air and off toward the sun! It traveled an impressive distance without deviating from the set path before finally dissipating. Morokei looked a little proud as he turned to face an enthused Ofan, whose turquoise eyes were sparkling.
“That was amazing!” She exclaimed. “I now fully understand why you wished to be away from both the college and the town! Did that hurt you? How long did it take to master such a skill? What do the words mean?”
Her excitement reminded Morokei of the peaceful days when he assisted Ahzidal in teaching the magically inclined acolytes. His smile grew. “Channeling the Thu’um takes its toll upon the summoner if used repetitively without rest, such as during an arduous battle. Certain Shouts cause harm when first deciphering their rotmulagge, their words of power, but only for the inexperienced. I learned these rotmulagge from Zahkriisos’s patron Numinex while visiting Solstheim. All three words only took about two weeks for me to master, but that was due to Numinex’s direct insight and my own previous mastery of other shouts. We shall discuss meanings while learning grammar.”
She tilted her head. “Numinex…his name sounds so familiar!”
He arched a sculpted eyebrow. “I do hope there is not yet another tome that claims to hold the true knowledge of my lords…”
The young mage gave him a sheepish look. “Many are enchanted by history, regardless of whether it is truth or falsehoods.”
He exhaled rather dramatically. “Yes, then. Wonderful.”
“I am uncertain,” she explained, honestly. “But I swear I have learned about Numinex before. The frightful librarian will know. He takes his work very seriously.”
Now both of Morokei’s eyebrows shot upwards. “The frightful what? Ofan…”
“He is intimidating!” She insisted.
“You snuck into a derelict temple complex to discover answers about your heritage,” Morokei began, her irritational fear leaving him nearly stunned with incredulity! “You have looked upon the World-Eater himself. And you are unsettled by a bookkeeper?”
“You have yet to fail to return a book!” Ofan cried, stamping her foot in emphasis. “I am fairly certain the last student to possess a tome overdue for ten days disappeared!”
“Your first reaction upon seeing my decayed and irate lich form was to come bounding over to my prison like a fawn!”
“You were still nicer to me than he has ever been, oh mysterious dragon priest!”
He stared at her expression of pretend petulance and started to laugh!
“Your librarian paranoia is absurd,” he said teasingly. His rich voice was warm, kind even, and she laughed as well.
“Even so, I would appreciate it greatly if you would enter the doorway first when we visit the Arcaneum,” she answered playfully, brushing her wild curls out of her face.
He smirked faintly, about to respond, when a high-pitched dragon’s scream drew his attention. Ofan too, glanced in the direction of the clarion call. “…is that a common dragon vocalization?"
A winged shape swooped into view in the last rays of the sun, making a beeline toward them. As it drew closer with alarming speed, Ofan thought it looked…wrong. It possessed neither horns nor spines, and its oval like head was grotesque compared to Alduin’s well-proportioned muzzle.
“No,” Morokei replied, conjuring lightning in both hands. “Return to the Hall and warn Krosis that one of Miraak’s allies has issued a challenge.”
His voice remained eerily calm, but his stance was tense, alert, and ready for battle. Ofan’s eyes were wide in dismay but she did not question his command. She sprinted as fast as she could up the icy stone bridge while Morokei unleashed a vehement shout!
“Fus Ro Dah!”
The blue-grey beast was sent careening off course as it screeched in anger! It recovered swiftly, setting its yellow gaze, not on the priest, but the apprentice. Its lips peeled back from yellow fangs in disgust. Sossedov. It screamed again as Morokei sent a powerful stream of lightning tearing through its body! The serpentine dragon began to dodge with greater precision, unleashing a torrent of fire toward the young mage!
“Yol Toor Shul!”
Ofan narrowly avoided utter incineration as she stumbled up the ramp of the bridge’s final span! She cried out in pain and alarm as her calves and feet were set aflame! Amidst her terror, she still reacted quickly, using the snow and her own weakened ice magic to douse the flames. The serpentine dragon sent a fireball towards Morokei, who blocked it almost contemptuously, unharmed. He inhaled sharply when he noticed a wounded Ofan struggling to rise and failing. She had no knowledge of the arcane magics revealed by the Dov, nor of the archaic spells strong enough to help humans endure them. His gaze whipped around as the serpentine creature sounded its chilling call once more, malevolent stare fixated on the young Nord. Durnehviir’s priest hurled piercing bolt after bolt at the blue grey brute, who was tanking the intense energies with dogged determination! Its refusal to be distracted from its new target at the cost of its own wellbeing disturbed Morokei. Everything about this dragon screamed of Miraak’s unnatural, corrupting influence.
“Fo Krah Diin!”
An inundation of ice tore into the creature’s scales, causing it to hiss in torment. Despite the freezing effects of Morokei’s shout, the relentless Dovah shook itself and recovered, its baleful glare finding the injured mage once more. Morokei realized what the beast was going to do and began running toward Ofan, summoning vengeful electricity down upon the dragon relentlessly!
The dragon soared ahead of him, its tattered wings narrowly missing the bridge. Despite the blood now dripping from its nostrils due to the internal damage inflicted by the otherworldly lightning, the beast opened its crooked jaws wide to unleash its fury! The injured woman stared up into the hate-filled yellow orbs, her ice spikes shattering harmlessly against its molten mouth. Ofan’s native wards were not strong enough to absorb a dragon’s breath.
“Yol!”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Toor!”
She was going to die.
“Shul!”
Morokei pulled her into his arms as they were enveloped by devastating fire!
Chapter 12
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ofan clung to the dragon priest as they were inundated by the wall of flames! She was left breathless by the immense heat yet felt no pain. She opened her eyes, realizing that Morokei had shielded her with the wards around his own body. The serpentine dragon shrieked in fury, ready to unleash another deadly inferno, when two massive ice blasts slammed into its face! A green blur leapt over them as Krosis hurtled toward the enemy dovah! The beast reared back, swiping at this new assailant with barbed wings and snapping his bloodied jaws. The red-maned priest adeptly avoided all attacks with the grace of a dancer, his movements precise yet supple.
“It gives us no joy to kill you!” Krosis declared, conjuring an ice storm. “But it is the only way to free your soul from Miraak's grasp!”
Morokei swiftly rose, spinning around and adding a lightning barrage to Krosis's blizzard!
With a final shuddering cry, the serpentine dragon slammed into the bridge then fell into the rocky gorge below. The ice mage exhaled heavily, then rushed to check on his friends. Morokei stood rigidly as heat rose in shimmering waves from the steaming gilded plates on his back. His purple robes were scorched, but the armor itself remained intact. He had long ago grown accustomed to the smell of his own burnt flesh, but it still took a bit of effort to hide the pain.
Ofan's breath came in rapid gasps and she stared up at him with round eyes. She wanted to thank Morokei for saving her life again, to inquire about his injuries, to beg his forgiveness for slipping and not reaching Krosis. But no words would form.
“Zeymah,” Krosis began, but Morokei waved him off. “Niid. Attend her.”
The emerald eyed priest noted Tolfdir and the mages' healer running over to meet them and nodded once. He knelt before Ofan, who was dutifully blinking back tears as the shock was beginning to wear off.
“Breathe, dear one,” he said, his gentle brogue soothing. “Enduring even a moment of dragon fire is agonizing beyond mortal flames. There is no shame in weeping.”
Her petite frame trembled but her distressed gaze went to Morokei, who returned a confused look.
“I'll make certain zeymahi is taken care of,” Krosis insisted with a gentle smile. “If he refuses healing, I shall tell Thuru Viinturuth.”
Despite his immense discomfort, the violet eyed priest arched an eyebrow incredulously at his counterpart. A ghost of a smile crossed Ofan's face. Krosis waved over Colette and Tolfdir, his instructions concise. “Dragon flames are potent. Treat the burns as best as you know how. I will join you shortly. There are no better tutors in the ways of mending dragon fire than the dovahhe themselves.”
Ofan maintained a brave face until she saw how the charred fabric of her trousers was nearly indistinguishable from the seared flesh of her legs. Oh gods...
A wave of intense pain and nausea washed over her. Krosis saw her sudden pallor and tried redirect her attention.
“Ofan. Ofan, look at me.”
The young mage shakily turned her stare back to those compassionate verdant eyes.
“You are a great deal stronger than you believe.”
His sincerity caught her off guard long enough for Colette to lift her up. The restoration professor was stronger than she looked! Despite her best efforts, Ofan still let out a strangled cry when moved. Morokei moved to carry her himself but Krosis subtly blocked him.
“Drem, zeymahi,” he whispered. “These mages harbor no ill intent. You can trust them.”
“The last being we trusted with our acolytes was Miraak,” Morokei hissed, watching the professors usher Ofan into the college. “And I know you recall how that turned out!”
Krosis visibly winced, but said nothing, gaze lowering to the stone. Morokei instantly felt remorseful.
“Forgive me, fahdoni,” he said, sincerely. “My emotions have overcome my control as of late.”
The red-maned priest regarded him in silence for a few moments.
“So you are being human?” Krosis replied softly. He smiled a little. “It's difficult to balance being unbending with the mask while maintaining humanity without it.”
“You fared better than Hevnoraak and Haldriin,” the wounded priest replied. “Your followers and their kin did not curse your name after your death.”
“I'm fairly certain the likes of Hevnoraak and Rahgot had very little humanity to begin with,” Krosis stated, his quiet voice gaining a hard edge. “Then again, perhaps they would have turned out differently if they had been chosen by alternative patrons.” He gestured with his head toward the Hall of Elements. “Come. I wasn't jesting about reporting you to Thuru Viinturuth if you refused treatment!”
~ ~ ~
Krosis entered the Hall of Attainment and found Ofan surrounded by a crowd of concerned professors and students, with Tolfdir gently yet firmly chiding anyone who came too close. The petite mage’s eyes were red and her normally tanned skin retained a sickly pallor, but she quickly wiped away any lingering tears when she saw him.
“Relax, Ofan Sossedov. Did I not declare that tears bring no shame?” His kind, teasing tone set even nervous Onmund at ease.
“I-I have no right to cry,” she stammered. “I would have been dead if not for Lord Morokei.”
“Reacting to pain doesn’t make you ungrateful, fahdon, and zeymahi will not see it that way,” Krosis reassured her.
This seemed to calm Ofan some, though she flinched when he carefully examined her legs. “You’ve done well,” he told Colette. “There will be minimal scarring, if any at all.”
The red-haired priest offered Ofan a warm smile as he adeptly gathered his energy. “Let us see how your dragon blood responds to dragon healing.”
~ ~ ~
With sleep came dreams, and with dreams, nightmares.
Morokei burst through the massive, gilded doors with a word of command. He did not even acknowledge the cold stares of the dovahhe in Alduin's massive audience chamber, nor their ominous rumblings. He paid little heed to his echoing footsteps throughout that vast hall. His sole focus was on their foreboding king. The young priest fell on his knees before the Firstborn of Akatosh, grateful that his moonstone mask hid his tears. “Sahrot thur-”
“I am aware, mid sonaak,” the World-Eater interjected, his fathoms deep voice solemn.
“Is there naught that can be-?”
“He is bound to the Soul Cairn now,” Alduin declared, cutting him off once more.
Morokei exhaled shakily, endeavoring to hide his dismay.
“No longer shall your former patron be known as Mulnehoblaan,” Alduin decreed, wings unfurling. “From this day until his last days, he has taken upon himself the name of Durnehviir.”
Durnehviir.
Cursed Never Dying.
Morokei awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up rapidly. The swift motion tore at the healing burns on his back and he hissed in frustration and pain. Accursed memories! May Vermina's realm be devoured! The once lich sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. Durnehviir's absence was like an old war wound that had touched bone. The fresh anguish had faded, but there remained a dull ache that never disappeared. Even after all these centuries.
Morokei gingerly got out of the former Archmage's plush bed, reaching out with his abilities to discern where Krosis was. His brother was nearby, likely guarding the Eye of Magnus. Morokei meandered over to the writing desk, fingers tracing idly over Ahzidal's Descent. He wanted to finish the so-called historical account but was uncertain if his shamefully fractured emotions would endure it.
He was still staring at the old tome half an hour later when a soft knock roused him from a despondent reverie.
“Enter,” Morokei commanded, straightening. He highly doubted that the mages would trouble him if it were not important.
Ofan poked her head through the large double doors, shimmering platinum curls bouncing. “Good morning, Morokei. How are you feeling?”
He blinked. “Good...morning? Why did zeymahi allow me to slumber for so long a span?” He frowned. “And why are you wandering about? You should be reclining in a serene location!”
She entered the room with a soft smile. “It has barely been a day. Krosis said you had not slept since your resurrection, so we let you rest. Professor Colette said that I am permitted to walk around for short durations.”
Ofan observed the dragon priest keenly. He looked as dashing and confident as ever, even in black sleeping robes, but his typically graceful movements were stiff and careful.
Morokei gave a begrudging sigh of acquiescence, deciding against sending her away to relax off of her feet. For now.
“I assume my nosey brother sent you to see how I am mending?”
“Yes, but it is because he worries, which is very sweet,” the young maiden insisted. “I also wished to thank you properly.”
“Thuru Viinturuth placed you into my charge; I was not about to let my student be incinerated by a weak-willed rogue who brought shame unto all dov. I have endured far worse.”
Her gaze focused on the full vessel of ointment Krosis had created sitting untouched on the alchemy table. She approached the washbasin and started scrubbing her hands.
“Remove your shirt,” Ofan ordered, determined to make certain that the former lich’s wounds were properly tended to this morning.
Morokei’s eyesbrows rose. “Ofan Sossedov…” he chided, pretending to be aghast. “I know not how society views courting in this present age, but I prefer to be properly wooed before engaging in more fervent endeavors.”
Ofan nearly dropped the towel she was holding. “O-oh! That is not what I meant!” She cried, realizing just how scandalous her words had sounded. “You cannot be-be expected to treat your own back! That is not how arms work!”
Her face was burning, and his amused smirk made her jittery nerves worse!
“I-I would never-I have yet to even kiss a man! Not that you need to know this! P-please take a seat if-if it does not hurt you,” Ofan stammered, attempting to hide behind the clean cloths she had unsteadily gathered.
Morokei chuckled, his violet eyes dancing with mirth. “As you command, my thane.”
“Oh my goodness,” she murmured, reddening even more if possible.
His rich laugh eased Ofan’s humiliation at her sheer lack of professionalism somewhat as the high priest removed the silky ebony robe, tossing it aside casually. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then seated himself backwards on the chair. Needing aid was oft seen as weakness, but Morokei felt relaxed around his well-meaning, easily flustered charge. Her presence was a welcome distraction from the depressed void the loss of his people and patron caused.
“Your burns are still severe…” she murmured, dismayed, as she examined the red and swollen flesh.
“I remained in my armor for an unwise amount of time,” Morokei explained, nonchalantly. “They will mend.”
“You are so strong,” Ofan said sincerely, tenderly applying the liniment. “I would still be weeping.”
“I would be a shameful sonaak if I had not grown accustomed to dragon fire and destruction spells,” the ancient Nord answered.
“Your patron was…cruel?” The apprentice mage ventured as she worked.
Morokei almost seemed offended by such a question. “Niid. Ni dii grah-zeymahzin, not my closest ally. Some of our overlords were merciless, but Durnehviir was honorable and wise. Most of the dovahhe are.” His velvety voice gained a hard edge. “The same could not be said for most of our mortal teachers. Their brutal methods made my fellow acolytes and I resilient… if we survived.” She discerned the smug change in his tone. “It was incredibly satisfying to watch Konahrik smite those corrupted priests once their sadism was made known. You will never see them reborn as anything higher than draugr slaves.”
Ofan smiled a little, though he could see her not. “I hope I am able to meet this noble Konahrik someday.”
Morokei’s gaze fell and his voice was soft. “I desire that as well, Ofan Sossedov. I daresay he would have cared for you in the same manner he cared for us.”
“Will you tell more about him?”
Morokei’s eyes flickered in thought, and he smiled faintly. “I suppose there are a few tales I could share…”
Notes:
Morokei is enjoying having someone to teach and tease again!
Sorry for the late update, October was insane.Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Mulnehoblaan= Strength Never Ending
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Vahlok had missed the simple sensations one oft took for granted during life. The soft sound of footfalls muffled by freshly fallen snow. The invigorating touch of frosty mountain air. The soothing scents of pine trees and snowberry bushes. In spite of the damage to his homeland, the Jailor was grateful to truly be alive once more. Viintaas practically bounced alongside him as the two Dragonborn hiked up the dense forest trail toward the Skaal village. Vahlok was unable to keep from grinning as his younger counterpart's enthusiasm radiated through both of their souls! He was uncertain if even his own excitement at reuniting with his people could eclipse Viintaas's!
“Here we are!” The amber-eyed lad declared. “The village is just across that bridge.”
The Guardian spotted the distant cluster of buildings and was seized by a sudden anxiety. Surely these people did not really care or even remember who he was. The elderly man that had been with Viintaas appeared to be a scholar of some sort; Vahlok told himself not to expect such a warm reception from the rest of the villagers. Especially if tales of his cruelest brethren from the mainland were all they knew of the Dragon Cult.
Storn Crag-Strider stood silently beside chieftain Fanari as the denizens of their hamlet anxiously debated amongst themselves before the great hall.
“The black beast flew straight toward the tomb,” Wulf Wild-Blood stated, rigidly.
“That's a good sign though, isn't it?” Morwen the huntress inquired. “The Guardian served the dragons.”
“So the old tales say, but look at the inscriptions Tharstan recorded,” Baldor the smith said, pointing the the leathery journal in the old scholar's hands. “Loyalty rewarded with an honorable death sounds fairly ominous.”
“I bet they sacrificed him,” Nikulas chimed in. “The Cult sacrificed all kinds to the dragons over on the mainland, even their own.”
Wulf stared at the younger man incredulously. “I trust you won't say anything so horrible when the Guardian arrives...”
“I'm certain Lord Vahlok will answer all of our questions,” Tharstan declared excitedly. “He was quite amicable!”
“Hold your peace, my friends,” Storn said finally. “Give him time to adjust. All will be revealed at the right moment.”
The Skaal fell into a thoughtful yet restless silence, when a little girl's joyful exclamation pierced the freezing air. “Viintaas is back!”
Aeta came racing down the path toward the grownups, an excited grin on her face. “He's coming over the bridge and a really tall man is with him!”
Fanari frowned and exchanged glances with Storn. Did not Tharstan say that the Guardian was a lich? Crag-Strider glanced over at the solitary figure that stood away from the others, the frown deepening on her pale face. His daughter, Freya. She was a fierce protector of their people and had been wary of Tharstan and Viintaas's summoning of the dragon priest from the beginning. They heard the young Dragonborn's merry laughter before they saw him appear into view with his companion.
“Every time I evade death he's going to be so disappointed!” Viintaas snickered, brightening even more as they approached the great hall.
“Tharstan look! He's alive-alive! Alduin er...Thur Alduin brought him back!”
The elder Dovahkiin raised a hand in a somewhat sheepish greeting. The scholar gaped at him in shock, then his walnut-colored eyes lit up.
“Lord Vahlok?? This is most extraordinary! How is this possible?! I had heard tales of the mighty World-Eater devouring age but never imagined that he had abilities like this!”
Fanari glared at the inquisitive man, but the Jailor simply chuckled. “I am as stunned as you are, my friend. This was not the sort of rebirth that was promised, but I am grateful for true life.”
“Sonaak thur Vahlok is going to teach me more about being Dovahkiin!” Viintaas chimed in, practically bouncing in place like a child. “He has the soul of a dragon as well!”
Storn stepped forward, regarding the russet skinned man keenly. Vahlok's face was ageless, his short beard neat, his demeanor confident yet unassuming. His vibrant eyes swirled with the enlightenment of one who had endured great hardship without relinquishing hope.
The elderly Nord smiled, half bowing in genuine respect. “Welcome, mighty Vahlok, Beloved of Dragons, Lord of Solstheim. The Skaal have not forgotten everything you have done for our people.”
The ancient Dragonborn maintained outward composure, but his voice still held a soft timbre. “Thank you, fahdoni, my friend. So much has changed...”
Vahlok's words trailed off as his thoughtful gaze rested upon each and every one of them. “I did not expect my epithets to be remembered. It is an honor to walk among you in this new age. Viintaas has told me that tahrodiis Miraak seeks to enslave the land once again. I vow to do everything in my power to protect Keizaal from his selfish ambitions.”
“It seems that you and Miraak are intertwined in an eternal conflict,” Tharstan commented, rubbing his chin in thought.
Vahlok grew very solemn and Viintaas felt the bitter pain radiating from his counterpart. “Indeed, yet it was not always so. He was my brother once, until he eschewed all loyalty and chose the machinations of Mora over the wellbeing of our kin. Let us speak of lighter matters for a moment.” The Guardian brightened as his attention returned to the Skaal. “Please introduce my dear people.”
Storn inclined his head. “I am Storn Crag-Strider, the shaman of our village. This is Fanari Strong-Voice, our chieftain.”
The athletic, brown-haired woman smiled warmly, bowing her head. “Well met, Lord Vahlok. We are proud to have you here.”
“This is Baldor Iron-Shaper, our finest craftsman of Stalhrim,” Crag-Strider continued, gesturing to the burly man.
“Ah, the ancient art has not been lost, then? Wonderful!” The former lich exclaimed, pleased.
“Were you a smith as well?” Baldor queried curiously.
“Yes, when my responsibilities allowed,” Vahlok replied, eyes shining. “It was a joy to study under Dwiininhus and Ahzidal. Perhaps we shall be able to compare techniques once harmony has been restored.”
“Ahzidal? The priest that was sealed away in Kolbjorn Barrow?” Tharstan inquired.
The dragon priest blanched. “...I do not understand. Zeymahi was imprisoned?”
“According to what little records we have, the remaining members of the Dragon Cult immured Ahzidal in his own tomb due his growing insanity.”
Upon noticing the incredulous stares from Fanari and Wulf, Tharstan finally realized how troubled Vahlok was. “Although historical accounts are often exaggerated!”
“Thuri Alduin warned that we would have to confront him...” Vahlok gazed at the ground, concern etched on his face.
“Maybe he just didn't agree with the war or didn't want to be bothered?” Viintaas ventured, all too aware of the anguish such a revelation was causing his fellow.
Vahlok paused, considering his words. “Ahzidal was -is- a complex man. A brilliant man. He would oft insist that he was not a good man, but my Solstheim brothers and I felt differently. Saarthal's destruction left him...broken.”
His sapphire orbs met Viintaas's amber ones. “Regardless, I trusted him with my life.”
A new concern struck him, and the Jailor turned his gaze back to the Skaal. “Have Clan Bloodskal's temples been preserved?”
The shaman shook his head regretfully. “Most of our warrior kin's main dwelling has been overcome by both earth and sea. Now thieves inhabit what little remains aboveground.”
“I was exploring near Raven Rock and discovered this enormous cavern that may have been part of a barrow too,” the younger Dragonborn added. He looked apologetic. “I wish I knew more.”
Vahlok exhaled quietly, burying his grief, and regaining his assured demeanor. “Thuri Alduin is bound by neither mortal nor immortal constraints. My zeymahhe will be released from the bondage of undeath.”
He offered Storn a small smile. “Forgive my distraction. Please, continue.”
The rest of the introductions went smoothly as Vahlok enthusiastically greeted the descendants of his followers. He listened keenly to their present-day philosophies and traditions. He pondered their hardships, making mental notes on how best to aid them in the future.
“May I present my daughter Freya,” Storn said, gesturing to the final villager the dragon priest had yet to meet.
The golden-haired young warrior eyed him rather solemnly. “So, you are the one who defeated Miraak,” she began without preamble. “Will you truly be able to do so again? He will have only gotten stronger.”
“Freya,” Chieftain Fanari chided, but Vahlok held up his hand slightly. “Whether by my hand or Thuri Alduin's jaws, Miraak will fall. If my life is forfeit for victory to be achieved, then so be it.”
Though Freya would admit it not, the intensity in his cerulean orbs was intimidating. A great shadow abruptly darkened the village, startling everyone save the priest.
“Zu’u koraav hi nonvulbron!” The massive orange dragon thundered, circling boldly overhead. “Mu fen tinvaak!”
Vahlok brightened, declaring, “I know that voice. Do not fear, dii fahdonne. He is a trusted ally, one of the three Great Ones of Solstheim. You could not wish for a better neighbor!”
Vahlok faced the heavens, crying, “Zu’u hon, thuri!”
The magnificent beast roared an acknowledgement and alighted upon a snowy overlook just past the bridge. The Guardian smiled at Viintaas, eyes dancing with mirth and a hint of mischief. “Come, Dovahkiin. It is only proper for you to stand before Toormaarfeyn, Inferno-Terror-Bane.”
Notes:
Apologies for such a late upload again, guys! My work schedule has been crazy due to the holidays.
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Zu’u koraav hi nonvulbron = I see you, Noble Nord
Mu fen tinvaak = We must/will speak
Zu’u hon thuri = I hear/heed you, my lord
Dii fahdonne = My friends
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In spite of his ominous name, Toormaarfeyn was the calmest dragon Viintaas had ever encountered save for Paarthurnax. He was ancient dragon judging by his jaw and horn structure, but he was much larger than his counterparts. His scales were such a rich, vibrant orange that he almost seemed to glow, a striking contrast to his coal black stripes. His eyes were the color of new leaves and they shone with genuine warmth as Vahlok bowed low from waist in greeting.
"Hail thuri. It has been overlong."
"Malkulaan," the large beast rumbled, nudging the priest once with his muzzle affectionately. His gaze turned to Viintaas appraisingly. "I see you found another Dovahkiin. Why are the currents of Time so muddled around you, boy?"
"That's what I'm hoping to find out," Viintaas answered. He omitted titles to avoid any Dovahzul miscommunication but made certain his demeanor was respectful. He added dragon speech grammar to his ever-growing list of queries for Vahlok.
Toormaarfeyn snorted, then stretched out his muscular neck to better examine the young Nord’s eyes. What an unusual color they were.
Viintaas was unable to keep from jumping a little when the massive dragon jerked its head back.
“Los daar lo?” The ancient dov questioned, vibrant eyes wide.
“I know not, thuri,” Vahlok answered sincerely, mostly sticking with Tamrielic for his new student’s benefit. “But sahrot thur Alduin believes in the possibility.”
The pale skinned Dovahkiin looked at them both with raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for an explanation.
“Let us be forthright with one another, kiir,” Toormaarfeyn began, folding his wings fully. “What can you recall about your life before being touched by the power of a Kel?”
Viintaas exhaled heavily. “Most of it is…horrid, but I do retain some happy memories of my parents. Childlike things, such as playing with them or watching my father use magic,” his voice trailed off, and Vahlok discerned his counterpart’s deep anguish.
“Tinvaak, kiir,” the giant dovah insisted. “Zu’u ni munax drog.”
Viintaas recognized only a few words but the dragon’s insistent, strangely concerned tone could not be mistaken. He ran an unsteady hand through his short black tresses, his voice soft.
“Sometimes…I think he loved magic more than me. I-I remember feeling heartbroken when he left, and that his departure had something to do with magic. The next recollection that surfaced with clarity is the fire. Everything was burning and I could not understand why. Then came the snow elves. The screams…”
The younger Dragonborn took a shaky breath, trying desperately to hide his true distress from the piercing gaze of the orange beast. “Everything is a blur. Some memories returned only after I visited Saarthal’s ruins.” Viintaas fidgeted, fiddling with his satchel. “I uh…I really don’t want to journey through there again. Not yet. Please.”
Viintaas finally met Toormaarfeyn’s eyes and was surprised to see an expression almost as gentle as Paarthurnax’s. “Do not fear, Dovahkiin. I gain no pleasure from the pain of joorre, unlike some of my zeymahhe. Even so, I have one more inquiry.”
His armored head loomed even closer. “Do you recollect the name of your sire?”
Viintaas glanced at Vahlok, who radiated a calm, comforting warmth, despite the worried glint in his eyes. The young Nord mouthed a few words in silence to himself, before his thoughtful expression changed to one of realization.
“Frodenar. His name was Frodenar.”
Toormaarfeyn’s behavior did not change, though Vahlok noticed that the striped dov stiffened ever so slightly. “Koraav. I see.”
The amber-eyed Nord glanced between the dragon and the priest. It did not take a Penitus Oculatus agent to realize that they both likely knew who his father was. Why keep such information from him? He genuinely believed that Inferno Terror Bane bore him no ill will. His courtesy was appreciated yet entirely unexpected from such a powerful dragon. A sudden realization struck him.
“You-you’re one of the dovahhe that rebelled with Paarthurnax!” The pale Dragonborn exclaimed. “That’s why your actions toward humans are so similar! You hold the same principles!”
Toormaarfeyn snorted. “That is a rather bold assumption to make before a dovah of my standing and a priest as loyal as the Malkulaan here.”
There was a keen light swirling in the dragon’s bright orbs that encouraged Viintaas to push further. “Maybe Alduin doesn’t know or care. Maybe he brought you back to showcase his power. Maybe he needs you since his Cult was all but decim-”
“Why do you think that I was resurrected at all, Dovahkiin?” Toormaarfeyn interjected, swishing his banded tail.
“Because I’ve seen you before,” the scarred man replied. “At the word wall where I learned the romulaag gol; there was an empty dragon grave nearby. With all due respect, you do not look like a dragon that has weathered the elements for thousands of years. And instead of attacking me, you focused your wrath upon the draugr guarding that place. If that is not proof enough, you’re on Solstheim! Out of all the arcane, ancient, and secret accounts hidden throughout the realms, Vahlok is still the only dragon priest revered for being a benevolent ruler to mortals, even by modern societies’ standards!”
The radiant beast snorted, then let out a deep, breathy chuckle. “I should refute your questionable evidence, Dragonborn, given how little is known about our ancient way of life, but you sensed the truth. I did agree with Paarthurnax that Alduin’s tyrannical treatment of elves and men had grown…dishonorable. Lesser beings or not, unnecessary brutality is not the way to prosper one’s kingdoms. Lawbreakers and usurpers deserved all ire and hatred but the peasant farmer that stole from the temple to feed his kiirre? We too, would have scavenged and schemed for the wellbeing of our hatchlings, so why punish a mortal for doing the same?”
He stretched out a wing casually, though his tone remained serious. “Gaafkrokulaan and Hevnofokriid aided Paarthurnax in his endeavors abroad, while Numinex and myself spoke for changes within Alduin’s inner circle. It mattered little. Death and Destruction rained upon both sides before the end. Whatever else you do among our Cult, Dovahkiin, never speak of Paarthurnax before the Firstborn. Even your considerable power and Vahlok’s protection will not save you from Alduin’s wrath. His hatred for his brother runs deep.”
Viintaas nodded slowly, his voice sincere. “I won’t. Thank you for the warning, and for being so candid!”
“I am a dovah of my word, little Dragonborn,” Toormaarfeyn replied. His rich green eyes settled on Vahlok. “You should return unto your villagers. It will not be long before Alduin calls all sonaakke to Bromjunaar.”
The Guardian bowed low. “Yes, thuri Tormaarfeyn.” He smiled a little. “I am heartened by our speech.”
The magnificent beast rumbled good-naturedly. “Kos mul, kul Konahrik.” With that, he unfurled his striking wings and launched into the clear sky.
Viintaas exhaled, glancing at his new mentor. “You know my list of queries has quadrupled, right?”
Vahlok chuckled. “That is understandable. The walk back is brief but let us utilize what time we have.”
“All right. Well…uh,” Viintaas hesitated a moment, falling in step alongside his counterpart. “Any particular reason why no one wishes to share who my father was?”
Vahlok’s expression turned solemn. “Toormaarfeyn does not wish to hurt you if he is mistaken. Neither do I. We are waiting for Thuri Alduin to awaken more of our order’s priests and scholars so that our theory may be indubitably confirmed.”
Viintaas could not help but feel disappointed, but he appreciated the motive behind their secrecy. “Very well. What does Malkulaan mean? I’ve never seen a dragon nuzzle anything before save when Paarthurnax liberated me from Avalanche Oblivion.”
The Jailer’s eyes lit up. “Now I have questions!” He glanced at the ground briefly, a bit embarrassed. “It means…Little Prince.”
The amber eyed lad grinned. “That-that is not what I was expecting! It’s so cheerful!”
The older Dragonborn playfully shoved his shoulder. “Nahlot!” He rolled his eyes at Viintaas’s expectant, amused stare, relenting. “I was privileged to have grown up among the dov due to my father’s role as high priest to the World-Eater. I cannot recall a memory without them, save for times of sleep. The dovahhe were always there.”
Viintaas’s interest was piqued. “And they just tolerated you? Were you ever afraid of disappointing them or being attacked by the territorial ones?”
Vahlok tilted his head in thought. “In my early youth, I thought nothing of rituals and ranks and simply played as any child ought to. The pressure of my position did not sink in until I was around ten or so. There were less tensions among dragonkind then as well. The jills, or female dragons, still dwelt among the males. Many hatchlings were born in those golden years and their mothers did not tolerate threats toward any kind of children, winged or no!” He paused, sapphire orbs glittering. “Looking back now, I deem that Alduin’s favor toward my father’s family was part of what kept me safe. Being dragonborn was another reason, although that was not yet known. What I wish most beings understood is that the dovahhe are not mindless monsters. They are wise beyond most mortals and wilder than the beasts of the field, yet they have families and fears and hopes of their own!”
Vahlok paused, turning to look at his student. “You asked a simple inquiry, and I gave you a rant. Krosis.”
“Are you kidding? I love hearing about the dovahhe from someone who actually studied under them without genociding followers or consulting ole Mora!” Viintaas answered, exuberantly. “For the first time I don’t feel as idiotic as a beached horker while trying to learn about the creatures who have the same soul I do!”
Vahlok smiled warmly. “If all goes well, you shall be able to meet more of my zeymahhe and their patrons soon. The bond between priest and patron is a fine example of both the human and dragon aspects of what it means to be Dovahkiin. It is an enlightening experience to witness a dragon’s true nature around those they trust.”
The younger Nord beamed. “That would be great!” He straightened a little. “Listen, about Paarthurnax-”
Vahlok glanced at the Skaal waiting to meet them and cut him off. “That discussion will require more time and privacy.” He met his fellow Dragonborn’s gaze. “Fret not, I am no foe of Paarthurnax. I understand the reasons behind his actions, and I am relieved to hear that he still lives. No harm will come to him by my hand nor from the priests of my island. I cannot make any promises for the sonaakke on the mainland however and I fear what would occur if certain dovahhe discovered his location. It is not only Alduin who sees him as a despicable traitor.”
Viintaas nodded intently. “I understand.”
“Pruzah, good.” He gave Viintaas a firm, yet not unkind, pat on the shoulder and the two Dragonborn entered the village.
Notes:
There is some knowledge better left unknown, Viintaas...
Happy New Year-ish! Here's to a much better one than 2020! *squints at Sheogorath*
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Kiir = Child
Kiirre = Children
Los daar lo = Is this deception?
Zu’u ni munax drog = I (am) no unjust lord.
Kos mul, kul Konahrik = Be strong, son (of the) Warlord
Chapter 15
Summary:
Let's meet another Solstheimer!
Chapter Text
Night had fallen by the time Morokei had finished cataloging his latest observations regarding the Eye of Magnus. He rose stiffly from the Archmage's desk, rolling his shoulders. The pain from his burns had lessened considerably, but he still needed to exercise care with swift motion. He had also completed instructional notes for Ofan regarding Dovahzul pronouns and ranks within the Dragon Cult. The familiarity of teaching was comforting. He glanced at the worn copy of Olaf and the Dragon and scowled. Krosis had prevented him from destroying such heresy until they had a chance to inquire after Numinex's true fate. His red-maned brother glided into the room without so much as a knock, causing Morokei to frown. Such discourtesy was unlike him. “Zeymahi?”
“Nahkriin wishes to speak with us,” Krosis answered softly without preamble. “Zahkriisos is with him.”
Morokei straightened, regarding Krosis's tense form appraisingly. “And?”
“And what shall we tell him about Numinex?” The shorter priest clarified in his gentle brogue.
“The same report that we would give to any of our brethren; the blasphemous fool known as Olaf One-Eye claimed to imprison thuru Numinex as his pet.” Morokei responded, stowing his notes in the desk's middle drawer. “If there is any truth to such wickedness, we will find all memorials to such a vile joor and destroy them.”
Krosis did not move. “We both know the pain of losing our patrons unjustly, zeymah. How will you handle this situation if Zahkriisos responds...negatively?”
Morokei arched an eyebrow and his velvety baritone sharpened. “How will I control circumstances? Why are you behaving so pensively about Zahkriisos? Such timidity does not become a sonaak thur.”
His fellow priest shifted uncomfortably, and his voice remained low. “We were not on the best of terms after Miraak’s rebellion.”
“Because of Dukaan.” It was more a statement than a question.
Krosis nodded once.
Morokei faced him fully, ready to rebuke his younger counterpart for such childish apprehension, but then he paused. Of their once magnificent order, only the high council remained. Twelve brothers bereft of their patrons, their acolytes, their homes, their very people. Despite the sometimes-extreme disagreements between them, the high priests had been united in their devotion to the dov. They had to salvage what little unity remained in the wake of Miraak and the Dragon War, else they would fail their great master.
Morokei exhaled deeply. “I will do all I can to maintain peace, zeymah. Perhaps you may also reach an understanding.”
Krosis’s gave him a relieved and grateful look, then conjured the complex runes to establish a connection. Morokei straightened his new purple robes, standing before the center of the gently swirling visual portal. He could sense the living presences of both Nahkriin and Zahkriisos keenly. The image that emerged from the distortions was not at all what he had expected. Nahkriin looked awful! A massive wound ran down his left shoulder, as though he had tried to shoulder-check a great axe! The pauldron was cleaved in two and dried blood stained his indigo robes and ebony armor. He also sported the telltale scorch marks of lightning damage.
“What in Oblivion happened to you?!” Morokei exclaimed, while Krosis stared in shock.
“Ask him,” Nahkriin grumbled, as he all but dragged an amused Zahkriisos into view.
“It's not my fault you're too far up your own arse to spot a basic entrapment,” the Solstheim priest retorted, bright silver orbs gleaming. His accent was thicker than Krosis's, louder too, but still pleasant to hear.
“An entire corridor full of pendulum blades?!” Nahkriin cried incredulously, plum-colored orbs wide. “What sort of madman builds such ridiculousness? Especially after the warded entryway of your clan!”
“Thuru Alduin and Vahlok both said to guard to the accursed Black Book, and that is what I did!” Zahkriisos declared, folding his muscular arms.
Morokei tilted his head, regarding the deep purple hues streaking through his fellow priest’s hickory hair. “Difficulties with storm magic?”
“A pleasure to see you too, oh glorious one!” Zahkriisos said with a smirk. “I wager it was the same problem you were having with the Staff of Magnus!”
Morokei was unable to keep from returning a smile. “Paaz, zeymahi. Was it quite necessary to attack Nahkriin so fiercely?”
The Bloodskal priest shrugged. “He startled me.”
Nahkriin glared over at him. “You have no idea what idiocy I had to endure in order to find an alternate route into your barrow.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, curly hair frizzed out in all directions. “Enough of this, our time is short.”
His keen gaze turned toward Morokei and Krosis. “Vahlok has been reborn, as you no doubt felt. He has taken another Dovahkiin as an apprentice. The boy has been displaced by a Kel in the same way Ofan has.”
Krosis’s brow furrowed and Morokei’s velvety voice was uncertain. “…How is that possible?”
Nahkriin shrugged his undamaged shoulder. “Bring such questions unto Akatosh, not unto me.”
“How long is this amicable attitude if yours going to last, Nahkriin?” Zahkriisos inquired, utterly unphased even by such extraordinary news. “You were never this friendly around Bromjunaar.”
“That was a formal setting,” Nahkriin answered with a longsuffering sigh. “Are you not the slightest bit intrigued by any of this?”
“The Elder Scrolls shall do as they please,” the storm mage declared. “And I’ve seen enough weird shit in old Mora’s realm to satisfy my curiosity. Tell me when the lad can conjure a thunderstorm, then we’ll talk.”
Krosis shifted uncomfortably when the piercing silver gaze fell upon him, yet he spoke up. “When will Thuru Alduin resurrect Dukaan?”
“You are not speaking to him,” the Soltheim priest growled, voice dropping an octave.
“Drem dii zeymahhe,” Morokei interjected, his tone sincere. “Zahkriisos please. Put aside your distrust of Krosis, as Alduin laid down his own misgivings regarding your brother. Dukaan renounced any allegiance to Miraak and took the name Dishonored of his own free will.”
“You haven’t the slightest idea of the torture he suffered!” His fellow storm mage stated vehemently. “He was just a boy!”
“I know,” Durnehviir’s pupil insisted, his voice softening. “We are all to blame for not discerning how Miraak led him astray. Not just Krosis, and not only yourself.”
Zahkriisos paused, and Morokei could tell that he had struck a chord. “We are all that we have left, zeymah. Our order has no dwellings, no temples, and most of our teachers were slaughtered. We need one another, more so than we ever have before.”
The Soltheimer froze. “Numinex??”
“His end may-may have been unjust and unworthy of such a warrior. We know naught for certain.” The lilac-eyed priest’s voice broke. “I am so sorry.”
Several moments of agonizing silence went by with neither party saying anything.
Zahkriisos’s fists clenched and unclenched multiple times before he finally sighed in resignation. “You’re right, Morokei. You usually are, as much as I despise admitting it.” He glowered at Krosis, ire rekindling. “But if you so much as-”
Both he and Nahkriin abruptly glanced at something out of view, which silenced even the wrathful priest.
“Our overlord calls,” their wounded compatriot said. “Akatosh willing, we shall be able to speak in person soon. May your voice be unrelenting, my brothers.”
The priests in Winterhold bowed their heads in farewell as Zahkriisos closed the visual portal.
“Well,” the ebony-maned priest began, regaining his composure. “That went better than expected. Even our Bloodskal brother has little energy to burn after the ordeal of rebirth.”
Krosis released a long exhale. “It would appear so.” He moved toward one of the tall windows, trying to gather his thoughts as he stared into the darkness.
Morokei did not mind. He rather appreciated the silence as he began writing a message to Jarl Korir. Tedious mortal formalities be cursed! He missed the luxury of being able to dictate letters to a trusted scribe while he did literally anything else.
“Zeymah.”
Krosis’s sharp tone made him look up. “Yes?”
“Someone is attacking the barrier of Aren’s prison!”
Chapter 16
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The days and nights passed by in a dreadful blur for Savos Aren. The ancient priest had been too busy doing divines knew what with the relics of Magnus to trouble him, but it was just as distressing to be left alone with his tumultuous thoughts. He had been roused from nightmarish reverie when the serpentine dragon attacked Ofan. Aren was uncertain why; the dainty Nord was one of the least threatening people he had ever met. Nevertheless, the beast had seemed hellbent on destroying her. It would have succeeded too, if not for the intervention of his enemy. Why a being as wicked and cruel as Morokei would risk himself for another eluded the Dunmer.
We did disturb his tomb first, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Savos brushed it aside as he slowly sat upright. The former Archmage was startled by the sudden appearance of the illusion professor at the translucent barrier of his prison.
“Drevis?!” He exclaimed, red eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
“I'm getting you out of here!” His fellow dark elf whispered rather loudly.
“It's impossible,” Savos lamented. “These barriers...I've never seen their like.”
“Don't give up! I'll get them down!” Drevis encouraged, pondering the myriad of spells he knew.
“What are you doing?!”
Ofan's incredulous cry startled both Dunmer as it echoed through the moonlit courtyard. Aren pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, staggering over to the edge of magical confines. All four members of Tolfdir's class stood frozen in the courtyard below, staring up at their professors in alarm.
“Be quiet, child!” The illusion mage hissed.
“You're the one being loud!” Brelyna snapped simultaneously with Onmund's sincere, “are you mad?!”
“The priests will kill you both, or worse,” the Nord lad continued, fearfully.
“Not if Ofan doesn't tell them,” Drevis snapped, turning his attention back to the energy walls.
“I was trying to save the archmage from torture!” The petite maiden cried, indignantly.
“J'zargo does not think Neloran understands the true agony and duration of being flayed alive,” the khajiit commented, long tail twitching.
“If you’re not going to help me rescue Savos then just leave!” Drevis shouted, rejecting any semblance of stealth. “And let me concentrate!”
J’zargo was about to retort further when a faint noise coming from somewhere behind them caught his attention. Was that a door being opened? He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. His fuzzy ears swiveled in all directions, seeking out more sounds than his classmates whispering among themselves. The cold wind shifted suddenly and two archaic, yet familiar scents reached his keen nose. The khajiit’s eyes widened. Oh no…
“If you can’t figure out how to break the barrier, how do you expect us to?” Brelyna queried, frustrated. “Listen, I don’t want to see the archmage suffer any more than you do, but he started this feud by desecrating graves.”
“Uh, guys?” J’zargo began, his tone one of uncharacteristic trepidation.
“Finally, someone gets it!” Onmund exclaimed, ignoring him. “I don’t care about ancient secrets if finding them means defiling the resting places of my people! Ancient Nordic ruins are tragic and fascinating, but why must we enter the rooms with obvious tombs?”
“I am grateful my friends understand, at least,” Ofan began softly. “The draugr in Labyrinthian were not ancient ancestors or unknown beings to Morokei. They were people he knew in life.” She met Savos’s gaze unflinchingly. “Being jailed for a time is more than fair penance for what was done to Atmah and Hafnar.”
“Especially after all the lectures about not tolerating any incinerations and keeping one another safe,” the female Dunmer mumbled, folding her arms.
“J’zargo thinks we should leave,” the khajiit warned again, still staring over his shoulder.
Drevis whirled around, shouting. “Unbelievable! After everything Archmage Aren has done for y-”
“Such as lying to us?” Ofan shot back, hurt.
“Are you even listening? We can’t overcome such arcane magic regardless of personal feelings!” Brelyna snapped. “We aren’t even permitted to study adept level spells yet!”
Onmund threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Forget it! Let’s just get back to the dorms before Professor Drevis gets us all killed.”
“J’zargo doubts that will matter now,” the apprentice destruction mage sighed, ears drooping.
The ancient invisibility spells were dispelled, revealing two masked and irate sonaakke!
"For a teacher of illusion magics," Morokei rumbled, rich voice filled with disdain. "Your awareness is abysmal."
"Even your pupil sensed our arrival," Krosis added, gesturing to J'zargo.
All the blood drained from Neloran's face, but he reacted quickly. Conjuring the most powerful pacification spells he knew, the Dunmer mage slammed his fists into the ground, pale green energy pulsating from them! Ofan felt a forced calm cloak her like a heavy blanket and her head started to ache. Such a suffocating feeling was frightening rather than soothing, but her limbs felt heavy and she was unable to fight or flee!
Krosis canted his head to the side, remaining silent. Morokei responded by violently hurling Drevis against a stone pillar! Keeping the illusionist in place with telekinetic magic, Bromjunaar’s guardian tightened his grip. The students visibly flinched at the nauseating sounds of Neloran’s arms and ribs beginning to pop. The Dunmer cried out in agony and Savos pounded the translucent walls with his fists!
“No, wait! Do whatever you like to me, but allow Drevis to live!”
“He made his choice,” Morokei growled wrathfully.
“Turn away,” Krosis commanded the terrified apprentices with quiet urgency, seeing how sluggish they remained due to the pacifism enchantment.
Ofan obeyed, choking back a sob of horror as the professor’s strangled cries were abruptly cut short, lost in the sounds of shattering bones and tearing sinew.
“You’re a monster, Morokei!” The former Archmage shouted, livid yet heartbroken. “A monster!”
“It is a trait we share, Aren,” the taller dragon priest replied icily. He turned to Tolfdir’s class. “Go to the Arcaneum. We would speak with all of you.”
It was Ofan’s gaze he sought the most, but she refused to look at him. The petite maiden fell in line with her friends as they followed the Khajiit toward the Hall of Elements.
Morokei felt his brother’s knowing stare upon him and gestured toward the corpse. “Thuru Viinturuth promised to send servants. When are they due to arrive?”
“Soon, zeymahi, of that I am certain,” his red-maned counterpart answered, as the sonaakke left the distraught Savos alone with his grief. “You know nothing at Skuldafn is ever organized properly without Nahkriin’s direct oversight, and he is rather occupied at the moment.”
Morokei exhaled heavily. “Indeed. He looked exhausted. Opening physical gateways takes a heavy toll. Despite the importance of his mission, he deserves a respite.”
The two priests found the apprentice mages dutifully yet nervously waiting in the center of the library. Onmund paced apprehensively while Brelyna and Ofan stayed huddled together. J’zargo’s tail was bristled and still twitching.
“It was his own fault but gods…I was really hoping he would have just given up without getting caught,” the young Nord bemoaned, running a hand through his umber hair.
“If we would have tried to help Drevis, we would have been executed too,” Brelyna began, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yet-yet maybe we should have tried harder to stop him.”
“Hokoronne fen sosaal fah vothaarn. Adversaries will bleed for their disobedience.” Morokei’s voice boomed across the arcanum, startling everyone to attention.
“Do not blame yourselves,” Krosis soothed, taking a gentler approach. “It was pleasing to see wisdom rule you, rather than impulsion.”
“J’zargo believes the entire situation was very impulsive,” the destruction apprentice commented, drawing an incredulous look from Onmund, but Krosis seemed to smile beneath his mask.
“Even so, you remained loyal. A fine trait to possess.”
J’zargo’s eyes gleamed as the calmer priest regarded him and his classmates appraisingly. “J’zargo would be very interested in learning more of the dragons and their magics.”
The two former lichs exchanged glances. The khajiit was a clever one, ambitious and talented.
“It is uncommon to educate anyone other than the descendants of Atmora in the way of the Dov,” Morokei began. “But exceptions are always made for the gifted.”
He inclined his head toward his own student, desiring for her to join him in a more secluded alcove across the rotunda. She followed wordlessly, while Krosis addressed her fellow apprentices.
They stood before a narrow window, neither speaking for a moment. She finally glanced up at him, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. It was not only his masked countenance, but his entire demeanor that seemed guarded. The young woman pushed an unruly curl away from her face. It promptly rebelled and dangled before her left eye anyway.
She sighed, her normally melodic voice distressed. “Punishment is necessary, and I realize the Cult is sworn to wage war against anyone who rebels against the World-Eater. I understand, truly I do, but that does not make it any less gruesome and cruel. I possess not the resolve of an enforcer, Morokei. I will always wish for a merciful solution even when there cannot be one.”
The dragon priest said nothing, but he continued listening, so she continued speaking. “To be frank, I am a tomb desecrator myself for exploring Labyrinthian.”
“Niid,” Morokei interjected, his velvety baritone firm. “I spoke truthfully when I informed those meyye that you did not enter my domain with their arrogant mindset. I was aware that you stole neither artifacts nor treasure from the graves.” He folded his muscular arms. “I also noticed you mostly fled from my followers and engaged in combat only when forced.”
“I have never been called brave,” Ofan replied, “simply naïve. And very curious!”
His demeanor eased ever so slightly, then he glanced out the window. The sky was the faintest hue of red, heralding the dawn.
“You are Sossedov,” the ancient sonaak declared abruptly. “You could have freed Aren.”
She blinked. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities Morokei, but I have not the slightest idea how your warding magic works. Besides, why would I go against your wishes? You are my friend, my mentor. I chose to join, or perhaps rejoin, my people.” Ofan paused, suddenly discerning the reason for his careful mannerisms. “D-did you think I would betray your trust as Miraak did?”
He finally met her gaze, an amused exhale leaving his lips. “A foolish fear, was it not?” Durnehviir’s pupil swiftly changed the subject. “Why were you wandering the grounds to begin with? Your gait is halting still.”
“A bored J’zargo dared Onmund to enter to the Midden before the morning’s light and Brelyna thought it would be amusing to watch. I could not sleep so I joined them.” The dainty maiden admitted, a bit sheepishly.
She simply knew he was cocking an eyebrow at her beneath the moonstone mask. “…Ofan…”
“You are in no position to judge, good sir,” the platinum-haired mage retorted, beginning to relax. The renegade curl still bounced before her face. “According to your tales, poor Konahrik was terrorized by you and your fellow proteges!”
He smirked beneath the dreadful helm. “Ha! Paaz, malvahdin. Go, rest. You will need strength to mend fully.”
“We will still have Dovahzul lessons as planned?” She inquired tentatively, observing him with those glittering turquoise orbs.
“Of course,” the ebony-maned priest answered. He was rewarded with a gentle, relieved smile.
Ofan was completely taken off guard when Morokei delicately tucked the unruly ringlet behind her left ear. It was the briefest of touches, his hand having barely caressed her cheek, but she felt herself blushing, nonetheless.
“Good night, Ofan Sossedov,” he said, before marching toward the door of the Archmage’s chamber.
“G-good night, Morokei,” the apprentice mage stammered softly, seized with sudden bashfulness as she watched him depart.
Notes:
Morokei is dealing with a lot more emotions than he would like anyone to be aware of...
Is there any way to post art on here? I have a few Morokei doodles I would like to share, but I'm not sure the best way to go about it. Ideas?
Chapter 17
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Zahkriisos tore down the great iron doors of the decrepit barrow with an enraged shout! How dare that Altmer lunatic defile his brother's temple with her twisted experiments! He adeptly parried an attack from a spider-enthralled bandit, dispatching the assailant with a swift blow to the neck! Deadroth, joor, or alchemy enhanced arachnid, it mattered little. All fell before the wrathful bearer of the Bloodskal blade.
Numinex's student burst into the innermost chamber, silver eyes resting on the empty sarcophagus before the Word Wall.
“Dukaan!” He called, frantically searching for his sibling.
The Ancient Nord strode swiftly down the stone staircase, glowing weapon still in hand. Raspy breathing from his right caught his attention. The white armored lich hovered anxiously by the obsidian pedestal near the stairs, as though trying to stay in the shadows with the accursed book he guarded.
“Dukaan,” Zahkriisos called, more gently this time. “Bo, zeymah. Thuru Alduin has returned. You will be reborn with me.”
The forlorn lich levitated further behind the book stand; his gaze fixed on the cracked stone floor.
“Dukaan, the World-Eater holds no grudge against you. Toormaarfeyn has been reborn, the others among the Three are certain to follow.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “We'll reunite with Paarthurnax somehow-”
A ragged, pained exhale resonated from his brother.
Zahkriisos's eyes flickered in uncertainty, then his expression became resolute.
“Vulonkrein.”
The eye-slits shot upward to meet his gaze. His elder brother smiled, placing both hands on Dukaan’s bony shoulders easily, despite the other priest’s levitation. Zahkriisos fully lived up to the reputation of legendary Atmoran height!
“We have our intrepid leader,” He began with a grin. “He’s adopted a Dovahkiin junior, and our Master will resurrect Ahz too! This is a chance to start over! Truly change the Order as we see fit! Not just on our island, but the mainland as well!”
Dukaan regarded him in silence for a few moments, then inclined his head, relenting.
Zahkriisos’s grin grew and he practically steered his younger sibling toward the exit.
“Just wait until you see what happened to Morokei’s hair! Lunatic’s still been experimenting with the Staff of Magnus after all this time!”
Dukaan canted his head to the side, lightly pulling a vibrant purple tress of his brother’s long mane.
“That’s completely different!” Zahkriisos insisted dramatically, causing his much quieter companion to smile.
~ ~ ~
Vahlok could sense the World-Eater’s magnificent aura before he heard the clarion call. A royal visitation made even the worst of days a little brighter! He swiftly rose from his desk and raced toward the nearest balcony that overlooked the eastern courtyard. It was a revered location for speaking with Alduin and his inner circle personally. The excited young man spied his golden-robed father standing amidst the lush gardens and extravagant stonework, awaiting his patron. The sunlight vanished as the enormous dragon god descended from the heavens, his landing causing the very earth to tremble. Vahlok smiled, ready to use the ethereal shout to leap down and properly greet his wondrous king. The dovah’s words however stopped him short.
“An audience here is a rare request from you, my Warlord,” Alduin said without preamble, folding his shadowy wings with a dubious snort. “Has Kodaavah's removal revealed more dukaan nikriinne?”
“The Order is flourishing under the leadership changes, Thuri. I sought your council regarding a more... personal matter.”
The ebony divine stretched out his muscular neck to examine his beloved priest better, sincerely concerned for his wellbeing. “What troubles you, dii mid sonaak?”
Konahrik's cultured voice was solemn. “My son has grown despondent, and there is nothing I can do to ease his burden.”
Vahlok inhaled sharply. It was discourteous to eavesdrop, especially on the Firstborn, but he did not retreat. Why would his father be discussing his inconsequential struggles with Alduin?
“Does Rahgot still dare to challenge his authority?” The World-Eater questioned, crimson eyes glinting dangerously.
“Not since the tournament at Skuldafn,” His priest responded, thoughtfully. “Vahlok has passed his nineteenth winter and is still without a patron, thuri. Miraak is obsessed with his own devices. My boy carries the weight of being Dragonborn alone and I can see how much it agonizes him...”
Alduin fell silent, as unmoving as the draconic statues in the ornate courtyard. Vahlok shifted uneasily, overwhelmed by his own embarrassment and the sudden feeling of intense guilt radiating from the dragon god.
“The blame is mine, dii fahdon,” Alduin said with surprising softness.
Konahrik's brows furrowed. “My lord-”
“Zu'u lost vod,” the World-Eater rumbled, his usually smooth tone tumultuous. “Conquering more lands in my foolish arrogance rather than protecting the ones that needed me most.”
Vahlok remained frozen on the shaded balcony, bewildered. He had never felt such grief from his king before.
“It was an unthinkable tragedy,” Konahrik began, earnestly. “Judiil laid down her life willingly. Only the bravest and most honorable monarchs would do the same, and she possessed the noblest spirit of any dovah I have ever encountered. She would not wish such melancholy upon you. As for kiiriil, the flame has not been extinguished. Surely there is-”
“You sound like Paarthurnax. That portent is meaningless!” Alduin roared abruptly, massive tail snapping like a bull whip. “Meaningless!”
Most would flee at such a display of wrath, but Konahrik remained unmoving, discerning the anguish behind it. Alduin snorted, remaining tense for several long moments, before finally exhaling heavily.
“Dii yuvonkul,” the Firstborn lamented. “Dii malshul. He was meant to be your child’s patron. You cannot dispute this truth.”
The most powerful of all the sonaakke approached his dread lord and placed both hands on the obsidian muzzle in silent empathy. Alduin closed his eyes, keeping his elegantly savage head near his dragon priest, comforted by the one he trusted most.
Vahlok trembled, quietly leaving the terrace. He had never seen the god of all dragons so discouraged, so vulnerable, and had a feeling Alduin desired to keep it that way. The Dovahkiin knew firsthand how exhausting a constant show of strength was, but he never imagined that Akatosh’s Firstborn would be disheartened by similar trials. The longer he pondered this new revelation, the greater his loyalty to the World-Eater grew.
“Long night?”
Vahlok startled at the sound of Viintaas’s clear voice, tearing his distant gaze away from the Skaal village down below. He blinked several times at his young counterpart, trying to focus. “Is it morning already?”
Viintaas resisted the urge to point at the obviously rising sun. “…yes.”
He was surprised to find the Guardian on the same snowy overlook he had left him at the night before.
Vahlok glanced upward at the pale sky and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Apologies. I was lost in reverie yet again.”
The amber-eyed lad offered a small grin. “No shame in that. I find childhood memories overwhelming. I can’t fathom what a lifetime of recollections would feel like!”
The Jailor’s posture relaxed a little, but his aura remained troubled.
Viintaas regarded his mentor thoughtfully, then ventured, “…you want to talk about it?”
Vahlok was taken aback by such an offer, pausing. He observed Viintaas carefully for a few moments, before smiling softly and inclining his head. “I would welcome a fresh mind’s perspective, fahdoni, thank you.”
His rich voice lowered. “And there are… open secrets about our Master that we need to discuss. Most would consider such subjects treasonous, but you deserve to know. Such knowledge helped me understand Thuru Alduin’s actions with greater clarity.”
Viintaas became more serious and he nodded. “I would appreciate greater insight myself. Let’s take the path by the water, not even the reiklings will bother us there.”
The elder Dragonborn agreed, falling in step beside his fellow as the pair began the trek through the powdery snow.
Notes:
Let's be frank, we'd all eavesdrop if our parental unit was spilling the tea to our favorite king/god/celebrity/.
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Bo = Come. Can be used as come or go.
Dukaan nikriinne = Dishonorable cowards.
Zu'u lost vod = I was absent/gone
Judiil = Your queen
Kiiriil = Your child
Dii yuvonkul = My golden son
Dii malshul = My little sun
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“In hindsight I should have realized sooner,” Vahlok continued, azure orbs focused on the bubbling brook below. The elder Dragonborn sat cross legged next to Viintaas on a large boulder while his younger counterpart dangled his feet above the water.
“Thuru Alduin was always very aware of dragon hatchlings and mortal children alike. Incredibly patient and protective toward those fortunate few he considered his kiirre. He would suffer abuse of neither, unlike some of his lesser kin.” He frowned, glancing at his student. “On the slight chance Hevnoraak tries to bring you before his patron without the presence of another sonaak, refuse him. He is far too fond of sacrificing his fellow men, enemies and allies alike.”
Viintaas blinked. “Noted.” His bright eyes glittered with sudden mischief. “Are you going to punch him in the face as well?”
Vahlok laughed merrily! “It can be said that Hevnoraak learned early on not to boast about his cruelties in my presence. Even the mildest mannered Dovahkiinne have bursts of temper! A well-timed shout is quite effective in getting one's point across.”
His fellow Dragonborn chuckled. “I'll remember that as well!” Viintaas's expression grew thoughtful. “I never thought about the World-Eater having a family. I had assumed that such traditional mortal wishes would be beneath a divine like him. As you said before, there is so much more to the dov than I ever realized!” He fell silent, tilting his head slightly. “Paarthurnax mentioned nothing of extended family. I'm not surprised; that's very personal. Still…”
The young man paused again before abruptly asking, “Was it only the differences in how they view joorre that came between Paarthurnax and Alduin, or something more?”
Vahlok frowned a little. “I wish I knew for certain. Only the Great Ones of Solstheim spoke with him after his plan -Kyne's plan- to teach the Thu'um to our foes became known. Dii Zeymahhe and I already ruled our island with more generosity than most of un thurre permitted. Any contact with Paarthurnax or his new students was considered too great of a risk. Toormaarfeyn did not want Thur Alduin to redirect his wrath toward us, especially Dukaan. I did encounter the Tongues during a trip to the mainland however...”
Viintaas regarded him keenly. “What were they like?”
Vahlok chuckled, but now his voice held no mirth. “At first I despised them for seeking an alliance with wretched Miraak. However, I eventually recognized why Hakon, Gormlaith, and Feldir had rebelled so violently. Most of the dovahhe of Keizaal were utterly unreasonable. Their ears had become deaf to the cries of mortals and their eyes had grown blind to their own wickedness. Paarthurnax's fahdonne had no other choice than to fight for even the most basic of freedoms.”
Vahlok's sapphire orbs glittered coldly. “I warned them to never trespass on my island and it was an oath they kept. It was no concordat, yet we understood one another.”
Viintaas admired the sunlight dancing across the water, then glanced at the Jailor once more. “Were you there when the Tongues used the Elder Scroll against Alduin?”
“Niid. I perished before that accursed battle.”
The amber-eyed Nord inwardly winced. “O-oh, I'm sorry. How did you die?”
Only after the words came tumbling out of his mouth did Viintaas realize how rude that sounded.
Vahlok was unoffended, but his expression was confused. “I do not know. Memory fails me. I remember speaking with Thuru Alduin and watching the aurora...that is all.”
The younger Dovahkiin was filled with disquiet, thinking back to the ominous plaque in the Guardian's tomb, but said nothing of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, chagrined. “That has to be a really bizarre feeling.”
The Jailor offered a gentle smile. “No stranger than aught else we Dragonborn have endured.”
“I suppose not...” Viintaas agreed softly, idly tracing the burn scars on the right side of his face.
Vahlok's warm baritone was solemn. “Are those wounds from Saarthal?”
The lad nodded slowly. “Yes. I used to be terrified of pyromancy when I was child. And of fireplaces. And torches.” He chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. “Took a while to muster up the courage to battle destruction mages and flame atronachs without flinching.”
The Jailor observed his student with a knowing yet compassionate gaze. “There is no shame in struggling to overcome traumatic events. The fact that you fight on is a testament to your strength. Neither is there dishonor in seeking aid from those you trust.”
“That's the trick though, isn't it? There are very, very few people we can truly count on.” Viintaas stared down at his feet, voice tense with frustration. “The people of Skyrim expect so much from 'the mighty Dragonborn'. I do my best to help everyone I can, but it's never enough to keep them safe. Or happy. With power comes duty, I know, but is an ounce of empathy too much to ask for? I can't be dauntless and mirthful constantly! Sometimes I grow afraid too...”
He inwardly scolded himself. Vahlok probably thought he was a whiny little milk-drinker. The dragon priest had defeated a Prince empowered madman for Akatosh's sake!
“It is exhausting being unable to show any emotion that a rigid and brutal society would consider 'weakness',” Vahlok responded quietly. “You must project a stone facade at all times. Like wearing a mask.”
Viintaas glanced over at his mentor, a tad surprised. “...Exactly...”
I should have known Vahlok would understand.
The younger Dovahkiin fidgeted. “I doubt even stupid Windhelm is half as harsh as Bromjunaar. How did you not turn out to be a jerk?”
The Guardian smiled fondly. “Despite the cruel nature of the order, my brothers Zahkriisos and Morokei kept me...human. I could tell them anything without fear of judgement or retribution. If you do not have such allies in your life yet, take heart. They appear when you least expect them to, and often when you need them the most.”
Viintaas brightened a bit, comforted by Vahlok's genuine camaraderie.
The older Dovahkiin chuckled abruptly. “Also bormahi had no qualms about reminding me to be humble when dovahzii pahlok, dragon soul arrogance, grew too great.”
Viintaas grinned. “With shouts?”
Vahlok's eyes twinkled. “With shouts.”
~ ~ ~
Tucked away in a private corner of the Arcaneum, hidden by towering stacks of books, Ofan dutifully reviewed the notes Morokei had given her. Their language lesson had gone well, his pronunciation instruction and grammatical advice clear and concise, but she still struggled to comprehend it all. Dovahzul placed far greater emphasis on context than Tamrielic, though perhaps it only seemed so because the latter was her native tongue. She scribbled down her own notes for practice.
Aar is the dragon word for servant or slave
Aari means my servant
Aariil means your servant
Aaru means our servant
Aarii means his/her/its servant
Aarre is the plural form.
Aarrei is ridiculous and incorrect for my servants. Use formal dii for my instead. Dii aa-
Ofan stopped abruptly, dropping her quill. Alduin had asked Morokei if Ofan was his servant or slave the day they had first met. The petite mage was uncertain how to feel about that. Her heavy sigh revealed her location to Brelyna, who poked her head around a mound of tomes.
“There you are! How did your lesson with Lord Morokei go?”
Ofan gathered her papers neatly. “It went well; he is an adept teacher, even though I made of a fool of myself yesterday.”
“Being upset upon seeing someone you know executed hardly makes you an idiot,” the Dunmer assured her. “We're all still shaken.”
Ofan's eyes flickered with uncertainty. “That is true...ugh!” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I know not what to do!”
Brelyna went to find another chair, skillfully navigating through the book maze with it.
“Talk to me,” the apprentice conjuration mage said, taking a seat.
Ofan inhaled deeply, staring at her notes. “I read as much as I could about the Dragon Cult before setting foot in Labyrinthian. Viinturuth ate those he thought would rebel. I knew it was a ruthless civilization, but Drevis's death was absolutely horrid.”
The tiny Nord looked over at the loyal Dark Elf. “Despite everything, I do not believe Morokei himself is malicious. He saved my life twice. He is intelligent and witty and obviously cares for his brothers very much. He has given me the opportunity for a new life, or perhaps an old one. I am very excited and grateful but am I allowed to be after-”
“Stop!” Brelyna exclaimed with a smile. “You're overthinking again, Ofan. One of the greatest assassins back home in Morrowind is my also my best friend. Not everything is as black and white as those Stormcloak propagandists around Korir's hall like to scream it is!”
The human mage paused for a moment, then flopped against the back of her chair as though a heavy weight had been lifted.
“Thank you Brelyna,” she said, sincerely. “You are such a wonderful friend! Sometimes I feel like a bundle of anxiety wrapped in nervousness!”
The other girl giggled. “That's often a symptom of being twitterpated!”
Ofan canted her head to the side, frizzy ringlets flouncing about. “What?”
The Dunmer woman's scarlet orbs gleamed playfully. “It's rather obvious you find him attractive!”
The Nord's face flushed red. “That-that is...no!”
Brelyna laughed and Ofan sighed rather dramatically this time. “Am I truly that easy to read?”
“Like a child's magika primer!” Her friend teased. “But who could blame you? Come on, let's grab a bite to eat before J'zargo devours it all!”
Notes:
Viintaas has some suspicions about how his newfound mentor may have died...
Apologies for the long hiatus! Started a new job!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Un thurre = Our overlords
Bormahi = My father
Chapter 19
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
All was quiet in the Archmage's chamber save for the dull splashing of Morokei suspiciously stabbing at his soup with a wooden spoon, lip curled in distaste.
“I cannot believe you are acting this persnickety.” Krosis said incredulously as he watched his brother play with his food. “It is ordinary beef stew, with tomatoes, leeks and spices. No poison.”
Morokei squinted at the bowl. “...I despise leeks.”
Krosis scoffed, leaning against the stone wall. “Are you a mere five winters old?”
The taller sonaak harrumphed in response.
“Such timidity does not become a sonaak thur,” the red-maned priest commented, innocently.
Morokei gave his counterpart the annoyed side eye before pushing the offending bowl away.
Krosis shook his head. Normally he would humor Morokei's fastidiousness, but his fellow had not eaten since his resurrection. “At least try the bread before your reborn body weakens and I am forced to tell sahrot thur Alduin why you started fainting like a young girl.”
“I will not faint!” The raven-haired priest protested vehemently, rising from his seat. “Nor will I partake in this...peasants' swill!”
“Your pampered Bromjunaar buttocks does not know what swill is,” Krosis retorted. “Try growing up in the slums of Vulomruth's despondent city. Even the guards referred to the stronghold as Bleak Falls Temple.”
Morokei's indignant expression softened ever so slightly. “Vulomruth was a strange man, even among the sanctuary wardens. Still, you surpassed him effortlessly, despite the odds set against you.”
Krosis's emerald orbs gleamed. “It was quite satisfying meeting him again after achieving the rank of sonaak thur. 'Not bad for a street wretch, eh Warden Vulomruth?' I proudly proclaimed before my new entourage. He simply gaped at me.”
Morokei smirked. “You boggled his already bungled mind.”
Krosis could not help but chuckle. A soft knock on the door surprised them both.
“Enter,” Morokei commanded, straightening.
A slim, bald man clad in light maroon livery opened the grand door and bowed. “Greetings, noble lords. I am Tolmar, seneschal of the retinue sent to serve you by our glorious master Viinturuth.”
“Servants, finally!” Morokei exclaimed, foregoing his usual decorum in his relief. “We have been trapped in uncivilized Oblivion for far too long! Tell me,” he began, placing a hand on the much shorter man's shoulder. “Did you bring capable cooks with you?”
“What my brother meant to say was 'Hello, I am Morokei and that is Krosis. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am very heartsore for Atmora and was wondering if knowledge of our traditional cuisine had survived,” Krosis translated, ignoring Morokei's deeply offended stare.
Tolmar was unruffled by these antics. “Regrettably Skuldafn has seen better days, yet we were able to learn much from the texts that were recovered. The chief cook is accompanied by the spicer, the confectioner and the master of saucery. Which do you require, Lord Morokei?”
The violet-eyed priest looked triumphant. “All of them, most welcome Tolmar!”
The uniformed man bowed once more. “Very good, my lord. Menial tasks are underway, but the majority of the household await your specific commands.”
Morokei inclined his head. “We shall address them at once. Bo, zeymah!” He called to Krosis. “We can finally bring civility to this forlorn outpost!”
The freckled Nord rolled his eyes but followed his overdramatic counterpart.
“It will be helpful to have more guards,” he acquiesced, glancing over his shoulder at Tolmar, who walked a respectful distance behind them. “Did you bring experienced watchmen with you?”
“Of course my lord, only the best were permitted to...” His voice lowered slightly. “To live. The great and terrible Master Kahvozein devoured the unworthy.”
Morokei halted so suddenly that Krosis had to sidestep to avoid a collision! “Kahvozein?!” He stiffened. “Has Hevnoraak been reborn?”
“We were not given names, my lord,” Tolmar replied. “Another sonaak thur did arrive shortly before we departed for Winterhold. His appearance was...unique. His skin seemed to possess no pigment, yet his eyes were the darkest of greens.”
Krosis's emerald orbs flickered with intensity. “That is indeed Hevnoraak. I wonder what took him so long to report to Skuldafn? Clearly he was resurrected before us. I will confess to being disappointed in myself for not discerning his living presence.”
“Were you actually searching for him? I was more focused on the members of our circle that would not sacrifice us to their patrons if given half a chance,” Morokei said wryly, running hand through his long ebony locks. “Los krasnovaar. Regardless, we must strive for unity.”
A new thought struck him, and the former lich fully faced Tolmar with a stern expression. “If Hevnoraak so much as approaches my student inform me immediately.”
Tolmar inclined his head. “It shall be as you command, my lord.”
The taller priest seemed to relax a bit at his answer. “Pruzah.” He whirled around and continued down the staircase, purple robes billowing out behind him.
~ ~ ~
Everything was peaceful in the Skaal village until horkers started falling from the sky.
“I don't know, Nikulas,” Viintaas murmured doubtfully. “I still think a werewolf would trounce a werebear.”
“That's because you haven't seen how big they are out here,” the other man insisted. “I once saw a werebear kill five bull netch before it finally went down!”
Viintaas blanched as he remembered his last encounter with angry netch. “...Yeah, okay, that's pretty darn impressive.”
The young Nords chatted before the main campfire as the midday meal was finishing up. Vahlok stood across from them, engrossed in a deep conversation with Storn. Freya leaned against the shaman's cabin nearby, watching the dragon priest apprehensively.
“What's her problem with Vahlok?” Viintaas asked incredulously. “He thinks the world of the Skaal. He practically established the Skaal!”
Nikulas shrugged. “No idea. She was enthralled by Tharstan's accounts of him last night. Perhaps she is simply protective of her father?”
Viintaas looked flummoxed. “I don't unde-”
He abruptly froze and looked toward the heavens.
The familiar cadence of wingbeats grew nearer, and Vahlok too, was on high alert. No one was prepared however when a slate grey beast swooped into view and dropped two dead horkers before the great hall! The villagers scattered for cover as another hapless horker landed near Storn's home, splattering with a sickeningly wet crunch. Viintaas gawked at decimated carcass, nauseated. That one had definitely been dropped from a greater height.
“Lord Vahlok?” Chieftain Fanari called from the shelter of the butcher's hut, a little unnerved by the display.
The Guardian raised his hands placatingly. “Drem, dii fahdonne. I know this seems like hostile behavior, but it is actually a gesture of goodwill!”
The dark grey dragon reappeared, circling once before landing with surprising grace in the center of houses, quite close to the priest.
“Malkulaan,” he greeted, tossing his head to show off how his scales shimmered. “You slept overlong. It has been rather dull without you!”
Vahlok beamed. “Thuri Gaafkrokulaan. I missed your presence. The world has changed overmuch.”
The dovah snorted. “Regrettable, is it not? Let us hope the Firstborn has a more coherent plan this time around.”
“Bridle your mouth, mey!” Another deep voice said, its rebuke reverberating through the settlement as an enormous frost dragon alighted on the roof of the great hall. “Vahlok's aarre or no, we do not discuss important matters among ordinary joorre.”
“Thuri Hevnofokriid,” Vahlok said, rich baritone filled with affection and reverence.
He was facing the other great beast when a surprise nudge from Gaafkrokulaan sent him sprawling mid bow! Viintaas was unable to refrain from laughing at the sight of his mentor in an undignified heap on the ground.
Hevnofokriid rumbled irritably at his companion, but Vahlok was grinning as he wiped the snow from his face. His sapphire eyes shone with mischief as he stood up and cried, “fus!”
Gaafkrokulaan growled as he was pushed backwards a few paces, playfully snapping his large jaws at the sonaak! Viintaas watched them mock fight in fascination. The dragon's body language was relaxed and mirthful as he unfurled his glistening wings to reveal a snow-white underbelly, displaying his confidence and impenetrable hide! Vahlok laughed, adeptly dodging another bite! Gaafkrokulaan was treating the Guardian just like he would any other young dovah.
Hevnofokriid however wore an expression of being too old for such nonsense.
“Cease your playing,” he commanded, puffing himself up to look even larger in a clear display of dominance. “The World-Eater bids Malkulaan to say farewell to his people.”
Vahlok straightened, not quite succeeding at hiding his reluctance. “So soon?”
Gaaf nudged the Jailor with his pewter colored muzzle again, more softly this time. “We have brought them food and feasted upon many werebeasts. Hin kiirre will be safe.”
“It is Miraak's oppressive influence over the fettered All-Maker stones that troubles me, lot geinne,” Vahlok replied, honestly.
“Is that all, kul Konahrik? We shall take care of that.” Hevnofokriid lowered his head to observe Viintaas. “Your pupil liberated most of them, regardless.”
The amber-eyed Nord met the frost dragon's chilling gaze, noting how he was far more vibrant than the typical examples of his breed. Hevnovokriid retained the pale ice-blue head of his fellows, but the scales starting from the back of his neck to the tops of his wings and tip of his tail were a beautiful dark purple hue.
Vahlok bowed low. “Of course, dii thurre. Forgive my doubts. I shall make haste.”
“Do so. Alduin is not the jun you remember, Malkulaan.” The older dragon warned before taking to the sky.
“He says boldly after scolding me to be more discreet,” Gaafkrokulaan huffed. “Do not fear; naught is ever so simple.”
Vahlok offered a gentle smile as the younger dovah leapt into the wintery air, proudly roaring before following his counterpart.
The former lich faced the villagers who were starting to gather around the two Dragonborn. “I apologize for the alarm caused, my friends.” He glanced at the squashed horker Hevnovokriid had unceremoniously airdropped and shook his head. “By Akatosh’s horns…allow me to assist in cleaning this up.”
Storn held up a hand slightly. “Nay, Guardian. If the Great Black One has summoned you, let there be no delay. Our hunters can take care of these horkers. The first two will feed the village for a long time.”
“And a reprieve from werebear attacks is always welcome!” Wulf Wild-Blood added, sincerely.
Vahlok exhaled slowly, assembling a confident demeanor, although Viintaas could sense how deeply the Jailor loathed being forced to leave.
“Very well. Once our ancient power has been reestablished, Viintaas and I will return to vanquish the Traitor for the final time.”
Fanari smiled, placing a hand on his upper arm in a motherly manner. “It was wonderful to meet you, Lord Vahlok. We will always receive you with joy.”
“It has been an enlightening experience!” Tharstan exclaimed. Turning to Viintaas, he shook the lad's hand heartily! “Take care, son! Mind your elders!”
The younger Dovahkiin laughed. “No need to worry about that! I don't want to be shouted at!” He grinned at his teacher, who chuckled.
They both fell silent however when Freya approached.
“Those dragons really seemed to care about you,” she began, regarding the Jailor solemnly. “And by extension, the Skaal. Why?”
“All dov possess the desire to dominate, but not all dov rule ruthlessly,” he replied, candidly. “It is disheartening that honorable ideals are in the minority among my order, but I believe rebirth has granted us the chance to change that.” He glanced at Viintaas, azure eyes dancing. “The voices of two Dovahkiinne will stand firm where one would falter.”
Viintaas beamed, nodding once determinedly! Freya glanced between them, then inclined her head. “The prayers of the Skaal go with you both. May the All-Maker grant you strength.”
She stepped aside as others came forward offering farewells and blessings.
“Are you going to be okay?” Viintaas asked quietly as the two Dragonborn crossed the old bridge.
“I wish I could do more for them,” Vahlok confessed. “But I realize the Skaal are more than capable of tending to themselves.”
“At least you get to see your brothers now,” Viintaas pointed out. “Dukaan aaaand...” he made a sheepish face. “Zachary?”
The dragon priest nearly choked on his own abrupt laughter!
“Zahkriisos,” Vahlok corrected, after he regained some semblance of composure. “Oft I simply called him Zahk.”
“Zahkriisos. I was close!” Viintaas insisted impishly, quickly overcoming his embarrassment. He discerned that the Guardian’s heart was a little lighter now.
“Indeed,” Vahlok smirked, still chuckling. “I have a feeling that you two will get along quite well together!"
Notes:
Ah, Hevnoraak. Proud owner of one of the best and most horrifying dungeons in all of Skyrim! RIP Valdar.
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Vulomruth = Forgotten Rage
Los krasnovaar = He is a deadly plague
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas smiled when he discerned Vahlok's growing anticipation as they drew ever closer to Kolbjorn Barrow. Not even the lifeless landscape could discourage the elder Dragonborn now! As they hiked up the final ash mound, the Dovahkiinne could hear Zahkriisos before they could see him.
“What the hell happened here? I was expecting one of Ahzidal's ridiculous ward spells, not a mining massacre!”
“Why do you expect me to know?” Nahkriin demanded, his cultured voice uncommonly tense.
“Because you always act like a pompous-”
“Drem, zeymahhe, please.” This brogue was as thick as Zahkriisos’s but possessed a much gentler tone. “We must await Thuru Alduin regardless.”
Vahlok halted upon the crest of the hill, surveying the ruined dig site around Ahzidal's barrow. Bodies were strewn haphazardly about the excavation, belonging both to ordinary workers and heavily armed guards. Despite the gravity of the situation, the Jailor was unable to keep from chuckling at his bickering brothers. “It is a dark day indeed when the high priests of the dov squabble like children!”
Viintaas saw the tallest man's vibrant silver eyes brighten even more. “Vahlok! Alok kron spaan, zeymahzin!”
“Alok kron spaan, dii grah-zeymahzin,” the Jailor answered sincerely, pulling his closest friend into an enthusiastic embrace. Zahkriisos returned the gesture, patting him heartily on the back. He seemed rather unwilling to let his brother go.
“Six thousand years,” the Bloodskal priest whispered as their foreheads touched. “Six thousand damnable years. The last time I saw you was when we laid your body to rest in the shrouded tomb...”
Vahlok's eyes glistened with unshed tears and Zahkriisos stepped back just enough to meet the Jailor's gaze.
“What happened, Zeymahi?” Numinex's pupil asked with a tenderness Nahkriin had never before heard from him. “Your aura had been full of life. It wasn't your time.”
“I know not,” Vahlok confessed, considerably more distressed than he had previously revealed. “My memory is inhibited by a magic I cannot identify. All I recall is Thuru Alduin...”
Zahkriisos blanched as his mind raced with the myriad of implications. He gave Nahkriin a challenging glare, daring the other sonaak thur to question the Guardian's loyalty, but the steward of Skuldafn remained quiet. Vahlok's allegiance was one of the very few oaths he would never doubt the veracity of.
“Konahrik's shrine is hidden within the currents of Time,” Dukaan began, gravely. “Our overlord grew understandably paranoid toward the end of the War.” His silvery-blue eyes rested on the Jailor. “Perhaps he wished to hide you as well?”
“Akatosh take us...” Zahkriisos exclaimed as Viintaas simultaneously cried, “that explains the inscriptions!”
Vahlok exhaled raggedly, struggling to come to terms with such a devastating idea. “Lord Alduin would never...”
Alduin is not the jun you remember, Hevnofokriid's warning echoed through his mind. Zahkriisos's strong grip on his shoulders was the sole reason the Jailor did not visibly stagger.
“Cease such treasonous insinuations,” Nahkriin snapped, unable to meet Vahlok's sorrowful gaze. “Miraak is to blame. Did not part of your hair turn grey due to the strain of your battle? You were barely of age then. His daedra enhanced magic must have sapped your life force permanently. “
“Were you not listening??” Zahkriisos queried incredulously. “Vahlok was well and very much alive before Lord Alduin abruptly declared he had died! How long were we away that night, Dukaan? Three hours?”
“Barely two,” his sibling answered, regarding Vahlok with heartfelt empathy and concern.
Zahkriisos grit his teeth together. "...gods...”
“Bormah ofan mulaag,” the Guardian murmured, striving to regain some semblance of confidence. “We cannot worry about this now, dii mid fahdonne. Ahzidal needs us.”
He held out an arm toward the shorter priest in grey robes. “Drem yol lok, Vulonkrein.”
All tension seemed to leave Dukaan as he embraced Konahrik's son with a smile. “Drem yol lok.”
Zahkriisos affectionately slapped his unsuspecting little brother across the back of his head. “I told you he wouldn't be cross, madman!”
Vahlok's brow furrowed. “What?” Rich sapphire orbs met ice crystals. “Why would you fear wrath from me? “
Dukaan exhaled softly. “Seeing our once fair island dying like this,” he gestured to the ash covered wasteland surrounding them. “And being Invaded by cursed mer like them.” He waved toward the bodies of dark elf miners. “I feel like I have failed as a protector of this once sacred ground.”
“We all do, nonvul Vulonkrein,” Vahlok replied candidly. “If not for the boon of Viintaas's amicable companionship, I would weep unceasingly for our home. If we cannot save Solstheim, then we shall establish another haven for the remnant of our people.” His demeanor was more assured now, but the bitter pain swirling behind his azure eyes could not be hidden. “Bo zeymahhe, meet Viintaas. He passed the trials of my tomb without falling off of the bridges!”
Zahkriisos laughed, clasping the young man's forearm in a warrior's greeting. “Dragonborn Junior! Well done wrenching those Stones from Miraak's greedy grasp!”
The amber-eyed Nord had seen bear paws smaller than the Atmoran's hand. Viintaas tried unsuccessfully to conceal how excited he was to meet more of the Guardian's legendary compatriots.
“Oh, t-thanks! I was tired of his creepy mantra rattling around in my head!” His cheerful expression turned sheepish. “I uh, didn't actually know the rotmulaag gol would break Miraak's hold at first. I grew so frustrated after encountering the first Stone that I just started shouting at it...”
Zahkriisos burst out laughing. “Ha! You wield the Voice like an eager hatchling! You most certainly are Dovahkiin!” He glanced at Dukaan mischievously. “What was the that one tale Konahrik used to tell us about little Vahlok's Thu'um misadventures?”
“It eludes me,” his younger sibling replied, tapping his chin. “Something about setting Viinturuth's new heraldry ablaze?”
“This is Dukaan!” Vahlok loudly interjected, causing the Bloodskal brothers and his student to laugh!
Nahkriin silently observed the youngest Dragonborn and the youngest dragon priest as they happily greeted one another. The Solstheim sonaakke had always been startlingly less reserved than their mainland counterparts. They hardly wore their masks outside of official duties, socialized with the common rabble and boldly addressed their patrons with the most minute of concerns!
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Dukaan said warmly. His mahogany mane was much shorter than Zahk's and pale sky-colored streaks wound their way through the darker tresses.
“The honor is mine,” Viintaas answered, trying to bridle his curiosity about the brothers' unnaturally vibrant hair. His restraint lasted for about two seconds. “Is it an Atmoran tradition to dye one's hair?”
Dukaan looked confused briefly before smiling kindly. “I wish! This is a possible side effect of wielding powerful magic in a fractured state, Dragonborn. I prefer cryomancy, while my brother favors lightning, ergo the distinct colorations.”
Vahlok hid a smile at his student's amazed expression. Even Alduin did not garner such a reaction!
“That's so awesome,” Viintaas exclaimed, flabbergasted. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “...what would conjuration magic do? Would you go bald? Or would you get ghost hair??”
Dukaan blinked but Zahkriisos looked positively delighted!
“Ghost hair?! Vahlok, quick! Stand over there and draw the attention of my atronachs. I should start with eight of them at least.”
Nahkriin's expression was one of utter bewilderment, but Vahlok didn't even bat an eye at such a random request. “I will not be bait for your angry atronachs, even in the grandiose pursuit of an ethereal mane.”
Vahlok's dramatic phrasing caused Viintaas to snicker while Dukaan regarded his brother in amusement. “Ahzidal will not be pleased to awaken unto you recklessly messing with spells again.”
“Nor with you for dabbling too deeply in frost magic!”
“Your hair literally has a purple ombre, you can say nothing.”
“What about a shout?” Viintaas suggested, matching Zahk's enthusiasm. “We can turn our entire bodies ethereal. Surely focusing on one section is possible?”
“That would be an egregious misuse of the Thu'um,” Nahkriin began, only to be interrupted by Zahkriisos crying “Perfect!”
Numinex's sonaak attempted to formulate the correct words while Viintaas listened eagerly and asked occasional questions.
“Oh gods,” Dukaan murmured to Vahlok. “There are two of them.”
The Guardian's eyes twinkled. “We shall have to monitor what Zahk tries to teach him, Vulonkrein.”
The youngest sonaak chuckled softly; Nahkriin however, felt exasperated. “How do you tolerate such a severe lack of discipline?”
Vahlok glanced at him almost quizzically. Nahkriin had been so relaxed and even friendly before. He frowned slightly as he noticed the partially hidden bandages around his counterpart’s shoulder. “You are not healing.”
Viinturuth's student sighed deeply, still refusing to meet Vahlok's gaze. “It is unimportant. All that matters is Lord Alduin's will.”
Vahlok exchanged uneasy glances with Dukaan. Suddenly Alduin's unmistakable roar thundered across the island. The World-Eater landed before the barrow with a tremendous thud, followed by the Great Ones of Solstheim, their mighty wings whipping up the ash.
“Dii mid sonaakke,” Alduin began with a confident toss of his massive head. “The time has come. Retrieve zeymahiil and Nahkriin will conjure the path to Bromjunaar.”
Skuldafn’s steward squared his shoulders. It was unseemly to slouch weakly before the Firstborn, regardless of injuries! Vahlok was uncertain if faithful Nahkriin had enough lingering strength for such an ambitious spell, but he remained silent. One battle at a time.
“Sahrot Thur Alduin,” Dukaan ventured, softly. “Zeymah Ahzidal was not...sound of mind in the end. If he should refuse our words, or believe your call to be an illusion, what shall we do?”
Viintaas saw Vahlok do a double take, but his mentor said nothing. Gaafkrokulaan moved closer to Dukaan protectively, but Alduin simply twitched a wing. “You fear his power?”
Zahkriisos stiffened, yet his sibling was forthright. “He is the most gifted among us, my lord. It will take much violence simply to force him to yield, which would destroy any trust left between us. If that resentment remains even after you fully restore his mind, it would be to the detriment of our order.”
Alduin's unwavering crimson gaze settled on Vahlok. “Then the Lord of Solstheim shall have to assert his leadership.”
Notes:
Alduin, you are an incredibly difficult dragon to trust!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Alok Kron Spaan = Arise, Conquer, Protect
Drem Yol Lok = Peace, Fire, Sky
Bormah ofan mulaag = Father give (me) strength (as in strength in general)
Chapter 21
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“The carnage continues down here,” Vahlok called out gravely, adeptly navigating the labyrinth of tunnels that caused Viintaas's head to spin.
“Are you certain he's not just going to assume we're stealing his armor?” The amber-eyed Nord inquired, shifting his grip on the ancient boots. The enchantments woven into them were so potent that his hands tingled.
“I'm with Junior,” Zahkriisos said, being careful not to drop the archaic breastplate. “Unstable lich Ahzidal will see us as hokoronne.”
“Not if we bring them as an offering,” Dukaan countered. He gingerly carried the gauntlets and helm as Vahlok skillfully disabled another trap.
Viintaas inwardly shivered at the number of glowing eyes staring at them from the shadows. He resisted the urge to panic-bash every single one of them in their leering faces with Ahzidal's greaves! “At least the draugr remember.”
Zahkriisos smirked, silver orbs gleaming. “They know who their lords are.”
The bearer of the Bloodskal blade knelt down beside the remains of a hapless miner.
“Someone tore through this unlucky bastard with a vengeance, albeit poor precision.”
“The energy doesn't feel quite like Ahzidal's aura,” his sibling added, brow furrowed with uncertainty. “Though perhaps that is because we have been reborn?”
“Don't insult the old boy; his strikes are much more accurate than this,” Zahkriisos insisted, rising. He idly waved away the draugr that started to shamble along behind them, much to Viintaas's relief.
“If Ahzidal attacks us, it will entirely your fault,” Dukaan said, regarding his relative with raised eyebrows.
“Stay focused, please,” the Guardian murmured as he paused before two massive wooden doors, listening.
Viintaas halted behind his mentor, grateful that the Bloodskal brothers stood between him and the lingering undead. Liches did not trouble him, reanimated skeletons were laughable, but the draugr? There was something about their hollow sentience that made the young Dragonborn feel ill. A sudden pulse of unfamiliar magic radiated from the closed chamber, and Viintaas blinked in bewilderment.
“What...?”
“Dawn magic,” Vahlok answered, glancing over his shoulder. “This will be a good experience for your dovahzii, but remain behind me always, regardless of how Ahzidal reacts. Agreed?”
“Of course,” his student replied readily.
The Jailor's azure gaze flickered towards the swordsman. “Zahk...”
“What?”
“Do not provoke him.”
“Do you think I want to be transmogrified into a horker?” Zahkriisos scoffed incredulously. “I'll be a perfectly amicable gentleman. Promise!'
Vahlok's exhale sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. He whirled around and pushed open the great doors in one smooth motion. Dukaan visibly flinched at the gory sight that greeted them. Bodies of more unfortunate workers were scattered about the sacrificial chamber, their blood drenching the circular altar in the center. A masked lich in tattered green robes hovered over the corpse of a leather clad Dunmer, glaring down at it contemptuously.
“Ahzidal zeymahi,” Vahlok called, with both authority and affection. “Join us in rebirth. Thuru Alduin wishes to restore your physical form.”
The soulless helm snapped toward them, but the Enchanter did not move.
Dukaan presented the armor he was holding. “Here, Drog Ahzidal. We thought you might like these back.” His gentle timbre was conversational.
Ahzidal faced them fully with his decrepit body, though not in a welcoming manner.
“Please, brother,” the Guardian cajoled. “We are not here to challenge you. Return with us.”
Zahkriisos and Viintaas followed Dukaan’s example, placing Ahzidal’s armor on a stone table and quietly backing away.
The first Nord to master elven methods made no response.
The Bloodskal priest stalked to Vahlok's right, frowning deeply. The lich’s silence was an ill omen. This confrontation would not end well unless it was finished before it could even begin. His eyes glittered. Alduin would be unperturbed by an Ahzidal on ice!
“Iiz Slen N-”
A wave of arcane energy radiated violently from the Enchanter, sending them flying backwards! Viintaas blinked stars from his vision as his ears rang, quickly looking around. Vahlok was rising to his feet, Zahkriisos was nowhere to be seen, and Dukaan was...Dukaan was...
The young Dragonborn rubbed his eyes, stomach churning with dread. The grey robed priest's legs had been phased halfway through the ground. He scrambled upright, ignoring the pain in his own limbs, and rushed over to him.
“W-what-how can I help?!”
“I am fine,” the sonaak lied, his complexion even more pallid than usual. “Find Zahk. I-I think he was sent through the wall...”
Viintaas bolted for the exit, but the blasted gates were sealed! The Dovahkiin did not hesitate.
“Fus Ro Dah!”
The wooden doors exploded in a shower of splinters, the archway that supported them cracking as well! Ahzidal moved to pursue the interloper but Vahlok intercepted him.
“Enough!” The Guardian's sapphire orbs shone with righteous fury.
“Mul Qah Viing Diiv!”
Viintaas skidded to a stop upon hearing Dovahzul.
Was that a four-word shout?? Was that Miraak's shout? Ugh! Focus, idiot! He chided himself, racing forward and searching the catacombs for any sign of Zahkriisos!
He narrowly avoided a surprise set of broken ribs when the stonework to his left crumbled abruptly, the rubble activating a log trap. A furious sonaak emerged from the opening, covered in dust and grime. Viintaas stared in alarm at blood leaking from a nasty gash across his forehead.
“Ahz displaced me through the corridors but didn't have the courtesy to continue the spell passed the damned pillars,” Zahkriisos explained, coughing. He drew his longsword as lightning danced across his other hand. “It's just a scratch, kid.”
“Oh good, because Dukaan's in the floor,” Viintaas blurted, keeping pace with the tall Atmoran as they marched back to the sacrificial chamber.
“Nah nii, Ahzidal,” the Bloodskal knight growled. “I'll go to Vahlok, you stay with Vulonkrein.”
Viintaas rebuked his apprehension and nodded. “Okay.”
They both froze upon seeing the Jailor in full ethereal dragon armor, redirecting blast after incinerating blast of Ahzidal's fiery assaults! He adeptly sent the flames hurtling towards the far wall, taking care to avoid both his attacker and his allies. Vahlok's vibrant wards looked similar to Miraak's, save for the massive pair of translucent wings sprouting from his back. They seemed to aid in absorbing some of the arcane energy, but now was not the time for study! Viintaas tore his gaze away from the battle and hurried toward the entrapped dragon priest.
“Niid,” Vahlok commanded as Zahkriisos approached. The warrior gritted his teeth in frustration yet obeyed. He had fought alongside Vahlok for decades. They did not need words to understand one another. Numinex's student slowly backed away in the direction of his sibling as Ahzidal's relentless barrage of fire rained against Vahlok's wards.
“Zahkriisos?” Viintaas questioned, his voice strained. He poured all of his strength into the most potent healing spell he knew, wanting to ease Dukaan's agony in any way possible. His new friend remained sickly pale and clammy, but his labored breathing had eased.
“He's allowing Ahz to wear himself out,” the storm sonaak answered, quietly.
“I do not think Ahzidal's magika ever wanes,” Dukaan murmured, his normally pleasant brogue hoarse.
“Not in life perhaps...” Zahkriisos said, allowing his voice to trail off. His silver eyes were fixated on the pyromancers.
The ancient lich shrieked, causing a legion of draugr to violently burst through their coffins! To the Enchanter's astonishment however, they did not attack the intruders! The dustwalkers treated them with the same reverence that they showed to the barrow's master, especially the one that displayed the symbols of their overlords!
That moment of distraction was what Vahlok had been waiting for. He launched himself at Ahzidal with the speed of a Whirlwind Sprint, seizing the lich by his armored shoulders.
“Ahzidal, koraav!” the Jailer boomed, meeting the irate lich's undead eyes. “Zu'u Vahlok kul Konahrik. Hin zeymah. Hin fahdon. Daal!”
Ahzidal had yet to extinguish the blaze in his right hand, but he was listening.
“You taught me how to be a good teacher to Zahkriisos,” Vahlok continued, his warm baritone thick with emotion. “You protected Dukaan as he grew. You stood beside my father against Kodaavah and his ilk. And after Miraak murdered dii bormah, you gave counsel to us all. Bo, zeymahi. Return to us.”
A few tense moments passed before Ahzidal finally doused the fire he held.
Zahkriisos exhaled in relief and Vahlok, seeing new clarity in his old ally’s unliving orbs, released the lich's shoulders. He offered a small smile, saying, “Toormaarfeyn awaits you, brother, but Vulonkrein needs your aid first.” His voice was calm, yet not condescending.
Ahzidal hovered over to the grey robed priest, his piercing gaze resting on Viintaas. The young Dragonborn ceased healing Dukaan and slowly stood upright, rather uncomfortable with the way the lich still towered above him.
“Uh h-hello,” Viintaas stammered awkwardly.
Dukaan was expertly freed from the stone tiles and placed carefully next to his brother, while Ahzidal still observed the boy.
Viintaas was so captivated by the intense stare that he startled when Zahkriisos playfully slapped him on the back.
“This is Dragonborn Junior. He's a part of the Solstheim legion now.”
“Do not refer to us as a legion,” His sibling protested, in an effort to be lighthearted and disguise his discomfort. “That makes it sound like we are Daedra.”
“Better than the Dragon Cult title present day joorre have chosen for us!” The Bloodskal priest retorted.
Viintaas blanched. “Oh, that's not official? Sorry...”
Zahkriisos gave him an incredulous look while Vahlok chuckled.
“Fret not, fahdon,” Dukaan reassured. “Much of our history is lost; how were you to know?”
He tried to rise but collapsed with a sharp hiss. “Apologies, my limbs are numb. Grant me a moment...”
“We don't have a moment when Thur Alduin is waiting,” Zahkriisos said, effortlessly scooping up his relative in the damsel hold.
“~ Little baby brother ~” He sang with an impish grin.
That, combined with Dukaan's expression of utter longsuffering, sent Viintaas into a laughing fit!
“Vahlok,” the short haired priest pleaded. “Please kill me.”
The Jailor sighed, but even amidst the luminous draconic wards Viintaas could tell he was grinning.
Vahlok deferred to Ahzidal, who led the way back to the surface. He hesitated briefly, glancing at the Guardian.
Vahlok's eyes glittered with realization. “Ah, Nahkriin will return for the Black Book. Alduin created a... unique holding location for them. We shall aid him in retrieving your armor as well.”
The lich looked about as unconvinced as the undead could look, but he relented, continuing through the winding catacombs. Viintaas fell in step beside his mentor, while Zahkriisos followed behind.
“So, a four-word shout?” Viintaas commented, his earnest effort to sound nonchalant bringing another smile to Vahlok’s face.
“A gift from the Firstborn; not even the most powerful sonaakke could learn such shouts alone,” the Guardian clarified. “Understanding the wings of the dov offers enhanced speed and protection; vital in my battle against Miraak. I could move like the whirlwind, while breathing frost or flame.”
“Wow,” Viintaas marveled, sincerely. Then he winced. “I-I’m sorry if Alduin- I mean I’m no comparison but… I’ve got your back.”
Vahlok paused, once again struck by the lad’s genuine kindness.
“Thank you, Viintaas, truly. I was being honest when I told my zeymahhe that your presence has been an immeasurable boon to me.” He placed a warm hand on the younger Dovahkiin’s shoulder, and Viintaas felt confused by the deep worry in the Jailor’s eyes. “You are a part of our circle, and we protect our own, no matter what.”
“What he said,” Zahkriisos added, with a smirk. He glanced down at Dukaan and was surprised to see a stunned expression of realization on his sibling’s face.
“Always,” Dukaan added seriously, his crystalline orbs following Ahzidal down the corridor.
~ ~ ~
“Ahzidal! Slen Tiid Vo!”
Viintaas grimaced, certain that he would never grow used to the horrifying sight of tissue springing forth across a skeletal frame. Dukaan and Zahkriisos winced in sympathy but Vahlok seemed apprehensive. Naakriin readied a green robe, impressed that Ahzidal had not cried out in anguish once! Then again, what physical pain could compare with the torment of losing one’s entire city?
The Enchanter rose, glancing at Nahkriin keenly before accepting the proffered attire. He examined his hands dispassionately for a few moments before boldly meeting the gaze of the World-Eater. “This was not included in the bargain.”
Alduin let out an amused huff, arching his muscular neck. “The world has changed, and so must we.”
Ahzidal inclined his head. “As you say.”
The Enchanter’s voice was smooth with a gravely edge, a pleasant yet slightly unsettling contradiction. Viintaas blinked. It was weirdly familiar.
The young Dragonborn’s heart lurched when the ivory skinned man turned to face his fellow sonaakke. He did not notice Vahlok and Dukaan watching him with heartfelt concern. He heard not a word of Gaafkrokulan’s worried rumbling queries about his wellbeing, nor did he see Toormaarfeyn’s solemn green eyes.
Ahzidal’s wavey black tresses were touched by silver now, and his amber eyes were crueler than the boy remembered, but his past identity could not be mistaken.
“F-father?” Viintaas asked softly.
Notes:
And thus Viintaas understood why Vahlok was so reluctant to reveal the identity of his father.
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Faas Nah = Pain, Fury aka Damn you
Nah nii = Fury, It aka Damn it
I changed the official swear a little because even a peeved Zahkriisos wouldn't curse his friends. (Everyone else is fair game.)
Daal = Return (to us)
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ahzidal froze as he gazed into those vibrant amber orbs so alike unto his own.
No. There is no possible way.
The lad's wild ebony hair was akin to his also.
I never found their bodies among the mounds of the dead.
The vicious scar tissue that tore across the right side of the boy's face and neck was consistent with severe burns.
He cannot be...
He had been drawn to the boy's unique aura, but that had nothing to do with familial ties!
My son…
“Lo los daar, Alduin?” Ahzidal challenged, balefully glaring up at the World-Eater. “Such trickery is appallingly sadistic even by your standards!”
The other dovahhe startled, and Toormaarfeyn tensed his great muscles, ready to intercept the Firstborn's ravening jaws to defend his grief-stricken pupil! But to everyone's surprise, Alduin remained still, his crimson orbs inscrutable. He knew the indescribable anguish of losing one's mate and offspring. The Firstborn preferred not to imagine how he would feel if his yuvonkul had been alive yet separated from him for millennia. How could he condemn his priest for lashing out?
“This is no deceit, suleykaar Ahzidal,” the ebony beast rumbled, his voice unusually quiet. “Not by my will, nor the goraan Dovahkiin's.”
Ahzidal inhaled sharply. He had not been expecting such a sincere, temperate response. His golden gaze returned to the boy, who was trembling.
“...Viintaas?” Ahzidal ventured apprehensively.
The young Dragonborn's eyes filled with tears as he struggled to keep from breaking before so many dovahhe. The bitter pain he had kept bottled up inside for so long surged to the surface, threatening to overwhelm his control! There had been so many things he had wanted to say as a child. So many pleas begging his father to return home!
“Why?” Viintaas whispered, not daring to look at anyone else besides the Enchanter.
Ahzidal took a step forward, halting when the last Dovahkiin flinched, as though half expecting to be attacked. Viintaas wrapped his arms around himself, feeling like a frightened, lost little boy once again. Gaafkrokulaan fluttered his wings almost nervously, looking between the older dragons. He watched as the Malkulaan extended a hand toward his student, only to quickly lower it. Instead, Vahlok reached out with his aura, reaffirming his promise to support Viintaas fully. Zahkriisos paced a bit, eyes locked on Ahzidal. He loved the talented mage like kin, but never quite trusted him as fully as Vahlok and Dukaan did. There had always been something so…feral about Ahzidal. Sure, Zahkriisos purposefully pushed the elder sonaak’s buttons while in mischievous moods, but he always knew his limits and where he stood in Ahzidal’s esteem. The Bloodskal priest had no idea how the Flayer of Falmer would react to Viintaas.
Nahkriin and Dukaan stood in tense silence, the latter unable to mask the concern on his face. Hevnofokriid kept one eye on Alduin, glistening tail curled tauntly at his side.
“I understand why you left,” Viintaas began suddenly, straightening despite his overwhelming grief. “Who wouldn’t want to study new magics? What I cannot comprehend no matter how hard I try is-” His voice faltered, but his amber eyes were like living flames. “Why you never came back…”
Something broke inside Ahzidal and his confident demeanor was gone. His shoulders drooped and his raspy voice was soft. “I desired to return, but-”
“They slit her throat right in front of me!” Viintaas cried, hot tears streaming down his scarred face. He could hold them back no longer. “Her last act was to push me into the rift opened by the Kel!”
The Atmoran enchanter looked like he had been dealt a mortal blow, yet the last Dragonborn was not finished.
“Do you know what those monsters did to Orlan’s little sister? They threw her into the fire like depraved Ayleids!” His gaze became distant, his form trembled, and his voice was heavy with anguish. “We tried to save her, but the flames spread too swiftly because all of the shattered lamps and spilled potions. Ysagramor and his sons were tearing through enemies, but Miruna knew they would never reach us. She tried to open a hidden passage but-but then she was shot full of arrows.” The distraught young Nord grabbed the sides of his head. “There was no time, no protection, no place to run! The halls began to crumble, and I was struck-”
Viintaas faltered, shaking. He hated this. Hated being so vulnerable in front of Alduin and maybe even Nahkriin. Yet he could not regain composure. Ahzidal approached carefully once more, and this time the Dovahkiin did not withdraw. “They didn’t deserve to die,” the boy lamented, gentle timbre barely audible even to draconic hearing. “I didn’t deserve to live…”
The eldest Atmoran ignored all others as he took the child he had long grieved for into his strong arms. “Nid, dii kril kul. Your life is a gift.”
Viintaas wavered briefly, then returned his father’s comforting embrace. It was hauntingly familiar, though his head reached Ahzidal’s chest now and not merely his belt! The enchanter shed a few tears, a luxury he had not allowed himself since Konahrik’s murder. Vahlok and Zahkriisos visibly relaxed, pleased that neither Mora nor Mer would separate their allies again. Toormaarfeyn regarded the reunited pair, then carefully encircled his priest and his priest’s child, using his vibrant body and wings as a shield. They deserved some sort of privacy for Akatosh’s sake! Alduin seemed to agree, for he tossed his proud head and practically herded Gaaf away, as dominant dragons were wont to do. Hevnofokriid needed no such encouragement, quietly following the Firstborn. He relaxed his whip-like tail yet remained alert. Simply because Alduin showed restraint did not mean he was trustworthy!
The sonaakke trailed their Masters, the Solstheimers moving as though a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Nahkriin inwardly sighed as he hiked through the ash in the prints of the gods. This reunion wasted valuable time, but if the World-Eater deemed it necessary, then necessary it was. Viinturuth’s student felt a pang of guilt. He should consider himself fortunate that his own father had been a steady presence during his formulative years.
~ ~ ~
Ofan was still trying to memorize the hierarchy of the Dragon Cult when Viinturuth’s clarion call reverberated through the collage. She took a deep breath, rising from her bed and putting away her notes. Hopefully, the mossy green dragon was here to check on his priests only and not to test her knowledge of Dovahzul!
Morokei stood as proudly as ever next to Krosis before the Hall of Elements as the massive blood dragon descended, choosing to land upon the ground rather than the stone alure. After a moment of thought, Viinturuth wrapped his long tail around the statue of Shalidor and shattered the monument that had stood for centuries! He kicked the crumbling stone away dismissively with his hind feet, before lowering his head and focusing his full attention upon the sonaakke.
“I see you are establishing a fine stronghold in this place of craven mages,” Viinturuth rumbled, tail twitching every so often.
“By the grace of your patronage, thuri,” Morokei replied, bowing low.
Krosis followed suit but decided to forego tactful banter. “We received tidings that Lord Kahvozein roams the skies once again.”
Morokei glared at his counterpart in disbelief, and the archaic blood dragon snorted, lips curling. His displeasure, however, was clearly not directed at the red-maned priest. “Bah! Krasnovaar nau ok thu’um! That fool has learned nothing after six millennia buried beneath the earth!”
Both priests gaped at him. That was quite a curse!
“He has been stirring…dissension, I take it?” The taller man inquired carefully, wishing he had worn to his mask to better hide his astonishment.
“Kahvozein behaves as if the war was never lost!” The yellow-eyed dovah roared, tail lashing out in a wide arc now. “Such chaos was the reason for our weaknesses in the First Era! Alduin did not raise us from darkness so that we might make the same mistakes in this age!”
Viinturuth snarled to himself for a moment, before settling down and loosely curling his long tail at his left side. “How fares my pupil?”
Morokei exchanged glances with Krosis before answering candidly. “Nahkriin seemed weary, thuri, though he perseveres in his duties. I worry for him.”
The dragon seemed to sigh deeply, “Alduin nu koraav ni.”
His head whipped around toward the Hall of Attainment, piercing eyes locked on Ofan, who had been all but hiding at the entrance to the tower. “Approach, Sossedov. I would hear good news this day!”
The petite maiden obeyed, standing a bit nervously to the right of her mentor. Morokei placed a gentle hand upon her left shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. Viinturuth lowered his head, exhaling slowly. He had no desire to terrorize the loyal, unlike that mey Kahvozein!
“Drem, malbron. My wrath is not with the faithful. How fare your studies of the dov?”
“They are proceeding well, thuri,” Ofan answered, shyly. “Lord Morokei is a very adept teacher and Lord Krosis is quite amicable when answering inquiries!”
Viinturuth offered a warm, purr-like growl. “Pruzah! Yet I sense something more troubles your mind? Niid! Do not look so startled!” He tucked his wings a bit more properly in a show of relaxed trust. “The high priests within my sphere of influence have been training acolytes for centuries.”
The young woman shifted a bit, hoping this would not be a breach of etiquette! “Lord Morokei has given me very thorough notes, and I have written more of my own, yet I am still confused by leadership within your order, thuri.” She tucked a rebellious curl behind her right ear, embarrassed. “The dov are gods, yet the high priests speak with authority over some dovahhe, but it is blasphemy to do so against others. I comprehend that the Firstborn is above all, but dragon hierarchy in general has left me lost.”
“That is because ranks were ever changing when the world was young,” the blood dragon explained. “Under Alduin, the most elite among dragonkind served in a similar fashion to what humans call a court. Whether by Akatosh’s favor or the genetic fortune of parentage, a rare percentage of the dov were stronger, swifter, and more gifted than others of their various breeds.”
Ofan’s pleasant voice was thoughtful yet genuine. “Is that why you are so much fairer and larger than the blood dragons that roam about the mountains?”
The ebony striped beast seemed pleased, his dorsal fins fanning out as though he simply had to show them off now! “Indeed, malbron. I am among Alduin’s inner circle, ergo I earned the right to take a gifted sonaak, a high priest, as my personal apprentice. The nonvul sonaakke speak for their mentors, and while they still respect all dov, the winged miscreants that rebel against the high priests rebel truly against their patrons. Such situations are often when patrons intervene directly, to remind the lesser dragons to honor them and their faithful students!”
She nodded, turquoise orbs flickering. “That definitely brings clarity, Thur Viinturuth, thank you!”
He snorted, moving his tail lackadaisically. “Fret not; history will be less vague when you journey to Bromjunaar.”
“That is what I desired to speak with you about during this visitation, thuri,” Morokei said, solemnly. “I know sacred Bromjunaar's reconstruction is in progress, but the devastation is immense. And disheartening. I seek your council regarding the wellbeing of my brothers. Should we house them here instead as they recover from resurrection? The college is naught compared to the ancient temples, but it is secure, and far from whatever petty governments have been established in this modern age.”
“I doubt Otar, Hevnoraak, or even Volsung will be troubled by the capital’s dilapidated state, yet it is truly heart-rending.” Krosis added, seriously. “The more of our brotherhood present to safeguard the Eye of Magnus before its transport, the better. The Falmer have fallen, the Dwemer have disappeared, however there remains a faction of Mer called the Thalmor that seek to emulate the Ayleids in many, many ways.”
The emerald scaled creature considered their words, then arched his neck. “I agree with your observations, dii mid fahdonne, but the World-Eater is determined to bring us all under Bromjunaar’s banner as soon as possible. Even so, I shall seek to change his course.” He spread his regal wings, casting deep shadows across the courtyard. “Kos mul. You will not be alone for long.”
Ofan shielded her face as Viinturuth’s takeoff whipped up the icy wind and snow. She met Morokei’s violet gaze a bit sheepishly, hoping he would not be displeased with her querying the dragon. The taller priest did not seem upset at all; in fact, he looked rather enthused!
“Come, malvahdin,” he purred, politely offering her his arm. “It is time we introduce you to proper Atmoran cuisine and attire!”
“Oh my gods, leeks are not the Kalpa!” Krosis exclaimed, his abrupt randomness causing Ofan to laugh aloud! As the two priests began to bicker like siblings, the dainty mage could not help but catch Morokei’s excitement regarding Atmoran culture. She was very eager to learn about more her people!
And perhaps, someday soon, even my parents...
Notes:
I'm so sorry for the long hiatus guys! It's been one heck of a few weeks over here. Have some feels as an offering!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Lo los daar? = (What) deception is this?
Suleykaar = Powerful
Goraan = Young
Dii kril kul = My brave son
Krasnovaar nau ok thu’um = A plague upon his Voice/Vital essence
Alduin nu koraav ni = Alduin still sees not/Alduin is still blind
Chapter 23
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas could not remember the last time he had wept so much. Nor the last time he felt safe enough to cry. Ahzidal held his broken child close, trying to calm the myriad of thoughts racing through his mind. Lanel…his precious Lanel…had saved their only child from a horrific death despite their enemies tearing her throat. The Falmer.
All Mer were wicked, faithless, and accursed, but the Falmer were the most abominable! At least the Ayleids did not hide their corrupt nature behind gilded chapels of Auriel. Ahzidal closed his eyes, trying to quell his growing rage. The Enchanter did not wish to lose any more time with his son to the wretched snow elves.
“I’m sorry,” Viintaas murmured, trying to regain composure, swiftly rubbing at his red eyes.
“Drem, dii kril kul,” the Atmoran sonaak soothed. “None shall judge you here.”
Toormaarfeyn brought his vibrant wing even closer above them, like a hen shielding her chicks from the rain. Viintaas gave the striking dragon a grateful look. Words failed him, so he simply rested beside his newfound father.
“Nothing will excuse how greatly I failed you,” Ahzidal began after a long while, seeking to meet his child’s gaze. “But I vow to let neither mortal nor divine harm you ever again.”
The Last Dragonborn had a difficult time maintaining his sire’s intense stare. He instead studied the ebony pattern on Toormaarfeyn’s beautiful wing. Ahzidal truly did seem repentant, and the boy supposed his father had spent the last several millennia regretting his actions.
Would his presence at Saarthal have even made a difference?
Viintaas exhaled slowly, looking up at the ancient sonaak. “I often wondered what it would be like to have you back.” He offered a sincere, yet almost shy grin. “I'm glad we have a chance to be a family again...”
Viintaas felt so young, so vulnerable, but the heartfelt smile that spread across Ahzidal's pale face assuaged all fear. That was the warmth he remembered from his youth, not the weary bitterness of the Falmer slayer. They sat in contented silence for a few more moments before Ahzidal spoke again.
“How did you discover Akatosh's gift?”
Viintaas grinned sheepishly. “Honestly? After helping Jarl Balgruuf's guards slay a dragon that was attacking their watchtowers. The dragon spoke, obviously, but I was far from fluent in Dovahzul and he kept attacking regardless of what I said in Tamrielic.” The young Dragonborn ran a hand through his unruly ebony hair. “I felt guilty for killing him, especially since mother respected the dov so much. But I couldn't stand aside and watch him burn innocent people either. It was not like the locals were traipsing through his roost or threatening his allies!” Viintaas's voice lowered. “Absorbing his soul was... horrific yet exhilarating. It felt very wrong yet very natural- does that make sense?”
The Enchanter smiled softly. “Such duality may be a common sensation until you grow more accustomed to your dovahzii, dii kul.” He leaned back against his patron's warm form and the ancient dragon seemed to relax as well. “Vahlok too, struggled with the dichotomy of a mortal's body and a dragon's soul.”
Viintaas tilted his head. “...What about Miraak?”
Toormaarfeyn snorted and Ahzidal's golden orbs glittered. “Miraak had no qualms about devouring the souls of the dov. He thought that power was his birthright even before he discovered the gift, whether it was earned or no.” The former lich sighed. “He was not a cruel lad in the beginning. Not like Hevnoraak or Volsung. But Hermaeus Mora has a way of exacerbating the worst traits of those arrogant enough to deem themselves beyond his influence.”
Viintaas discerned the venom in his tone. “Did-did you see Miraak in your Black Book?”
“No; they act as portals to separate pockets within Mora's realm rather than to Apocrypha as a whole.” His father's sharp expression turned rueful. “I fell into the same trap the Traitor did however, believing I could delve into Mora's secrets while maintaining my sanity...”
The Last Dragonborn searched him. “You seem fine now. Vahlok got through to you and there are no black spots in your eyes.”
Ahzidal blinked. “How do you know about the symptoms of Mora's permanent influence?”
“The Telvani mage that lives on the other side of the island told me. Or expositioned rather, as he checked my eyes for marks after learning of my encounter with Miraak's book.”
Ahzidal idly stroked his short, trimmed beard as he sorted through his growing list of inquiries. One query in particular took precedence.
“Did Miraak hurt you?”
“He monologued about his unmatchable power mostly,” Viintaas replied. “I was okay, if more than a little alarmed. He kept proclaiming his imminent return to Tamriel.”
Ahzidal arched an eyebrow. “Does that tahrodiis mey truly believe he can deceive a Daedric Prince within its own plane of Oblivion?”
Toormaarfeyn's rumbling voice vibrated through them. “Are you truly surprised, fahdoni?”
The tall Atmoran's exasperated sigh caused his child to grin. “I suppose not.”
The massive dragon felt his student shift to better regard his son. “Who is this 'Telvani'?”
“Oh! His name is Neloth. House Telvani is one of the noble families from Morrowind. He's a Dunmer; they were still Chimer in our time. I haven't paid much attention to their history to be honest, but a few centuries ago Azura's chosen was murdered by his wife and two friends so they could become 'gods' and sleep together or something. Azura cursed them and their followers by turning their skin ashen and their eyes red. They still look like that to this day.” Viintaas shrugged slightly. “Seems unfair to afflict so many people just because their leaders were terrible, but maybe there was more to it than that.”
“The Princes are not to be trifled with,” Ahzidal said. “I do not fear them, and you need not to either, but always be respectful during any encounters until you can extricate yourself. Unless you are dealing with that wretch Molag Bal or that weakling Namira.”
Toormaarfeyn rumbled his agreement. Ahzidal smiled softly, then slowly rose to his feet. “We should not keep Thuru Alduin waiting any longer.”
The vivid dovah felt the boy tense. “Father?”
The Enchanter was both touched by Viintaas addressing him as such and concerned by his tone. “Yes, dii kul?”
“Did Alduin really kill Vahlok?”
Ahzidal frowned. “I wish we knew for certain. The Great Ones and some of my brothers were suspicious, but I was not of sound enough mind to be of any aid.”
Viintaas stood, glancing back at Toormaarfeyn. The ancient dragon did not speak but his grim expression said it all.
“Bo, dii kril kul,” Ahzidal said, giving his son an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “All will be well.”
~ ~ ~
Nahkriin’s mouth set in a thin line as he watched Vahlok skillfully clean the gash on Zahkriisos’s forehead. Just a brief encounter with Ahzidal had left his brothers wounded. Viinturuth’s pupil wished he could heal them, but he could barely muster the strength to keep himself in one piece. Dukaan’s magika was completely drained from trying to keep his bones from being shattered by the stone floor and his brother and the Jailor had exhausted themselves trying to repair any nerve damage. Spells that phased solids through solids were more dangerous than poison to the human body!
“Stop fussing!” The Bloodskal priest demanded, swatting Vahlok’s hand away from his face. “I’m not a pansy princess!”
“Certainly not, for a princess would be wise enough to bandage her wounds in the midst of an ashen apocalypse!” Vahlok retorted. “If you keep resisting, I will tell Ahzidal!”
“Tell Ahzidal what?” The eldest sonaak asked sharply as he waltzed into their little camp along the beach.
“He is refusing medical treatment!”
“He won’t stop coddling me like an infant!”
The Enchanter rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Zahk, curb your stubborn Bloodskal pride. Vahlok, abandon not assertiveness simply because I am whole. You are Dovahkiin for Akatosh’s sake!”
Viintaas stopped beside his father, hiding a smirk. It was clear that the masterful mage had engaged in many such conversations with his fellow priests.
Toormaarfeyn snorted in amusement at his sonaakke squabbling like hatchlings. “Kiirre, kiirre. No wonder the Firstborn fled!” He swished his long tail lackadaisically. If they could protest, they would recover. It was the silences of Dukaan and Nahkriin that were more worrisome.
“He is hunting with Gaafkrokulaan, thuri,” Vahlok answered as he finished wrapping the linen around Zahkriisos’s head. Ahzidal’s watchful gaze inspired even the grumbling swordsman to behave! “Thur Hevnofokriid wished to make certain that none of Miraak’s sycophants remained around his temple.”
Toormaarfeyn fluttered his wings. “He has remained ever vigilant throughout the ages, though we cannot rend the Traitor from outside Apocrypha.”
Viintaas blinked, meeting those piercing green eyes with curiosity. “Wait Hevnofo… Thur Hevnofokriid… did not die in the Dragon War?”
“Niid goraan gein. He has endured.”
Hevnofokriid looks so much healthier than Paarthurnax, Viintaas thought, growing nervous about the elderly dragon’s wellbeing. He glanced at Nahkriin briefly. It would be foolish to mention anything now, but hopefully he could ask Vahlok about it soon. His father was most likely allied with Paarthurnax as well, but Viintaas would not gamble with his first mentor’s life.
The most bizarre of sounds, like a mix between dispelled wards and collapsing glaciers, reverberated through their camp. A clarion call echoed from above as the largest blood dragon Viintaas had ever seen abruptly appeared, circling their camp once before landing near Toormaarfeyn with a tremendous thud. “Hail, Inferno! It is good to see you roaming the skies once more!”
“Alok kron spaan, fahdoni,” the ancient dragon replied, using the greeting established by his dear Solstheim priests.
“Dovahhe can utilize portals as well,” Vahlok explained softly, noticing his student’s wide eyes.
Nahkriin staggered to his feet, his expression one of relief and awe. “Thuri Viinturuth!”
Zahkriisos swiftly helped Dukaan rise as well. Nahkriin’s patron was not oppressive, but he very much appreciated manners.
The emerald striped dovah approached his faithful student, examining him with great concern before giving Nahkriin the gentlest of nuzzles. The Steward of Skuldafn nearly teared up! His patron was not an affectionate being, so such a simple gesture spoke volumes. Nahkriin was extremely grateful that Viinturuth understood he was giving his absolute all in service to the dov! The green dragon vocalized quietly, almost reassuringly, before raising his head and regarding the other priests.
“No need for formalities, nonvul sonaakke, though your fealty is precious. I sense how exhausted you all are.” His flickering eyes met Toormaarfeyn’s dazzling ones. “Where is Thuru Alduin? I must speak with him.”
The ancient dragon tilted his head. "Hunting. What troubles you so?"
"Morokei and Krosis have brought Bromjunaar's ruinous state to my attention," Viinturuth began. "I did not give it thought beforehand, to my shame. It is not yet suitable for our sonaakke and I shall endeavor to sway the World-Eater's will."
Toormaarfeyn exhaled heavily. "Is it truly so dilapidated?"
"Tiid du pah nunon dov," his counterpart replied solemnly.
Ahzidal and Nahkriin exchanged glances while Vahlok approached the emerald creature.
"Thuri Viinturuth, does my father's shrine still stand?" The Jailor inquired earnestly.
"Geh, Malkulaan," the blood dragon answered with a gentle swish of his tail. "The encircling halls are gone, but mul Konahrik's memorial remains." He hesitated, then snorted rather wearily. "Pahlok joor plundered his tribute utilizing your mask, but he was slain long before Alduin's return and now Skuldafn holds your relic."
Vahlok bowed his head. The news could have been much, much worse, but it was still difficult to hear.
Alduin's enormous shadow fell upon them as the World-Eater made a beeline for Miraak's temple. Gaafkrokulaan’s smaller form followed, though he took a moment to hover above his friends. “Come! Thuru Alduin wishes us to gather at the Traitor’s hideaway!”
The grey and white beast pursued his lord, wingbeats whipping up the ashy soil even more.
“He desires to make a statement,” Toormaarfeyn murmured, shaking the ash from his body. He unintentionally dusted Ahzidal in the process, much to Viintaas and Zahkriisos's delight!
“Bo, dii sonaakke.” With a proud toss of his head, the striking dragon spread his wings and launched into the sky, covering everyone in ash now!
Zahkriisos's laughter quickly turned into colorful swears in Dovahzul, prompting Ahzidal to dramatically cover a highly entertained Viintaas's ears!
Nahkriin arched a brow at such uncouth behavior before his patron, then started in the direction of the Traitor's ruined fortress. It was going to be a taxing climb.
“Niid,” Viinturuth snorted, blocking Skuldafn's steward with his muzzle. “Rest while you can, sahvot aarii.”
His priest acquiesced, raising an arm to block the wind as the verdant dragon took off. Vahlok clasped Nahkriin's uninjured shoulder, then led his other brothers up the slope toward the distant temple.
“Are you certain you can make the hike?” Zahkriisos asked his sibling skeptically.
“I am well,” Dukaan insisted, though his brogue was strained. “I worry more for Nahkriin. How are we to aid him when we possess neither the magika to give nor his talent with portals?”
“He needs time to recuperate, but fret not,” Ahzidal said. “Viinturuth will not allow his pupil to be ill-used.”
Zahkriisos cocked an eyebrow. “And is his will going to matter?”
Ahzidal exhaled heavily. “That I cannot answer.”
“The Firstborn is very difficult to read,” Vahlok agreed quietly.
Zahkriisos studied his dearest friend keenly. “Do you recall anything else about that night?”
“No,” the Jailor responded, sapphire eyes flickering apprehensively. “And I am not certain if I ever wish to.”
Viintaas regarded his mentor thoughtfully. He could empathize with the Guardian's reasoning. He glanced up at his father. Hopefully Vahlok's traumatic memories would somehow end in joy as well.
Notes:
I am very late! Forgive me! Covid is about as pleasant as Coldharbor!
Also talented dragons using portals is the only way I can justify our boi Odahviing appearing whenever, wherever. xDApproximate Dovahzul Translations:
Niid goraan gein = No young one
Tiid du pah nunon dov =Time devours all except for dragonkind
Geh malkulaan = Yes little prince
Sahvot aarii = my faithful servant
Chapter 24
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Five nearly simultaneous shouts of Fus Ro Dah thundered across the island, causing the gathered dragons to look to the west.
"What in all of Keizaal could have prompted such a reaction?" Viinturuth queried, rising fully on his back legs to better see their priests. Gaafkrokulaan idly wondered if any of his brethren were aware of much they looked like started rabbits when they stood upright in such a manner.
"There are strange undead that infest our once sacred island," Hevnofokriid growled bitterly. "They stink of cursed chimer magic."
"We will search for the caster once our sonaakke are safely away," Toormaarfeyn reassured. "We can ask no more of our sahvot fahdonne."
Viinturuth lowered himself back onto all four limbs once he made certain that the Solstheim priests continued their approach unimpeded.
"Mu fen tinvaak Alduin," the blood dragon said, looking up at the Firstborn. "It will take time to gather our slaves and lesser brethren to repair Bromjunaar properly. Why not let our sonaakke join Morokei and Krosis at the mages' tower they have secured?"
Alduin snorted, holding his head even higher than usual. "Winterhold is not the seat of mortal power that it was in our age. Beyn. Now it is worthless and filled with fools. All of my priests and the Eye of Magnus will go to Bromjunaar."
"At least the castle of mortal mages is secure in the present, thuri," Viinturuth persisted. "Our pupils' loyalty has earned them a warm place to rest, has it not?"
"The sight of their once mighty capital fallen so low will be an unnecessary blow to their morale," Toormaarfeyn added, curving his tail to his side ever so slightly.
Alduin bristled, and Hevnofokriid tensed reflexively.
"You treat them like sahlokiirre rather than mul sonaakke," the obsidian beast said disapprovingly.
"Ni kiirre, thuri," the blood dragon replied. "Joorre. Which their bodies still are, unless your su'um changed them."
"They have already strained themselves overmuch regardless," Gaafkrokulaan added, quietly yet firmly.
The World-Eater's crimson orbs burned with suspicion as he met each and every one of their glittering gazes. Gaafkrokulaan and Viinturuth lowered their heads, yet Toormaarfeyn and Hevnofokriid simply stared back. None of his inner circle backed down.
"So, you all stand against me?" The Firstborn challenged, swinging his spiny tail back and forth like a bullwhip to showcase his annoyance.
Viinturuth’s dorsal fins fanned out in alarm. Being thrown through time had not improved Alduin's mental stability!
"We do not rebel against you," Hevnofokriid rumbled, cold crystalline eyes boring into fiery scarlet ones. "We advocate for the wellbeing of our priests. Your priests. It was by your decree that we taught gifted mortals the Thu'um, granting them true knowledge in exchange for ahmik. Why do you seek torment them now?"
"The environment itself has changed, thuri," Toormaarfeyn explained in a less confrontational tone. "New krasnovaarre, reythhe ahrk sunvaarre have no doubt emerged. Un sonaakke suleykaar, but even their bodies will require time to adjust."
Akatosh’s Eldest remained ominously silent. Gaafkrokulaan was not certain if Alduin even heard them, really heard them, yet the youngest dovah voiced their plea in a different way. “Will you really force mid Vahlok to live amid the ruins of bormahii qoth?”
The Firstborn was abruptly roused from his rage, tossing his savage head several times as though clearing his thoughts.
Konahrik had been the only family that remained to him…
Hate filled the ebony god’s lavalike eyes and he glared balefully at the Traitor’s temple. Miraak was the true enemy.
Gaafkrokulaan slowly retreated closer to his fellow Solstheim monarchs and Viinturuth tried unsuccessfully to lower his spines. He was still too unnerved by Alduin’s unpredictable behavior to regain full composure. His mood swings were just as violent as they had been before the final battle with the Tongues!
Hevnofokriid snorted as their sonaakke arrived, clearly having heard the confrontation. Dragon voices were not suited for secrecy. Toormaarfeyn kept his tail curled at his side and Ahzidal noted how taunt the large muscles were. His patron was ready to strike out with that behemoth appendage if necessary. Such defensive behavior was an ill omen. Gaafkrokulaan observed the priests in genuine concern. Viintaas’s eyes were wide, Dukaan was as pale as Hevnoraak, and Zahkriisos’s jaw was clenched as he subtly moved the younger men closer to the grey and white beast. Gaaf rumbled softly at these all too fragile allies, trying to mask his own disquiet. Vahlok stood before his counterparts as was his duty as Lord of Solstheim, hands folded behind his back as he waited for Alduin’s command. Ahzidal paced slowly behind him, fully present and sound of mind. Vahlok was grateful that the Enchanter had been restored.
Viintaas could not stand the tension and distracted himself by observing the dovahhe. Seeing them all together instilled just how enormous Alduin actually was. His head alone matched the bulk of a bull mammoth, and he was twice the size of Toormaarfeyn, who was the largest dragon after the Firstborn. Viinturuth was comparable in size to the vibrant dov, but his body was lither. Hevnofokriid was slightly shorter than Nahkriin’s patron in length, and Gaafkrokulaan was somewhat smaller still. The pewter colored dovah’s gangly legs gave the impression that he yet to reach full growth, however.
It was not only young Nords that perished in the Dragon War, Viintaas thought solemnly.
“Dovahkiin.”
The amber-eyed lad carefully avoided looking at the World-Eater, wishing to hide his thoughts. He hoped that Alduin had not decided to unleash his wrath upon Vahlok.
What could I possibly do to stop Alduin? Viintaas wondered as he absently studied Gaafkrokulaan's scutes. My unrelenting force shout is pretty darn strong thanks to Paarthurnax's training, but I don't know if that will ma-
A very deep, longsuffering sigh derailed his thoughts. “Ahzidal Dovahkiinii.”
The Last Dragonborn blinked, head snapping in Alduin's direction. “Me??”
The obsidian beast's eye twitched, but then he exhaled once more. “I suppose all of Solstheim's sonaakke are Ahzidal's in a way.” His spiked head loomed closer. “Tell me, goraan Dovahkiin, have you been to Bromjunaar?”
“Once, thuri, with my friends Ofan and Erandur,” the raven-haired youth answered, stepping closer to both the Firstborn and the Jailor. “Ofan wanted to puzzle out a way into the main temple and I sought any lost lore about the Dragon Cult. Order!” He corrected swiftly, before glancing at the skeletal temple arches. “I knew I would need help against Miraak.”
“Ofan.” Alduin's crimson eyes flickered. “The pale-maned Sossedov?”
Viintaas brightened a bit. “Yes! Though I had no idea she was Dragonblood. It makes sense; I was always more aware of her whereabouts than Erandur's. Not as much as Vahlok's presence though. His aura blazes like a sawmill explosion!” He rubbed the back of his neck to curb any further nervous babble. “...why?”
Alduin's expression was a mixture of exasperation and uncertainty. It had been quite a while since he had spent this much time around an Atmoran so young. Dukaan had always been soothingly mellow. “What did you think of our mighty capital?”
Viintaas resisted the urge to look at his father or mentor. Was this some sort of test?
He hesitated, then replied candidly. “I thought it was impressive, yet depressing, thuri. It was unsettling to see such a huge city so...lifeless.” This time he did risk a glance at his sire. “It made me feel like I had missed out on something grand.”
Viinturuth raised his head a bit. He could not decide if the time lost Dragonborn was sincere or clever. Perhaps Viintaas was both, for Alduin did not snap his jaws as he was wont to do at displays of disingenuity. Something about Ahzidal and his son resonated with the World-Eater…Akatosh smite him, how blind could he be? His self-disgusted snort quickly drew Alduin’s piercing gaze.
“Displeased Viinturth?” He growled darkly.
“Niid, dii thur,” the blood dragon responded swiftly. “I am disappointed in my own shortcomings.”
The ebony beast rolled his muscular shoulders, then regarded his priests and councilors with a calmer mind. They feared him, as they should!
No.
Alduin’s heart smote him. They were his kiirre, all of them, and he was terrorizing them like they were slaves! His queen and his student both had warned the Firstborn against ruling while his blood ran hot.
Perhaps Paarthurnax spoke truly about you becoming a tyrant, a small voice whispered from the depths of his consciousness. No matter how often Alduin crushed such reasoning, it still nagged at him, fueling his unbridled ire towards all who wronged him. Currently, it only fed his guilt for all those innocent allies he had maligned.
The massive dragon tossed his proud head with a snort. He was no ignorant dictator; he was their divine sovereign and defender! And shield them he would!
Whirling around so abruptly that he caused Dukaan and Viintaas to flinch, the World-Eater surged toward the temple. Outspreading his shadowy wings, Alduin rested upon his haunches and surveyed the accursed stonework. Mora's fetid stench permeated the Temple's skeletal frame. The obsidian god curled his lips in revulsion. How Miraak could willingly betray his own to join such a wretch was beyond all logic. His burning gaze settled on the corrupted Tree Stone and he snarled viciously. An other-worldly, brilliant light enveloped Alduin's massive form, causing all save the other dovahhe to avert their eyes!
Viintaas blinked in bewilderment, wondering what exactly Alduin was trying to do. None of the old tomes had said anything about glowing dragons! He looked at the Firstborn and blanched.
What in Oblivion am I looking at?
In Alduin's place stood a man, if man he could be called, tall and terrible. Two sets of spiraling black horns rose from his head, the larger upon his crown, and the smaller slightly behind. Thick raven locks fell freely past his shoulders and his skin was pale. His sleeveless breastplate and curved pauldrons looked similar to the ancient doors of Nordic tombs. From the elbows down his arms were covered in sharp ebony scales and his long fingers ended in glinting talons. The stranger turned and Viintaas blinked in surprise. Alduin's fiery crimson eyes stared back at him, his short facial hair wild as it bristled in a similar manner to his jaw spines.
Viintaas's eyes were round as saucers. “Wha-how-Vahlok?”
“Forgive me, fahdoni,” the Jailor said, smiling yet alert. “I should have educated you regarding our master's abilities.”
Zahkriisos smirked faintly, folding his muscular arms. “You never noticed Thuru Alduin's motifs alongside the rest of the Atmoran pantheon's before?”
“Y-yeah but I always assumed it was just some random sonaak!” The Last Dragonborn exclaimed, flummoxed.
Alduin's abyssal baritone was unchanged. “Drem, kul Ahzidal. True knowledge has been lost to joorre for many generations.”
Viintaas gaped at him for a few moments before blurting “oh my gods you have claw hands!”
Zahkriisos all but dove behind Gaafkrokulaan's wing to hide his silent laughter and Toormaarfeyn huffed, torn between worry and amusement. It was the World-Eater's turn to be perplexed as the youngest Dovahkiin inundated him with questions.
“Have you ever slapped someone? Why doesn't your carving have horns? Does your hood hide them? They forgot your beard too! Why didn't you use a shout to change shape?”
“Breathe, goraan Dovahkiin,” Alduin rumbled steadily, as though trying to calm Viintaas with his voice. “I walked in a 'tame' guise when Mundus was young to appease an onerous father. He sought to mold me into his 'perfect ideal' of what his pantheon should be.”
“Like how the huntress Kyne was changed into docile Kynereth?” The amber-eyed lad ventured. The scorn in Alduin’s tone when he spoke of Akatosh was unmistakable!
“Hah! A fitting degradation for that arrogant interloper! Geh, kiir. I am divine above all others,” The Firstborn declared. “I need not speak to change guises.” His magma like orbs were kindled in sudden ire. “The Traitor shall hear my voice today!”
Without another word, Alduin strode into the unfinished courtyard and seized the Tree Stone with both hands!
Miraak's cloying presence reached out to dominate the latest victim of the defiled All-maker stones. The First Dragonborn recoiled upon discerning the World-Eater's archaic aura. He struggled to withdraw, but it was too late! His mind was held fast by the Firstborn.
“Hear me, vilest of traitors,” Alduin began through clenched teeth. “Faithless slave of daedra, foe of dovahhe and joorre! Zu'u Alduin, zok sahrot do naan ok Lein! Even if you escape your loathsome Prince you shall know neither prosperity nor peace. Daar lein los dii! Dii sulyek los unslaad!”
Konahrik’s patron poured all of his immense hatred for Miraak into his words and essence so that the treacherous acolyte would comprehend his full antipathy! “If you deem the realm of Apocrypha to be torment, you have yet to decipher the true meaning of faaz.”
Alduin released both Miraak’s mind and the pillar, his talons causing sparks as he raked them across the stone. He stood in ominous silence for a few moments, breathing heavily, then he rolled his human shoulders. Statement made. The World-Eater’s allies regarded him warily as he approached.
“Drem, dii kiirre. Our priests will join Morokei and Krosis.”
The Atmorans bowed low before Akatosh’s eldest, then swiftly followed Ahzidal back down the icy ridge.
“Alduin’s lost his damn mind,” Zahkriisos muttered, once they were safely out of dragon earshot.
“I was hoping the time jump would have restored un thur somehow,” Dukaan added with a soft sigh. “But at least he seemed more…himself after rebuking the Traitor.”
“Speak not of your doubts so openly,” Ahzidal’s smooth yet raspy voice boomed. “Time heals many wounds. Residing among his brethren without war will succor even Alduin’s tempestuous temper.”
“If he doesn’t declare war on modern day Tamriel immediately after Bromjunaar is rebuilt,” Zahkriisos argued, unconvinced.
“Let us cross that bridge when it appears,” Vahlok said wearily, glancing at Viintaas with a kind smile. “How do you fare, fahdoni?”
“I don’t know!” His student responded with a chuckle. “We were blessed, then we were about to be cursed, then the World-Eater spawned hair!”
The Bloodskal brothers laughed while Ahzidal’s golden orbs shone in amusement.
Vahlok’s grin grew. “Paaz, Dovahkiin! I was confused the first time I saw his other guise as well. We all were, save perhaps bormahiil.”
“Alduin is not the only dovah that can walk among joorre,” the Enchanter answered with a faint smirk. “Though they learn such abilities only by his will and they do utilize shouts.”
Viintaas’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing! What do we call them? Dovmer? Dragmorans??”
“Drords,” the Bloodskal swordsman replied with a deadpan expression, causing his companions to erupt with hearty laughter!
Notes:
Paarthurnax is your family too, you stubborn dragon! Alduin doesn’t see it that way unfortunately.
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Mu fen tinvaak = We must speak
Beyn = Scorn/an expression of disgust
Sahlokiirre = Weak children
Ni = not
Ahmik = Service (given freely out of loyalty)
Sunvaarre = (hostile) creatures/beasts
Reythhe = trees/plants
Krasnovaarre = plagues
Un sonaakke suleykaar = Our dragon priests are powerful
bormahii qoth = his father’s tomb
Zu'u Alduin, zok sahrot do naan ko Lein = I (am) Alduin, most mighty of any in Mundus
Daar lein los dii = This World is Mine
Dii sulyek los unslaad = My power is without limit
Faaz = Pain
Bormahiil = Your father
Chapter 25
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Miraak jolted awake with a ragged gasp as he lay sprawled across the dirty floor of Apocrypha. He sat up with a grunt, grateful that none of the seekers had witnessed his humiliation! Phantom burns seared into flesh, as though Alduin had held him by the throat. Mora's pupil grit his teeth as he was seized by unpleasant memories! He saw himself as the dovahhe and their cult had seen him; arrogant, twisted, cruel, and foolish! Rahgot had even started a rumor that Miraak ravished women, a thought that made even the First Dragonborn uneasy. He had never committed such vile acts, though he would not put such debauchery past Rahgot! Miraak closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Six thousand years of festering in loathing and wallowing in self-pity had left him exhausted. Usually he would have some sort of witty retort or bold speech regarding his superiority over every being within Mundus. Currently however, it all felt so...meaningless.
The World had forgotten him. Those few that did not cursed his name. The First Dragonborn had been utterly humbled by his little brother when the Guardian single-handedly breached his inner sanctum. Vahlok despised him, and he deserved every ounce of antipathy. Miraak had possessed no answers for his adopted sibling's heartbroken questions. The former sonaak had quelled his guilt and grief with hatred and anger, but Mora all too happily revealed the most distressing bits of knowledge. Miraak could have sworn the Euclidean mass of eyeballs was leering at him when the Daedric Prince informed him that Vahlok had been killed.
I know what you did to him! He had wanted to scream at the World-Eater, but Alduin's will silenced him.
“I should have been there to protect you,” Miraak whispered to the inky blackness.
The Daedra's student slowly rose to his feet. Remorse consumed him, but it was too late for regrets.
~ ~ ~
The pleasant stillness in the college's courtyard was shattered once again by a frantic Morokei.
“I said banners in the shade of an orchid, you buffoon!” He thundered at a hapless laborer. “That purple is clearly more akin to a heliotrope!”
“What in Oblivion is a heliotrope?” Krosis queried, frowning at both his brother's temper and vocabulary.
The raven-maned priest looked aghast. “Cease your tomfoolery, zeymah! This is important!”
With a defeated groan, Krosis rolled up the assignment scroll he had been reviewing with the guard captain and returned it to him.
“Cease your fretting!” The freckled sonaak replied. “Un zeymahhe will not be concerned about the tapestries; which look lovely by way!” He added, trying to reassure the nervous servants. “They will simply be grateful for a safe place to recover, as we were.”
“Speak for yourself only!” The older sonaak snapped, running a hand through his already frazzled locks. “Nobles like Ahzidal possess a certain standard of living!”
Krosis refrained from rolling his eyes. “I think Teacher Ahzidal will simply be pleased to see us, brother. And perhaps relieved that he does not need to retrieve the Eye of Magnus personally.”
That gave Morokei pause, yet he remained unconvinced.
“Morokei?”
The former lich looked down at his student, tilting his head at her pensive demeanor. “Geh, Malvahdin? What troubles you?”
Ofan simply looped her dainty arm through his, as though wishing to go for a stroll. The ancient priest's brow knit in concern. She must be very distraught indeed to wish to speak so privately! Ofan never interrupted his tasks with wasteful chatter after all!
Morokei waved away any lingering servants with his free hand and led his student out onto the entrance of the stone bridge.
“We may hold tinvaak freely,” Morokei said, facing her fully. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Ofan replied candidly. “You just looked like you needed a moment to escape the chaos.”
He blinked at her, uncertain whether to be outraged or grateful. He settled on sighing in frustration. “Is my unbalanced mood that obvious?”
The young woman bit her lip to keep from grinning. He really needed to ask? “Yes.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “You are displeased with Thur Viinturuth's news that your brothers will join us soon?”
“Niid, quite the opposite! I only wish that I had more to offer them,” the former lich answered, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes.
Ofan studied him still. There was more to her mentor's disquiet than inadequate accommodations, but she wished to cheer him regardless. “I have never seen the college so clean, and the room reassignments are logical. The new fur rugs and bedding are very warm and luxurious. Perhaps we can add more personal touches to your brothers' chambers? Oh! Would Lord Ahzidal appreciate an enchanting station he does not have to share?”
A ghost of a smile manifested on Morokei's pale face.
Emboldened by this, Ofan continued. “Tell me more about hin zeymahhe so I shall know who receives snowberry wreaths on their doors and who does not!”
Morokei's lilac orbs glistened. “Dukaan loved Atmoran pearls. Adorned everything he could with them. Zahkriisos displayed trophies of all sorts everywhere and I truly mean everywhere. Teacher Ahzidal had a very particular balance of indoor plants, lethal weapons, and soul gems. Vahlok enjoyed inundating his residence with lavender. I deem he would appreciate a snowberry wreath very much!”
Ofan beamed as he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and began to walk.
“What truly bothers you then?” She inquired gently.
“Nothing.”
He felt her grip on his arm tighten a little as they crossed the narrowest section of the span, though her voice remained steady. “Very well, mysterious sonaak thur. Just know that Simply Krosis and I worry when you are so unhappy.”
Morokei chuckled, but his gaze was intense. “What if I deserve such unrest for my many misdeeds, hmm?”
His limb was tugged as Ofan brought their promenade to a halt, giving him a rather incredulous look. The petite mage carefully liberated an azure strand of his unruly mane that had been caught on the priest's right pauldron. “I think being trapped within Bromjunaar for so long was punishment enough, Morokei.”
He blinked, taken aback by her sincerity. The archaic Atmoran gave her a soft smile, taking her delicate hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze.
“You are too kind for Keizaal, Ofan Sossedov,” he declared, his velvety baritone affectionate.
The curly-haired maiden glanced downward bashfully, feeling the heat blaze through her face. She was both flattered and a little overwhelmed by his words! Ofan's turquoise eyes were shining when she managed to meet the dragon priest's earnest gaze again.
“That is why I need you to teach me how to be ferocious, Morokei.”
“Ferocious?!” Morokei exclaimed, his rich laughter echoing pleasantly in the icy air.
Ofan brightened even more. Laughter may not solve all problems, but it certainly made them easier to bear!
“Ferocious,” he murmured once more, shaking his head with a smile. Morokei looped her arm in his properly and resumed their stroll. Ofan regarded him fondly, pleased that he seemed to be more relaxed.
“You will mesh well with the Solstheim sonaakke,” he said after a few moments of comfortable silence. “They never cared for the more...ridiculously rigid traditions of the mainland. They laughed before their servants, they visited the common folk, they playfully teased their patrons. I would often visit whenever I felt isolated, even in mighty Bromjunaar.”
They paused at the stone staircase that led to Winterhold, and Morokei immediately turned them around!
Ofan giggled at the dramatic gesture, then smiled. “I look forward to meeting them!”
If they are so congenial, why is he so nervous?
She tilted her head slightly as a new thought struck her. “It must be very strange to be reuniting with them after so many centuries.”
The amethyst-robed sonaak exhaled heavily. “...It is, Malvahdin. Not all of our...separations were pleasant.” Morokei's eyes were filled with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “I miss them more than Tamrielic words can articulate, yet I do not know how they will react to my loss of our sacred capital.”
Ofan's brow furrowed. “The blame cannot be placed upon your shoulders solely! If the dovahhe could not protect the city, how can any man be expected to? Even one as gifted as you cannot fight a war alone!”
“Your logic is sound, but I was the resident sonaak thur. The responsibility is mine, whether it be fair or no.”
“Krosis does not seem to hold anything against you,” the apprentice mage reassured. “Except maybe your hatred of leeks.”
Morokei scoffed. “That peasant would eat cabbage soup and be satisfied!”
Ofan's platinum curls bounced as she canted her head to the side. “What is wrong with cabbage soup?”
There it was. The arched eyebrow of utter incredulity. “Ofan Sossedov...”
Despite the previous topic's serious nature, she burst into a fit of giggles! The former lich smiled warmly. He loved hearing her laugh.
“Morokei, you glorious bastard!” A cheerful brogue rang out. “Cease flirting with your woman and say hello to your long-lost fellows!”
“Zahkriisos?!” The raven-haired priest gazed up at the stone arch in shock. There was the Bloodskal Blade bearer, leaning against the college's entryway with an amused smirk. “In the living flesh!”
“Y-you were not due to arrive yet!” Morokei stuttered, torn between joy and anxiety.
Zahkriisos's silvery eyes danced. “Very well, I'll take my leave!”
He performed a theatrical spin, ready to march back into the courtyard.
“By Alduin's horns, you have not changed at all,” Morokei grumbled, keeping a blushing Ofan safely away from the edge as they strode up the icy ramp.
“You'd be disappointed if I had!” The umber-maned sonaak declared, embracing his counterpart heartily!
Ofan noticed that Morokei was far more comfortable with this than with Korir's pat on the back!
Durnehviir's pupil chuckled, before frowning abruptly as he studied his brother's glittering orbs. “What happened to your magika reserves? And your face for that matter?”
“How dare you, zeymah! I look amazing for my age!” He sobered under Morokei's insistent stare. “Undead Ahzidal kicked our arses. Took everything Vahlok and I had to halfway heal Dukaan. I won't lie to you, we're all in rough shape, Nahkriin most of all. Except for Ahz and Dragonborn Junior, of course. Speaking of which,” he offered the petite mage a cheerful smile. “Ofan I presume? Viintaas is about to explode with good tidings he wants to share with you.”
“Forgive me, my manners have been lacking,” Morokei interjected, gesturing politely to his student. “This is indeed Ofan Sossedov, my apprentice. Ofan, fahdoni, this is the trophy loving jester I warned you about.”
Zahkriisos's eruption of laughter was so contagious that the young maiden found herself laughing as well!
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Zahkriisos.”
The champion of Clan Bloodskal took her right hand and kissed it in a gallant manner. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Dragonblood!”
Ofan giggled. She sensed no ill intentions from the Atmoran with purple tresses and rather enjoyed his boisterous demeanor! “I should command Viintaas to address me as such from now on!”
Zahkriisos laughed once more, leading the way into the courtyard in high spirits! “Ahz! Look what Morokei did to his hair!”
“Really? That was the first thought that crossed your chaotic mind?” Morokei exclaimed, indignant.
Ofan saw a massive portal swirling near the Hall of Attainment. Several new priests were gathered before it, alongside a very familiar Viintaas! The merry Dragonborn was being introduced to Krosis by a curly-haired man with the bluest orbs Ofan had ever seen. The tallest figure turned toward them upon hearing Zahkriisos's demand, and Ofan blinked in surprise. He was practically an older version of Viintaas! She blinked again. By the divines, the man was even taller than her mentor and Zakhriisos!
“Nah nii, Morokei, not you too!” Ahzidal said, exasperated, as he strode over to examine his fellow instructor like an overprotective parent.
“My tomb kept being invaded, what else was I supposed to do? Meekly avoid combat?” Bromjunaar's guardian protested, skin tingling under Ahzidal's all too knowing glare.
“Yes!” The Enchanter answered. “Your wellbeing is far more important than any temple!”
Morokei fell silent and Ahzidal sighed in relief. “You are well. Pruzah. None of you destruction-happy lunatics will suffer any permanent effects, save cosmetic.”
“Come on, Ahhhzzz,” Zahkriisos mock-whined. “We are sonaak thurre! We have to defend what's ours with vengeance!”
“Krosis and Vahlok did not overreach while fractured!” The eldest priest retorted, unrelenting.
The russet-skinned man between Krosis and Viintaas adopted a smug expression. “We are the good children.”
The younger Dragonborn and the emerald-eyed priest started cracking up, and the Bloodskal siblings soon joined in. Ahzidal folded his muscular arms, but it was rather obvious that he was not actually irritated. The Enchanter found the mirth of his allies and son to be remarkably peaceful. Morokei smiled softly to himself. This was the camaraderie he had missed so dearly. Viintaas spotted Ofan and he adeptly wove through the dragon priests to reach her! “Ofan! OFAN! Come meet my father!”
Notes:
Viintaas is EXCITED y'all! Ofan is filled with FEELINGS!
These poor, ptsd ridden, ex-undead deserve some happiness before the less amicable brothers arrive and more drama ensues!
Woe unto any who seek to harm AhziDad's mini-me.
Chapter 26
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The love in Ahzidal's gaze was unmistakable as he watched Viintaas enthusiastically lead Ofan toward him.
“Bormah! This is the friend I was telling you about!”
The ancient Atmoran smiled, inclining his head. “Well met, Ofan Sossedov.”
She bowed her head, trying to quell her nerves. Even her novice magical abilities could discern the raw power radiating from the Enchanter. “It is an honor, Lord Ahzidal.”
“Ahzidal will do, goraan gein. We only use formalities to keep meyye like Otar and Rahgot in line.”
Krosis and Dukaan chuckled while Vahlok smiled kindly at her. “He is not incorrect.”
“I call him Ahz,” Zahkriisos added, smugly.
Ofan looked around at Morokei's brothers and giggled. She felt very much surrounded by a tempestuous yet loving family!
“This is Vahlok, kul Konahrik,” Ahzidal said, smoothly gesturing to each priest. “And this is Dukaan, scion of Clan Bloodskal and brother of the terrorist.”
“Oi!” Zahkriisos protested, eyes shining with playful joy!
“He is not incorrect,” Vahlok repeated cheerfully, as Krosis laughed again! The Guardian kissed Ofan's hand in the same gentlemanly manner his ally had. “It is wonderful to meet one of the Sossedov.”
“He's Dovahkiin too!” Viintaas exclaimed, rocking back and forth, unable to stay still. “He's going to teach me how to harness dii dovahzii!”
“It is a privilege to meet you both,” Ofan said to the priests sincerely, before beaming at the younger Dragonborn. “I am so happy for you, Viintaas! We certainly have much to catch up on!”
“Indeed!” He grinned impishly at the brooding priest in purple. “I'm assuming Ofan disrupted your rest with all the grace and subtlety of a frost troll?”
Morokei blinked. It was a little disconcerting to have someone with Ahzidal's exact eye color regard him with such unabashed mischief.
He chuckled, locking eyes with his adventurous student. “She was rather loud.”
“She'll fit right in then!” Zahkriisos proclaimed, casually using his younger sibling's head as an armrest.
Dukaan's very cat-like expression of exasperation caused the priests' new students to burst into laughter!
Vahlok caught Morokei's attention and gave his counterpart a questioning look. Even amidst the mirth, Durnehviir's pupil seemed nervous. The mage clad in aubergine straightened, offering an uncharacteristically tentative smile. The Jailer's sapphire orbs flickered to Ahzidal in uncertainty, yet he remained quiet.
The Enchanter however was not known for pussyfooting around issues just to spare feelings. “Morokei why are you avoiding us like an abused hound afraid of another beating?”
The others fell silent, and all eyes turned to the azure-haired Atmoran. Morokei's shoulders slumped as he sighed, defeated. “I lost mighty Bromjunaar, dii zeymahhe.” His deep timbre was quiet, discouraged. “I have failed the gods. I have failed our people. And I have failed you, my dearest brothers.”
Ofan noticed that the other sonaakke seemed bewildered.
“Morokei, dii grah-zeymahzin,” the Guardian began gently. “We all feel as though we have failed.” He placed a comforting hand on Morokei's left shoulder. “We gave everything we had unto the dovahhe and our followers and it was not enough. It still feels like we are not enough.” Vahlok's rich baritone was earnest and ardent. “We need not invalidate such strong emotions, but we must always remember that what we feel is not who we are.”
He glanced at his apprentice with a grateful smile. “Viintaas helped me come to terms with my own grief and regrets.” His knowing stare returned to his ally. “You have naught to apologize for, dii nonvul zeymah. Alok kron spaan!”
Morokei regarded Vahlok keenly, taken aback by the Guardian's candor. His lilac gaze sought to meet the rest of the sonaakke, even stoic Nahkriin who remained beside the portal. None of them carried any blame in their hearts against him. Durnehviir's weary pupil exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders. His smile was slight, yet sincere. “Alok kron spaan, zeymahzin.”
The Jailor's steady expression was a mixture of compassion and relief.
“You and Dukaan with your strange worries!” Zahkriisos exclaimed. “We are not a brotherhood in name only, oh glorious one!” He paused. “Well, bonds matter little to Rahgot and Volsung, but they don't count!”
Vahlok's azure orbs glittered in a rather draconic manner. “I would not mind meeting Rahgot again...”
“And greeting him robustly,” Viintaas added, amber eyes gleaming. “With your fists.”
Zahkriisos guffawed while the Jailor adopted an innocent demeanor. “Thuru Alduin never forbade me from smiting him. Besides, I must avenge my student!”
Ahzidal became very still. “Elaborate, please.”
“Worry not, zeymah! Hin kul adeptly bested him in combat,” Vahlok explained. “Yet I sincerely wish he had been introduced to our society in another way.”
Ahzidal’s manner shifted from brooding intensity to fierce pride and Dukaan tactfully hid a smile.
“I wouldn’t say no to another duel,” Viintaas said, trying to remain nonchalant as he turned toward Vahlok. “Although some new shouts might show our displeasure more effectively…”
The Guardian’s eyes twinkled. “There is a particular Thu’um that Rahgot loathes which would be a boon unto your arsenal, though I would prefer for you to learn it from Thur Hevnofokriid directly.”
Morokei smirked. “Ah. Ice imprisonment. A fitting counter to the Poisoner’s venom. What crime did the fool commit to provoke such disdain from our newest of members?”
The sudden hesitation on the parts of their fellows caused Krosis and Morokei both to frown in concern.
“That is a flame to be kindled on a different day,” Ahzidal replied, as though they were preteen acolytes. “It shall suffice to say that Rahgot has disappointed even our lowest expectations.”
Morokei straightened, striving to regain social composure. “Paaz, Teacher. Come, I will show you to your chambers in the Hall of Countenance, which is the tower to the right of the bridge.” He abruptly paused, exclaiming, “I did not complete the chamber assignment charts!”
“Alduin save us, it's the end of the world!” Krosis cried dramatically, sending Zahkriisos and Viintaas into suspicious coughing fits.
Morokei glared daggers at his unrepentant counterpart and Dukaan stepped between them in a placating manner.
“Drem, zeymahhe. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Morokei, but even the barest of chambers will more than suffice. Our sole resting places for the last few millennia were stone sarcophagi after all!”
“Speak for yourself,” Zahkriisos commented. “I slept in water.”
“Why?” Vahlok inquired, utterly flummoxed. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“My tomb flooded, my sarcophagus was crushed, and I wasn't about to curl up in the dirt!”
The Jailor shuddered. “Did not your tendons ache? I abhorred the way water felt against my exposed flesh.”
Zahkriisos's silver eyes gleamed. “Not all of us aged as poorly as you, old man!”
Dukaan snickered and the Guardian rubbed his short beard thoughtfully. “I suppose I could show Viintaas the ice entrapment Thu'um myself.”
“Regardless,” Ahzidal interjected, even though Ofan and his son were highly entertained by the distracted conversation. “Dukaan speaks truthfully. There is no need to overextend yourself.”
Morokei peered at Ahzidal as though the latter spoke in foreign tongue.
The Enchanter sighed, waving him away. “Very well, complete your organization. I am still sending Nahkriin to the nearest available bedchamber.”
Skuldafn's steward shook his head. “Niid. I must wait for Thuru Alduin.”
Vahlok's brow furrowed. “Hon Drog Ahzidal. You need healing we cannot give. Rest.”
The wounded priest in indigo set his mouth in a thin line and remained unmoving. Zahkriisos rolled his eyes. “If you faint like a wee girl before the Firstborn, don't expect us to intercede on your behalf!”
Morokei frowned at Nahkriin, worry etched on his pale face, but he was well aware of how obstinate his fellow sonaak thur could be. His lavender gaze zeroed in on Krosis instead. The freckled priest held up his hands. “I didn't touch your notes I swear!”
Ofan giggled, intervening. “I shall fetch your copies, Morokei.”
“Thank you, Malvahdin,” Morokei said, his velvety voice losing its gentle purr as he side-eyed Krosis. “At least someone understands the importance of protocol!”
The fiery-haired sonaak rubbed his aching temples. “If Thuru Alduin seeks to restore our former seats, I am moving to Solstheim!”
Zahkriisos had a scathing response to that, but Dukaan's merry chuckle stopped him. His younger sibling was little troubled by Krosis's presence; on the contrary, Vulonkrein was quite pleased to see his former mentor again! He sighed, rolling his shoulders.
Vahlok noted his fellow’s restraint and moved to stand by his side, whispering, “I appreciate that you are trying, Zahkriisos.”
“I guess that naïve idiot isn’t as bad as Rahgot,” the Bloodskal warrior begrudgingly admitted.
The Guardian chuckled softly.
Viintaas followed Ofan to the grand doorway of the Hall of Elements, causing her to pause. His amber eyes seemed wider than usual. “Is all well, Viintaas?”
The young Dragonborn fidgeted, keeping his voice low. “I hate to ask but…” He was distracted by a pair of armed guards exiting the Hall of Attainment. Why were they here? What madmen would attack a college full of ancient magic users? Viintaas blinked, returning his attention to her. “Sorry!”
“It is fine,” Ofan reassured gently. “This is all very overwhelming.”
Her fellow student ran a hand through his wild tresses. “It really is, I just can’t focus! I’m overjoyed to have my father and Vahlok here and to meet so many of our people but-” His voice faltered, warm timbre growing somber. “Aren is in a magical prison, and I haven’t seen anyone else. Were they- are they all dead, Ofan?”
The petite maiden looked down at the icy stone walkway. “Not all. Our classmates are fine. Most of the professors are gone, either slain or sent away, but Faralda, Colette and Tolfdir remain unharmed. The guard captain keeps an eye on them by having his chambers in the Hall of Attainment. Some servants stay there as well, but the majority dwell in the new tents over there along with the regular soldiers.”
Viintaas exhaled slowly. “…I never really made friends here besides you, Brelyna, and Onmund but…”
“I know,” she murmured. “At least Tolfdir’s class is safe from harm. Krosis has been training them as Dragon Cult acolytes and is a genuinely kind instructor.”
“That’s good.” Viintaas shifted his feet, unsure of what more to say or what else he had been expecting.
Ofan gave him a compassionate look. “Let me fetch Morokei’s papers and then mayhaps we can show your dad around the Arcanaeum? There is not much to see, but I am sure some of the newer spellbooks will interest a mage of his caliber, even if he is simply correcting them!”
He brightened. “That sounds so much better than awkwardly walking around Winterhold.”
She giggled. “You also need to tell him about Velek Sain!”
Viintaas blanched. “Oh no…”
Ofan’s turquoise orbs gleamed. “Oh yes!”
Notes:
Some light hearted family fluff for this chapter!
*cough At high risk of being shattered by the next few chapters cough*
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Hin kul = Your son
Hon drog Ahzidal = Heed lord (as in respected but not overlord) Ahzidal
Chapter 27
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ofan snuggled into the fur blanket, grateful to be inside of the warm library. Ahzidal had insisted on being taken to Velek Sain's gauntlet as soon as Viintaas had confessed to releasing the pirate dremora, so the trio had spent the better part of the day exploring the Midden. The atronach forge intrigued him, but he counseled them not to use it, for creatures and objects summoned from Oblivion in such a manner would be treacherous. Besides, the Enchanter had said, Daedric armor would never surpass an Atmoran smith's Dragon-blessed creations! He did agree when Viintaas gushed about how striking Daedric designs were, however. Ahzidal was also quite interested in speaking with the Augur of Dunlain at some point, but he much preferred to spend this time with his son.
The petite maiden smiled to herself as she observed the Last Dragonborn practically bounding from the bookshelf to bookshelf.
“This book is about Yngol! I barely remember him, is it accurate? What about this guide to surviving horker attacks? Oh, you might find this interesting!” Viintaas snatched a hapless copy of The Oblivion Crisis that rested on an end table and presented the tomes to his sire.
Ahzidal laughed, a surprisingly kind sound. “I must read them before passing judgement, kiiri.”
Viintaas blinked, shaken by this profound revelation! “Oh yeah...”
The pair laughed together and Ofan sighed contentedly. She was fortunate enough to have been adopted by a loving couple who treated her well. Ahzidal's son had never been given such a chance. If not for Erandur, Viintaas confided that he would not have found the will to keep living. The apprentice mage had learned a great deal about unseen wounds that day. Ofan was relieved to see her fellow time lost wanderer connecting with his father.
The mahogany door swung open with a heavy thud.
“-es I was still stuck in the dungeon!” Zahkriisos thick brogue rang through the study.
Vahlok's rich baritone sounded exasperated. “Zahk...”
“Don't Zahk me!”
“I will never know how you got anything done,” Morokei told the Guardian with a smirk.
Vahlok ran a hand through his unruly curls, making them even more disheveled. “I do not even know!”
Morokei chuckled and Ofan noticed his expression soften upon seeing Ahzidal and Viintaas merrily chatting. His vibrant eyes then fell upon her, and she felt her face flush involuntarily.
“Teacher,” the pale Atmoran began, idly tossing his shimmering azure and ebony tresses over his shoulder. “I require your aid to repay a debt long overdue.”
“Oh?” The Enchanter inquired, arching a thick eyebrow.
“Bo, Malvahdin,” Morokei said with a small smile. “Show drog Ahzidal your relic.”
Ofan unwrapped herself from the blanket, excitement growing as she displayed the archaic blade.
“I could not decipher the enchantment's origin, so I promised her we would seek your expertise,” Morokei clarified.
Ahzidal's curiosity was piqued, and it was plain to see where Viintaas got his inquisitive nature from! The eldest priest strode around the book laden tables, taking the proffered weapon. “A fine specimen of Dwiininhus’s work. This was yours before the Kel uprooted your existence?”
“It was found with me, lo- I mean Ahzidal. I fear I know nothing else about it,” she explained, eagerly awaiting his assessment.
Ahzidal examined the blade with a practiced eye, murmuring, “It was a common practice to bequeath sacred daggers to one's children.”
The more intently he searched the weapon, the greater Ofan's anxiety became.
What if he does not find anything? What if the dagger belonged to a criminal? What if it is cursed?
“I bet she's from Vokun's province,” Zahkriisos commented, rubbing his chin. “She's cheerful enough for that.”
The petite woman tilted her head, a grin slowly spreading across her confused face. “What?”
“He speaks wisely,” Vahlok added, adopting a very philosophical expression. “Zeymah Vokun's people had a very indomitable attitude.”
Ofan giggled, thankful for their attempts to ease her nerves. Morokei was pleased that his brothers had readily accepted Ofan into their boisterous yet caring circle. He endeavored to do the same with Viintaas. The acolytes could not ask for better instructors.
How Bromjunaar's academy flourished after Kodaavah's corruption was expunged...
Durnehviir's pupil was startled from his reverie by a very uncouth exclamation from Ahzidal.
“Nah nii, Miraak!”
He slammed the dagger on the nearest table and began pacing like a caged beast.
“Bormah?” Viintaas queried, unable to mask the concern in his voice.
The tallest sonaak exhaled heavily and faced a wide-eyed Ofan. “This is not your fault, kiir. Hi mindoraan, do you understand?”
She nodded wordlessly, platinum ringlets bouncing. Did the First Dragonborn actually jinx her dagger? Ahzidal's piercing stare focused on a frowning Vahlok.
“What did Miraak and Britomme name their daughter?” The Enchanter demanded, not mincing words.
The Jailor flinched as though he had been wounded.
“Ofan,” He responded hesitantly, his tone soft and sorrowful.
The young mage blinked, wondering why he was calling her. Then her stomach clinched with dread.
“N-no,” she whispered, voice tumultuous. “That-that cannot be...”
Morokei said Miraak murdered Konahrik, who had been a father to them. Krosis said Miraak enjoyed torturing innocents, especially with fire. The old tomes Tolmar brought spoke of hatchling dragons being butchered by the First Dragonborn to provoke Alduin. How can such a monster be my sire?
She forced herself to meet Vahlok's sapphire gaze. To her astonishment, he was not wrathful or disgusted. Zahkriisos too, gave her an empathetic look. There was no collective gasp of horror or cries of condemnation. Simply silence, tense and sorrowful.
“...You do not seem surprised, my lords,” Ofan observed, peering at her mentor apprehensively.
“Sossedovve are the descendants of Dovahkiinne save for very rare cases,” Morokei explained, keeping his tone quiet and genial, as though fearful of alarming her. “We suspected, but we would never speak of potentially harmful matters before acolytes without certainty. We had hoped we were mistaken- for your happiness's sake,” he clarified quickly. “Not due to any distrust of our own.”
Ofan straightened, taking a few deep breaths. There was no reason to lose composure. To say she was disappointed was an understatement, but it was not like she had any fond memories of Miraak. Or any recollections at all!
His deeds are not mine. It is not my fault. It is not my fault...
“I-I understand. I do.” she said, her voice a bit shaky yet genuine. She regarded Ahzidal fondly. “Thank you for confirming my heritage. I cannot imagine It was easy to deliver such news.”
The Ancient Atmoran's expression was gentle. “If anyone dares to trouble you regarding your parentage, Morokei will not hesitate to discipline them. However, if they are particularly bothersome, he may just toss them to the moon brothers.”
“Alduin's Maw yes, bring them on!” Zahkriisos declared. “We're not about to let tahrodiis meyye harass Tiny Mage!”
His distraction technique was successful.
“Tiny Mage?” Ofan echoed, with a small giggle.
“Moon brothers?” Viintaas repeated, bright amber eyes flickering in thought.
“Tale for another time, Junior,” The Bloodskal Blade bearer said with a wink. “You'll find out before long.”
“Splendid,” Morokei grumbled, causing Zahkriisos to chuckle. The violet-eyed sonaak addressed his student more amicably. “Your new chambers are ready, but I warned the maids you would need to inspect them thoroughly before granting final approval.”
Ofan was momentarily at a loss until she realized her mentor was giving her a chance to be alone without being terribly obvious.
“Of course, thank you. I should check them at once.”
She regarded the sonaakke gratefully, uncertain of what more to say.
“Kos ahst drem,” Vahlok said kindly, his warm baritone soothing.
Ofan was uncertain what he said, but the Jailor's benevolent demeanor was reassuring. The petite maiden quietly exited the library and Viintaas let out a heavy sigh.
“That-that was terrible news. She has nice guardians in this Era though!”
“That makes all the difference,” Vahlok affirmed, thinking of his own father.
“Ofan is a wise young woman, she will be fine,” Morokei stated, confidently.
Viintaas stood in thoughtful silence for a few moments, then returned to enthusiastically bombarding Ahzidal with intriguing books!
~ ~ ~
For centuries, the nightmare remained the same.
The son of Konahrik was trapped within the swirling mists, lost and companionless. He called for his brothers, but no one came. He entreated the gods, but Alduin was silent. Vahlok wandered aimlessly; desperate to discover a way out of this accursed place. The stillness was shattered when something else cried into the void. Friend or foe, at least he would no longer be alone! A beautiful golden light shone weakly in the fog and the foreign voice transformed into the reverberating roar of a dovah. Vahlok's heart leapt at the clarion call. The Jailor's Thu'um was stifled and his magica was drained, yet he persevered through the gloom. The dragon's cry became more plaintive as the enshrouding mist rendered the Guardian immobile. No, no, no! He had to reach the dovah, it was his only hope! His silent scream was strangled as the inky darkness coiled around his body.
The nightmare remained the same.
Until something unexpected occurred.
Vahlok jolted awake, heart pounding. He was covered in sweat yet strove to calm his panicked breathing. The Jailer was stricken by a profound sense of loss, but for what reason? Overwhelmed, he left his chambers and wandered out into the darkened hall.
~ ~ ~
Paarthurnax grunted as he shifted his weight to his hind legs to better examine the wicked gashes across his stomach scutes. His broken wing had healed properly, his horn may not grow back but at least it had mended. These gouges from Alduin's talons however were proving to be resistant to restoration commands. There were no signs of infection, but the elderly dovah gave his injuries a good grooming just in case.
Alduin had oft been the one that needed healing when the world was young, for the Firstborn had constantly tested his limitations. By contrast, once the brothers had achieved full growth, no weapon could so much as pierce the Firstborn's armor. It took an overwhelming force from another dragon's jaws to puncture the World-Eater's flesh; even fewer managed to spill his blood. Paarthurnax wondered if this was at least part of the reason why Alduin set his sights on lands far beyond their native dominion.
The archaic dovah finished tending his wounds and settled down amidst the deep snow, finding the cold rather soothing. Paarthurnax exhaled heavily, briefly closing his eyes. He desired greatly to see Vulonkrein again, but he knew through their ancient bond that his mid sonaak was safe, at least for the moment. Perhaps Viintaas was successful in reviving the protectors of Solstheim, but it was more likely that Alduin had awoken them first.
What kept his brother from harming the Last Dragonborn? Vahlok the Jailer? Toormaarfeyn?
The pale, bronze-grey dragon tensed, roused from his thoughts. Another power moved amidst the multitudes of Time, an energy he could not name. Paarthurnax scented the air, examining the ancient rift his eldest brother had so violently surged through. Finding no answers, he reached out to Akatosh for guidance. As per usual, there was no response. His bormah’s silence was disappointing, but Paarthurnax had learned long ago to shake off any bitterness about the Time god’s indifference. That was something the World-Eater had never mastered.
The old dovah readjusted his position. Drem yol lok. Peace, fire, sky. He would fully heal, and then he would travel. The immeasurable ages of watching and waiting had finally come to an end. There would be another great change in the society of the dov. For good or ill, Paarthurnax knew not, but he did not aid in the liberation of mankind and his brothers to sit idly by as Alduin enslaved them once more.
I am coming, Vulonkrein. I will not abandon you again.
Notes:
Akatosh is a bad dad. Miraak is a bad dad. Ahzidal was a bad dad, but at least he's trying to atone.
Skyrim needs better fathers. *claps for Alvor* *squints at Harkon*
Approximate Dovahzul translations:
Nah ni Miraak = Damn it Miraak
Brit Om = Beautiful Hair
Kos ahst drem = Be at peace
Chapter 28
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The stars shone brightly amidst the midnight sky as the Guardian paced back and forth across the allure. He kept far away from Aren's cell, not wishing for anyone to see him in such a distraught state, even a prisoner.
You are the son of Konahrik, Crown Prince of the Order, Guardian of the Dov, High Priest, Leader, Teacher, Dragonborn. Weep now, for the others need you to be strong. Kos mul, kul Konahrik. Kos mul.
“Zeymahi?”
Morokei's velvety baritone broke the silence like a rumble of thunder.
“Alok kron spaan,” Vahlok said in greeting, his voice far shakier than he intended. “How fares Ofan?”
“She is coping better than you, clearly,” Durnehviir's student snorted, his flippant facade unable to mask his genuine worry. It was rare seeing the indomitable Vahlok so unraveled. “What distresses you so?”
Vahlok deflated, placing his hands on the icy railing and bracing himself against it. He would rather face the unforgiving, frozen coastline than the knowing lavender eyes of his counterpart.
“...I am still being plagued by dreams, zeymah,” he admitted solemnly.
Morokei frowned and leaned against the stone barrier as well, regarding his companion thoughtfully. They had become confidants during Vahlok's recovery after Miraak's defeat and had remained close ever since. The Jailor had been troubled by visions beyond Vermina even then.
“The same nightmare? With the shrouded dovah?”
Vahlok nodded, his rich timbre soft. “Except this time, before the shadows devoured dii zii, I glimpsed him through the fog...”
The sheer awe in the Guardian's tone gave him pause. Vahlok was practically raised among the gods; he revered them, but he was accustomed to their majesty and abilities. What sort of dragon had left such an impression?
“Tell me, zeymah,” Morokei prodded gently. “What did this hidden divine look like?”
Vahlok hesitated, his sapphire gaze locked on the grey sky. He began to speak slowly, struggling to find the right words.
“I did not see his form in its entirety yet-” The younger Atmoran's eyes flickered in thought for a moment, then he continued.
“I realize that beauty is subjective and comes in many forms. Never has a dovah been seen with a pattern as striking as Numinex's, nor with colors as vibrant as Toormaarfeyn and Odahviing. The revered kin shimmer like polished gemstones and the frost lords reflect the sky. This dragon was fairer still, at least unto me. His scales were radiant, as if a golden shroud had been placed over the sun. His gilded wings were splendid yet strange. They were separate from his forelimbs, which I assume were large based on his ease of movement. A blinding light freed me from the agonizing mist and the yuvondovah appeared so suddenly I believe he tore through the fell barrier. I heard him rumbling in that plaintive tone dovahhe use to get hatchlings' attention. The light obscured the yuvondovah's features now, yet I reached out regardless. Before we could have tinvaak something unknown wrenched us apart and I awoke.”
Vahlok's voice trailed off and his knuckles were turning a reddish hue due to his death grip on the stone. Morokei was filled with disquiet at the mention of a four-limbed dragon. There was an old legend that Peryite would replace Akatosh in the next Kalpa as the Daedra and Aedra switched places, but even The Hroar-Father said such an idea was absurd. Besides, the next cycle had nothing to do with them.
Even so...
“Could it be a deception of Peryite?” Morokei ventured carefully.
“No!” Vahlok answered emphatically, before collecting himself. “No. No malice radiated from the yuvondovah. Only warmth.”
He lapsed into silence once more. Pulling werewolf teeth was easier than coaxing Vahlok to fully reveal anything personal, even to those he trusted, but Durnehviir's pupil understood. Morokei would not so much as glance at his colleagues if a mentor had betrayed him in the manner Miraak had betrayed Vahlok. Therefore, he waited patiently.
The Jailor finally spoke, voice soft and bewildered. “So foreign and strange, yet I am grief-stricken at his loss. Is this an unnatural attachment born out of shared trauma in that noxious realm? A vivid machination of Vermina and a rival dovah?”
He sighed heavily and pushed away from the railing to face Morokei. “I know not what to think,” Vahlok began sincerely, sorrowfully. “All I comprehend is that in those few moments I was …whole.”
The lilac-eyed sonaak observed the Jailor with uncharacteristic compassion. “That is exactly how I felt around Mulnehoblaan.”
“I never found my patron, zeymah. How can I yearn for what I do not know?” Konahrik's heir lamented hoarsely, perplexed and exhausted.
Morokei was growing ever more convinced that this was an especially cruel assault by a foe with an alarming knowledge of the deepest secrets of their society. Before he could offer solace or suggestions however the Guardian spoke again.
“Forgive me. I counsel you not to give emotions control over your mind and here I am falling apart over a dream.”
“Cease dismissing serious matters regarding your wellbeing!” Durnehviir’s student rebuked. “I cannot stand it when you do that. Dragonborn or no, you deserve support as much as the next sonaak thur.”
Morokei inwardly cursed the moment the words left his mouth. That was the dilemma; Vahlok was alone. The adoration of dragonkind did not compare to the boon of a dragon mentor, and Alduin’s favor could be just as much of a curse as a blessing. The elder Atmoran’s heart still ached for his patron, but oh how destitute he would have been never knowing him at all. He pinched the bridge of his nose, murmuring, “Oblivion take me, I actually wish we could consult Paarthurnax.”
Vahlok blinked, observing his counterpart carefully. “I thought you despised him for his betrayal?”
Morokei sighed heavily. “I had a great deal of time to ponder during my imprisonment.” He side-eyed Aren’s translucent cell, then continued. “The common rabble were fools who saw the dov as monsters rather than the gods they were. Yet how could they believe any differently, when rulers like Kahvozein demanded their children for the fire and their fighting men for Hevnoraak’s demented experiments! I was no generous liege, but the corruption that spread throughout our order toward the end was senseless and repulsive.”
Vahlok’s sapphire orbs glittered. “I utterly agree. Some of the dovahhe should have been stripped of the title of divine and labeled as the greedy vampire snakes they were!”
He was rewarded by an entertainingly startled expression from his genteel colleague. “…I do not know if I would endorse such extremes, Jailor, but you are not incorrect.”
The Dovahkiin smiled faintly. “In all sincerity, the dovahhe never showed any other side to themselves other than brutal predators to those not of our culture. Discretion is wise, but a prudent ruler cannot be so hidden from their people, even with representation from sonaakke.”
“Exactly. Especially when their priests are twittering idiots,” Morokei grumbled, sighing again. “We are going to have our hands full when our less astute brothers arrive.”
Vahlok looked toward the frosty heavens once more, his voice determined and steady. “Leave them to me.”
The Guardian needed to focus on something besides his private agony. His father had oft declared work to be a balm for grief. Yet there was a small part of him that desperately hoped the golden dragon would reach out to him again.
~ ~ ~
The sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon as Morokei approached the massive portal to Solstheim. He had tried to convince Vahlok to rest, but the Guardian had insisted that a walk along the frozen coastline would clear his head and promised to be discreet if he ran into any locals. Morokei perceived that the real reason for such distancing was to avoid Viintaas’s fellow dragon soul discerning his distress. If the lad was anything like Ahzidal it would not matter, but Morokei did not possess the heart to say so aloud.
He entered the swirling vortex before his rational side took over. Approaching the Firstborn without being summoned was perilous given Alduin’s mood swings, but his concern for Vahlok’s safety outweighed all risk.
Viinturuth’s fins bristled at the sound of emergence from the portal, but he was pleasantly surprised to see it was his pupil’s favorite counterpart. He noted the brief expression of relief on Morokei’s face before the raven-maned sonaak assembled a proper diplomatic expression. Viinturuth furtively glanced over to where the massive black dragon was staring into sea as if searching for fish. In truth, the World-Eater was seeking something within the unseen flow of Tiid itself. Nahkriin’s patron canted his head to the side. Perhaps Alduin would rouse himself without the need for an active interruption. Morokei was a faithful servant who did not deserve to be snapped at. The blood dragon snorted, rising and shaking the ash from his wings quite dramatically.
“Hail, mid sonaak. Hin zii los so. You bare ill tidings.”
Morokei bowed low, his demeanor courteous and contrite. “I do, dii thur.”
The noise from Viinturuth’s shuffling did indeed draw the World-Eater’s gaze. He tossed his massive head. It was unusual for Morokei appear before him maskless, but the Firstborn understood that his priests were still enjoying the sensations of living flesh, including that of the wind upon one’s face.
“Approach. Why does fear rule you?”
Morokei lifted his gaze, his velvety baritone earnest. “Some unknown foe hunts dii zeymah Vahlok in his dreams, lotgein. The personal knowledge it possesses I doubt even Miraak is aware of.”
Alduin growled and Viinturuth twitched his tail, unsettled. Their priests had just been resurrected and a rival already sought their destruction?
“Do not hide your mind from me now, Morokei,” The World-Eater rumbled, gravely. “What sort of forbidden information is being used to torment Dovahkiini?”
The once lich inwardly winced. He hoped Ofan would not mind being taught by one whose body was mangled if Alduin did not react reasonably.
“Intelligence regarding the yuvonkulaan, sahrot thur.”
Viinturuth was tempted to make certain the Eldest breathed still due to the palpable silence that fell. Awareness of Alduin’s murdered hatchling was granted for the sole purpose of keeping the best and brightest among the next generations safe from the World-Eater’s unstable temper! Goraan dovahhe and joorre loved asking questions after all. The rumor that Vahlok had been born to be the lost prince’s priest was known only among Alduin’s inner circle and their students.
“Who possesses the power and lack of loyalty to forsake all oaths made before Akatosh?” the emerald beast queried cautiously. “Why target the Guardian? He does not make enemies easily.”
“Do not be naive,” Alduin snarled, crimson orbs glowing in wrath. “Vahlok keeps his fellow sonaakke encouraged and obedient. A properly tutored Dovahkiin is a very powerful weapon. Perhaps this trespasser seeks to prevent him from teaching another as well.”
Morokei barely managed not to flinch when the ebony god’s baleful glare fell upon him. “Why did Vahlok not confess his battles to me?”
“He sees any sort of private trial as a burden upon everyone else, dii thur,” Morokei answered honestly.
Alduin snorted heavily. Konahrik tended to hide his struggles also.
He used to.
Why must my memories be so agonizing?
“You did well revealing this to me,” Alduin addressed the pale Atmoran aloud, in an unsettlingly calm tone. “Give your brothers my command to be watchful.”
Without another word, the huge beast launched himself into the sky, whipping up the ash and shaking the very earth with his roar!
Morokei faced Viinturuth, whose spines were fanned out in disquiet.
“Thuri!” He called, coughing. “He asked for no details, should I-”
“Niid!” Viinturuth interjected, nearly causing Morokei’s heart to stop when his large muzzle suddenly appeared before him amidst the swirling clouds. “He is not of sound mind, mid sonaak. Specifics will not matter, he hears whatsoever he desires regardless!”
Durnehviir’s pupil covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, eyes widening despite the debri in the air. He had never heard Viinturuth speak so closely to treason before!
“I will speak with Solstheim’s protectors,” the blood dragon insisted. “Bo! Tell Nahkriin to be wary of the woods!”
~ ~ ~
“This Vivec character was wild,” Zahkriisos commented, thumbing through a colorful tome. “Don’t show this to Dukaan, he’ll be scarred for life!”
Viintaas laughed merrily. They were seated in the Hall of Elements, waiting for Ahzidal to finish what was supposed to be a cursory examination of the Eye so they could practice weird enchantments. Viintaas for entertainment and learning purposes, Zahkriisos to make certain he remembered how to enchant items! Ofan and Dukaan followed the Falmer Slayer around like wolf cubs, fascinated by his observations about Magnus’s artifact.
The Enchanter ceased when an ash covered Morokei entered the Hall, freezing like a deer spotted by a hunter when he saw them.
“Morokei?” Ofan inquired, worried by his disheveled appearance and expression.
They all stared him in puzzlement and Bromjunaar’s steward sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I may have made a miscalculation…”
Notes:
Thank you guys so much for staying with me despite my slow posting pace! I truly appreciate it!
We rescued a kitten! And she's CRAZY! xD I've grown up with and around cats and NEVER have I EVER met something so hyper! Now all I can see is poor Morokei trying to write with dragonlings hoping EVERYWHERE. Even just hatched they probably weigh almost as much as a grown man and their pudgy selves are squawking and leaping and trying to fly and knocking over all of his tomes and he can't deal but how does one discipline the divine? xD
Approximate Dovahzul translations:
Dii zii = my soul (as in living soul, not afterlife soul)
Yuvondovah = Golden dragon
Hin zii los so = your soul is sorrowful/melancholy (as in feeling, not an apology)
Yuvonkulaan = Golden prince
Chapter 29
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Vahlok exhaled deeply as the icy sea breeze ruffled his wild curls. The bitter cold helped to focus his mind, though it did nothing to quiet his spirit. He gazed up at the cloudy sky, sapphire eyes glittering in anger.
“You were with me as Mora was with Miraak,” he spoke to Akatosh. “Yet you have been silent ever since. Will you discard Viintaas once he fulfills your purpose for him as well? Have you already cast him aside?”
The wind blew forlornly and the Dragonborn could sense nothing. Was this unwavering taciturnity what drove Alduin to speak against his sire at every turn? Those with dragon souls did not need shrines to commune with the time god, yet could he not recall an instance besides his battle against Miraak where Akatosh had ever answered. The Guardian knew that if anyone could perceive the nature of the strange yuvondovah, it would be the Father of Dragonkind. He had gotten more of a response from the horkers nearby for daring to walk in their vicinity.
“Perhaps it was arrogant of me to believe that you would care,” Vahlok murmured, continuing his trek along the frozen coast.
He attempted to push the foreign dragon out of his mind. He had his brothers, and their friendship was enough.
Right?
Vahlok paused to watch the white terns gliding overhead. Try as he might, he could not forget how…welcome he had felt in the presence of the four-limbed dovah. Perhaps a dream ritual would enable him to speak with the golden dragon again? Surely Ahzidal would have more ideas.
Regardless, the Jailor needed to plan for the resurrections of Hevnoraak and Volsung in particular. Otar was easily distracted and Rahgot, well… Rahgot would be burnt no matter what.
~ ~ ~
Ahzidal’s piercing glare was unshakable and Morokei strove not to fidget under the only gaze he had to look upward to meet. “For all of your wisdom and arcane talent, you sought the guidance of Alduin?”
“I do not think zeymah Morokei realizes, teacher,” Dukaan ventured quietly, ice crystal eyes filled with concern.
Durnehviir’s student stiffened. He despised being withheld any and all knowledge. “Realizes what? Why all the secrecy, especially now?”
Zahkriisos scoffed. “There is no mystery! The Firstborn has gone mad!”
Ofan glanced at Viintaas when the Dragonborn shifted uncomfortably, and Morokei stared daggers at the Bloodskal Blade bearer. “This is not the time for jests.”
The Enchanter pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is not jesting, Morokei, as difficult as that is to believe. I forget you witnessed not the incident at Miraak’s temple.” His rhythmic voice was calmer now, but no less grave. “The World-Eater has not healed since Konahrik’s murder and Paarthurnax’s betrayal. If anything, he has become more unhinged. This was blatantly revealed on Solstheim.”
And you did not think to advise me sooner, Morokei wanted to shout, but he paused. Such treasonous speech was dangerous, which was why Viinturuth’s warnings had stunned him so. If Akatosh’s Eldest was as paranoid as he had been during the Dragon War, the line between sonaak thur and zaam had never been thinner.
Will I be able to protect Ofan?
“Regardless,” Zahkriisos began seriously, disrupting Morokei’s thoughts. “Which one of us was in such peril that you went all the way to Alduin?”
The azure and ebony maned priest set his mouth in a thin line, remaining silent.
Viintaas suddenly paled. “Vahlok…”
Morokei inwardly groaned. So much for maintaining his tormented brother’s privacy.
Numinex’s pupil tensed, silver orbs focusing on Morokei. “Why in Oblivion didn’t you say anything?”
“You know how Vahlok is,” Dukaan interjected, wishing to avoid further conflict.
“I don’t give a flying-”
“Nahlot!” Ahzidal commanded sharply, in a tone that would brook no argument. “Bo,” he told his son. “None of us should be alone, no matter the reason.”
The Last Dragonborn needed no encouragement. He stormed into the frozen courtyard and the Hall of Elements was filled with strained silence.
“Whither shall we go for guidance if we cannot trust the Firstborn?” Morokei asked softly, the pain evident in his velvety baritone.
Ofan’s heart ached for him.
The eldest priest stroked his beard, amber eyes glittering. “We can only confide in one another for now, though I am aware that answer offers little comfort. Nahkriin can be relied upon, since Viinturuth has seen the truth. Krosis is clearly loyal, and I have no doubt Vokun remains steadfast. Otar, Rahgot, Volsung and Hevnoraak however cannot be trusted with anything.” He clarified, for Ofan’s benefit.
The uncertain priests grew quiet once again, and the Enchanter’s thoughtful gaze flickered to the Eye of Magnus. What the sonaakke really needed was for Alduin to awaken more temperate members of his inner circle, rather than malevolent chaos bringers like Kahvozein. Durnehviir’s indomitable Thu’um would be a boon, but the Ideal Masters would not be so easily thwarted. Especially if the World-Eater refused to go to battle for his fellow dragon’s soul. Ahzidal did not desire to test Alduin’s patience with imperfect calculations. Nor to give Morokei hope only to dash it. The ancient Atmoran straightened. There was much to consider.
~ ~ ~
Tolmar surveyed Winterhold’s courtyard with resignation. It was dreadfully cramped, but the soldiers and servants had done well organizing the tents and other supplies with what little space they had. The guard captain’s quarters had been moved into the tower that housed the remaining wizards to discourage any unnecessary disturbances. The bald seneschal barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the pair of maids giggling about how Lady Ofan’s room and Lord Morokei’s chambers had been relocated next to one another. Considering how…unnerving Lord Hevnoraak was, Tolmar would want his wards nearby as well, whether they were male or female.
The massive portal in the courtyard’s center began to radiate an uncommon amount of light. Tolmar eyed it with uncertainty. Oh gods, was the sadistic sonaak arriving already? He was shocked when a towering figure stepped onto the glimmering snow, raven mane billowing in the wind and spiraling horns reflecting the morning sunlight. The attendants froze and the guards gripped the hilts of their weapons doubtfully.
“Zu'u Alduin, feyn Junne,” the World-Eater declared, his abyssal voice reverberating throughout the college grounds. “Zok sahrot do naan ok Lein!”
Tolmar could not comprehend what he was seeing, but he knelt with his face to the frozen ground regardless and his terrified retinue followed suit. This was most certainly one of the divines; did he hear the name of Alduin?
“Welcome, noble lord!” The slim chamberlain managed. “Your faithful priests commune with the Eye of Magnus!”
The Firstborn’s fiery crimson eyes zeroed in on the Hall of Elements. He needed no direction, for Magnus’s signature was unmistakable! Without another glance at the servants, the World-Eater strode toward the largest stone structure and threw the great doors open effortlessly!
To say the sonaakke had been startled when Akatosh’s Eldest interrupted their quiet planning was an understatement. Dukaan had conjured a translucent bow while Morokei and Zahkriisos were poised to unleash an onslaught of crackling lightning! Ofan noted that Ahzidal had barely reacted beyond flexing his fingers and she aspired to achieve the Enchanter’s level of stoicism! Her thoughts were completely derailed once she fully focused on the new arrival, however!
“Drem,” Alduin ordered, arching a bushy eyebrow at the silver-eyed Nord in particular. Once his priests had calmed down, he addressed the oldest among them. “Where are the Dovahkiinne?”
“Likely practicing near the sea,” Ahzidal replied smoothly. “Vahlok wishes for my son to be as prepared as I do when it comes to our less selfless brethren.”
“You believe they will dare to defy my will?” The Firstborn challenged, a bit surprised by such assertions even from bold Ahzidal.
“I know that Hevnoraak and Rahgot at least will act as though nothing has changed, and that they will do whatsoever they desire when they think you are not watching, dii thur.”
Zahkriisos hid a smirk and Morokei relaxed ever so slightly. The amber-eyed Atmoran was a master when it came to shifting the attention of the unstable god.
Alduin crossed his ebony scaled arms in an unsettlingly human gesture. “Trust that I will not bear such folly, Ahzidal. What of Krosis and Nahkriin?”
“Krosis went southward to scout a proper receiving place for your council, thuri,” Morokei replied. “Nahkriin finally agreed to receive proper healing. He will be fully mended soon.”
Alduin caught them all of guard by chuckling. “It was a battle to convince him, then? Paaz. I am pleased you did not abandon your counterpart.”
Durnehviir’s pupil took care to keep the suspicion from his face. Alduin’s mood swings were exhausting. Was it a facade, some sort of test, or was the ebony divine truly pleased?
“I would have,” Zahkriisos joked, rather riskily, drawing an incredulous gaze from Dukaan.
Alduin’s expression was akin to that of a beleaguered babysitter. “I know, Zahkriisos.”
“Nahkriin’s rigidity annoys me.”
“I know, Zahkriisos. You balance one another well.”
“I have not had the time to fully discern the nature of Magnus’s orb, dii thur,” Ahzidal began, before Alduin decided he was annoyed rather than amused. “Nor to ascertain if its nature has changed over the millennia. But Morokei has compiled extensive data on the subject. Shall we fetch it?”
“Do so,” the Firstborn replied. “And send for your brethren as well. I will hold tinvaak with you all.”
The sonaakke bowed, Ofan quickly emulating the gesture, before Dukaan went in search of Krosis and Zahkriisos embarked on the hunt for Dragonborn. Morokei indicated for his student to follow him to the Arcanaeum. Once he had closed the door to the Hall of Elements, Durnehviir’s pupil sighed deeply in relief. Ofan gave him a sympathetic look.
“That was overwhelming,” she ventured, pushing a rebellious curl out of her vision.
“It was,” he admitted, glancing down at her with a small smile. “Yet you did very well.”
The petite mage felt her face flush and tried to change the subject with a sincere question. “Will Ahzidal be okay alone with Thur Alduin?”
Morokei’s smile widened slightly. “Teacher Ahzidal can navigate around the Eldest’s temperaments like none other save Konahrik. It will give him something to entertain his brilliant intellect with. I am quite grateful that he has been reborn.”
He became solemn, then placed both hands on her delicate shoulders. “If any of the dishonorable sonaakke trouble you, do not hesitate to inform me regardless of the situation. I will protect you, Ofan Sossedov, I swear it.”
If he did not notice her blush before she knew it would be impossible to hide it now!
“I will, Morokei,” she answered softly, turquoise eyes shining. “I promise.”
Notes:
*dramatic music intensifies*
Apologies for yet another hiatus y'all! My computer committed seppuku and tech support was NOT helpful!
Aproximate Dovahzul Translations:
Zaam = Eternal slave, big difference from Aar, a willing servant.
Nahlot = Silence, enough.
Zu'u Alduin feyn Junne = I (am) Alduin, bane (of) Kings
Zok sahrot do naan ok Lein = Most mighty of any in Mundus
Chapter 30
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The solemn silence within the plane of Akatosh was abruptly shattered as swirling rift materialized through the barriers of Time Lord’s innermost sanctuary. A golden muzzle pushed through the portal, sniffing suspiciously. This was no random tear but an open gateway, crude and strange though it was. After all of his efforts to overcome the distance and foreign powers, why the sudden invitation? It reeked of a trap! The radiant dragon thrust his entire head through the entryway, equine-like ears swiveling. The presence that he had sought for centuries was stronger here. It was worth the risk.
The four-limbed beast emerged completely from the portal, muscles rippling beneath gilded scales as he arched his neck and long tail, displaying his full size. If this was an ambush, he would not be easy prey! His bright eyes were drawn to the resplendent being in the center of the ethereal mountain. It was clearly a god, perhaps even a high divine, but its aura seemed fractured. The lone dovah scented the air again, curling his tail in concern as he approached the luminous entity. Its very essence was being pulled in an alarming number of directions! Was this divine stricken by too many responsibilities? Imprisoned by a mysterious foe? Perhaps the foreign god was perfectly fine, and he simply could not comprehend the stranger’s magic.
Regardless, the young dragon required an explanation. As he drew closer, the golden dovah saw that the elder immortal was also a dragon, but of a kind he had never seen before! He was wingless, with a long, winding body and a glorious mane that even a lion would envy!
Chiding himself for being distracted by such a display, the invited divine spoke. “Why did you grant me passage after all of this time?”
At the mention of time, the ruler of the current plane shifted, his guise melting away like snow before rain. The Time Lord’s glowing energy reassembled before his guest’s eyes, taking a form more recognizable. Two great wings had sprouted from his back, and his forelimbs appeared to be merged with them. The younger dovah tilted his head, more taken aback by the older being’s lack of outer ears than anything else! He inadvertently bristled when the arcane creature’s enigmatic gaze finally focused on him.
“Yuvonshulkulaan,” he rumbled, white eyes gleaming. “I am Akatosh, Juntiid, Auri-El, Alkosh. Do you know me?”
Something in his aura resonated with his host’s energy, but not in an entirely pleasant way. Lack of knowledge could be seen as weakness, but the less experienced immortal could not back down. Not when he was so close to answers!
“Why do you call me by that title?” He inquired, rather than responding. “That is not my name.”
“It was the name you were given in the beginning, a representation of your truest self,” the Father of Dragons answered. “Yuvon, for your golden armor. Shul, for your future power. Kulaan, for your place as the World-Eater’s heir.”
The four-limbed dragon wanted to growl in distress at the faint recollections swirling on the edge of his mind, yet he remained stoic and silent. Something about this Aka-Al-Whoever unsettled him. He felt very much like a pawn, like prey, but he had to stay focused.
“I am not here for myself, grand monarch of this dominion. I am here for a human. He calls to me in dreams, and I shall not deny him aid.”
Akatosh canted his head ever so slightly, his grand spiraling horns oddly familiar to his uncomfortable guest. “Do you truly believe that is the only reason I allowed you entry?”
The younger dragon met the elder’s gaze unflinchingly. “It is the sole reason that matters to me.”
The Time Lord seemed neither pleased nor displeased, but another gateway with a more peaceful resonance appeared before them. “Bo, Yuvonshulkulaan. Kuli ahrk Bormahiil will provide the answers you seek.”
Yuvon snorted in frustration. The foreign tongue Juntiid spoke felt both recognizable and utterly incomprehensible!
Why can I not remember?
Despite his lack of understanding, there was no time to waste! The gilded beast lowered his ears and head respectfully, then charged into the portal, relieved to be away from the confuzzling entity!
“Welcome home, Yuvonshulkulaan,” Akatosh murmured softly, closing the gates to his realm once more.
~ ~ ~
“Nahkriin?” Morokei called quietly as he reluctantly knocked on the bedchamber door. He loathed waking his healing counterpart, but Nahkriin needed to know what had transpired. Receiving a mumbled response, Morokei entered the room. The exhausted priest slowly sat up in the bed, frizzy umber ringlets covering his face and cascading past his shoulders.
Morokei smirked, lilac eyes dancing. “You must have had quite the dream.”
“A plague upon you and your ludicrously straight hair!” The steward of Skuldafn grumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes with his right hand. “Why wake me you villain?”
“It is good to see you are recovering swiftly,” Morokei said sincerely, his amused demeanor shifting into a solemn one. “Thuru Alduin commands his elite council and awakened sonaak thurre to gather outside of Winterhold.”
Nahkriin paused, his dark amethyst gaze sharpening. “…What other news disturbs you so greatly that you struggle to speak of it?
The taller Atmoran sighed in resignation. The downside of having his closest companions return was that they could discern even his most hidden emotions. “The World-Eater is unwell, zeymahi.”
Nahkriin stiffened, all weariness gone. “Careful, Morokei…”
“You desired answers, I shall give them!” The raven-maned sonaak declared firmly. “Your devotion to the dovahhe is without equal, yet you cannot afford to turn a blind eye, nor to linger in ignorance!”
Nahkriin arose from the tangle of blankets, movements stiff due to his mending shoulder. “I am well aware that our overlords became…greedy near the end of the Dragon War, but-”
“Near the end? Zeymah, their selfishness is what ignited the war in the first place! Our selfishness!” Morokei insisted, meeting his fellow priest’s gaze.
The russet-skinned man acted as though he had been dealt a mortal blow. “In five thousand years I never would have imagined such treasonous words to fall from your lips, Morokei of Bromjunaar.”
“Nahkriin.”
Morokei’s earnest tone caused him to freeze, and the arcane mage leaned forward.
“Thuru Viinturuth commanded me to inform you to be wary of the woods.”
Morokei was uncertain what such a warning meant, but it had a profound effect upon his brother. The Steward of Skuldafn’s expression cycled through the first four stages of grief in a matter of moments!
“It cannot be true,” he protested feebly, sitting back down upon the bed heavily. “This was supposed to be a renewal of our society, not a repeat of our downfall.”
“It still can be,” Morokei encouraged, taking a seat beside his very first friend. “Ahzidal is making plans, and Vahlok is determined not to bow to Kahvozein and Hevnoraak. Dovahkiin though he is, the Guardian will require our support.”
A sorrowful silence lingered in the room for a long while before Nahkriin finally spoke. “He shall have it.” The shorter mage stared listlessly at the floor, all pride and fervor gone. “Grant me a moment, zeymah. Please.”
Morokei placed a comforting hand on Nahkriin’s uninjured shoulder before quietly standing and departing the forlorn chamber.
~ ~ ~
The two younger sonaakke wound their way down the snowy path back to the settlement around the college.
“Alduin should be pleased with the site you chose,” Dukaan ventured, allowing his cloak to billow freely in the icy wind. This weather was nothing compared to Atmora’s tantrums!
“That’s Surpreme Emperor Knight Champion Alduin to you, kiir,” Krosis teased, trying to ease his former student’s anxiety. Vulonkrein seemed skittish since the World-Eater had appeared so unexpectedly, though Krosis could hardly blame him for that.
Dukaan snickered, yet his ice crystal orbs remained thoughtful. “Do you think Vahlok is truly being tormented by an outside foe, or is this another machination of the Firstborn?”
Perhaps it had been rude of him to share such personal information with Krosis, but he always told his teacher everything, trusting the older battlemage completely.
The red-haired priest exhaled hard through his nose. His student constantly asked the most difficult and loaded questions. It was unsurprising when the scholarly Paarthurnax selected Dukaan to be his sonaak thur!
“I wish I knew, Vulonkrein. Hopefully shrewd Nahagliiv will bring some clarity. And once we find Numinex’s burial mound, no secrets will be safe, whether they be of joorre or dovahhe!”
Dukaan’s melancholic eyes flickered downward. “If we find Numinex’s bones, zeymah. I read that cursed tale about Olaf and-and-” his gentle brogue faltered. “What am I going to tell Zahk? He suspects, Morokei tried to tell him gradually, but he knows not the torture his patron endured. I fear what he might do in retaliation.”
The two men halted before the edge of town. The few guards and citizens that had not fled upon the first visitation from Viinturuth paid them little mind, concentrating on their own errands and survival.
“I think Zahkriisos will be too focused upon your safety and wellbeing to start a crusade just yet,” the freckled priest answered, kindly and candidly. “Besides, you know how protective he is of new acolytes, despite pretending not to care, and now we have five to watch over.”
The youngest sonaak inclined his head. “You speak wisely, teacher. I will not let fear rule me.”
Krosis gave him a playful shove of encouragement and they continued through the dilapidated city. Just before the narrow stone walkway, a chorus of howls echoed across the frozen landscape.
Dukaan brightened considerably, his expression wistful as he listened to the lovely yet eerie calls. “Do you think I still have the gift, Krosis?”
The green-robed Nord studied his pupil. “Did you even want it to begin with? I remember you fuming throughout Bromjunaar for a week at least!”
“Not at first,” Paarthurnax’s priest admitted. “But it brought me much comfort during my trials under Miraak. It became an integral part of my identity on Solstheim, though I did not embrace it as wildly as my brother.” His demeanor became ashamed. “I do not wish to lose even more parts of myself than I already have.”
“You are stronger than you believe, Vulonkrein,” Krosis responded, sincerely. He grinned amicably. “You and Ofan need to take a self confidence boosting course consisting of archery and ice magic.”
Dukaan relaxed a little, smiling. “She is a sweet soul. It is little wonder that Morokei is so taken with her!”
Krosis laughed aloud. “By Akatosh’s horns, say nothing please! Let him think we are oblivious for a little while longer lest he lecture us all about the importance of heliotropes!”
The pair were still snickering when they arrived at the college’s courtyard, much to the confusion of the soldiers and servants. They fell dramatically silent when Morokei exited the Hall of Countenance!
Notes:
The Top Dragon himself finally makes an appearance aaaand...isn't that helpful. Thanks, Space Dad. To be fair, he's sort of scattered-brained at the moment!
On a serious note, my (now ex) best friend stole original book characters and original fanfic characters from me and shared them as their own. Is there a way I should tag my OCs on here to mark them as mine in a better manner? Or should I try to draw the priests and OCs like Viintaas, Ofan and Yuvonshulkulaan, then face-claim their appearances? I'm probably overthinking this, but I was left feeling rather hurt, not going to lie. Do you guys have any advice? Thank you for being so patient!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Kuli ahrk Bormahiil = My son and your father
Juntiid = King Time, or rather Time King
Chapter 31
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As he lay sprawled amidst the snow drifts, Viintaas scolded himself for being too impulsive once again.
That cliff looked a lot less steep from above…
He sat up with a groan, grateful that the snow had cushioned his fall, and that no one had been around to witness it! Well, none save for the particularly obese horker nearby that was glaring at him with scathing disapproval!
“Oh like you’ve never done anything stupid!” The young Dragonborn challenged the unimpressed animal, unreasonably embarrassed by its presence.
The horker honked at him reproachfully.
“Viintaas, what in all of Nirn are you doing?”
Humiliation doubled!
He sheepishly glanced up at a very concerned Vahlok approaching him from the north.
“I was looking for you, actually,” Viintaas admitted, awkwardly scrambling to his feet and brushing the snow from his robes.
Vahlok idly pushed away the offended horker with a wave of his hand, keen sapphire gaze focused on his newest student. “What happened? Did you fall off the cliff?”
Falling sounded a little better than attempting to climb down. “Y-yeah. Yes.”
Vahlok tilted his head, eyes twinkling in amused realization. “…You tried to run down the mountainside…”
“NO!” Viintaas exclaimed, a bit too vehemently.
The elder Dovahkiin began to chuckle. “You understand that a dragon’s soul does not grant you a dragon’s dexterity, yes?”
“I-I do now,” the boy mumbled, reddening. “Please don’t tell bormahi.”
Vahlok ruffled the remaining snow out of his student’s hair affectionately. “I will not. Did he send you to search for me? I apologize for being gone overlong. I desired to clear my head before Hevnoraak arrives and ruins the pleasant atmosphere.”
“Actually, Alduin did,” Viintaas answered, studying his mentor. Outwardly the Jailor was stoic, but his aura was discouraged and weary.
The Guardian stiffened slightly. “The Firstborn is here already?”
Viintaas hesitated briefly, not wishing to add to Vahlok’s concerns. “Alduin seems to worry about you and zeymahiil, while simultaneously stressing everyone out by being so unpredictable. It’s ironic,” Ahzidal’s son answered, candidly.
Vahlok exhaled quietly. “Koraav. Hi tinvaak vahzah, you speak truly.”
The Jailor loathed having to return but he squared his shoulders. He had a duty to perform, allies to protect. The Lord of Solstheim did not yield six thousand years ago, and he would not cower now.
“Oi, Vahlok! What did you do with our goraan Dovahkiin?” Zahkriisos’s merry brogue rang across the icy coast as the tall Atmoran tromped through the snow. “He looks terrible!”
Viintaas looked toward him in confusion, surveying the area. Zahkriisos clearly came from the main road but how did he reach them so swiftly?
The Guardian relaxed slightly, though he gave naught away. “Our young counterpart needs a hearty Clan Bloodskal feast, Zahk!”
“Ha! That’s a much better plan than a tedious meeting with grumpy gods!” The silver-eyed warrior called. “Don’t look so downtrodden, kid! Alduin is a very impatient Thur!”
“Oh,” Viintaas replied simply, looking sheepish and a little cold.
Zahkriisos eyed Vahlok’s latest protege, then peered at the slide marks on the precipice, which obviously lead to the human sized dent in the snow drifts. His pink lips slowly spread into a playful smirk. “You sure you don’t want to hike back up the cliff, Ahz Junior?”
Humiliation tripled!
“I’m fine,” the boy answered, chagrinned.
Vahlok smiled and Zahkriisos guffawed, patting the younger Dragonborn heartily on the back!
~ ~ ~
As the group made their way back to the college, the Guardian observed his rambunctious pupils with a smile. Some among the priesthood had questioned the mild-mannered prince’s choice of a student in Clan Bloodskal’s heir, but they had balanced once another well. He valued Zahkriisos’s unwavering courage in the face all obstacles, and unbridled enthusiasm toward life.
Viintaas too, possessed an indomitable spirit despite the hardships he had endured. Their mirthful chatter filled the frosty air with a comforting hum. As the group arrived at the main road, a lone silhouette appeared in the distance, racing up the icy path towards them. Zahkriisos tensed, but the Dovahkiinne were more confused than anything as the man in courier’s attire approached.
“I’ve been looking for you,” the breathless Nord said, addressing a confuzzled Viintaas. “Got this letter from a Jarl. Moving up in the world, eh?”
“H-how did you find me?” Viintaas queried, flummoxed, as he slowly took the letter.
“All the guards in the hold have been talking about the shouts coming from the college,” the messenger replied bluntly.
“Ah,” the amber-eyed Atmoran said awkwardly.
Zahkriisos chuckled, silver orbs dancing. “You need to be more mindful of city laws, Dragonborn.”
Viintaas blanched while Vahlok smirked.
“Yep! The guards will report anyone for anything!” The courier agreed, checking his satchel. “Looks like that’s it, gotta go!”
The son of Ahzidal was still speechless as the man took off down the thoroughfare. The guardian laughed at the utterly lost expression on his newest apprentice’s face. “Which Jarl is this important missive from, oh Deafening Dovahkiin?”
Viintaas huffed, grinning impishly. “Fairly certain I’m the quietest Thu’um wielder here.”
He regarded the envelope, then blushed fiercely. Zahkriisos, upon seeing such a dramatic reaction, easily peered over the lad’s shoulder. “Idgrod the Younger. She’s the Jarl?”
“No...” Viintaas murmured, suddenly bashful. “She’s the Jarl’s daughter.”
Vahlok’s sapphire eyes lit up. “Are you courting this Lady Idgrod?”
“N-not officially,” his fellow Dragonborn stammered, reddening even more.
The Jailor’s laugh was warm and kind. “Dovahkiin, is this your first love?”
“By the gods, look at his face, it is!” Zahkriisos exclaimed, pulling Viintaas into an enthusiastic headlock and tousling his ebony mane!
“You have grown so swiftly!” Vahlok teased, unable to resist.
“Nahlot,” Viintaas mumbled, shyly grinning as his merry counterparts practically dragged him back to Winterhold.
~ ~ ~
Ofan peered over at the imposing figure of Alduin standing before the Eye of Magnus with his hands folded behind his back. His crimson orbs darted from side to side, as though he was reading something imperceptible to human senses. Ahzidal was perusing Morokei’s notes, while the Steward of Bromjuunar himself paced, lilac gaze locked on the World-Eater. The portal outside activated, causing Morokei to freeze and Ahzidal to roll his eyes.
“Remain here,” Morokei told his student firmly, jaw set as he pushed open the grand doors.
Ofan glanced at Ahzidal worriedly, but the eldest sonaak thur gave her a slight yet reassuring smile. “Fret not. He is more than a match for Hevnoraak.”
“There will be no conflict,” Alduin rumbled, tearing his attention away from Magnus’s artifact.
“You may need to remind Kahvozein, dii thur,” Ahzidal retorted forthrightly.
The Firstborn glared at Toormaarfeyn’s favorite. He was growing tired of their continuous distrust of his divine authority!
Perhaps Kahvozein’s influence was more widespread than I realized. What ill deeds did he commit against my sonaakke after I was banished through Time for them to be so wary?
Alduin whirled around and exited the Hall of Elements.
~ ~ ~
Hevnoraak strode fluidly into the courtyard like he owned it, moss green eyes glinting. His dark orbs were an unsettling contrast to his unpigmented skin. The brutal priest’s predatory stare passed over the meaningless servants, zeroing in on Krosis and Dukaan, who were seated on the icy steps of a side tower. The lowborn redhead and Bloodskal backup heir did not even rise to greet him, their expressions disinterested. He was about to chide them for their lackluster welcome, when another, taller sonaak approached.
“Morokei,” Hevnoraak purred, mellifluous timbre drawing all attention. “How pleasant to see you restored unto your prime.”
“Hevoraak,” the raven-haired priest growled, immune to his counterpart’s enchanting voice. “There is nothing pleasant regarding our current situation. I trust you are ready to defer unto the wisdom of the gods?”
“You wound me, zeymah,” his white-maned fellow admonished. “I have always followed the advice of my patron.”
“And what of the commands of his god?” Alduin snapped, extending his great shadowy wings and talons. The World-Eater was in no mood for games.
Krosis carefully hid a smirk as the Torturer’s bravado vanished.
Hevnoraak straightened and bowed low. “Hail, thuri. We await your orders.”
Alduin snorted; his glare was intense as he looked skyward. He effortlessly discerned Kahvozein’s presence amidst the thick cloud cover.
“Kahvozein,” the Eldest bellowed. “Hon dii uth! Bo nau golt revak naal Krosis!”
Kahvozein’s will strove with Alduin’s briefly, but even he yielded to the might of the Firstborn. Satisfied for the moment, the World-Eater mentally reached out to his other reborn councilors, summoning them all to the sanctified location.
With Alduin’s focus off of him, Hevnoraak’s probing concentration returned to Bromjunaar’s Steward. Morokei had an adept “court countenance” but his clenched jaw and rigid shoulders revealed the mage’s true mood.
“Why so tense, zeymahi? Are you seeking to bar me from witnessing your renewed experimentation with the Eye of Magus?”
Dukaan frowned and Krosis sat upright, alert. Was the Torturer playing his old games already? Hevnoraak was gifted at reading most beings, but only used such a skill for his own advancement and amusement.
Vahlok, Viintaas, and Zahkriisos arrived at the courtyard entryway, silent and watchful. The bearer of the Bloodskal blade met his sibling’s pensive gaze with an incredulous one of his own. Dukaan shrugged a shoulder slightly. Expecting Kahvozein’s onerous pupil to act maturely was expecting too much!
Hevnoraak’s wicked green eyes bore into Morokei. “Such a protective stance. Perhaps you are worried that I shall frighten your little followers? Or a new apprentice perhaps?”
A slight grinding of teeth revealed Hevnoraak’s assumption to be correct.
“Do not be so hostile, zeymah,” the milky skinned Atmoran soothed, baritone and demeanor patronizing. “It is well known how much you love to teach. You are terribly predictable, and rather selfish.” Hevnoraak’s diamond face twisted into a sneer. “Is not the loss of one student in your foolish endeavor to save the cursed god enough?”
Without warning Morokei smote Hevnoraak with a left strike to the jaw that left the pale priest in a crumpled heap on the frozen ground!
“HA! Predict that ya bastard!” Zahkriisos cheered gleefully, while his brothers were stunned to silence.
Alduin hissed at being interrupted in his communion, before snapping his mouth shut in disbelief at the groaning Hevnoraak and the uncivilized Morokei!
“It was not unprovoked, thuri,” Vahlok ventured, a bit awkwardly.
The World-Eater was prepared to burn the squabbling fools then and there as punishment for such idiocy, but the wisdom of his beloved jud drifted back into his thoughts.
~ They are strong men, but still mortal in instinct, even with your blessings. Their lives are fraught with weariness we rarely know. You need not be soft, fiery one, but be mindful. Mortals too, can become very protective and territorial over that which they love. They follow your example, after all! ~
I was not protective enough.
Alduin growled, terrifying even in humanoid guise. His scarlet orbs burned with indignation as he addressed the two troublesome priests before him. “Do not test my patience again or I shall leave your worthless corpses to rot in the tombs I called you out of! I expect mul sonaakke, not sahlomeyye!”
Without another word the Firstborn spun on his heel and returned to the Eye of Magnus!
Notes:
Hevnoraak, you've only been here for five minutes, chill.
I may or may not have killed Viintaas a few times trying to take shortcuts down mountainsides...
Whew! Sorry for the hiatus! My job is understaffed lately, like most places since the pandemic I think. Hang in there guys, and stay safe!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Hon dii uth = Heed my command
Bo nau golt revak naal Krosis = Go (to the) meeting place hallowed by Krosis
Sahlomeyye = weak fools
Chapter 32
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Morokei was still seething as Hevnoraak picked himself up off the snowy ground. Not a single priest offered to assist their brutal brother. Vahlok swiftly strode over and placed a restraining hand on the lilac-eyed sonaak’s shoulder.
“Breathe,” the Jailor growl whispered. “He is setting traps you are falling quite eagerly for.”
“You know not the pain of losing a pupil!” Morokei snapped with gritted teeth. “Stand down.”
Nearby, Viintaas shifted uncomfortably and Zahkriisos grew defensive. The Guardian however remained calm.
“No, but Hevnorak always enjoyed reveling in other losses. Ignoring him takes away his power.” Vahlok gave Kahvozein’s disciple a pointed stare, then he looked back at Morokei, rich timbre softening. “He will not dare trouble Ofan since the Firstborn himself approves of her.” He raised his voice again, glaring at the Torturer. “I doubt Thuru Alduin will show patience for such discordant and malicious behavior a second time.”
Being reminded that Hevnoraak often tormented Vahlok about Konahrik’s passing did nothing to cool Morokei’s anger, but he relented. The Guardian let him go, relieved that he sought out Krosis rather than marching after Alduin.
Hevnoraak’s piercing mossy green eyes settled on Viintaas, but before the pale menace could say anything Zahkriisos placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Yes, this is Ahzidal’s son from Saarthal. He is a proven Dovahkiin. He has been chosen as Vahlok’s next pupil. He is considered one of Solstheim’s own by the three Great Ones.”
The swordman’s tone was cheerily conversational, but his message was quite clear!
Touch him and die.
~ ~ ~
Ofan was reading through Ahzidal’s observations on the Eye of Magnus, fascinated. Both he and Morokei had studied the artifact extensively and had taken very thorough notes. She smiled to herself. It was clear that Morokei had followed in his mentor’s footsteps, and she was glad they had been reunited.
Ofan nearly fell out of her chair when the World-Eater came storming back inside! Clutching the papers to her chest, the petite mage regarded the irate god with uncertainty. Was it appropriate to ask a deity if they were well?
“T-Thuri?” She whispered, instantly regretting her decision when those piercing draconic orbs settled on her.
Alduin blinked. THERE was the reason why Morokei was so defensive. He seemed rather strongly attached to her already. “Sossedov?”
Her mind went blank. “U-um…how are you doing?”
The Firstborn exhaled deeply, but her innocent inquiry was familiar. Sincere acolytes were favored by the dov and advanced further than proud ones. “Dii sonaakke los meyye. Squabbling when they should be united.”
Ofan had no idea how to respond to that either! “Is that a side effect of resurrection?”
Ugh, what a stupid question!
Fortunately, Alduin did not seem to mind. “You give them too much credit, Ofan Sossedov, but your dogged positivity is admirable.”
The young maiden wasn’t sure if that was an actual compliment or not, but at least he wasn’t angry with her. His crimson eyes seemed gentler now.
“In all honesty, thuri, I am simply grateful that you have all the god responsibilities and not me,” she ventured, noting his calmer demeanor.
He tilted his head, raven locks shimmering in the Eye’s glow. “Most only think of the power divinity brings, rather than the obligations true authority entails.”
“My father always made certain to teach honor and duty-” She winced. “O-obviously not Miraak. Hjolfnir.”
“Bloodline means nothing beyond researching genetic gifts and curses,” Alduin stated. “Always value wisdom and loyalty over kinship. Always.”
She nodded seriously. “I will remember, thuri.”
The destruction god seemed satisfied with this answer, straightening. “Pruzah.” His glowing eyes seemed to peer through the stone ceiling. “Ahzidal still gathers information?”
“Yes, my lord. He wanted to make certain the archmage did not conceal additional secrets with any of the elf magics before compiling all known data regarding the Eye.”
Alduin snorted. “At least one of my priests can focus! Inform him I go to revive Vokun.”
Ofan inclined her head as the World-Eater swept back out into the courtyard, sighing in relief after the great doors closed!
~ ~ ~
It was almost amusing to see the way the robed men below scattered before their master. If said master had been any other deity besides Alduin! Savos Aren had been certain there was no way the horrid situation could get any worse until the dragon in human shape had sauntered through the portal. Black scales traced their way in patterns around the World-Eater’s face, completely covering his hands, and he even sported four horns! How anyone could think the eldritch being was anything but a dragon in humanoid guise was beyond Savos!
Then again, maybe that was the point.
Maybe it was just another display of the seemingly endless abilities at the First Dragon’s disposal. For what purpose? Aren never paid much attention to Nord nonsense during his studies, preferring other histories and lore. He saw the Dovahkiin being led away from the group by the bronze-skinned man. They moved out of site, somewhere below his archway prison. The loudest Atmoran with the strange blade seemed to block the pale priest from following. Even when silent, these zealots still bickered among one another. Clearly, this ancient society was not nearly as united as Alduin wished it to be!
~ ~ ~
“I deem this gathering of Thuru Alduin’s council will be relatively informal,” Vahlok began. “You need not worry over rituals or language. The dovahhe have long awaited to be reunited and will have many questions for one another, and likely for you as well.”
Viintaas regarded his teacher worriedly. “Is this where they will plan how to conquer Skyrim? There’s a lot of innocent people that are going to be caught in the middle, just like in the current civil war.”
“Perhaps; regardless, this summit would be an excellent time to lay the foundations of change,” the Guardian answered sincerely. “Wiser patrons will have inquiries concerning the political state among men and mer, having learned from their defeat. The warhammer will fall, Viintaas, but we will take this opportunity to direct where the blow shall strike. Without Raghot and Otar, there will be far less dissension.” He exhaled heavily. “Without Numinex and Durnehviir, there will be less focus, but the presence of the Three is a boon.”
Viintaas inwardly flinched and he fell silent. Vahlok discerned the sorrowful shift in his fellow’s aura, but said nothing, patiently waiting for an explanation.
“I um, I know what happened to Numinex,” the young Dragonborn admitted quietly. “I completely understand Zahk not wanting to heed the rumors, but he deserves to know.”
Vahlok nodded once, proud of Viintaas for being honest yet dreading the truth that upset the boy so deeply.
He called to his first student, his rich voice solemn. “Zahkriisos!”
The silver-eyed Bloodskal turned to them, frowning. That was Vahlok’s really grim tidings tone! He approached swiftly, “What’s wrong?”
Why did Ahz Junior look like someone punched him in the gut?
“Zahkriisos,” Viintaas began, meeting those moonlit orbs. “The tales and stupid bard songs about Olaf One-Eye are…they are inaccurate in saying that he was a good man. They are truthful about saying he captured Numinex. I saw the shackle-collar device in Dragonsreach myself…”
The storm loving priest grew very still, but he was listening, so Viintaas continued. “I never liked that room, so I asked Paarthurnax about it. He said he tried to visit, but that Numinex had gone mad due to captivity and loneliness and-and had forgotten his own name.”
Viintaas was angry and disgusted simply relaying these events; how much worse was Zahkriisos feeling?
“Numinex’s skull is still in Whiterun. Is there any way Alduin could bring him back since his soul was never devoured?” Viintaas’s voice was sincere, but not patronizing. Words didn’t matter much in situations like these, but he wanted his new friend to know he cared. “I am so sorry.”
Zahkriisos clenched and unclenched his fists several times. Sure, he wanted to rage and scream and tear all treacherous Olaf’s monuments apart. He wanted to break down and cry and run to Vahlok like he did as a child. But not now. Not here.
Not in front of Hevnoraak.
“It was brave of you to tell me this, Dragonborn Junior,” the Bloodskal Blade Bearer said, chuckling bitterly. “Guess I should have listened to Dukaan and Morokei.”
“Perhaps it was better to learn from someone who knew the past and present truth,” Vahlok said softly, clasping both of his students’ shoulders. “We shall seek Alduin’s insight before his inner circle. Only Kahvozein and Vurthuryol have naught to gain with Numinex’s resurrection. As far as I know, Vurthuryol has not been found. For now, let us rest while we can. Viintaas, if you have any questions, I am certain bormahiil will be finished soon, but in the meantime Morokei likely have the answers I do not.” He offered a gentle smile. “Make certain that you use your given rooms. Morokei put a lot of thought in the assignment list.”
~ ~ ~
The frozen fields were scorched crimson with ash and blood. Numinex found the old warrior amidst his slain enemies, fallen at the very last. He had been dealt a mortal blow, but the last warrior-priest of Clan Bloodskal grinned widely as his patron descended.
“You look like bloody Mora pranked by Sheogorath with all those colorful eyes of yours.”
“Kos nahlot, boziik mey!” The muscular dragon rebuked, landing carefully near his fading sonaak. His striking blue and black rosettes did indeed look like the eyes of a deadric horror, an extremely rare pattern he was proud to possess. But that did not matter now. Nothing did.
Not with his beloved student dying in a war that should have never been waged.
This was how Zahkriisos had wanted to go. Numinex respected that; in fact, it was a desire they shared. What sort of life was lived without battle and contest? But not like this. Not for an unworthy cause and contemptible gods.
Numinex carefully encircled his pupil, resting his massive head as close to the old Atmoran as possible. Zahk weakly reached up to brush the snout of his dragon as stunning wings enveloped him, blocking the icy wind. “It was a spectacle. Got their damnable scout too. Vahlok would have been proud.”
“Vahlok would have never let you go,” Numinex rumbled, nuzzling the clammy hand. His human was beyond the power of restoration shouts and spells, but he would never let Zahkriisos pass alone.
His student’s once vibrant laugh was reduced to a bloody cough, a death rattle. “Ha, vahzen!”
The stillness of the cold morning was marred only by labored, ragged breaths.
“I’m going to miss fighting with you, N-Numa.”
“You fought more honorably than all dii zeymahhe,” the ancient dragon said, with uncommon tenderness. “It will be an honor to charge into battle alongside you again when the Firstborn returns.”
How desperately the grieving dragon wished he had known of this one. He could have saved his reckless, fearless boy.
The old man’s hand slid from his muzzle and was still. His student was gone.
He would never forgive Paarthurnax for this.
Notes:
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Dii sonaakke los meyye = My priests are fools
Kos nahlot boziik mey = Be silent (you) bold fool
Vahzen = Truth
Numinex makes me cry. Beating the tar out of Olaf's stupid draugr is SO cathartic!
I'm not dead!! Life has just been...chaotic.
Hang in there guys, the whole planet is crazy, it's not just us!
Chapter 33
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I knew iiiiittt!” Ofan squealed triumphantly, startling Viintaas and causing Krosis to chuckle.
The trio was seated around Morokei in the Arcanaeum, listening to his stories about the Dragon Cult, with some additions from Krosis. The red-maned priest had recently finished informing Tolfdir’s former class about the ancient curriculum and arcane magics new students were taught. Precious few texts remained intact, but more would be written once all the high priests had been reborn. Seeing Viintaas squinting at Ofan like she was a chaos entity sent to torment the world caused him to laugh again.
He had truly missed teaching.
“How did you know that Ysgramor was a dragon priest?” The youngest Dragonborn queried, scratching his ear to check for permanent hearing damage.
“Did you not notice his armor??” Ofan responded, tilting her head.
“No, I was focused on Wuuthrad!”
“There-there was a dragon priest dagger inside of his tomb, Viintaas!”
“Well, yeah, but everybody likes sonaak blades!”
Ofan’s expression of confused incredulity mirrored Morokei’s, and Krosis’s gentle laughter rang out once more.
~ ~ ~
Vahlok strode confidently through the Hall of Countenance. His youngest student was safe and well; his eldest needed him now. Reaching the second floor, he saw Dukaan leaning against his brother’s closed door.
“Please zeymah,” he whispered, gentle voice pleading. “Do not shut me out…”
No response, therefore, the Jailor resorted to other measures.
“Bex!”
The door slammed open, revealing charred and shattered furniture. Even the bed had not been spared the expressions of storm magic, and the sheets were still smoldering. Unfairness to any servants aside, Vahlok did not blame his ally for lashing out. Instead of offering reproving words or platitudes, he simply waited.
“Bo!” Zahkriisos demanded, eyes overly bright and voice cracking. “Leave me in peace!”
He was torn between desiring their presence and shame over his lack of fortitude. His little brother approached with trepidation, yet his compassionate gaze did not waver, which only increased Zahkriisos’s guilt. He should be the one looking after Dukaan, not the other way around.
I should have been there for Numinex too.
Zahkriisos exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his already frazzled hair, trying to keep his tone steady. “H-he deserved better.”
“I know,” The Guardian answered softly.
“Do not blame yourself,” Dukaan added quietly.
Zahkriisos’s words failed him. He did blame himself. “He…none of the dovahhe should be alone. Die alone.”
Numinex’s pupil angrily wiped away the tears that had begun to fall.
If Hevnoraak saw him weak like this…
Vahlok yearned to embrace his brokenhearted pupil but refrained. Zahkriisos was quite a gregarious individual, but not while grieving. Much like his indomitable patron. The best comfort the Jailor could offer was to simply be a trustworthy presence and so he was. Dukaan took a similar approach. They listened sincerely while their companion ranted, raged, and cried.
After nearly an hour had passed, the Bloodskal brothers were seated together against the back wall of the destroyed bedchamber. Zahkriisos’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his skin had a sickly pallor, but he was calm. The Jailor remained by the doorway, stoic and watchful.
“It is a grievous injustice,” Dukaan said softly, breaking the silence. “But we shall amend it. Viintaas said your patron’s skull was in a place called Whiterun. I am certain he will help us retrieve it.”
Zahkriisos looked ready to destroy anything between him and his beloved dragon’s remains, so Vahlok spoke. “The inhabitants themselves may be innocent as well. Perhaps all we need do is request that Numinex’s skull be returned unto us.”
The silver-eyed swordsman hoped they did resist. The entire region deserved to burn for all that his beloved dragon had suffered.
Vahlok knew that look. He empathized, but if the people of this age were guiltless, their suffering would be pointless and cruel. It would do nothing to ease his apprentice’s sorrow.
“We never thought there would ever be so great a matter as the Swordless, did we?” The Guardian inquired with a gentle smile.
Zahkriisos blinked, then cracked a small grin.
“It is amazing what riles us as children,” Vahlok continued, pleased his distraction was working. “I thought the wild haired boy of nine winters was going to offer me a political bargain.”
“If not for the tears,” Zahk added wryly, while Dukaan smirked.
“Well, yes, but it was an interesting audience.” Konahrik’s heir conceded with a chuckle.
“Was this what mother spoke of when she said you went sobbing to the Sonaakke about father not allowing you to wield the Blade of our clan?” Dukaan asked innocently.
“…Maybe.”
“I still appreciate the argument that you would never grow enough to lift the sword without first wielding the sword, even though it was thrice your size.” Vahlok’s eyes were twinkling.
Zahkriisos laughed a bit. “Look, I had thought everything through. Including the distraction plan with the incense merchant’s donkeys.”
“It was your birthright, you feared this was a failure on your part, despite age being the only barrier. I understood your distress,” the Jailor grinned. “But for Akatosh’s sake you could have left those poor animals out of your scheming!”
This elicited greater laughter from the brothers and Vahlok smiled fondly, though his heart was troubled. He firmly believed that the Firstborn could restore Numinex, full skeleton or no. Whether he would resurrect his councilor was another matter entirely.
~ ~ ~
Alduin alone was intimidating. Alduin surrounded by nine other dragons was utterly overpowering! The massive beasts had gathered in a semi-circle amidst a frozen clearing far from mortal interference. There was a strange energy in the icy air, but Viintaas was uncertain if it was due to the dovahhe themselves, or to Krosis having hallowed the ground. The Last Dragonborn glanced over his shoulder at Ahzidal. His father would know.
The Enchanter prowled a little behind the other Solstheim priests, amber eyes boring into Hevnoraak. Daring the Tormentor to try anything against his son. Kahvozein’s pupil was on his best behavior, although none of the other sonaakke lowered their guards. Situated between Dukaan and Zahkriisos, with Krosis and Morokei following behind, Viintaas felt quite safe.
Well, as safe as he could feel despite the circumstances.
Vahlok lead the priestly procession, expression unreadable. He halted before entering the ring of dragons, awaiting invitation. The elder Dovahkiin gestured for his newest student to come closer.
“Would you like an introduction to the dovahhe while we await an audience?” The Guardian inquired in a low voice.
“Yes please,” Viintaas answered in a hushed tone, feeling a tad overwhelmed.
Vahlok gave him a kind smile and gestured to the elder dragon directly to Alduin’s right. “That is Thur Nahagliiv, zeymah Vokun’s patron. He is uncommonly gifted in fore-knowing.”
“Except when he’s not,” Zahk chimed in, barely managing to whisper.
Morokei frowned severely, his velvety baritone soft. “Heed him not, Dovahkiin. Huzrah Vahlok.”
“Am I wrong?” Clan Bloodskal’s berserker inquired. “He didn’t foresee the downfall of our entire society.”
“I said gifted, not omnipotent,” Vahlok declared quietly, like an exhausted parent. “Regardless, Thur Nahagliiv is honorable toward those that possess honor themselves.”
Viintaas tactfully hid a smile and observed Vokun’s patron. Elder dragons were typically stockier than their ancient counterparts, and Nahagliiv was no exception! The muscular beast’s scales glittered like fire, with pastel yellow countershading on his underside. His tail in particular was enormous!
Viintaas blinked. “Do elder dragons store fat in their tails?”
Vahlok brightened. “Indeed, good observation.”
“Are you saying the gods are rotund, Ahz Junior?” Zahkriisos asked, eyes gleaming.
The younger Dragonborn did his best to suppress another grin. “I mean…”
Zahkriisos's muffled laughter was not nearly quiet enough for Morokei’s liking!
He gave Vahlok a pitying look. “You have brought this chaos upon yourself.”
Vahlok rubbed his temples and Krosis smirked, emerald orbs twinkling. “Thur Vuljotnaak is even larger. I nearly perished when seven-year-old Dukaan declared how fat Vuljotnaak was before Alduin. Fortunately, the World-Eater found that humorous.”
The Guardian’s regal demeanor was cracking. “I recall that day well. Bormahii laughed heartily over that!”
Dukaan blushed. “In my defense I had never seen an elder dragon before!”
Morokei was woefully outnumbered by easily amused children! He gave Ahzidal a pleading look, but the Enchanter was understandably focused on Hevnoraak. The Torturer was glaring over at the jovial group with disdain but dared not say a word with the Falmer Slayer being so touchy!
“Vuljotnaak is roosting next to Toormaarfeyn,” Vahlok continued, attempting to get the conversation back on track.
His newest student dutifully tried to regain focus. He noted that this elder dragon had crimson top scales rather than orange, and his tail was quite bulky!
Viintaas frowned abruptly, asking, “what's going on with the eyes of the brown and amethyst dragon?”
“Legendary dragons oft have eyesight complications,” the Jailor began, regarding the mottled monster intently. “But some afflictions are due to corruption alone.”
“That is Kahvozein,” Morokei explained gravely.
Viintaas felt uneasy as he studied the bony beast beside the much more approachable Viinturuth. The milky veins stretching across Kahvozein's dark orbs gave them an insect-like appearance. The young Dragonborn swiftly averted his gaze.
“Sahloknir rests between Viinturuth and Hevnofokriid,” Vahlok said, concentrating on introductions. “He is Thur Alduin's Champion.”
While Hevnofokriid displayed deeper violet scales than his frost dragon counterparts, Sahloknir showcased more sapphire hues. His striking yellow eyes were fixated on Kahvozein warily.
“Who is the crimson dovah between Alduin and Gaafkrokulaan?” Viintaas inquired, intrigued. “I've never seen a dragon that color before.”
“That is Odahviing, Alduin's lieutenant. No small achievement for such a young dovah! He is barely older than Gaaf.” Vahlok's voice was fond. “We always shared the most entertaining conversations.”
“During council meetings,” Morokei grumbled, causing Zahkriisos to smirk.
“He made me laugh first!” The Guardian declared indignantly, in response to an eons-old argument.
Viintaas struggled to contain his laughter as the dragon priests attempted to bicker quietly. Ahzidal finally turned his attention from Hevnoraak to his tempestuous allies, arching an eyebrow. It was never a dull moment with this rambunctious rabble.
“Sonaakke,” Alduin's hypnotic voice thundered across the tundra. “Kriist us hin Jun.”
All banter ceased immediately as the group entered the circle of gods. Viintaas flexed his fingers, trying to hide any signs of nervousness. Vahlok had assured him that this was a casual gathering by dragon standards, but he was unsettled nonetheless. Their assembly was joined by Nahkriin, the only priest who insisted on wearing his mask, and another man Viintaas didn't recognize. The newcomer was cleanshaven, had dark skin, and piercing ochre eyes. He was short by Atmoran standards as well, though he rivaled the height of present era Nords. Perhaps he was Yokudan?
The Last Dragonborn bowed low alongside the priests, just like he had practiced with the ever-patient Ofan. Under the gaze of so many arcane creatures, Viintaas was grateful to be between his mentor and his father.
“So this is the Dovahkiin that humbled your sonaak, Vuljotnaak,” Sahloknir rumbled, regarding the time-displaced human with interest.
Instead of being angry, the vibrant elder dragon was begrudgingly impressed. “Hin thu'um mul, goraan Dovahkiin. We must choose a proper patron for you.”
“Niid,” Nahagliiv interjected. “His grah-zeymahzin has been predestined long ago.” His kelly-green eyes focused on Viintaas. “You must go to Vodahmin Lumnaar.”
“Wh-where is that?” Viintaas asked awkwardly, completely caught off guard.
The vivid dragon tilted his head. “Deep within the range joorre of this age call the Druadach Mountains.” He glanced at Alduin. “You must send him there soon!”
“Saraan fahdoni,” Toormaarfeyn rumbled. “First, we must gauge the state of mortal territorial battles in Keizaal. Do you have insight, Viintaas?”
Taking courage from Vahlok's steadfast and supportive aura, the young lad stepped forward. “Some thuri. I was made a thane in the holds of Whiterun and Hjaalmarch. Ofan is a thane of Winterhold and we've both spent a considerable amount of time in the Reach. The Skyrim Civil War is more of a side effect of the ongoing conflict between the Third Aldmeri Dominion and well, everyone else, especially the Cyrodilic Empire. I cannot speak for the Altmer or Bosmer, but I've heard even members of said Dominion disagree with extremist Thalmor methods and beliefs. They’re suspiciously similar to the Ayleids.”
He met the gazes of all the dovahhe present yet deferred to Alduin most. “It's complicated; I'm not sure what is most relevant to you, lot gein.”
“You spoke of our history being maligned, perhaps not without reason,” Alduin answered, pleased that the boy was genuinely trying to heed his will. “Which hold will provide the most resistance?”
“Hear, hear!” Kahvozein purred, his abyssal rasp causing the hairs on the back of Viintaas's neck to bristle. “Which hold shall we raze first?”
“Yes, because that approach to governing worked so wonderfully before,” Sahloknir snapped before even Toormaarfeyn could speak. “Some deserve annihilation certainly, but others simply need to be reminded of our glory.”
“What glory?” Hevnofokriid questioned bluntly. “The War was lost.”
“Paaz,” Sahloknir acquiesced. “We should proceed cautiously.”
“Nikriinne,” Kahvozein scoffed. “It is little wonder why hin joorre fell first, Sahloknir.”
“Dii aarre mah spaan mu pah!” The cerulean dragon roared wrathfully, powerful tail whipping through the air.
Vahlok moved to stand beside Viintaas as the younger Dragonborn watched the bickering beasts with wide eyes. He struggled against the instinct to summon wards while the priests did not so much as flinch! Viintaas risked a glance at Alduin and was surprised to see that the Firstborn looked almost...mournful.
“Nahlot zeymahhe!” Alduin's abyssal baritone easily cut through the cacophony growls. “Is this the battle you chose? To fight amongst yourselves rather than protecting our society?”
“That is what we have been trying to explain, thuri!” Gaafkrokulaan exclaimed, exasperated.
“Beyn,” Vuljotnaak snorted disdainfully. “Your whining is shameful.”
“It is warranted,” Toormaarfeyn rumbled, looking toward the Eldest. “Solstheim's kiirre survive to this very day, and our sonaakke followed Vahlok's teachings. That is no coincidence.”
“Ah yes, Alok Kron Spaan,” Kahvozein sneered. “Softness is unbecoming of a dovah.”
“So is willful ignorance, yet the World-Eater permits you to live still,” Vahlok retorted boldly. “You would do well to show more gratitude.”
The Jailor stared the contemptuous dragon directly in his veiny grey eyes. “If it is a contest you seek thur Kahvozein, then you shall have it.”
The thunderous vocalizations lessened abruptly, replaced by several surprised snorts. Zahkriisos hid a smirk and Ahzidal hummed in approval.
Sahloknir's abrupt, booming laugh spooked Viintaas. “Geh! Ok dovahzii los mul nu! Konahrik is venerated.”
“Did you not hear the Guardian's challenge?” Odahviing queried innocently. “What say you?”
Kahvozein bared his yellowed teeth but remained silent. He twitched uncomfortably under Alduin's baleful glare.
The World-Eater's piercing stare returned to Viintaas, voice softening a little. “Our tinvaak was interrupted, goraan gein.”
Viintaas felt chills crawling down his spine. Polite Alduin was even more unnerving than angry Alduin! Then again, how else was the Firstborn supposed to act? It wasn't like he could rebuke Kahvozein the dragon way without endangering the priests.
The Last Dragonborn wracked his brain for a sensible response. “That seems to happen a lot, dii Thur.”
Nailed it!
The ebony monarch sighed deeply, twitching his tail in annoyance. “Indeed it does…”
“If it pleases you, lot gein,” Vahlok said before any more dragons could speak. “Viintaas and I formed the foundations of a plan we desire your approval on.”
The World-Eater seemed intrigued. “Proceed, Kul Konahrik.”
“Thur Numinex's bones are within the palace of Whiterun,” the Jailor began. “When we retrieve them, we shall deliver the truth of your sovereignty and offer of protection to the Jarl.”
Viintaas swallowed and focused on Alduin. “Jarl Balgruff is trying to remain noncommittal in the Civil War to protect his people, but both sides are increasingly challenging Whiterun's neutrality. He's a good man, nothing like Olaf One-Eye.”
Just be honest, Vahlok had told him. There is precious little the Eldest values above honesty.
The Last Dragonborn met the crimson eyes of the Firstborn. “All Skyrim knows of the dov is that they bring death and destruction. It's all that's been taught to us for centuries. The people don't remember your blessings or wisdom. Dragons are seen as worse than Daedra. But Jarl Balgruff...he's open to learning. Most living in Keizaal are. Well, not the inhabitants of Markarth. You probably don't want to waste time on that city.”
Viintaas shifted anxiously, but he didn't lower his gaze. “I guess what I'm trying to convey is that Skyrim’s citizens don’t know you, dii Thur, not really. If they did, their reactions would be different.”
Toormaarfeyn arched his neck with pride, giving Vuljotnaak a confident look as if to say see how smart my pupil's hatchling is?
“Cunning and genuine," Kahvozein snorted, derisively. “Un sonaakke would be wise not to turn their backs on you.”
Viintaas snapped his head in the mottled monster's direction, his expression indignant.
What? No! I was telling the truth!
Vahlok put a calming hand on his fellow's shoulder as Alduin abruptly seized Kahvozein's muzzle! Raking his teeth across the other's scales, the Firstborn left a bloody, unmistakable condemnation! The legendary dragon jerked his head back, then wisely lowered it submissively, stifling any growls. Besides a few wing twitches, the other dovahhe seemed unphased. The World-Eater glared at his rebellious vassal for several tense moments before regarding Ahzidal's offspring keenly.
“Zu'u mindok vahzen ahst hin rotte goraan Dovahkiin,” Alduin reassured the boy. “Your plan is sound. You and Vahlok have my blessing to proceed.”
“Kul Ahzidal must seek his patron first,” Nahagliiv insisted firmly.
Alduin tilted his head. The yellow dragon's instincts were rarely wrong. “Very well.”
Zahkriisos desperately wanted to protest but restrained himself. With how Kahvozein was behaving, a patron's support would go a long way in establishing Viintaas as one of their own outside of Solstheim.
Viintaas felt as though his soul was laid bare before Nahagliiv's kelly green eyes. “Sahvot Nahkriin can get you into Vodahmin Lumnaar, but you must journey alone.”
“Alone?” Ahzidal interjected, clearly displeased.
“It is the only way. Kuliil must earn his patron's respect on his own. You know this.”
The Enchanter folded his muscular arms and was about to argue when his son spoke first.
“It's okay, bormah, I usually travel on my own. I have much better armor at my home in Hjaalmarch than these College of Winterhold robes, I promise you!” Viintaas's tone was light, but his expression was thoughtful, mind already on the daunting task ahead.
Ahzidal searched the eyes so alike to his own and nodded once in acquiescence.
Odahviing tossed his elegant, spiked head. “What of this Hjaalmarch? Are they inclined to accept the overlordship of the dov?”
Toormaarfeyn stretched his long neck and sniffed his student's son in concern, for the boy had gone rather red!
“Y-yes, they are. Jarl Idgrod in Morthal has visions-” The striking orange and black muzzle suddenly hovering above him was startling yet surprisingly comforting. “She's far more perceptive than most Nords. I mean, half of Skyrim despises any kind of magic now, natural or no!”
This revelation was met by several huffs of incredulity.
“That explains why Morokei's foolish foe was able to become the leader of those gifted students,” Viinturuth mused. “There is much we must learn about this present age.”
“Not from goraan Dovahkiin!” Nahagliiv exclaimed. “Allow him to walk his predestined path!”
“Why are you being so vehement about that?” Gaafkrokulaan queried, bewildered and a little suspicious.
The elder dragon appeared to stare beyond his grey counterpart rather than at him. “You fail to grasp the importance…”
“Dii thurre, we have gathered much knowledge through observation alone,” Krosis interceded respectfully. “While Viintaas seeks his patron, we will pursue more information, even if we cannot reveal ourselves fully yet.”
“Indeed. Send forth un zeymahhe of your choosing into the major settlements so that we may better understand how to serve effectively in this era,” Vahlok added, confidently. “Once Viintaas returns, we shall carry out the Firstborn's will in Whiterun.”
“So it shall be!” Alduin declared, in a booming tone that brooked no argument. “Bo, dii mid sonaakke. Enough time has been wasted.”
Odahviing looked like he wished to say more but refrained. His dark grey eyes lingered on the Guardian searchingly. The humans bowed reverently before the arcane dragons, and swiftly departed, eager to avoid testing Alduin's patience the way Kahvozein had!
“That went...a little oddly,” Dukaan murmured once they were safely out of dovah hearing range. “But a patron will be a boon for you, Viintaas.”
“You did very well,” Vahlok added with a warm smile.
The amber eyed lad seemed uncertain. “I thought my knees were going to give out...”
“You were surrounded by children of Akatosh, kiir,” Ahzidal said with a soft smile. “That is a natural, sensible response.”
“Fret not; the gods are pleased with you,” Morokei began, staring pointedly at Hevnoraak. “Well, the ones that matter.”
The Torturer gave him a hostile side-eye but remained uncharacteristically silent.
“My teacher will not lead you astray,” Vokun affirmed, disrupting his brothers' noiseless enmity. His accent was rich, foreign, and soothing.
Viintaas was encouraged by their words, brightening a little. He did love a good old-fashioned expedition!
He beamed at Ahzidal. “I could you show my home! Briefly, at least!”
A new thought struck him, and Viintaas turned to Viinturuth’s stoic student.
“Nahkriin?” He asked, almost shyly. “Could you conjure a gateway to my home please? It's quite the hike from Winterhold and it doesn't sound like I have much time.”
The curly-maned man inclined his head. “Of course, Dovahkiin. Discovering one's patron is a sacred event. It is both a duty and an honor to aid you in achieving that goal.”
“Thanks--oh no!” Viintaas looked sheepish. “I hope I remembered to clean my house.”
For the first time that day Zahkriisos unleashed his usual hearty laughter!
“Priorities, Ahz Junior,” he chuckled, amusedly ruffling Viintaas's ebony hair. “Priorities!”
Notes:
I liiiiiiiive! Life has been chaotic but this story is far from dead and done! I offer a longer chapter as atonement for my absence!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Kriist us hin Jun = Stand before your King
Hin thu'um mul, goraan Dovahkiin = Your Voice (is) strong, young Dragonborn
Vodahmin Lumnaar = Forgotten Valley
Saraan fahdoni = Wait my friend
Nikriinne = Cowards
Dii aarre mah spaan mu pah = My servants fell defending us all
Geh! Ok dovahzii los mul nu = Yes! His dragon soul is strong still
Zu'u mindok vahzen ahst hin rotte goraan Dovahkiin = I perceive/know/sense (the) truth in your words (as in spoken words) young Dragonborn
Chapter 34
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas's dwelling of Windstad Manor was far larger and finer than Ahzidal had anticipated! He had fully expected his poor boy to be holed up in a dilapidated cabin, but the well-made building consisted of two towers, an armory, and a sizable hearth room. The marshy tundra may have been a harsh landscape, but it was also a strategic one! Brigands would struggle even to reach the homestead, let alone pillage it. His son had done rather well for himself! The Enchanter was torn between fatherly pride and guilt for not being present to aid in Viintaas's endeavors.
“Welcome home, my thane!” A man clad in studded armor called out cheerfully, walking around the side of the house.
“Thanks Valdimar!” Viintaas replied merrily. “Entertain any visitors while I was away?”
“No one more important than a few frostbite spiders. Terrible neighbors, you should really build a fence!” The Nord teased, eyeing Ahzidal uncertainly before returning his full attention to Viintaas. “Illia picked up that fancy cloak you ordered from Radiant Raiment. I was going to send it on to the Lady, but she insisted you would want to deliver the package yourself.”
The Last Dragonborn was blushing now. “...Thanks, Valdimar.”
“You have a woman?” Ahzidal inquired innocently, amber eyes dancing.
“It's not official yet,” Viintaas mumbled, causing the housecarl to chuckle.
“Well, whatever it is, will you be visiting Morthal, my thane?”
The young Atmoran looked longingly in the direction of the city. “I truly wish I could, but I'm needed elsewhere. Is Illia around? I'd like to speak with you both.”
“I'm sorry thane, she's out collecting ingredients for those weird concoctions of hers.”
“That's all right. I did use all her healing potions last time. I'm just here to collect my armor.” Viintaas rubbed the back of his neck. “...would you deliver the gift and a letter to Lady Idgrod for me please?”
“Of course,” Valdimar replied readily, though he still regarded Ahzidal with suspicion.
“I appreciate it!” The Thane of Hjaalmarch suddenly panicked. “Bormah I have time to write her back right?!”
“Drem, kuli. I will not allow them to send you forth into unknown territory by night,” the Enchanter assured. “You have time enough for preparation and a thoughtful composition.”
Viintaas sighed in relief. “Good...er...pruzah?”
Ahzidal chuckled, amber eyes gleaming. “Dovahzul will come naturally once you are around our people more.”
Valdimar looked back and forth between the pair in silent confusion.
“Do you think my patron will speak Tamrielic though?” The Last Dragonborn queried. “It's going to be difficult to make a good first impression if we can't understand one another!”
“There are some among the dov that struggle comprehending the original dragon tongue itself,” his sire explained. “This usually occurs when an adolescent dragon matured in isolation. Like Numinex for example, the translation of whose name is indiscernible. Paarthurnax offered to knight him Numunnax once but was staunchly refused.” He smiled faintly. “Point being, the dovahhe have several dialects, kiir. Even if your patron is not oft around joorre, Tamrielic will prove little challenge.”
Viintaas exhaled heavily. That felt like another burden lifted off his shoulders.
Ahzidal gave his heir an encouraging pat on the back. “Come, grant me a tour of this estate of yours!”
The younger Atmoran brightened considerably. “I can show you my ancient armor collection too--it probably won't seem very historic to you though.”
The Enchanter laughed heartily! To Valdimar, it sounded as though the tall man had never expressed joy in his life, but Viintaas was comforted.
“Is that an age jest, dii kril kul?” Ahzidal teased, pleased at the opportunity to spend time with his son without politics and unstable overlords interrupting.
Viintaas grinned rather impishly. “You know I had to utilize a millennium joke at least once!”
“Paaz,” Ahzidal chuckled. He eyed Valdimar appraisingly. “And this is your guard?”
“Oh, apologies! Yes, this is Valdimar, my housecarl! He helps me hunt vampire covens and protects the property when I'm abroad.” The young man seemed more of a bashful boy now. “Valdimar, this is my father, Ahzidal. I met him during the excursion to Solstheim.”
“Shor's Bones, what are the odds?!” The burly Nord exclaimed, shaking the Atmoran's hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Ahzidal replied with a nod and neutral expression. The Enchanter had already decided that this half-armored peasant mage was not worthy of defending his son's holdings, but finding a suitable replacement would have to wait.
Valdimar was just as dubious about Ahzidal. Viintaas had shared a little about his past; what kind of father leaves such a young family for magic? Not even for a magical way to provide for said family, just a selfish desire. His Thane deserved better.
Viintaas was a bit befuddled by the coolness between his allies but shrugged it off. Not everyone was as gregarious as Ofan or Zahk and that was perfectly reasonable!
“Bo, bormah!” He called brightly. “Hopefully you will get to meet Illia before we leave as well!”
~ ~ ~
Viintaas felt proud of all he had accomplished on his own. It was a far cry from the homeless orphan he had been. Even so, his achievements were nothing compared to the deeds of his legendary sire. He had been pleasantly surprised when Ahzidal had shown a genuine interest in his collections and adventures!
It felt wonderful, chatting with his father about everything and nothing, like a regular, non-time displaced son! It felt like home. Viintaas didn't know Ahzidal, not really. He was grateful to have chance to reforge their familial bond anew.
“This is a fine display of craftsmanship,” Ahzidal admitted, admiring the suit of ebony armor in Viintaas's enchanting tower. “A local artist forged these pieces?”
Viintaas chuckled. “No, but you don't need to sound so skeptical! I paid a blacksmith friend of mine in the Rift to create them. Eorlund Graymane has the reputation of being the greatest craftsman of this age but...I don't know, bormah, I just don't trust him very much.”
“Listen to that instinct always, dii kul.” The Enchanter adeptly moved the breastplate and pauldrons around, examining the joints. The pieces were practically noiseless for plate armor, another mark of quality. Good. “It served you well.”
Viintaas was pleased until his sire's next question. “Why have you not enchanted this set? The greaves at the very least?”
The Dovahkiin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn't want to ruin them with ordinary enchantments. I was holding off until I learned stronger commands and could apply them better.”
Ahzidal smiled knowingly. “You received that perfectionism inclination from me. Faas ni, I will inscribe such enhancements upon your armor that no magic beyond the divine will ever trouble you again.”
Viintaas's eyes lit up. “Really?? You don't need a special dragon blessed enchanting table or something?”
The tall Atmoran chuckled. “Niid, dii kul.” His amber gaze was keen as he glanced about the somewhat chaotic chamber. “And you seem to have gathered an ample amount of black soul gems.”
“Yeah...that was a weird day,” the boy answered, not bothering to elaborate. “Should I leave so you can focus or?”
Ahzidal's mind was already sorting through the best enchantments to protect his child, though his demeanor was still approachable. “You should write your woman. She must be rather special for you to put so much thought and coin into a gift.”
The Last Dragonborn ducked his head shyly. “She's wonderful...”
The Enchanter's smile grew. He deftly discerned that his son's reticent behavior was not out of embarrassment for a shallow dalliance, but due to genuine affection for this lady. The cultivation of love was a very personal matter. If Viintaas was not ready to divulge more details regarding such things that was fine. Ahzidal was simply pleased his child had found such an apparently trustworthy person. “Pruzah.”
Viintaas grinned, then darted from the tower.
~ ~ ~
Dear Idgrod,
It's so good to hear that Joric is doing better. Is your father allowing him to train with the city watch yet?
Please thank Jarl Ravencrone for recommending Tharstan's aid! We found the Guardian's tomb.
Viintaas's quill hovered uncertainly as he struggled to find the right words.
So many incredible things have occurred since then! I wish we could speak in person, but I've been sent to search for a dragon. Not to kill, thankfully, but to-
An ink blot marked another moment of hesitation.
--befriend. The Guardian is also Dragonborn and even offered to teach me! Apparently an allied dovah is instrumental in dragon soul mastery, so this will be a worthwhile quest.
The Dovahkiin exhaled heavily. How could he tell Idgrod that Morthal was in serious peril if they decided to defy the dov? Especially with monsters like Kahvozein looking for any excuse to sow destruction. How could he convince her that a noble dragon like Toormaarfeyn was a wonderful ally to have?
This isn't something I can properly explain in a letter, but I think the World-Eater may end up helping Skyrim instead of harming us. Regardless, I'll do whatever it takes to protect Morthal, I swear it!
Ending a message was almost as awkward as ending a conversation!
I saw this in Solitude and thought you might like it. I'll visit as soon as I can.
Now what? Yours respectfully, although that seems cliche? Yours always, although nothing has been stated before the Jarl? After much overthinking, Viintaas decided to simply sign his name.
~ ~ ~
Vahlok paced casually back and forth along Winterhold's encircling alure, avoiding both sentries and Savos Aren. There wasn't much privacy, but being alone in the crisp night air was enough. It was also the perfect vantage point from which he could watch over his allies without hovering like a mother dragon!
Zahkriisos was in the courtyard, trying to teach J'zargo, Ofan, and Brelyna how to conjure a “lighting surprise” spell. Onmund was querying the ever-approachable Dukaan about Atmoran traditions. Morokei and Vokun were engaged in a lively discussion about destruction magic. There were more guards at the entrance to the bridge, but everyone else had retreated indoors for the evening. The Guardian smiled softly to himself. It was good to see his allies happy. Perhaps he could take a walk without worrying over them?
The stars were mesmerizing as they reflected off the pitch-black sea. Vahlok drank deeply of the frigid air, invigorated by the cold. The satisfying crunch of his boots against the icy substrate was soothing. It was a night of respite.
Nahkriin had fussed when Viintaas had not promptly returned, but the Jailor had assured him all was well. After all, who would not want to bond with allies away from danger? Or to sleep in their own bedchambers before an arduous undertaking?
The Dragonborn was lackadaisically pondering what homesteads in the present era were like when the steady cadence of approaching wingbeats drew his attention. Vahlok tensed when a wicked silhouette swooped low overhead and Kahvozein's chilling voice echoed throughout the tundra. “Dovahkiin!”
The mottled monster landed with a tremendous thud, blocking the Guardian's way. The legendary dragon bared his enormous teeth in frustration at the sonaak’s utter lack of fear.
“Thur Kahvozein,” the son of Konahrik inclined his head, maintaining his usual regal demeanor.
“You are certainly more courteous without Alduin to back your bravado,” the beast sneered. “But his favor will not shield you for long given your failures. How it must wound your dovahzii to be passed over for patronage yet again; especially by a boy who barely comprehends our tongue.”
Vahlok refused to dignify such vitriol with a response. His ability to defeat Kahvozein was a certainty, not a question. But such battles took a heavy toll, and Hevnoraak would like nothing better than to slay him while he was weak. He was not about to give the malicious dragon any reason to start an unsupervised altercation.
The bony creature snapped his serrated tail through the air like a whip, gravelly voice dripping with scorn. “I would rather rot in the earth for five thousand more years than allow you to turn our illustrious order into a den of naive peasants! Hon zu'u, malkulaan?”
Vahlok met Kahvozein's corrupted gaze in unflinching silence. The cantankerous dovah gave a final snarl before departing, whipping up a gale of sand and snow. The Guardian stood motionless upon the shore, watching the waves for a long while before sinking to his knees. He was utterly exhausted. Kahvozein was right, in part. There remained a forlorn longing in Vahlok’s soul for a connection he had never known. How much longer could he remain unshaken in the face of divine foes without divine support?
He truly was alone.
Focus on what is true in the moment, his father would say. Not on what may occur through idle imaginations. That is the surest way to miss out on life!
The Jailor blinked back tears. The Warlord had always been so sensible. Vahlok endeavored to turn his mind toward current blessings. His vitality had been restored. He had been reunited with his closest brothers. He had found a wonderful friend in Viintaas.
Viintaas.
Vahlok searched his innermost thoughts. He did not begrudge the boy the gift of being chosen. On the contrary, the Guardian was relieved, for now his student would not have to endure the burden of dovahzii deprived of a sacred guide.
For what is a dragon priest without a dragon?
He shook himself, rising unsteadily to his feet.
No. Focus on what is. Not what might be. This is a night of healing.
“Kos mul, kul Konahrik,” Vahlok repeated hoarsely like a mantra as he looked up at the stars. “Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.”
Notes:
What is a dragon priest without his dragon?
You're fabulous Vahlok, don't listen to the haters!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Faas ni = fear not
Hon zu'u malkulaan = (Do you) hear me little prince
Niid = no
Nii = it
Ni = notI've finally made a decision regarding the multiple options of NIIIIII and I'm sticking with it! Apologies for any confusion!
Chapter 35
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lok Vah Koor
Arngeir's unflinching command rebuked the violent gales prevalent on the ancient mountain path. The elderly monk refused to be dismayed by mere weather; his tidings were too important! He found Paarthurnax perched atop the worn Word Wall, stretching his battered wings as though preparing for a flight. The amiable dragon looked at him curiously. “Drem yol lok, fahdoni. What brings you to the Throat in such haste?”
“The memorial relic, teacher,” Arngeir began. “The flame...it has-”
Paarthurnax flinched as though he had been physically struck, catching his student off guard. The sudden sickness of grief weighed heavily in his stomach as the stone-colored dovah pondered this news.
So, after all these centuries the fire was finally extinguished. As the flame waxes and wanes, so does the soul. Forgive me, Yuvonshulkulaan.
“It has been snuffed out,” Paarthurnax murmured, stricken. He had hoped against all odds that his nephew had been flourishing with his mother's kin far away. They found neither blood nor bones, and the little treasure forged by Konahrik for the Queen's delight had never dimmed. But now, even that portent was no more...
“Quite the contrary,” Arngeir answered, regaining focus. “The relic glows with a brilliance we have not seen before. Wulfgar brought it outside due to the growing heat.”
Paarthurnax felt as though the very earth trembled beneath his feet. Could it be? The great dragon launched into the air, leaving a confuzzled Arngeir at the summit in his haste! Heart pounding, Paarthurnax soared through the icy mists, landing in the courtyard with a resounding thud. Borri, Einarth and Wulfgar remained on the temple steps, watching in contemplative silence as their venerable guide approached the glittering paragon. How Konahrik managed to preserve the living flame within, Paarthurnax did not know, but it shone with such intensity that the surrounding snow melted and yellow flowers bloomed amidst the light. First the surge of foreign power from the Kel rift, and now the rejuvenation of this relic. Had his little nephew truly returned home at last?
Overwhelmed, Paarthurnax collapsed on the frozen ground, remembering the wretched day they were lost. A new thought struck him like a lightning bolt.
How will Alduin respond to this?
He needed to reach Vulonkrein and the Dovahkinne, but if Yuvonshulkulaan had truly been returned to them, could he trust his brother to investigate wisely? Wracked with indecision, Paarthurnax was still staring at the cherished gem by the time Arngeir made it back down the treacherous mountain trail.
Discerning his mentor's anguish, the monk's tone was gentle and conversational. “I have only seen blossoms like this in the Ancestor's Glade.”
“It possessed more openings to the sky in ages past,” Paarthurnax rumbled. “A healing haven for hatchlings to play and practice in.” He chuckled softly. “The young could feel independent and fearsome while still being completely safe.”
“It is a good omen then,” Arngeir ventured, thoughtfully. “This is the dragon you believed would be powerful enough to overthrow Alduin? Would he then not take up the mantle of Akatosh’s herald of the next kalpa?”
“I was convinced it would be a more balanced reset,” Paarthurnax replied. “Yet now I realize I have not enough information to draw a proper conclusion.”
This could be a deception of the Daedra for all he knew. One only had to recall what Hircine had done to Vulonkrein's boisterous brother to understand their treachery!
Paarthurnax swished his tail, huffing slightly. The last time he had been slow to act during such great matters, a multitude of innocents had been slaughtered.
What am I going to do?
~ ~ ~
It was past the morning meal by the time Viintaas and Ahzidal returned to the college. Traveling through portals was strange enough, but moving through them with such powerfully enchanted armor made Viintaas's bones feel like they were vibrating! All the priests were gathered in the courtyard save for Hevnoraak, Nahkriin, and Vahlok, their mesmerizing voices filling the air.
Krosis was perched atop a stack of supply crates like a bird peering down from above. He seemed content to observe his brothers' conversations instead of joining in. Morokei was a little ways off from the main group, seeming to enjoy the warm rays of the sun on his face. Vokun chatted amicably with the Bloodskal brothers. The atmosphere was pleasant, casual, which relaxed the young Dragonborn. Until he got within Zahkriisos's vicinity.
“-really angry we don't have personal cellars!”
Dukaan looked incredibly confused. “Why are you so upset about no personal cellars?”
“Because I can't drink milk!” Zahkriisos replied, as though this was the most obvious answer in the world.
Vokun's brow furrowed. “We have already discussed this; milk is not that beneficial for you.”
Viintaas blanched, then started cracking up at both Zahkriisos's randomness and Vokun’s sincere concern!
“Welcome back,” Dukaan said with a mirthful laugh. “As you can see we are discussing matters of the greatest import!”
“Never jest about food, you uncultured cretin! It kills Morokei,” Zahkriisos teased, silver eyes gleaming. “Ready to go patron hunting, Ahz Junior?”
“Do not phrase it like that!” Vokun interjected. His mannerisms were warm and welcoming as he addressed his colleague's child. “This is an important event for you, yet do not strive to impress your future patron overmuch. Just be yourself. Dragons respect sincerity.”
“Like wooing a woman,” Zahkriisos added. “Lie to earn her trust, and she'll flay you when she finds out!”
“I do not wish to know what sort of advice that was,” Morokei said, sighing heavily as he had clearly chosen the wrong time to approach. His keen gaze settled on Viintaas. “You appear to be packed already. Is there aught else we can provide?”
Viintaas was a tad overwhelmed yet he maintained a cheerful smile. “No, thank you, I'm prepared for anything!”
The Last Dragonborn hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He glanced around the courtyard, fidgeting. “Where's Vahlok?”
“Still down by the coast,” Zahkriisos replied. “I checked.”
“It is a little strange for him to be away for so long,” Dukaan murmured. “He was already gone before I awoke this morning.”
“Can you blame him? Hevnoraak is the avatar for overwhelming negativity!” Zahkriisos replied. “Vahlok always wanders to unwind. It's Dovahkiin thing. They roam.”
Viintaas's eyes lit up. It was true! He loved exploration! Vokun noticed the lad's exuberant expression and chuckled good-naturedly.
“Not for such a span,” Dukaan insisted softly. “Unless something is truly wrong.”
“Which is why I made certain he was fine without fretting like pregnant jill,” his sibling retorted. “Which is exactly what you are doing. Relax.”
His silver stare returned to Viintaas. “A visit from a student would be much less stressful than dragon-mother hovering! Head down the right trail from the bridge.”
Viintaas nodded, eager to speak to his mentor. “Thanks!”
Ahzidal watched his son depart fondly, then placed a warm hand upon Dukaan's shoulder.
“Drem zeymah. We are not separated by tombs any longer. If Vahlok truly needs assistance, nothing shall stop us from providing it.”
The youngest priest's gentle brogue was filled with disquiet. “Yet something does seek to divide us, Teacher. It has a different malevolence than Miraak.”
“I am aware, kiir. There is naught we can do yet besides rekindling our ancient prowess. Our downfall in the past came from within. No outside threat could overcome our combined might.”
“You're describing Kahvozein,” Zahkriisos added, canting his head to the side, umber tresses shimmering. “An internal menace yes, but there's nothing subtle about his schemes! I don't understand why you are so alarmed now, malzeymah.”
Dukaan exhaled softly. He was neither explaining his misgivings clearly, nor able to shake this growing dread!
“There is an aberrant shift throughout the energies of Keizaal due to the return of the dovahhe,” Krosis began, thoughtfully swinging his dangling feet. “Time itself is being undone. Perhaps the disruption of natural magic is the source of your unrest?”
“Dii thur Nahagliiv saw a bizarre disturbance in rathtiid,” Vokun mentioned. “But he was more intrigued than worried. If he is untroubled, then I would not fear, fahdon Dukaan.”
Paarthurnax's pupil nodded slowly. He appreciated his allies' patience with his unease yet refused to let his guard down.
He would not be deceived again.
~ ~ ~
Bleary.
That was the only word that could properly describe how Vahlok was currently feeling. He was slumped against a sizable boulder, seated on a dry patch of stone. Uncertainty nagged at his mind, but the Guardian was too exhausted to recall the reason why.
“Vahlok?”
Viintaas's cheery voice snapped the elder Dragonborn to his senses. Vahlok scrambled unsteadily to his feet, filled with shame. How could he simply loaf about on such an important day for his student?
“Krosis, fahdoni!” He called, brushing debris from his robes. “I should have been there to greet you.”
“We just arrived, there's naught to apologize for,” Viintaas replied, watching his mentor with concern.
Vahlok cleared his throat a few times; his voice had been hoarse, a sign of weakness. Viintaas deserved a strong teacher he could rely on. “Even so, it was quite rude on my part, and I ask for your pardon.”
The Last Dragonborn studied him with those knowing amber eyes. There was an aura of apprehension in his counterpart's dovahzii. “What did Hevnoraak do?”
The Guardian hesitated briefly. His burdens were not his pupil's responsibility, but Viintaas deserved candor, just like the dovahhe.
“Hevnoraak and his abominable patron always tax my resolve,” Vahlok replied, bluntly. “There has been enmity between us since before my ascension to high priesthood. I needed time away from their taunting. Once our Order has been firmly reestablished, perhaps Kahvozein will finally deign to a proper duel.”
“He knows you would win,” Viintaas declared. “That's why he never follows through on a challenge, even with Hevnoraak kowtowing behind him. If you need a second, I'd gladly back you up!”
Vahlok's sapphire orbs gleamed. “I would welcome you fighting at my back!” He tilted his head in thought, then chuckled. “Though knowing bormahiil, both dragon and toady would disappear unexpectedly and without a trace of evidence!”
There was a peculiar quaver in Viintaas's aura. “I can see that happening...”
Vahlok's expression became more serious. What caused that twinge of trepidation?
“Were you able to converse with your father more?” The Guardian inquired, keeping his tone nonchalant.
“Yes, it was great to be able to speak freely,” Viintaas answered, sincerely. “He's eerily smart and skilled with magic. All magic! But...” His student seemed torn. Guilt-ridden even.
“Our tinvaak is between us,” Vahlok reassured gently.
Viintaas gave him a grateful look, then quietly continued. “I admire him. Maybe I'll even love him as bormahi again once I know him well. But some of the statements he made about elves were just cruel. I understand why, better than anyone, but lumping people together due to race alone is completely unfair. I've met good, brave, and kind mer all over Keizaal. Some are even my friends!” He kicked at the icy gravel, forlorn. “I don't know what to do, or how to feel.”
The Jailor straightened slightly. “I assumed Ahzidal had healed enough to grow past such ignorant thinking eons ago.”
It was his turn to study Viintaas. The lad's distress ran deeper than simple dread of a future confrontation. “Do you believe he will harm your allies?”
“Do you?” Viintaas queried, stressed. “A Dunmer priest named Erandur raised me. Rescued me from the streets. Taught me to have compassion and-” His voice faltered. “H-he was a better father to me than Frodenar ever was. I'm not going to forsake him due to Falmer atrocities in the past.”
His pleading expression was met by the empathetic, solemn gaze of his fellow Dragonborn. “Nor will you have to. If Ahzidal still has such an unreasonable problem with Erandur's race after learning he is hin mid fahdon, I will resolve it. You need not worry about your father's ancient prejudices, especially with your other responsibilities as Dovahkiin.” He paused briefly, pondering. “Has he shown any hostility toward acolyte Brelyna?”
Viintaas shook his head wearily. “Not that I've noticed, which was why his sudden tirade this morning caught me off guard.”
The boy fell silent, clearly still troubled. The Guardian remained quiet as well, ready to give Viintaas all the time he needed. Vahlok's mind however was a whirlwind as he sought to puzzle out Ahzidal's actions. The Enchanter had been in a relatively peaceful, healthy mindset before the Dragonborn's death. What had triggered such a relapse? The Dragon War? The Black Books?
The Jailor sighed inwardly. Perhaps Ahzidal had always carried a disdain for races he deemed lesser, and Saarthal had amplified that contempt tenfold? It was not uncommon for Atmorans to be over-proud, after all.
“Vahlok?” Viintaas inquired softly, his despondent tone immediately catching the dragon priest's attention. “What if my patron thinks that way too?”
“He will not,” Vahlok insisted, sincerely. “Being chosen at random by one of the dov without divine appointment would be akin to most arranged marriages. Little chance of love or even common ground. Your patron however was foreseen by Nahagliiv himself. I daresay you will meet a boon companion, if not a close confidant!”
He gave Viintaas an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Shall we seek the counsel of un zeymahhe? They possess greater insight regarding divine mentorship.”
The younger Dovahkiin lowered his gaze. He had been delighted at the prospect of meeting a draconic teacher and now he was letting one uncomfortable conversation derail his focus!
“Yes, of course.” His demeanor was subdued. “I'm sorry for waffling so much.”
“Viintaas, countless changes have occurred in your life within mere weeks, days even. You are adapting quite well; uncertainty is to be expected!” Vahlok smiled faintly. “As bormahi oft reminded me, have mercy on yourself.”
The Last Dragonborn brightened a little. The Jailor's vibrant blue eyes were so kind. He knew Vahlok would never encourage him to attempt something harmful or dishonorable.
“Dragon pressure hits differently; I really appreciate being able to speak frankly with you.”
The Guardian's grin grew. Perhaps he hadn't disappointed his student after all? “I am honored by your trust. Ko ahst drem. Divine demands become easier to handle once you have another dovah in your corner to push back.”
~ ~ ~
Nahkriin had joined the dramatic gathering of magic users by the time the two Dragonborn returned, straightening as they approached. He wished to be absolutely certain Ahzidal's distractable offspring followed the will of the gods!
“Are you ready to depart, goraan Dovahkiin?” Viinturuth’s priest inquired, silencing his all too talkative brethren.
“Zeymahi, what was it like, first serving Thuriil?” Vahlok interjected, noting the slightly sheepish way Viintaas greeted his sire.
Nahkriin tilted his head in confusion, thick ringlets bouncing. “What?”
“Ah, the pre-patron jitters!” Zahkriisos exclaimed, enthusiastically ruffling Viintaas's hair. “Don't overthink it, Junior Ahz! It's like any great friendship; you laugh, you squabble, you lament about your annoying cohorts-”
“What?” Nahkriin demanded, as Dukaan and Krosis coughed suspiciously.
“In all seriousness,” Ahzidal began, “the bond between dovah and sonaak is a balance. Like Toormaarfeyn and myself. I am no sanguine ally, yet my patron is quite gregarious and diplomatic. We also share a passion for ancient knowledge. In any partnership, you should broaden one another's horizons and enthuse over common interests. Another proper example would be Morokei and Durnehviir.”
The violet-eyed priest was momentarily caught off guard, but then he smiled softly. “Indeed. I was quite a traditionalist, while my patron was more of a maverick regarding our culture.”
Morokei exhaled softly, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe. It was painful to speak of his lost divine, yet it was necessary. Vahlok would not have delayed Viintaas's departure if Ahzidal's son had been confident. Poor lad probably feared he would be yoked with an overlord like Kahvozein!
“Durnehviir and I truly bonded over our love of unorthodox magics,” the ruler of Bromjunaar said, velvety baritone genial. “I am not even certain when I officially became his sonaak; we always worked so well together.” He glanced at the younger Dragonborn soberly. “Our camaraderie was forged over many months, Dovahkiin. There is no fault with you if it takes a while to earn your patron’s certitude, predestined or no.”
“It is not slavery to serve the dov; it is a blessing,” Vokun added, ignoring the increasingly impatient Nahkriin. He chuckled. “However, do not be dismayed if your patron sometimes ignores you in favor of naps in sunlight!”
Dukaan laughed amicably. “Indeed! There were times I feared my mentor had perished so deep was his slumber!” He offered Viintaas an encouraging smile. “If you are at a loss regarding your patron’s particular body language, feel free to simply observe them. The dovahhe liked being admired, ergo staring in that situation is not a discourtesy.”
Zahkriisos gave the Last Dragonborn a hearty pat on the back. “See Junior! Nothing to worry about! If you were a creep destined for a creepy patron, we would have warned you!”
Viintaas laughed a bit before straightening his shoulders, making sure to meet every single one of their gazes. “I feel more prepared now, truly. Thank you all.”
Krosis said nothing regarding the dov, yet he still smiled, pleased that the Guardian's latest protégé was in better spirits. Nahkriin swiftly conjured the portal to Vodahmin Lumnaar before his brethren could continue waxing nostalgic!
“Bo, zeymahi,” Vahlok said, sapphire eyes dancing. “Kos bozik arhk sindugahvon, be brave and unyielding. Hin dovahzii will guide you.”
Viintaas resisted the urge to embrace his mentor and instead gave a final wave before marching through the gateway.
“You mollycoddle that boy,” Nahkriin grumbled as he closed the rift, dark amethyst orbs zeroing in on Vahlok. “Ahzidal's fawning I can understand, but I expected better discipline from you.”
Ahzidal's immediate expression of do I LOOK like I need your permission nearly sent Zahkriisos into a laughing fit, but he had to remain aware. If Nahkriin tried to start conflict with the Jailor, the Bloodskal Blade bearer had no problem finishing it!
Vahlok blinked, slightly taken aback. “Nahkriin, our newest brother has come of age in an era without the dov. Naturally he will desire advice and transparency.”
“Viintaas only knows Alduin's instability, not his benignity,” Morokei added. “He is handling the new reality quite well. Ofan speaks highly of him and so do the peasant professors.”
The Steward of Skuldafn pinched the bridge of his nose. “If we are too soft on new acolytes our civilization will crumble yet aga-”
“Keizaal fell to lesser men due to greed, cruelty, and arrogance,” Vokun insisted firmly. “Cast aside the dogmatic practices of old, Nahkriin. They ill suit you.”
“Yeah, you sound like Kodaavah,” Zahkriisos snapped, practically herding Dukaan away from Viinturuth’s pupil. “Be careful you don't start acting like him too.”
Nahkriin visibly flinched, and the courtyard fell deathly silent.
Vahlok began to protest such a comparison, but then he paused. It was a low blow certainly, but Nahkriin oft held tradition in greater esteem than his fellow sonaakke. It was about time he truly listened to how they felt about it.
Regardless, he was too weary to argue anymore...
The Guardian determinedly faced the Enchanter. “Drog Ahzidal, I request your insight regarding dream rituals.”
Notes:
On the latest episode of the Flames of Our Lives...
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Rathtiid = river (of) Time
Krosis fahdoni = apologies my friend
Hin mid fahdon = (formal/emphasized) your loyal friend
Ko ahst drem = Be at peace
Chapter 36
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Morokei critically examined the strange runes Ahzidal had carved into stonework. They were similar to the symbols etched onto the Eye of Magnus, but the number of variations made the storm mage uneasy.
“This is more akin a summoning circle than a revelation ritual,” he began, regarding the Enchanter intently.
“Have you ever tried to make contact with an unknown dream god?” Ahzidal queried nonchalantly, more interested in the view from Winterhold's topmost tower than his fellow's unnecessary anxiety.
Morokei set his jaw slightly. “No. But if it is an enemy-”
“It will be lured here and overcome by our combined might,” Ahzidal interjected, facing his former pupil.
The lilac-eyed sonaak was skeptical. “And if it is Peryite?”
“Then Thuru Alduin will finally have the battle he has been spoiling for,” Toormaarfeyn's priest retorted firmly. “It is unlike you to shy away from any arcane artform, Morokei.”
“It is not timidity,” Morokei replied. “I would not expose Vahlok to unstable magics when he is already weary.”
“Weary due to the strange bond we are investigating. Do you truly believe he will find rest without answers?”
Morokei fell silent. Ahzidal's words were reasonable, yet it seemed rather cavalier to allow the Jailor to risk himself so. He yearned for Durnehviir's advice. His patron always had a talent for discerning the manipulations of his fellow immortals, whether they were daedra or dovahhe.
A tragedy that gift failed against the Ideal Masters.
The hatch from Aren's room sprung open, revealing Ofan's platinum ringlets as she peered up at them like a startled stoat. Her turquoise eyes were sparkling as she climbed onto the roof.
“Sossedov?” Her instructor inquired quizzically, noting how she struggled to hide her amusement as she approached.
“Zahkriisos required assistance finding you,” Ofan answered genially.
“Again?” Morokei exclaimed, staring incredulously at Vahlok's loudest student as the burly Bloodskal clamored up the ladder. “There is but one central tower! One. How did you ever navigate Bromjunaar?”
“Bromjunaar's layout made sense!” Zahkriisos stated emphatically.
“You know how puppies get distracted by every new item in their vicinity? The same phenomenon occurs in Zahkriisos,” Ofan explained, on the verge of giggles.
The umber-maned sonaak did not even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. He simply shrugged. “I'm a simple man. I see something interesting, I investigate.”
Morokei's right eye twitched, his long-suffering expression causing Ofan to laugh merrily!
“See? Even Tiny Mage knows your life would be terribly dull without me!” Numinex's pupil insisted, silver eyes gleaming.
“It is balance for all the apprentice chaos Konahrik endured at your hands,” the curly-haired maiden informed her instructor. “The debt must be repaid.”
Despite his best efforts, Morokei found himself smiling. It was difficult to remain cross when Ofan was so genuinely delighted by the simplest of things.
All warm feelings faded when Vahlok and Dukaan arrived, and his focus returned to the foreign ritual at hand.
Zahkriisos noticed his counterpart's sudden shift in demeanor, looking back and forth between the Steward of Bromjunaar and the Guardian. “What? What's wrong?”
This wasn't Morokei's typical stoic grumpiness, this was genuine worry! Zahkriisos stiffened in realization as his gaze fell on the strange runes. “You think this could be dangerous?”
“These markings are unknown to me,” Durnehviir's sonaak admitted, hesitantly.
“You dabble in uncharted spells all the time,” Zahkriisos posited, his rich brogue uncharacteristically serious.
“At risk to myself,” Morokei explained. “Not unto di fahdonne.”
Zahkriisos swiftly moved to question Ahzidal while Ofan regarded her teacher tentatively. Her pleasant voice was softer than usual. “Is this the sort of rite that can be disrupted if anything goes awry?”
“Niid, which is why it troubles me so,” he replied, honestly. “But Ahzidal has been studying the arcane long before I was born. Even so...”
“You are a good friend,” she declared, sincerely.
The petite apprentice was rewarded with a dramatic side-eye. “Will you ever allow me to ruminate on all our woes, Malvahdin?”
“No,” she answered with pretend petulance. “You have moped quite long enough!”
He chuckled good-naturedly. “Zu'u gahvon, I surrender! You may observe the spell if you wish but remain where I can shield you for my peace of mind if nothing else.”
Ofan beamed, inclining in her head in agreement. “For your peace of mind.”
Vahlok seated himself in the center of the symbols, unbothered by their abnormality. He was ready for revelations. Dukaan, on the other hand, was sick with worry!
“Can you try to look a little less alarmed please?” Zahkriisos whispered, rather concerned himself. The Enchanter's flippant responses had NOT inspired confidence.
“You are the one fidgeting,” his brother hissed, stressed.
“Nahlot,” Ahzidal ordered, as empathetic as a glacial crevasse. “Do not disrupt me.”
The eldest Atmoran's speech was incomprehensible as he extended his hand toward the nearest sigil. Ofan gasped as his touch seemed to ignite the runes, a fell glow spreading rapidly throughout the circle! The apprentice mage felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as dark crimson energy pulsated in ragged beams between the symbols. It reminded her of J'zargo's unstable storm spell attempts!
Morokei frowned deeply, not trusting the color of the incantation. The Bloodskal brothers looked as tense as he felt! Vahlok, however, seemed unflappable.
The Guardian inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in order to focus. Ahzidal had told him to concentrate on whatever he could remember about the mysterious dragon's presence. He thought about the unconditional welcome, the enveloping warmth.
Ofan scooted a little closer to Morokei as the bolts of magical energy increased in intensity. Was this a good sign or an ill omen? She flinched when Vahlok unexpectedly began to glow!
The Jailor himself discerned no change; would even Ahzidal’s knowledge fail? Suddenly he felt weightless, along with a strange tugging sensation over his entire body. Opening his eyes, the Guardian’s heart skipped a beat upon recognizing the dim dreamscape from his nightmares. Vahlok surveyed his surroundings intently, rising slowly to his feet. There was no sign of his brothers, nor of the oppressive shadows.
Where are you, yuvondovah?
The agonizing silence was abruptly broken by an inquisitive, reverberating cry.
The hatchling call, Vahlok realized. He was uncertain if it was sweet or perplexing that nearly every new dragon’s response to encountering his dovahzii was the conclusion that he must be a dragonling. That behavior reinforced his belief that this was no Daedric illusion, however.
“Zu’u los het dii thur,” the Jailor answered boldly, heart pounding.
Another rumble, this one of higher pitch and seemingly joyful. He inhaled sharply as his own spirit was inundated with the soothing presence of the four-limbed dragon. The gilded beast swiftly appeared, illuminating the ethereal plane. He let out a vibrating growl, excitedly prancing over to the fellow dream wanderer he had been seeking for so long.
“Human, human! I am on your continent now! Are you nearby? What is that blood red magic? Is it hurting you? Did the Snow-Eyed Divine send you back to this place?” The dragon queried, large outer ears swiveling forward as he lowered his head, golden eyes alight.
Vahlok laughed at the merry barrage of questions. Massive size and mellifluous voice notwithstanding, the shimmering dragon was youthful like Gaafkrokulaan and Odahviing. It was a comforting familiarity.
“I wished to speak with you again, dii thur,” The Guardian answered, beaming. “Never have I been more relieved of a spell’s success! No, it does not hurt me.”
He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. There was only one Aedra that possessed white eyes. “Akatosh did not send me, though perhaps this is his will. I am at the College of Winterhold, a city on the southern shores of the Sea of Ghosts. Do you know it?”
The antsy dragon swished his tail, ears flickering back and forth. “No. But I shall find it. I will be able to follow your aura properly now that we have spoken!”
The area surrounding them began to distort, causing the golden beast to growl in frustration. “I wish we had more time, my human, but there are too many conflicting magics at work in this world.” The yuvondovah stretched out his long neck, gaze beseeching. “What is your name?”
“Vahlok,” the son of Konahrik replied gently, cursing the unstable dreamscape as he felt himself being pulled back to the physical realm.
The dramatic head tilt helped mitigate the intense feeling of loss that already threatened to overcome the Guardian. “Vahlok. That is a very nice name! I am known as-”
They were wrenched apart once more as Vahlok was jolted back to awareness amidst the graven circle.
“What in Oblivion Ahz?!” Zahkriisos exclaimed, barely waiting for the energies to dissipate before he was at his mentor’s side. “He was glowing!”
“I am fine,” Vahlok interjected, sapphire orbs bright. “I spoke with the yuvondovah…”
“Clearly,” Morokei murmured, unable to mask his concern even with his usual brusqueness. “Never have I experienced a presence like unto it.”
“He is an ally,” Vahlok breathlessly reassured the others as Zahkriisos helped him rise. “Young, yes, but noble.”
Further explanation failed him as the Jailor attempted to process his warring emotions.
Ahzidal’s gravelly laughter drew all eyes toward him. “Commendations are in order, Vahlok,” he said, pleased. “You have been chosen by a god. Not a common dragon overlord, not an average immortal. A full-fledged god. Kahvozein will be furious.”
“You mean like on thuru Alduin’s level?” Dukaan queried quietly. “Is that even possible?”
“Now that is something even the most skilled mages cannot determine by essence discernment alone,” the Enchanter replied, delighted by the prospect of an unknown dragon to study. His keen amber eyes rested on the Guardian. “Yet make no mistake; your new fahdon is no lowborn entity.”
Vahlok frowned slightly, while Zahkriisos ran a hand through his umber tresses. “Alduin is going to lose whatever is left of his mind...”
“Perhaps not,” Dukaan interjected swiftly, not wanting to overwhelm the Jailor any more than he already was. “The Eldest is obviously tired of the infighting that plagues his kiirre. He may welcome a new dovah quite happily, especially a youth. He enjoyed mentoring dragonlings before Konahrik’s death.”
“The Eldest is always very patient with me,” Ofan added gently. “I know my bit of magic is no threat compared to another divine, but my sire was the most abominable of traitors and Thur Alduin has never been unkind, even while cross with others.”
Perhaps it was not her place to speak, but the slight yet sincere smile from Morokei encouraged her that she had made the right choice.
“We often forget that our sovereign has lost just as much as we have,” Durnehviir’s priest agreed. “If we honestly explain the situation when this foreigner arrives, and if he is truly honorable, there should be no conflict. The dov should never be alone. Perhaps this young dragon seeks a home as well as a sonaak.”
And if he was a deceiver, which Morokei still expected, Alduin would make certain the interloper never troubled Vahlok again.
~ ~ ~
The first thing Viintaas noticed as he stepped through Nahkriin's portal was how serene the snowy landscape was. Vodahmin Lumnaar was beautiful! Deer with striking black and green coats frolicked in the pale morning light. Azure and violet flowers of a kind he had never seen dazzled with their own bioluminescence. An ebony saber-cat with lilac markings reclined on a far-off boulder. This Forgotten Valley truly felt like another world!
As he continued further into the vale, he spotted eerie elven ruins along what likely used to be a road. They seemed oddly familiar-- all trains of thought were completely derailed when Viintaas spotted the mysterious chest halfway covered in snow and branches.
Whoa, what's in there??
His enthusiasm died the moment he began moving the debris and realized that the branches were bones. The Last Dragonborn backed away quickly, reexamining the scene with more care this time. Judging by the way the skeleton was hunched over the chest, the unfortunate traveler was likely protecting it when they died. Something glittered in the snow near the remains. Viintaas gingerly nudged the object with his boot and was startled when an icy phial was revealed! He crouched down to examine it better, squinting.
The Dovahkiin was far from an alchemy expert, but the reddish substance almost looked like...
“...A resist fire potion?” The boy murmured to himself, unsettled.
He peered further down the trail and saw a myriad of potion bottles with the same claylike hue half buried in the snow. They were scattered as though someone had dropped them in haste. Or perhaps the wind tossed them about. Either way, so many potions boosting flame protection in one area boded well for dragon spotting!
Viintaas glanced back at the weathered elven trunk. What could possibly be worth braving the ire of a dragon? After carefully removing the battered bones and a bit of a struggle, the young Atmoran managed to open the chest. Inside were some septims, nice, a few amethysts, even better, and a strange book, awesome! He eagerly flipped through the tome, curiosity piqued! The iconography was bizarre, archaic, yet oddly familiar...
These are Falmer runes!
Viintaas nearly dropped the ancient tome in disgust. He fought the urge to kick the skeleton; his stomach clenched in guilt. This mer could have been a random, book-loving innocent for all Viintaas knew. Like Erandur had always said, it was ignorant to judge the few by the many. Which elven children plotted the downfall of Saarthal, after all? He grimaced. It was always the kids that suffered most in wars between adults.
The Falmer soldiers certainly showed no remorse for the terrified human children they all too eagerly butchered!
The Dovahkiin took a deep, shuddering breath. Focus. He had a patron to find. Hesitating for a moment, he placed the worn tome in his satchel. He doubted his father wanted anything to do with Snow Elven works, but maybe Morokei would find it interesting. It was still a part of history, after all.
He continued down the road in a more subdued manner, further remnants of Falmer architecture dampening his mood. The remaining foundations were not those of a fortress; had this place been a hidden refuge for the Snow Elves?
Before Viintaas could either sort through or squash his conflicted emotions, he felt a familiar pull on his aura. A Word Wall was nearby! Picking up the pace, he jogged down the derelict pathway until he came to a sprawling frozen lake. The Last Dragonborn inhaled sharply. The landscape was splendid, but very, very open. The Word Wall stood proudly on a small island far out into the ice. There was little doubt it would hold his weight in this temperature, yet the son of Ahzidal felt unsafe. Perhaps his sire's suspicion was rubbing off on him.
Before Viintaas could make up his mind, another presence called to his dovahzii with a desperate intensity!
Ouch! This feels awful! Is it my patron or another dovah? Why would a divine need aid?
Questioning the frantic plea no further, Viintaas charged down the lakeside path, determined to help the source of entreaty!
Notes:
I really appreciate your guys' patience with my monthly absences!
Things are finally looking up for Vahlok!
Language research into the earliest days of Tamriel left more questions than answers, but that's part of what makes the lore so fun xD
Aproximate Dovahzul Translations
Zu’u los het dii thur = I am here my lord (formal)
Chapter 37
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas was halfway up the mountain trail when he abruptly felt his dovahzii pulled in yet another direction. What in all of Nirn was going on? The young Atmoran followed the call, stepping off the path into the woods, pushing past the thick foliage with increasing urgency. He stumbled into a clearing with a gurgling stream, yet it was anything but serene. Charred stumps and brittle stone gave evidence of a fire long ago, and humanoid bones were scattered across the icy soil. Viintaas examined the trampled ground cautiously. Perhaps more Snow Elves had encountered a dragon, but these remains did not appear to be as old as the other skeleton. A feeling of foreboding washed over him as the Dovahkiin’s gaze was drawn to a large overhang. He approached slowly, observing the increasingly broken skeletons. This destruction felt personal.
An especially territorial dovah, or an incredibly vengeful one?
He spotted a chitinous shield embedded halfway in the earth and his stomach clenched. The blind Falmer must have attacked this place! But why? He was struggling unsuccessfully to remove the offending shield when he noticed tiny bone fragments around its base. His breathing began to quicken in realization.
“No,” the Last Dragonborn murmured, heart pounding in dread. “No, no, no, no…”
All around the shallow cave, more delicate remains were cruelly crushed, tiny dragon skulls half buried in permafrost to preserve the tragedy for all eternity. Viintaas’s eyes burned with unshed tears. These were hatchlings, no larger than house cats. Just as innocent as the children murdered at Saarthal. He sunk to his knees, overcome with sorrow that was not entirely his own. Suddenly the young Atmoran was seized by visions!
There were six living, merrily squawking babies snuggled against a female revered dragon who looked upon them with such unconditional love. Viintaas realized he was seeing through the eyes of the father, filled with pride and adoration for his family. Hidden in this valley, they would be safe from Parthurnaax’s treacherous new order until Alduin returned.
The scene shifted, and now the mother was crouching over their growing kiirre protectively. Rival dovahhe had found them, and if the father could not slay them, he at least needed to drive them away. His beloved understood, but she feared for him all the same. He nuzzled her, reassured her of his devotion and strength, and departed.
A blur was followed by another vision, this one filled with primal screams of anguish as the male dovah found his beloved surrounded by the corpses of blind monsters-- and the bodies of their butchered children. His mate was inconsolable. Their babies had been so hungry, and prey had been driven so far away, yet she had been gone for only a moment! These beasts from the pits had been lying in wait and she would never forgive herself for not realizing it. A cold hatred combined with nauseating grief consumed Viintaas like never before as the father swore revenge upon all vile cave spawn!
Regardless, he was all too painfully aware that no oaths of vengeance would bring his precious kiirre back.
The Last Dragonborn found himself weeping on hands and knees over the accursed ground when the revelations dissipated. He knew the agony of unjust loss and heartbreak over the guiltless perishing was never an easy burden to bear. He took long, shuddering breaths and unsteadily sat upright. Was the male dragon his patron? Is that why he saw the tragedy through the father’s eyes? By the gods, he had expected to them to have something in common but not this.
The plaintive call tugged on his dovahzii once more. Still shaking, he slowly stood, pulling a cloth from his satchel and wiping his eyes and nose with it.
Pull yourself together, he thought. Your dragon needs you.
~ ~ ~
Krosis smiled softly as he observed their newest students dutifully studying in the Arcanaeum. Brelyna was practicing alteration magic, Onmund was improving his destruction spell accuracy, and Ofan and J’zargo were testing their wards with one another. Tolfdir was keeping a watchful eye on them all while conversing with Vokun. Krosis had always admired his Yokudan brother for being so balanced. Vokun was approachable, yet not vulnerable. Pragmatic yet not cruel. He neither overshared nor overplayed his hand when it came to the intrigues of Bromjunaar’s court, which made him quite the force to be reckoned with in the open and in the shadows. Navigating the political quagmire of their order was something the red-maned priest had always struggled with. He downright hated politicking, though he acknowledged the necessity. Krosis could make a traceless assassination with zero issues, but starting rumors among rivals with no evidence of involvement was Rahgot’s specialty. Hevnoraak’s too, for a time, until he figured out how to utterly enthrall minds. No tact necessary!
Volsung was his own breed. He used brutality and manipulation in equal measure, hence the title of Horrible upon his ascension to sonaakthur. A perfect match for his ruthless patron, Vulthuryol. Krosis sighed silently, gazing at nothing. He longed for his own patron, but Miraak had stolen the amiable dovah’s soul through dishonorable means. He blinked a few times, pushing down the ancient grief. The emerald-eyed Atmoran empathized with Morokei’s plight. It was pure torment, knowing your dearest companion could not return to Akatosh, especially when they deserved that freedom.
“Why do you look so ridiculously miserable?” Zahkriisos's rich brogue startled him out of his depressing reverie.
Krosis shifted, uncertain how to act around Dukaan’s tempestuous sibling. He decided to go with honesty. “I was thinking about Miraak…”
Zahkriisos’s cocky demeanor sobered up a bit. “Well, stop it. Mey isn’t worth your time.”
Krosis smiled a little. That was the nicest thing Zahkriisos had said to him in a long while.
Numinex’s pupil rolled his shoulders. “So, who do you think deserves the killing blow if Vahlok and Viintaas don’t want it?”
The freckled sonaak tilted his head. “Konahrik. We both know the only slaying Vulonkrein enjoys is the swift death of a successful hunt.”
Zahkriisos grunted in agreement, pleased that Krosis had used his brother’s original priesthood name. “Do you think Thuru Alduin could bring Konahrik back now that the War is over?”
Krosis was contemplative. “The Rift at his shrine complicates matters considerably. If at all possible, I fear such a ritual would require the correct Kel, perhaps several since the World-Eater has not called Konahrik back to us already. Frankly, I would not be surprised if the Scroll the blasted Tongues used against the Firstborn was the very Kel he needed.” He paused for a moment, then added in a low voice. “I wish our Master would aid those allies he can reach.”
Zahkriisos rubbed the back of his neck, managing to whisper as well. It was not a good look to complain about the gods in front of acolytes after all. “You’re not alone in that. We need Durnehviir back and we finally possess all the artifacts required to humble those self-proclaimed ‘Ideal Masters’. What in Oblivion is taking so long?”
“Perhaps the Eldest is wearier from his ordeal than he lets on,” Krosis suggested quietly. “The portal to Sovengarde may be opened soon.”
The Bloodskal Blade bearer winced. “Never knew how to feel about that…”
“Neither did I,” the fiery-haired Atmoran replied. He offered a sincere smile. “Once Viintaas returns, you will be able to retrieve Thur Numinex’s remains from Whiterun. It will not be long before he is terrorizing Kahvozein yet again!”
“Indeed,” Zahkriisos seemed to be reassuring himself. “It will not be long…”
~ ~ ~
Vahlok leaned against the stone railing, admiring the beautiful night sky. Idly tracing the scar tissue over his left eye, the Jailor pondered how Solstheim had flourished in the few short years since his battle with Miraak. Crops were thriving, the temples firmly established, the villages rebuilt. Miraak’s monumental bolt hole was considered cursed ground, and since it was difficult to discern the soulless bones of steadfast dragons from those of the unlucky foes Miraak had turned, the Eldest decreed that all should remain unburied. Other than that, Alduin had largely been uninvolved in Solstheim’s governance, which made his abrupt visit tonight even more surprising. Vahlok had naught to say after dismissing all the guards and waited patiently for the World-Eater to speak first.
“You have ruled Solstheim well,” the divine in human form said, content to remain a little ways behind his Warlord’s heir.
“Thank you, lotgein,” Vahlok replied, glancing over his shoulder at the Firstborn, who also observed the celestial aurora. “Despite the war, we have opened three new ports and trade increases steadily for our people.” He chuckled. “Gafkrokulaan playing the part of ‘sea monster’ certainly helps ward away pirates.”
“Ah, to be young and ludicrous,” Alduin smirked, amused. “I shall send Numinex back once this rebellion is put down to reestablish proper conduct.” The Eldest’s affectionate tone turned cool. “Dukaan has remained loyal?”
Vahlok met the god’s crimson stare boldly, velvety voice firm. “Always.”
He returned to stargazing in order to conceal his frustration at the incessant questioning of Dukaan’s honor. If the Guardian had his way, Vulonkrein’s title would never have been changed in the first place!
“Pruzah,” Alduin purred, his abyssal voice strangely hypnotic. “All is well, then.”
Vahlok felt the dragon’s intense focus upon him but thought little of it. Dovahhe enjoyed people watching. “All is well.”
“Hi los ahraan rii, Malkulaan,” The Firstborn murmured. “Zii Praan Drem.”
The World-Eater’s voice was so subtle the Jailor had not discerned the Words of Power. Only sudden exhaustion. “Niid, I have so much yet to do.” Vahlok felt his legs give way from under him and his hands lose all strength and grip on the railing. Fortunately, Alduin was there to catch his beloved sonaak’s kiir.
“Drem,” The Eldest soothed as he cradled the fading Atmoran.
The Jailor could do little more than whisper, though inwardly he was starting to panic. He was not merely weary, he was dying! “Dii zeymahhe…”
“Will greet you when you awake,” Alduin promised, his expression solemn yet serene. “Kos ahst drem, kul Konahrik.”
No, no, no, no! I am not ready! It is not my time! Where is Zahkriisos? Ahzidal? Vulonkrein? Morokei? Please! Please, help me!
A shrieking roar followed by an inundation of white-hot flames consumed the vivid nightmare! Vahlok awoke with a start in the midst of a foggy meadow filled with yellow flowers! It took him a few moments to realize that he was not actually awake, but back in the dreamscape with a chagrined yuvondovah peering down at him in concern.
“T-thuri?” The Jailor ventured, heart still pounding.
“I am sorry my human,” the young dragon answered, ears flickering back and forth in alarm. “But you were seized by a terrible nightmare. It seemed cruel to allow its continuation.”
Vahlok ran a hand through his wild curls, stricken. “I-it was no illusion. Those were my memories. Memories I could not access, or perhaps I purposefully forced away.”
The Guardian’s breath came in ragged gasps. “I gave Alduin everything I had. Everything. And he-he killed me.”
He did not realize he was crying until the tears began streaming down his face. “I feared it was t-true, but part of my heart held onto hope that-that surely there was some sort o-of misunderstanding or misinterpretation.”
The four limbed dovah was silent, ears fully focused on his forlorn friend. No words would soothe the pain of such a monstrous betrayal.
Vahlok struggled to regain composure as his sorrow began to shift into righteous indignation. “My entire life was devoted to the dragon god, as was my father’s life before mine. I know I should not expect much care from a divine, but after all of his encouragements and teachings I thought-I thought my service meant something.” His sapphire eyes were filled with anguish. “Perhaps I outlived my usefulness after defeating Miraak!”
The golden dragon carefully encircled his charge like a mother wolf with her cub, lying down to provide a warm barrier against the dreamscape and any possible divine machinations. Vahlok almost instinctively leaned back against the glittering scales. Neither one of them was physically present within this fey realm, but the genuine kinship his dovahzii felt with the yuvondovah was still a welcome source of comfort. And the creature’s ethereal body still produced a relaxing level of heat!
“Alduin vowed that he would be my protector, as he was unto all dov,” Vahlok whispered, heartbroken. “Miraak had just murdered my father, but the Firstborn himself proclaimed that he still cared about me. I thought that perhaps not all was lost then, that I still had a family in my sire’s patron. I led my people well for those precious few years I was their High Priest. I loved them, I loved Keizaal. I could have joined the rebellion against Alduin, yet I remained loyal. Only for him to lie to my face every single day since my resurrection.”
Yuvonshulkulaan had no idea what sort of ruler this Alduin was, but he sounded rather manipulative. Maybe the civilization itself was corrupt if there were rebellions occurring. Still, he knew too little about the situation to comment. What he did know however was that killing your healthy allies was wicked deed, devoid of all reason and empathy. His nice human deserved a better protector!
This must be why Aka El Ari Tosh permitted me entrance to this dominion!
“I truly believed we could change our society under Alduin for the betterment of both men and dragons. Now, I am no longer so certain,” the Guardian confessed, despairing. “I have fought so hard to remain strong for my brothers, but I have nothing left to offer them.”
The dragon stayed silent for several moments more before finally speaking. “You are clearly in a position of great power among your peers, which does make it tricky to be open with them about any sort of struggles. Yet if you have a trusted friend to confide in, do so. Life was not forged to be explored alone. You may always reach me while you slumber if you would like to speak.”
He rumbled soothingly. “This is a grievous crime against you, Vahlok. You are allowed to be shaken by it. I would be more worried if you were not upset. It is not as cathartic as venting in the waking world, but you need not worry about this Alduin hearing you here.”
Vahlok could not find the proper words to express his gratitude, but he knew the yuvondovah could sense it. He pondered how similar this advice was to the encouragement he had given Viintaas and chuckled briefly, recalling Ahzidal’s ever dramatic admonition of ‘do as I say, not as I do’. In all seriousness, he was grateful for a World-Eater free confidant. Alduin could lash out at his students or his brothers in retaliation, but he could not touch the shimmering dovah here.
The Jailor was tired; not ensorcelled thankfully, but a natural weariness. The gilded beast regarded him fondly. “You are fading into a deeper slumber. Fear not, it is good for your body. Rest…”
The brilliant rays of the setting sun painted the Guardian’s room orange when he truly awoke from sleep. He squinted at the tall figure seated at his bedside, rubbing his bleary eyes in confusion. “Morokei?”
“I was not about to let you sleep without making certain there no ill effects from the ritual,” the lilac-eyed sonaak grumped, flipping through the pages of A Minor Maze imperiously. “These foreign authors are terribly brazen.”
Vahlok sat up, still blinking. “How long was I-?”
“Only a for few hours,” the steward of Bromjunaar assured, eyeing him over the unimpressive tome. “Are you all right?”
Vahlok took a deep breath, concentrating. He did not sense the Firstborn anywhere nearby.
“No, zeymah. I now fully remember my death. Thuru Al-” The Jailor’s voice faltered, but his distraught gaze spoke volumes.
Morokei froze, momentarily stunned by such a forthright and frankly horrifying response. He swiftly snapped out of the daze, closing the book with an echoing clap!
Notes:
Yuvon, your grandfather both loves and hates your wanton distortion of his many, many names. Full disclosure, I am half asleep posting this, apologies for any and all typos!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Hi los ahraan rii Malkulaan = You are wounded (in) spirit/essence/being, Little Prince
Zii Praan Drem = Soul (as in living soul) Rest (as in death) Peace
Chapter 38
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ofan knew something was wrong from the unsettled expression on Morokei's face the moment he entered the Arcanaeum. The brooding Atmoran spoke softly to Krosis and Zahkriisos, the latter storming into the courtyard with a resounding slam of the massive doors. The red-maned priest maintained better composure, encouraging the wide-eyed students to continue practicing while quietly following his enraged counterpart.
Ofan approached Morokei swiftly, her melodic voice low. “What happened?”
“...I am uncertain where to start,” he admitted, keeping his voice steady. It did not take a diplomat to see how tense he was. “I will enlighten you once dii zeymahhe and I discern a solution.” The tall sonaak searched her gaze. “Rest assured that you and your classmates are very much safe.”
“I know,” the apprentice mage replied with a sweet smile. “I trust you.”
Relief mixed with another emotion she could not identify flickered across his fair countenance before he turned toward a quizzical Vokun.
“Bo zeymah. Alduin drun tahrovin. Rok kriaan Vahlok.”
Ofan abashedly admitted to herself that she had no idea why Morokei wanted his brother to go to Vahlok. Her Dovahzul comprehension was still woefully lacking. Hopefully there were no unexpected side effects from Ahzidal's ritual!
Vokun gave no reaction save for a slight setting of his jaw. “Excuse me,” he told Tolfdir with a pleasant expression, swiftly exiting the grand building with Morokei.
“What was that about?” J'zargo queried, disappointed when Ofan offered no explanation.
“Perhaps dealing with dragons is more difficult than they would have you believe,” the elderly professor pointed out, pulling a book out of his satchel and beginning to read.
~ ~ ~
The Archmage's chamber was deathly silent save for the heavy footfalls of Zahkriisos as the storm mage wrathfully paced. Vahlok sat at the main table, sapphire eyes dull as he stared blankly at nothing in particular. Dukaan sat in the other chair, keeping a careful watch on Solstheim's true ruler. Vokun stood opposite the Guardian, meeting Dukaan's worried glance with a solemn one of his own.
Krosis stood beside the main doorway watchfully, as though daring Hevnoraak to appear and attempt entry. Ahzidal observed all of his young counterparts keenly, leaning against the curved wall with deceptive nonchalance. Morokei stood a little ways off from the others, fuming.
“This is a betrayal of our sacred oaths,” Durnehviir's pupil began, clenching his fists. “Of everything our order stood for, of what the dov promised us in exchange for unfailing fealty.” His velvety baritone grew more indignant with each word. “What priest has been more loyal than Vahlok?”
“Exactly!” Zahkriisos exclaimed, silver eyes swirling with fury. “We had suspicions, the details never added up, it was very convenient that Numa and the Three weren't around but-” His voice faltered as he regarded his beloved mentor, righteous rage giving way to sorrow. “Vahlok...I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect you...”
The Jailor rose, clearing his throat as his tumultuous emotions threatened to overwhelm him. “From the divine that watched over me since I was born?” He clasped Zahkriisos’s broad shoulders warmly, sapphire gaze sad yet kind. “The blame is not yours, zeymahi. None of us foresaw this...”
This what? This ruination of my life? He could not speak so dramatically before his brothers, regardless of how he felt.
“Travesty,” Morokei concluded firmly, folding his arms. “Name this theft of your existence for what it is.”
“I concur,” Vokun added, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “What I cannot fathom is why? Why would Alduin slay his Warlord’s son? Especially when Solstheim prospered? And how did he do so without absorbing your soul?”
“Please do not mistake theorizing for agreement,” Dukaan began quietly. “But I stand by my previous speculation; Alduin slew you to hide your soul away so that there was no chance of another dragon seizing it.”
“That would be more logical if it was any Dovahkiin except Vahlok,” Morokei said incredulously. “He is the last being that would ever fall to any of un thurre besides the Eldest; which is why they should be grateful he remained loyal when that mey Miraak rebelled!”
“Fear is not logical,” Ahzidal interjected, as unflappable as ever. Outwardly, anyway. The Enchanter was just as incensed as his counterparts, but someone's thoughts needed to remain unclouded. “The World-Eater was not and has not been sound of mind. As for canceling out soul absorption, Alduin has always possessed knowledge other dov lack.” Those piercing amber eyes focused on Vahlok. “I am more intrigued at your memories being unlocked now.”
The Guardian's expression was contemplative. “...could the restoration have occurred because I finally made full contact with the yuvondovah?”
Krosis blinked. “With the what?”
Ahzidal hummed. “Yes, his magic is rather compelling.” He looked at the red-maned priest. “Vahlok has caught the attention of a young full-divine.”
“I had dreams of him for years,” the Jailor clarified. “They began shortly after the ordeal with Miraak, while I was yet healing.”
“When you were in greatest need after Alduin left to destroy more rebellions,” Krosis murmured. “That certainly sounds like the sort of thur that would make a good patron.”
“Or an enemy seeking a way into your mind while you are most vulnerable,” Morokei muttered, peering out the narrow window with suspicion.
The Dragonborn's brow furrowed. “You still fear he is Peryite?”
“Quite frankly I have no idea whom to trust anymore, zeymah,” the Steward of Bromjunaar answered, clenching his fists. “The sole divine I have never doubted is trapped in an eternal limbo and the World-Eater refuses to do a damn thing about it!”
Shock at the ever-proper Morokei swearing notwithstanding, Krosis empathized with his compatriot. “Zahkriisos and I were just discussing that very matter.”
The Bloodskal Blade bearer crossed his muscular arms. “We concluded there was no good reason for Alduin to be pussyfooting around. Unless he was too weak to wrest control of Durnehviir's soul from the Ideal Masters without visiting Sovengarde for a meal first. But now I'm wondering if he knows Durnehviir would call him out on his mammothshit in front of everyone and is purposefully ignoring the entire situation.”
“Mm, I do not necessarily disagree, but why would Alduin be so...callous and immature?” Vokun inquired, circumspectly. “He is no Daedra.”
“If that was indeed the case, Zahkriisos,” Ahzidal added. “The Firstborn would not have consented to resurrecting bold Numinex so easily. Perhaps he is waiting until the sonaak thurre are gathered together once more.”
“We should not have to be wondering at all,” Krosis sighed, running a hand through his fiery tresses. “If the Eldest would simply communicate his plans to his inner circle, they could clearly inform us of his will. Instead, they seem as lost as we are.”
“In part, that is what agonizes me so,” Vahlok ventured, softly. “If Alduin would have simply spoken with me, I could have sworn to be careful or-or something.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “...I keep thinking of Midhakun.”
Dukaan's stomach dropped, but his brogue was soothing. “She mourned you, missed you, yet she led quite a prosperous life. You would have been proud.”
“She never married,” Zahkriisos said gently, drawing an exasperated look from his sibling.
Vahlok exhaled heavily. “I am grateful naught happened between us, considering. Though we had planned-” His throat tightened.
Morokei's heart ached for his ally. Vahlok needed not his approval, but Durnehviir's student had always believed the honorable Midhakun to be an ideal match for the sagacious Guardian. They were both in harmony in regards to cultivating a strong friendship before any sort of courtship as well. That was the sort of trust-filled relationship he desired...Morokei wrangled his wandering mind back to the grim present.
How could Alduin steal such a hopeful future away from the son of the Warlord he claimed to love?
“I have no words, mid fahdoni,” Ahzidal began, regarding Vahlok with uncommon compassion. “Words matter little in the face of such injustice. Whatsoever you decide to do, we will support you.”
“What can I do, drog Ahzidal? I have given all I am in the service of a dovah whose sovereignty I no longer have faith in!” The Jailor lamented, distraught.
Silence fell for a few despondent moments as the high priests looked inward for answers. It was Dukaan who broke the stifling quiet with his gentle brogue.
“Has your confidence in the dov as a whole been shaken?”
Vahlok slowly shook his head, his rich timbre hoarse. “Niid. I admire the dov. I always have. But those noble few among our mentors have not the power to stand before the Eldest.”
“I love my patron,” Zahkriisos murmured, sighing. “Yet sometimes I wonder what our lives could have been if we were just...us.”
Vahlok observed his first student with a mixture of commiseration and remorse. Dukaan's gaze fell, as he had oft pondered a life outside the order also. Morokei and Vokun seemed conflicted, but Ahzidal was unsurprised.
Krosis's expression was solemn. “I wanted to make a better life for myself and Oskar, and service to the dovahhe was the best way to do so. But at least I had some semblance of a choice. Most of you were born into the Dragon Cult.”
Not even Zahkriisos argued the irritating cult terminology.
“How can I advise Viintaas's allies to pledge allegiance unto Alduin in good faith after being so betrayed by him?” The Guardian pleaded, searching his companions for solutions.
“I no longer trust the World-Eater either, but Thur Nahagliiv is still worthy of loyalty. Perhaps we can ensure a sane overlord for the Whiterun hold?” Vokun suggested, refusing to surrender to despondency. “Such as Viintaas's patron? I have no doubt the boy will succeed.”
“...That has merit,” Morokei commented, stroking his trimmed beard. “Once the full high priesthood is established Alduin will likely revert to ruling only in major matters as was his wont in the past. There is a great deal of uncertainty remaining with such a plan, yet it is the most sensible course of action.”
“Maybe, but like Ahz pointed out, the Eldest is no longer reasonable,” Zahkriisos objected, frowning.
“Perhaps Alduin will calm once things return to some semblance of normalcy,” Dukaan said. “He was sent through time at the height of the war, after all. Perhaps all the Firstborn needs is an adjustment period to regain his senses? We should hold tinvaak with the benevolent members of Alduin's inner council.”
Vahlok weighed each of their opinions carefully. The balanced contrast between Zahkriisos's passion and Vulonkrein's serenity played a large part in Solstheim’s prosperity; they were both wonderful advisors. Add that to Ahzidal's knowledge of the arcane and battle expertise and the Island had been unassailable!
Save from within, apparently.
The Guardian pushed those recollections aside, clearing his throat. “We cannot risk our allied thurre. Akatosh only knows what the Firstborn would do to them. In all candor, I feel terrible for revealing Alduin's treachery unto you all, dii novul zeymahhe.”
“Stop that,” Zahkriisos reprimanded. “I'm no longer nine, we can handle this together.”
“I agree with Zahkriisos's second statement, we shall weather this storm in unity.” Morokei declared. “This is a serious matter that affects us all regardless.”
The Bloodskal Blade bearer narrowed his eyes. “So you still believe I'm nine...”
“I doubt you ever matured passed five,” Durnehviir's student retorted, causing Dukaan to smile faintly.
Vahlok relaxed slightly at the familiar display of snark between his fellows. Ahzidal strode over and placed a warm hand on the Guardian’s shoulder, as though giving him the strength to rise. “Bo, kul Konahrik. Let us summon Toormaarfeyn.”
~ ~ ~
Toormaarfeyn was unphased when Ahzidal called to him from the snowy plains outside the pitiful city of Winterhold. His reserved Atmoran oft preferred to hold tinvaak in private. He was caught off guard however when the voices of the other sonaakke joined his pupil's, summoning multiple patrons! Toormaarfeyn launched into the sky, mighty wings propelling him toward the meeting place expeditiously. What in all Nirn could have happened?
The vibrant tiger-striped dragon joined swift Gaafkrokulaan on the ground near their priests as Viinturuth circled above, taking a more graceful landing approach. Soon after Nahagliiv spiraled down from the frosty heavens, followed closely by Hevnofokriid. Toormaarfeyn noted that neither Alduin's lieutenant nor his champion had been invoked.
Ahzidal's mentor tossed his dignified head, regarding the agitated humans with genuine concern. “Hi los rahgron, mid sonaakke. What troubles your hearts so?”
The mages exchanged anxious glances before all looking to Vahlok, who slowly stepped forward with a respectful bow. Words however, seemed to fail the usually indomitable Guardian.
Hevnofokriid tilted his head, ice blue eyes keen, while Viinturuth's spines bristled. Their sonaakke were bold, even gentle Dukaan. What tidings were so horrible that they hesitated like frightened children?
“Dii thurre,” Vahlok began, regaining his usual composure. “Memories of my demise have returned completely. Thur Alduin slew my body, perhaps so no other could absorb my dovahzii.”
The Jailor’s jaw was clenched, and his piercing azure eyes were hard, yet his agony at such an undeserved betrayal was palpable.
Nahagliiv jerked his head back, snorting in alarm. “Ruth! Los daar vahzah? How could I not have foreseen such treachery?”
Viinturuth's fins fanned out reflexively in response to his distress. “Such betrayal... it is sacrilege.” He glared at Toormaarfeyn. “You knew naught of this?!”
The ancient dragon slowly blinked, as if in pain. “I feared such an outcome, but for the Firstborn to harm un Malkulaan was unthinkable...”
“It was not,” Hevnofokriid snapped, curling his lip in disgust. “I warned you Alduin would not meet my gaze when questioned, nor did he punish my 'defiance'. A clear admission of guilt!”
“Why in Oblivion didn't you act then?!” Zahkriisos demanded incredulously.
The plum frost dragon glared at his counterpart expectantly, while Gaafkrokulaan fluttered his wings nervously.
“Because of the Kein,” Toormaarfeyn answered, emerald orbs full of sorrow. “We could not weaken our order even further, and Alduin is Jun for a reason. With Numinex away, we would have stood no chance in battle.”
“Speak for yourself only,” Hevnofokriid growled wrathfully.
“I sincerely wish you would have informed us, Toormaarfeyn,” Nahagliiv rumbled, keeping his massive tail folded by his side defensively. “Yet I understand why you did not.”
Viinturuth huffed, arching his lithe neck. “I realize how zealous my student and myself can be, especially back then, but this-this transgression against the Guardian would not have been tolerated!” His bright yellow gaze rested on the forlorn Jailor. “We would have sought justice, Vahlok. We will seek it now.”
The Dovahkiin regarded the striking blood dragon with uncertainty.
“How, dii thur?” Zahkriisos questioned skeptically, giving voice to Vahlok's doubt. “Alduin could slaughter us all-and he just might do so simply for his own amusement!”
The venom in the Bloodskal Blade bearer's voice mirrored Hevnofokriid's.
“The Firstborn founded the society of the dov for our benefit and growth,” the frost dragon declared. “He was a wise leader, if swift to wrath, but after the loss of judii arhk kul only Konahrik and Paarthurnax could sway his mind. I am aware Alduin still mourns the loss of his family and sonaak, but grief is no excuse for this nonsense and wanton cruelty! Especially unto those who have been devoted for so long.” He released a hissing sigh. “His return has been a monumental disappointment, rather than a hopeful beacon of rebirth.”
“I am not unhappy at being returned to life,” Gaafkrokulaan ventured, lowering his head. “But this breach of trust...I know not if it can be overcome.” He carefully nuzzled Vahlok, attempting to comfort the Atmoran the only way he knew how.
The Guardian rested a cool hand on the pewter muzzle, startled when the young dragon abruptly recoiled as though he had been stung!
“Los fel mulaag hin dovahzii!” Gaafkrokulaan exclaimed, snorting repeatedly in alarm.
Vahlok was momentarily confused, then a look of realization crossed his solemn face. “Ah, it is the yuvondovah you sense.”
Every patron focused their full attention on the Guardian, Nahagliiv and Toormaarfeyn sniffing him curiously.
Viinturuth shifted uncomfortably, concerned. “Wo?”
“A wandering ally,” Vahlok replied steadily. “Somewhere between the ages of Gaafkrokulaan and Odahviing. We have spoken only briefly in dreams.”
“Is this the being Morokei feared was invading your mind?” The blood dragon inquired, flicking his long tail. “Alduin was suspicious as well, though his beliefs mean very little now.”
Brow furrowed, the Jailor glanced back at a chagrined Morokei. “Geh, I suppose so.” His rich timbre softened a bit. “I am grateful that zeymahi gives thought to my wellbeing.” His focus returned to Viinturuth. “Rest assured, the yuvondovah bears no malice toward any of us.”
“You were able to hold tinvaak through dreams?” Toormaarfeyn repeated, intrigued.
“It is rare for goraan dovah to possess such potent might,” Viinturuth added, spines still bristled in anxiety.
“Rare, but not impossible,” Nahagliiv stated calmly. “Recall you not the myriad of arcane spells adolescent Durnehviir was able to weave? Where does this goraan gein hail from, Guardian?”
“I know not,” Vahlok admitted, ill-inclined to go into personal details regarding fell barriers and shadowy nightmares. “As I said, our tinvaak was brief.”
Nahagliiv was unphased. “What did he look like?”
Zahkriisos shifted impatiently. What was the purpose of all these useless questions? Alduin's perilous insanity should be the focus, right? He eyed his mentor and noted that Vahlok's only show of annoyance was a slight flexing of his fingers. “Gilded and four-limbed, thuri.”
“A foreigner?” Toormaarfeyn rumbled, intrigued. He peered at Nahagliiv, tilting his head. “Is this yuvondovah the source of the strange power you sensed?”
“Perhaps,” the elder dragon answered, twitching his massive tail casually. “Regardless, it is instinctual for goraan dovahhe to seek the Eldest, no matter their birthplaces. We must make certain Alduin is in a reasonable mood.”
Viinturuth huffed. “Indeed. No need for the youth to be driven away by lunacy!”
Vahlok searched the assembled beasts intently. “You will welcome him?”
“Geh, mid Dovahkiin,” Nahagliiv answered, his virid orbs soft yet serious. “We have no quarrel with roaming kinsmen. I only hope the current state of our order is not disheartening unto him.”
Their sonaakke seemed contemplative, perhaps a little less upset than they were before. Ahzidal stepped forward, shrewd expression unyielding. “What tidings of Durnehviir?”
Gaafkrokulaan's countenance fell. “Nothing new, even when Sahloknir inquired about the Eye and its effectiveness against the Ideal Masters. Alduin always says to wait.”
“Another injustice,” Viinturuth sighed. “Krosis, sahvot Morokei.”
“Why does he delay for so long?” Morokei demanded, uncharacteristically revealing his true ire before the divines. “Durnehviir languishes in that dungeon while our great Protector does nothing! We have the relics, the knowledge, and a growing number of gifted dov lest anything goes awry.” Morokei's velvety voice was desperate now. “Has the World-Eater truly forsaken even his own kirre?”
The vibrant blood dragon displayed an expression that was rarely seen on any dov; shame.
“We have no insight into Alduin's true intentions, sahvot sonaak,” Toormaarfeyn admitted with a weary despondency. “But we shall keep all that we have spoken of between us.”
“While pushing for candor from Alduin,” Hevnofokriid added, snapping his tail like a whip. “Grah-zeymahzin Durnehviir deserves to be free.”
The younger men seemed skeptical, but Ahzidal was as unshakable as ever. “May we trust in your continued patronage, dii thurre?”
“Without question, dii wuth fahdon,” Toormaarfeyn replied sincerely. “We shall be discreet in our dealings with the Firstborn. And soon we shall have several new malzeymahhe to receive.”
The ancient beast hesitated. What more could he say? Even his most heartfelt speech seemed so insignificant compared to the betrayal their students endured, especially Vahlok. He carefully nudged the Guardian with his nose. “You should seek respite. All of you.”
The Enchanter acquiesced, bowing smoothly and respectfully. His counterparts followed suit, if only to be dismissed to ponder these dismal developments in private. Vahlok sighed inwardly. There was much to prepare for, yet his physical body craved further slumber. He observed his allies as they began the trek back to the college, noting how exhausted they all were as well. The depressing news of Durnehviir had sapped everyone's remaining strength!
Ahzidal's keen amber eyes sought Vahlok’s dim sapphire ones. “Can you discern aught regarding my son's progress?”
“I have reached out to him little, not wishing to burden his Dovahzii with the anguish of my own,” the Guardian replied honestly. The ghost of a smile crossed his solemn face. “It is also rather frustrating when an elder Dovahkiin keeps checking in during one's first mission. I know that full well!”
Vahlok blinked, pushing away the bitter recollections upon realizing he had not answered the older Atmoran's query. “Something stunned him, angered him, but Viintaas's determination remains. I sense neither wound nor malady.”
“So he is well then,” Ahzidal murmured, more a statement than a question. “Pruzah.”
Vahlok brightened a bit. “Geh, he is well.”
“Ahz Junior is going to return to a mad house,” Zahkriisos grumbled in frustration. “Hopefully the dov can get their shit together by then!”
Not even Morokei protested such anger toward the few reasonable patrons that remained. In fact, he agreed with Zahk’s indignation. “Durnehviir would have fought for their wellbeing,” the lilac-eyed priest growled, clenching his fists. “Yet they refuse to battle for his.”
“Because Alduin would target us, brother,” Vokun replied, his tone reassuring yet firm. “Forcing our mentors to watch our demise before rending them asunder, as is his way with those he deems traitorous.”
“They were just as shaken as we were,” Dukaan added, sincerely.
Krosis sighed forlornly. “How do we proceed?”
“We could start a new religion with only Numinex?” Zahkriisos suggested, drawing a chuckle from his teacher despite the Dragonborn's weariness.
“You will rest!” Ahzidal insisted, cuffing both Vahlok and Zahkriisos upside their heads. “You are all useless without sleep.”
“Ow...” The Guardian mumbled, more amused than anything.
“Oi! That was child abuse,” the Bloodskal Blade bearer complained dramatically. “Morokei said so!”
Morokei hummed, but his demeanor lightened. As ridiculous as he could be, Zahkriisos's resilient levity was a familiar comfort. He met Vahlok’s perceptive gaze.
“We are no Durnehviir,” the Jailor said softly. “But we are here should you need us.” He smiled. “Though often we need you more.”
“Inaccurate, I have saved Morokei from leeks several times,” Krosis stated, expression devoid of emotion save for his twinkling emerald eyes.
Zahkriisos's hearty guffaw broke the tension as the bone-weary men felt they could breathe again due to their comradery. The divine may have forsaken them, but the dragon priests each silently vowed to never abandon one another.
Notes:
Zahkriisos speaking for McDonald's: Stop it, get some help!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Bo zeymah. Alduin drun tahrovin. Rok kriaan Vahlok = Come brother. Alduin (has) brought about turbulence/betrayal. He killed Vahlok
Dii novul zeymahhe = my noble brothers
Goraan dovah = (a) young dragon
Hi los rahgron mid sonaakke = You are angry (closest version to the verb for angry) loyal dragon priests
Ruth los daar vahzah = Rage (used as a curse to express wrath or frustration) is this true
Kein = War (usually a specific one)
Judii arhk kul = His queen and son
Los fel mulaag hin dovahzii = (there) is (a) feral power (upon) your dragon soul
Wo = Who/whom
Geh = Yes
Krosis = Apologies/an expression of sorrow/sorrow
Dii wuth fahdon = My old friendI appreciate you guys still sticking with me through yet another job change! I offer a longer chapter as tribute!
Chapter 39
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas staggered up the rocky slope until he reached an overlook, observing several rope bridges at various levels that stretched across the yawning chasm. His wrath kindled when he recognized the chitin architecture of the blind Falmer. They had established an entire village here! Judging by the number of huts jutting out of the mountainside, the wicked creatures had dwelt in this area for decades at the least. The young Dragonborn clenched his fists.
They won’t pollute this place for much longer.
He felt drawn into the settlement; was his patron in some sort of peril here? How could Falmer trouble an adult dovah? The lad grimaced when he recalled the brutalized skeletons of those tiny hatchlings. Perhaps this was a mission of well-earned vengeance?
A few guards had noticed him at this point, but they were too far away to be of any concern. Viintaas paced before the rickety rope bridge, plagued with uncertainty.
What if I call back?
Noting that the wretches were making their way toward him rather slowly, Viintaas closed his eyes and concentrated on the source of the plaintive call and lowered his guard.
Drem Yol Lok, dii thur. Where are you?
An overwhelming sensation of panic slammed into the Dragonborn’s skull. He staggered as if struck with a physical blow as blurry images of Falmer abominations filled his mind. His eyes flashed open in wrath. Irregardless of possibilities, those traitorous monsters were terrorizing a dragon that needed his help.
With an enraged cry, Viintaas charged across the bridge, swiftly dispatching any soldiers with a shout!
“Fus Ro Dah!”
Their broken corpses tumbled down the mountainside as he adeptly conjured two flame atronachs to defend against any foes from the right. As the lesser Daedra began their patrols, Viintaas spied several archers on the ledge above the trail; he incinerated them in a wall of fire.
“Yol Toor Shul!”
Their burning bodies were still falling as the irate dragonborn decimated the approaching monsters on his left with the unrelenting force shout yet again! He flinched inwardly when he discerned the draconic cry growing more despondent.
Don’t give up, I’m almost there!
The trail split once more once the Enchanter’s son reached the very top of the canyon wall. Viintaas scanned the village swiftly, frowning. No sign of any dragons, but more of the monstrosities were gathered on a tower rock formation in the center of the gorge. They were wearing strange masks and seemed to be chanting or cheering around a stone altar. His amber eyes narrowed. It was probably a ceremony of Xrib.
Maybe I can ruin the festivities after I find-
The young Dovahkiin’s thoughts were derailed as he spotted a figure approaching the ominous altar with a struggling orange and blue creature. The desperate tug on his dovahzii grew stronger and his stomach dropped. It was a revered dragon hatching!
Viintaas was consumed by righteous indignation as he raced down the snow-covered path, his heart pounding. He cursed when he noticed that the sole bridge to the center pillar was connected to the other side of the ravine. The Last Dragonborn skidded to an ungraceful stop as he reached the cliff’s edge, frenziedly searching for a way to reach the dragonling. Viintaas grabbed the sides of his head, his ragged breaths coming in quick succession. All of his shouts and spells would surely harm the little dovah, if not slay it along with its captors!
What do I do? What do I do?! He thought anxiously, hot tears welling up in his eyes as he paced. I need help…
The hatchling’s panicked soul screamed to his own as the creature was placed upon the stone altar, fighting fruitlessly against its bonds.
Pushing aside his own hysteria, Viintaas directed all his concentration toward the one person he knew would hear his plea. ‘Vahlok!’
~ ~ ~
Ofan found Morokei brooding at his favorite alcove within the Arcanaeum. It was the furthest one away from the main study areas, allowing the stoic sonaak a measure of peace. His expression was far from serene however as he regarded Vahlok perusing a stack of books on the other side of the chamber.
“Morokei?” The petite mage inquired softly, offering him the second mug she was carrying.
He blinked, rigid posture relaxing a bit. “Malvahdin, did you bring this for me?”
“Naught chases away the chill like snowberry tea,” Ofan replied with a gentle smile. “You look like you need some cheer…”
Her voice trailed off. All the normally dynamic dragon priests had seemed so… deflated when they had returned to the college.
Bromjunaar’s steward took the cup with an apologetic nod. “Forgive me. I should have gone to you sooner, but I cannot find the words to express what has transpired properly.”
He took a thoughtful sip, appearing pleased with the taste. Ofan patiently allowed him to ponder, taking a long drink of her own mug. She noted how often her mentor kept eyeing the Jailor with concern, making certain to look away each time Vahlok glanced in their direction.
“You are still safe!” Morokei continued abruptly, nearly spilling his tea.
“I believe you,” the apprentice ice mage answered sincerely. “But is something wrong with Vahlok? Is he ill?”
She could help but smile a little at his flabbergasted expression. “You are not very subtle when you are concerned for hin zeymahhe, Morokei. Though you are far more discreet than Zahkriisos.”
The pair observed the tempestuous storm student dutifully following the Guardian from bookshelf to bookshelf, as though a rogue tome might leap out and attack!
Morokei sighed, turning his full attention back to his own pupil. How was he supposed to be vague and reassuring while she was being sweet and perceptive?
“In all honesty, Ofan Sossedov,” the weary priest began. “Alduin is not the god he once was.”
Vahlok was unaccustomed to being protected, rather than the protector himself. Zahkriisos refused to leave his side, agonizing over the fact he had not been there to intervene when Alduin had so unfairly taken the life of his closest friend. The Guardian idly thumbed through the pages of Immortal Blood without really reading the words. It was… nice being watched over, especially during a time of such uncertainty. All his life, his identity within the Dragon Cult had been as the heir of the Warlord, Alduin’s Chosen Sonaak. Being Dragonborn only added to his prestige and responsibility. After the Guardian had defeated Miraak, even Kahvozein had sung his praises to the Firstborn.
Without Alduin’s favor, what was he now?
Vahlok felt his former student’s keen gaze upon him and flipped a page to appear untroubled.
Was that where his confidence had come from, the World-Eater’s approval? No, he decided. When he was younger perhaps, but after vanquishing the Daedra infused Miraak to avenge his father and order, there was not much left for him to fear. Was that why Alduin had stolen his life force? Because he had grown too independent?
He exhaled heavily, closing the book and continuing to browse the shelves. He paused abruptly upon spotting A Minor Maze, wondering how offensive it could truly be, and Zahkriisos blundered into him.
“Zahk!” Vahlok exclaimed, more amused than anything. “I am not going to spontaneously combust! There is little need to watch over me so!”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did!” His first student responded. “You’ve been through planes of Oblivion darker than ole Molag’s dominion!” His silver eyes were keen as he regarded his mentor expectantly.
Vahlok sighed, glancing over at Morokei’s alcove, unintentionally meeting Ofan’s horrified and worried gaze. The young maiden quickly looked back toward her own teacher searchingly.
Ah, so Ofan already knows as well.
The Jailor wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. Ofan’s empathy was sweet, and their students needed to be told just how dangerous Alduin was, certainly; but his humiliation was too new to be on full display. Perhaps he should have thought of that before telling his brothers the truth of his death.
“Vahlok,” Zahkriisos insisted with uncommon gentleness. “You can talk to me, you know that right? It’s not the same situation as when I was eight and asked you where all the annoying babies came from.”
The Guardian’s sigh sounded almost like a chuckle. “It was a mistake telling you to seek Morokei for answers.”
He reluctantly met Zahkriisos’s concerned stare. “I am uncertain what to say, zeymah, for I feel very lost in all this. I am wrathful and weary and ashamed that I did not discern the Firstborn’s treachery.” The Jailor paused then abruptly added. “I am holding onto hope that the Yuvondovah will arrive soon.”
The Bloodskal Blade bearer nodded slowly. “Judging by the traces of his power left upon you, he is one magnificent beast of a dragon. I can’t wait to see the look on Kahvozein’s stupid face when he comes flying in!”
The Guardian smiled faintly at that, and Zahkriisos placed a large hand on his old mentor’s shoulder. “You have naught to be embarrassed for, zeymah. It was Alduin who betrayed you, not the other way around. Not even Dovahkiinne can know everything!”
Vahlok fell silent, contemplating his companion’s words. Ofan and Morokei conversed in hushed tones, and for once even Zahk was content not to shatter the peace. Suddenly the Guardian flinched, clutching the sides of his head! Zahkriisos was at his side immediately, alarmed. “Morokei?!”
The stoic priest was already moving towards his fallen brother, worry etched on his pale face. Ofan froze, torn between either remaining and watching, or running to find Ahzidal. Konahrik’s son did not appear to be in pain; in fact, he seemed just as bewildered as they were!
~Vahlok!~
“Viintaas?” The Jailor queried, seemingly unaware that his eyes were glowing like sapphire flames.
The other sonaakke exchanged puzzled glances. They had heard nothing, but clearly this was a Dovahkin matter!
~I don’t know what to do! The Falmer are going to kill him!~
Viintaas’s horrified voice and utterly distraught dragon soul reverberated through his own as the boy’s presence manifested.
~I can’t reach them across the canyon without hurting the hatching! Please what do I do?~
Vahlok would have fallen to one knee had Zahkriisos and Morokei not supported his trembling frame. Pushing aside Viintaas’s overwhelming heartbreak, the Guardian swiftly focused. “Do you recall the Whirlwind Sprint Shout?”
There was the slightest pause before his student’s panic swelled again. ~I can’t control it! I don’t have time to learn!~
“You are Dovahkin, Kul Ahzidal,” Vahlok declared, hoping Viintaas could sense his mentor’s confidence in him. “Act with purpose and instinct.”
There was a flicker of hope, of an idea and a flurry of energy before the connection was severed.
The Guardian blinked, exhaling heavily, before regaining his balance and regarding his fellow priests.
“What in all of Nirn was that?” Zahkriisos demanded. “Your eyes went all Dovahrahgol, but without the wall of fire.”
“I do not know,” Vahlok answered truthfully. “Viintaas was able to speak unto my Dovahzii like an experienced Dovah. I suppose such abilities between Dragonborn should not be surprising but I-I was never able to hold soul speech with Miraak like this.”
Morokei stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It makes sense. Viintaas is a trustworthy lad, far more open to others than that tahrodiis mey ever was.”
Ofan stifled her anxiety enough to make an inquiry. “Is he well?”
Vahlok nodded, rich voice softening. “Yes, I believe so. He simply needed some guidance.”
The Jailor took a brief moment to recover from the onslaught of Viintaas’s intense emotions, then he straightened with newfound determination. “We need to hold tinvaak with Toormaarfeyn immediately. I believe Viintaas has found a hatchling.”
Notes:
You guys are awesome! I am so sorry for the long silence. We've had relatives and their untrained pets staying with us indefinitely since early 2024 and it's really killed the spark of creativity for a long time. This story is not dead! Keizaal Ulse, Skyrim Forever!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Drem yol lok, dii thur = Peace fire sky, my lord
Dovahrahgol = Dragon rage/anger
Chapter 40
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viintaas rushed to the cliff’s edge, making certain to align himself with the hut on the rock pillar just in case he overestimated the distance.
“Wuld Nah Kest!”
The airborne Dovahkin crashed into the ramshackle structure, debris scattering everywhere! The startled and furious Falmer didn’t give him a chance to rise before attacking. Viintaas would have been skewered if not for Ahzidal’s powerful enchantments, causing each blow the monsters intended to kill his son to paralyze them instead. The shaman roughly tossed the dragonling aside and rushed Viintaas, brandishing the ritual knife.
The Last Dragonborn was unflinching. “Yol Toor Shul!”
The creature screamed as it was consumed by the flames, and its desperate flailing set the immobile bodies of its allies ablaze!
Viintaas ignored them all, searching for the hatchling. His stomach clenched and he felt nauseous.
Oh gods, what if the baby fell into the abyss?
Shuffling drew his attention as the diminutive dragon rubbed against the base of the altar, attempting to cut the ropes binding its wings.
The Last Dragonborn sighed heavily in relief, crouching to get a better look at the little soul caller. The baby lost its already precarious balance and collapsed, struggling against the cords restraining its dainty jaws.
“Hold on, let me help you.”
The revered dragon hatchling met his gaze with wide, rose-pink eyes as Viintaas carefully unwound the ropes. It seemed to recognize him, or at least his dovahzii, but that did not mean it completely trusted the bipedal kinsman yet! Stretching its delicate wings, the young dovah remained surprisingly still as the Dovahkiin removed the restraints around its mouth.
“There you go,” Viintaas soothed, tossing the soiled ropes away.
The miniature dragon huffed, studying him for a moment. It abruptly unleashed a yodeling cry that echoed throughout the canyon. It sounded like a cross between a social crane and a yowling cat!
“Whoa, hold on! You’re safe now!”
The dragonling ignored him, howling away. Beneath the piercing warbles, the clamor of Falmer voices could be heard.
“Calm down,” Viintaas commanded softly, not wishing to draw further enemy attention. “Drem!”
The hatchling quieted, but it seemed to do so only to give him a rather incredulous stare. How else am I supposed to find my parents, the tiny dragon seemed to ask.
Viintaas was uncertain if that was the little dovah’s actual mood or if he was simply misinterpreting the rather sassy expression; either way, they were running out of time.
“Let me carry you out of the camp,” he offered, meeting the skeptical gaze. “Neither of us want to meet more Falmer. I’ll protect you, I promise.”
The petite revered dragon fell silent, acquiescing. Viintaas scooped up the tiny divine and cradled the cat-sized entity close to his chest. He blinked in realization as his dovahzii discerned more about his young kinsman. “You’re a jill!”
The hatchling peered up at the Last Dragonborn like he was an utter idiot. She rivaled Morokei when it came to serving annoyed glares.
“Sorry,” Viintaas murmured sheepishly, quickly striding across the rickety bridge.
They were halfway through the dilapidated colony when more Falmer soldiers sprang out of their huts to attack. He could feel the dragonling’s heart pounding through his breastplate as the monsters challenged him in their cursed, guttural voices. The Last Dragonborn was filled with a rage he had not known since Saarthal.
“YOL TOOR SHUL!”
A torrent of fire greater than any he had ever unleashed before devoured the wicked Falmer, scouring any trace of their civilization in its path! Viintaas swiftly cast aside all surprise and doubt, unleashing shout after powerful shout against any who dared raise their weapons in violence toward the trembling baby dragon in his arms.
“FUS RO DAH!”
“YOL TOOR SHUL!”
Entire sections of the village slid down the mountainside as the Dovahkiin’s dreadful thu’um split rock asunder and turned flesh and bone into ashes. Viintaas poured all of his indignation and grief into his voice, recalling the devastation of the murdered hatchlings and sensing the present fear of the tiny jill he had sworn to defend.
By the time they had reached the canyon rim, the settlement of the fallen snow elves had been razed to the ground. Viintaas desired to scour the other side of the divide to make certain no Falmer were left alive, but the burning agony in his throat and weariness in his limbs shook him out of his draconic rage. The amber-eyed Atmoran had a difficult time catching his breath, and the little dragonling chirped at him questioningly.
“I-I’m okay,” He reassured her, pushing through the pain. His lungs and throat felt as though they were filled with glass. “Let’s find a good place to wait for your parents.”
Viintaas stumbled through the frozen woods until he found a reasonably sized clearing. He hoped this was a proper spot to greet dragon parents, especially if one of them was his patron. How many adult revered dragons could there be in one valley?
Lightheaded, Viintaas sat down at the base of a large pine, leaning heavily against the trunk. The diminutive dragoness seemed content to rest in his arms, fatigued from her own ordeal. She had the typical blue and orange coloration of her kind, but of a lovely pastel hue, with a pale-yellow patch in the center of her forehead. He grabbed the waterskin and a pewter cup from his satchel, leaving the jill to balance on his lap. She remained despite his motion, watching him fill up the vessel with interest.
The raven-haired lad offered the cup to her and after sniffing the strange object, the hatchling began lapping up the water noisily. Viintaas smiled to himself, taking a long swig from the skin to ease his stinging throat. Erandur had always told him to pack extra utentils when he traveled for emergencies. As per usual, the Dunmer had been right.
“So,” he began, cheerful even while exhausted. “Do you already have a name, or do you need to earn it by doing something majestic?”
She peered up at him again, huffing as though such inquiries were a terrible inconvenience.
The Dovahkiin grinned at the sheer drama in her expression. “Very well, I’m just going to call you Dot for now.” He gently booped the yellow marking.
She chirped and playfully snapped at his gauntleted fingers, beginning to rumble. Apparently trying to maul him made her happy.
Viintaas’s chuckle turned into a violent cough that he covered with his right hand to try and stifle. The hatchling hopped off his lap, squawking in concern. Viintaas removed his hand to find crimson fluid covering his gauntlet. He quickly removed the cloth from his bag to clean the blood from his mouth, only to discover that his nose had started bleeding as well.
I can’t meet my patron like this!
The little jill was worriedly observing him when both were abruptly startled by a frost giant bursting from the treeline! The Dragonborn unsteadily yet swiftly rose to his feet while Dot scrambled behind the tree trunk. His throat burned, yet Viintaas wiped the blood from his nose and stood resolute.
Just one more shout.
The giant roared, brandishing its club aloft as it lumbered toward them!
“Gaan Lah Haas!”
The hairy beast fell to its knees as though struck with a mortal blow as the wingbeats of a dragon stirred the treetops overhead. A beautiful revered dragon landed between the Atmoran and the attacker as the frost giant let out a pitiful bellow before collapsing in a heap as the lifeforce drained from its body. Viintaas’s amber eyes were wide in wonder as the dovah turned to face him. This dragon possessed the graceful side fins the revered kin were renowned for but seemed sleeker and more delicate despite those sharp wing barbs. Her powder blue and pastel orange markings were a lovely compliment to her lilac orbs.
“Are you mother?” Viintaas blurted hoarsely, searching those piercing eyes.
The dragoness scented the air and returned his gaze with an equally earnest one of her own. “Dovahkiin?” Her voice was deep, enchanting, yet a little uncertain.
Dot emerged from behind the tree with a joyful yodel, scampering over to the adult as fast as she could. The jill greeted her baby with ecstatic rumbles and trills of affection, seeming quite relieved. The hatchling cooed and rubbed against her mother’s muzzle, delighted. The Last Dragonborn felt his heart swell at the sight, grateful that he had been able to reach the dragonling in time. He also had the strangest sensation of wishing to hug the revered mother as well.
The she-dragon turned her attention back to the Atmoran.
“You saved my daughter, Dovahkiin,” she said, her tone mellifluous and benevolent. She ambled closer, lowering her elegant head to speak with him more equally. “There is naught I can do to ever truly repay you for this great kindness.”
“There’s no nee-” Viintaas began, before being overtaken by a coughing fit. The shredding anguish in his lungs increased and he blinked back tears.
The adult jill rumbled with concern. “You have put your wellbeing at risk for my baby, Dovahkiin. Come, rest. I will protect you while you heal.”
“I have a to find my patron,” Viintaas protested unsteadily, though he fully believed he would be safe with her. “Nahagliiv and my fath-” His voice broke again and he struggled desperately not to cough.
The dragoness looked thoughtful. “I know of Nahagliiv, kiir. Any prophecy he has matters little if the one it is meant for perishes.”
She knew the signs of a broken mortal body due to continuous usage of the thu’um. Young sonaakke oft pushed themselves too hard in the days of old. She snorted when the human’s nose began to bleed again. How much blood was necessary before Atmorans took their wounds seriously? “I cannot heal you properly if you are awake.”
Viintaas swayed a little. Why was he so dizzy? “You can-” The boy’s cough was deep and harsh. “H-heal me? That w-”
The revered she-dragon intercepted the Dovahkiin’s collapse with her nose as her hatchling squawked in alarm. “Come, love,” She calmly called to her baby. “Let us aid your rescuer.”
Notes:
I love revered dragons so much, they're so goofy and lovable looking <3 Thank you so much for sticking with me guys, I feel like that Jaws 3 meme of the shark going I'm not dead! I apologize for not posting in so long, I legitimately have so much more that I want to explore with the Sonaakke gang and their patrons. I'm also trying a new creativity routine that seems to be helping with writing and art too, so I'm encouraged about it!
Gaan Lah Haan = Stamina, Magika, Health aka the Drain Vitality Shout.
Chapter 41
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Viinturuth's glossy spines bristled when he heard Alduin's abyssal roar reverberate across the twilight tundra, followed by Vulthuryol's rumbling call. He was in no mood to placate a leader who had betrayed the faithful, but such was his duty. Besides, he wished to check on his priest. Nahkriin's unmatched skill with portals was both a blessing and a curse in service to Alduin.
The emerald blood dragon met the Eldest in the snowy plain Krosis had hallowed, snorting when he spied Vuljotnaak already waiting for them.
Kos drem, Viinturuth reminded himself. Personal disdain notwithstanding, he needed to be diplomatic.
Nahkriin's patron lowered his head in deference to the World-Eater, ignoring Vulthuryol's thunderous landing. “Welcome back, dii thur. I trust your journey was successful?”
Alduin peered at his subordinate with a mixture of confusion and incredulity. “Is it not obvious?” The Firstborn declared, gesturing toward the reborn Vulthuryol with a swish of his tail.
Viinturuth blinked slowly, fluttering his wings. Fine, he would acknowledge the warmonger.
He regarded the bronze-colored ancient dragon coolly. “Zeymah. Sonaakiil is adjusting well?”
The shimmering beast arched his muscular neck imperiously. “He will be, once your student is finally able to conjure a proper gateway. Did Nahkriin's devotion and skill fade over the millennia?”
Viinturuth snarled but Alduin spoke first.
“Nahlot, Vulthuryol. Mid Nahkriin diligently guarded Skuldafn long after your disappearance harrowing the Dwemer.”
His sanguineous gaze returned to Viinturuth, eyes narrowing when the blood dragon refused to look at him.
“What happened?” Alduin demanded, disguising any hint of worry with bravado. His piercing stare went to Vuljotnaak.
The crimson and yellow elder dragon grunted. “There has been a great deal of turmoil among the sonaakke, but I know not why, for they have failed to approach Lieutenant Odahviing with any concerns.” He leered at Nahkriin’s patron. “In truth, they seek Toormaarfeyn above all others and hold private councils with the Great Three of Solstheim, along with Nahagliiv and Viinturuth.”
“Your lack of comprehension reveals why un mid sonaakke never seek your wisdom,” the blood dragon shot back with a hiss, trying to ignore Alduin’s burning stare. “Ahzidal’s long lost kiir seeks his patron and you still fail to realize why the elder priests worry for their newest member.”
“Ahzidal’s what?” Vulthuryol queried, fluttering his metallic wings.
Viinturuth paid him little heed, continuing to recite some of the various explanations he had planned with Toormaarfeyn and Hevnofokriid before Alduin’s arrival. “This is not a matter to trouble Odahviing with; however, it is proper to keep the patron of the Dovahkin’s father appraised on all relevant information. I cannot believe that I must clarify such basic etiquette.”
Viinturuth huffed, as though weary of lecturing a disobedient child, before finally meeting the Firstborn’s intense gaze. “Vahlok and Viintaas have learned how to commune through their very souls. The goraan Dovahkiin has sent pruzah rotte, but it would be best if all could hear them.”
The World-Eater studied his bristly councilor keenly. “If that is true, why have you not summoned all un zeymahhe?”
“Kahvozein and Sahlokniir will not answer my call, lot gein,” Viinturuth grunted, flexing his fins. He softened a bit. “Besides, it is the boy’s first mission in your name, and I think he is quite excited to deliver such tidings to you himself. Such zeal should be cultivated, not crushed.”
Or betrayed, Viinturuth thought, taking care that his indignation did not show in his posture.
Alduin seemed thoughtful rather than wrathful, though the uncomfortable silence was only broken by human-sized portal appearing in the clearing.
A tall, broad shouldered priest in vermillion robes strode confidently into the snow, bowing low before the dovahhe. Volsung looked most alike to the modern day Nords Viinturuth had seen, with ruddy skin and long golden locks interwoven with grey. His indigo eyes shone with the stoic confidence of an experienced warrior.
Another man appeared through gateway, this one lithe and pale. His glittering copper eyes were cruel and calculating, and his ashen brown locks were pulled back away from his gaunt face. His beard was immaculately trimmed, yet his once brown robes were stained a toxic green.
Viinturuth stifled a growl. Rahgot. Their loyal pupils would find little peace with that cauldron-stirrer skulking about. He would need to be extra vigilant in order to discourage any unnecessary conflicts, especially with morale being so low already.
Vulthuryol lowered his head as his student approached, yellow eyes gleaming. “Have you heard, Volsung? Two Dovahkiinne roam Keizaal once more.”
“Is that the boy that bested Brother Rahgot, dii thur?” Volsung inquired nonchalantly, ignoring the Poisoner’s murderous glare.
The bronze beast seemed amused by this. “Ha! Our Lord Alduin failed to mention such a feat by this new Dragonborn during our journey.”
“It was irrelevant,” Alduin answered immediately, disrupting Vuljotnaak’s angry rumbles. “Viintaas is a member of un mid sonaakke, and there shall be no more infighting.”
His massive ebony tail cracked in the frosty air like a bullwhip as he glowered down at them. “Hi mindoraan?”
“Zu’u mindoraan,” Vulthuryol and Vuljotnaak spoke simultaneously, their priests inclining their heads in contrition.
Viinturuth said nothing, watching the portal for Nahkriin. The Firstborn regarded them all sternly for a few tense moments before relaxing slightly, turning his full focus to the worried blood dragon. “Did aught else occur in my absence?”
Let me look for my student! Viinturuth wanted to shout. Instead, he simply swished his tail.
“Bold Vahlok believes the presence reaching out to him is a benevolent goraan dovah, and Nahagliiv agrees.” Nahkriin’s patron observed Alduin carefully, then swiftly added. “Vahlok’s soul is bright and indomitable, a beacon for the lost and weary. Should they be mistaken, no rogue dragon could challenge us all. And if it be a Daedra, not one of them could threaten you, dii thur.”
“That is a bit suspicious, is it not? Vibrant soul notwithstanding, all dov should seek Lord Alduin’s leave to join our society,” Vuljotnaak declared, snorting.
“It is only natural for our wandering young to seek any sort of emissary that will lead them to the Eldest,” Vulthuryol posited, his unexpected support surprising Viinturuth. “Regardless, we can vanquish any enemy, so why waste time fretting?”
“I will deal with the newcomer appropriately depending upon their intentions,” Alduin stated, ending the discussion abruptly. “Bo, join the others. Un sonaakke have temporary dwellings near the Eye of Magnus. Viinturuth, await your student.”
With a toss of his beautifully savage head, Alduin spread his vast wings and soared into icy air, heading toward Labyrinthian.
Mercifully, Vulthuryol, Vuljotnaak and their priests departed without further prattle, leaving Viinturuth to await his own pupil in peace. Nearly an hour had passed by the time Nahkriin staggered through the swirling entryway, closing it with a tired wave of his hand. Conjuring so many portals in such a short span had taken a heavy toll, and it was growing more difficult for the Steward of Skuldafn to recover his strength sufficiently enough to be of service when called upon yet again. He seemed startled to find Viinturuth waiting for him. “Thuri?”
The blood dragon’s clear yellow eyes were sorrowful. “Mid aari. Come, sit with me.” The emerald beast ambled over to a stony, dry place he had cleared away the snow from, settling down with a grunt.
Nahkriin obeyed, welcoming a moment with a divine he could trust. He sat beneath the glossy green wing, relieved to be sheltered from the bitter wind. The curly-maned priest pulled the cobalt robes closer around him, closing his eyes to bask in the warmth.
Viinturuth regarded his student with concern. “Alduin asks for far too much, yet you persevere admirably. If I had the power to sever you from his service, I would.”
Nahkriin’s deep amethyst eyes flickered open, his brow furrowing. He was aware that their situation was not ideal, but he had never heard his devout patron speak of such extreme measures. “Thuri?”
The blood dragon exhaled heavily, wrapping his long tail around his body like a cat. “I do not wish to burden you further, but a great betrayal has been discovered while you were away.”
Nahkriin sat up straighter, filled with disquiet at his mentor’s distraught tone.
Viinturuth seemed to search the starry night sky for answers. “The Malkulan… did not perish by natural causes.”
~ ~ ~
Viintaas slowly drifted back to awareness, but he felt too weary to open his eyes. He was someplace warm, and it smelled of pine trees and wildflowers. He heard the most melodic intonations swirling around him, speaking softly and earnestly to one another.
“--That would explain all of the territorial rogues seeking conquest,” a rich masculine voice rumbled. “Though it is strange that they bother us, rather than joining the Firstborn.”
“You spoke truly in calling them rogues, my love,” the hypnotic voice of the mother dragon answered. “Mayhap when more of the mighty are awoken, the meyye will fall back into line.”
The male hummed thoughtfully, and several peaceful moments passed before he spoke again. “How fares the Dovahkin? Have the time distortions disrupted your restorations?”
“Nay, he is hale and hearty,” the she-dragon replied. “His dovahzii responds well to dovahvokrii, as it should.”
The mellifluous chuckle of the male dragon made Viintaas’s heart swell with joy, though he was uncertain why. “He razed that accursed settlement like a veteran of the Kein. Nahagliiv should be pleased.”
The Last Dragonborn stirred, blinking. He was lying beneath a pastel dawning sky on a bed of heather amidst the tall, slowly swaying trees. He sat up sluggishly, stiff in his armor, but relieved that he could breathe freely without pain. Viintaas swallowed a little nervously when he focused on the pair of revered dragons roosting beside one another no more than twenty feet from him. He felt a stirring deep within his dragon soul upon locking eyes with the patriarch of the family.
“Hail,” Viintaas said awkwardly, like the daedric prince of anti-charisma. “I think I passed out…”
The female laughed sweetly, her demeanor doting rather than condescending. “Hail Dovahkiin. You were very close to destroying your own voice to save our precious one, the least we could do is allow you to sleep.”
The larger male lowered his head to address the lad more politely. “Indeed. We owe you a debt that cannot be repaid.”
His scales were of the most vibrant blue and orange hues Viintaas had ever seen, and his body was more heavily armored than his mate’s. The longer the young Atmoran observed the striking pair, however, the more their torsos seemed too lean and their joints too skeletal, as if they had not eaten well in a long time. There was game in the Forgotten Vale, but Viintaas realized that the revered dragons must have had to ration food closely in order not to overhunt in such a secluded environment.
His heart ached for them.
Viintaas rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to formulate a proper sentence. “I’m glad I was able to help her. I wouldn’t have made it in time if not for Vahlok’s advice.”
“Vahlok?” The mother repeated. “Konahrik’s baby?”
Viintaas grinned, remembering that title for later use. “Yes. He’s my mentor. Through him I met Alduin-Lord Alduin…Thur Alduin! It’s a really long story, but the World-Eater is resurrecting all the dragons he can, as well as the high priests.”
The raven-haired lad seemed bashful. “I um I’m not sure what’s relevant but I was sent here by Thur Alduin to find my patron…” He suddenly looked aghast. “Oh! My name is Viintaas!”
The male dragon chuckled good-naturedly. “I see. Hold tinvaak with us a while yet, Dovahkiin Viintaas. I am known as Voslaarum. This is my mate, Naaslaarum.”
“It is lovely to meet you, Viintaas,” Naaslaarum said kindly, lifting her right wing slightly to reveal their peacefully sleeping hatchling. “You have already been acquainted with Briislaarum. She liked it very much when you called her Dot.”
The little dragoness lifted her head sleepily, stared at Viintaas like he was the most helpless creature she had ever seen, then tucked her head back under her little wing with a huff.
The Dragonborn beamed. “It’s wonderful to meet all of you. I had no idea if I would find anyone out here at all, but Nahagliiv was insistent, and a lot of the dragon priests trusted him so…here I am!”
He rummaged through his bag for the water skin, simultaneously nervous and excited to be speaking with his patron and his patron’s family.
Naaslaarum’s lilac eyes were bright and keen, her musical voice sincere. “You must be half-starved after your ordeal, kiir. Please, eat and drink while you tell your tale.”
Viintaas paused briefly. Half-starved was an ironic choice of words. He didn’t think it was right to eat what he had brought in front of them, or anything they gave to him. Not with how thin they both were.
“Actually, I’m only thirsty, if that’s okay? Nerves wrecked my appetite but thank you!” The Dragonborn hesitated again, then added. “There’s no need to tell my dad that though. I don’t want him to worry or think I shouldn’t travel alone. I’ve been adventuring solo for years before he came back.”
The revered pair exchanged glances. There was so much underlying sorrow in that boy’s words.
“Not a rot will we speak,” Naaslaarum reassured him gently. “Your father serves the Firstborn as well?”
Viintaas seemed a little solemn now. “Yes, my father is Ahzidal. The Ahzidal. Greatest Enchanter of all the known Ages…”
Voslaarum regarded the young Dovahkiin knowingly. “And one of the priesthood’s greatest warriors. He will be very proud when he learns of what you accomplished against the Falmer here.”
The Last Dragonborn met the earnest gaze of his patron, and Voslaarum’s sky-blue eyes were filled with such unconditional acceptance that Viintaas wanted to cry. He blinked a few times, then shyly yet happily joined the revered family circle.
Notes:
We finally have more priests to help Hevnoraak balance out the camaraderie! Yaay?
Approximate Dovahzul Translations:
Kos Drem = Be patient/peaceful
Pruzah Rotte = Good words/tidings
Hi Mindoraan = (Do) you understand?
Mid Aari = My loyal servant
Dovahvokrii = Dragon healing/restoration
Rot = Word (singular)I've been debating posting a list of the VA's that fit the Dragon Priests' voices in my head the closest lol. Would that be weird or fun?
May the 4th be with you everyone!
Chapter 42
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paarthurnax was used to having his sun basking interrupted; however, he was unaccustomed to being viciously mauled.
The stone-colored dragon casually wrapped his long tail around his body to better examine the gilded gremlin attached to the tip of it.
“Why do you vex me so?” He grumbled in pretend annoyance to his zealous nephew.
Yuvonshulkulaan growled mischievously, attempting to move his uncle’s tail as though he was dragging off hapless prey!
Paarthurnax chuckled, nuzzling the impish hatchling. “I blame your father for your vicious temper.”
“Zu’u hon hi,” Alduin rumbled playfully, peering down at his brother from his lofty stone perch.
“That was my intention yes,” Paarthurnax snorted, gesturing to his tiny attacker. “Are you going to allow this egregious assault upon my person?”
The Eldest laughed, then stretched lackadaisically before finally sauntering down into the meadow. “Al rok kuli!”
It was the Secondborn’s turn for laughter when Yuvonshulkulaan excitedly pounced at his ebony sire.
“Tahrovin!” Alduin exclaimed dramatically, settling down beside his brother with a heavy thud. He nuzzled his hyper hatchling. “You would hunt your own sire and king?”
The prince responded by enthusiastically swatting at the massive ebony nose.
Paarthurnax sighed in contentment as he observed his tempestuous family. Alduin was determined to be a better father to Yuvonshulkulaan than Akatosh had ever been for dragonkind, and Paarthurnax thought his elder brother was doing rather well. Little Yuvon had his mother’s four-limbed anatomy, yet his bumpy scales appeared as though they would develop into the sharp barbs Alduin was armored with. It was an entertaining diversion, trying to puzzle out which parent his nephew would take after more as he matured. As of now, he seemed a perfect blend of them both.
Wingbeats like a gale caught the Secondborn’s attention as a shimmering dragoness alighted gracefully upon the grass. Yuvonsotpeyt had been aptly named, for her metallic scales shone like winter morning light on a cloudless day. Alduin arched his neck proudly as he regarded his mate. “Dii brit jud. What tidings do you bring?”
The ivory jill folded her wings demurely, though her enchanting voice was cheerful. “Your blessed Atmorans have returned from Keizaal, dii nonvul jun. They desire to hold tinvaak with you. Sahvot Konahrik deems their discoveries worth your time.”
Alduin rose with a stretch, taking great care not to step on his energetic heir. “Pruzah. I shall speak with them.”
He greeted his queen with an affectionate nuzzle and Paarthurnax snorted, dramatically flopping on his side. “As if your mate names are not unendurable enough! At least comport yourselves with dignity.”
Alduin huffed while Yuvonsotpeyt laughed, beaming. “You need only wait until I finish vetting the eligible jills on my list for you to court, oath-brother! You have many admirers!”
The Firstborn chuckled at the sudden horror that flickered across his ally’s face.
“Do not fret,” the glittering jill continued. “I have narrowed it down to three honorable ladies of intellect and bravery.”
Alduin’s crimson eyes danced with amusement as Paarthurnax peered up at him suspiciously. “Did you know about this zeymah?”
The obsidian dragon seemed to smirk, giving a final loving head bump to his queen before stretching his shadowy wings.
“Do not flee from my questions, nikriin!” The Secondborn exclaimed as the Eldest took off into the frosty air.
Yuvonsotpeyt’s melodic laughter echoed all around him as the jill settled down amidst the lush foliage, regarding her hatchling fondly. “Drem, kiiri. Cease mauling your uncle.”
Paarthurnax side-eyed the audacious hatchling still attempting to devour his tail, then lightly nudged his nephew with his nose. “You are going to be a fiercer fighter than your father if this boldness is any indication!”
“Do you truly believe it to be so?” The queen asked softly, her equine-like ears pricked toward him.
Paarthurnax had always thought Yuvonsotpeyt’s dramatic ears were an endearing contrast to Alduin’s stoicism. “Have you seen his relentless pursuit of the ancestor moths? Malshul will be a wonderful hunter!”
The shimmering jill did not reply and simply regarded her baby with a strange wistfulness. Paarthurnax straightened, tilting his head slightly at her sudden change of mood. “What did you see in the rathtiid?”
The dragoness continued to watch her son intently as Yuvonshulkulaan frolicked among the yellow flowers. “Nothing of certainty.”
Paarthurnax shifted his wings uncomfortably. Such melancholy was unlike his oath-sister. Whatever foresight she received must have been horrid!
Yuvonsotpeyt met his concerned gaze with a sorrowful one of her own. “Will you protect him, Paarthurnax?”
He wanted to protest, to insist the prince would never need defending due to his mighty parentage, but the sincerity in her piercing golden eyes gave him pause.
“Of course I will, Yuvonsotpeyt,” the bronze-grey dov answered solemnly. “Ko Laas uv Dinok, I will defend Yuvonshulkulaan.”
Paarthurnax’s indigo eyes flashed open as the great dragon awoke with a start. He slowly rose with a grunt, shaking the snow off his scales. The sparkling waters of Lake Yorgrim were placid, and the morning sun had not yet crossed into noonday. Good, his slumber had been brief. The ancient dov exhaled heavily, his heart aching as he pondered the bittersweet memory. The Secondborn now knew his dear oath-sister had foreseen her own demise, yet all she had cared about was the wellbeing of her beloved son. He also wondered if Yuvonsotpeyt had perceived other dangers to the prince. Was that why she had been so insistent, or was her fervor due to a mother’s natural protective instincts?
The stone-colored dragon tossed his head. Regardless, it hardened his resolve to intercept Yuvonshulkulaan before any other dragons could, especially Alduin. Vulonkrein would understand. His steadfast student had always been wise beyond mortal years. Paarthurnax closed in his eyes, concentrating.
There. The foreign power was steadily burning northward.
Paarthurnax unfurled his vast wings, launching into the air with determination.
~ ~ ~
Viintaas paid little heed to the time passing as he recounted his journey to his revered audience. The dragon pair listened intently, Voslaarum interjecting occasionally with inquiries about Alduin’s inner circle. Naaslaarum seemed more concerned that the newly resurrected were already making plans of conquest. Neither of them appeared pleased that Hevnoraak and his sadistic patron roamed Keizaal once more.
“I’m still nervous about Whiterun,” the Dragonborn confessed. “I can only imagine what a monster like Kahvozein would do to the townsfolk if they hesitate in accepting Alduin’s overlordship.”
“You are wise to give voice to such concerns,” Voslaarum rumbled, swishing his wide tail. “From what you have told us, they seem like good people.”
“Why trouble such contented joorre at all?” His mate inquired. “Do they mine rich minerals ideal for healthy hatchlings?”
Viintaas scratched his head. “I think I saw a silver deposit outside the city once.”
Voslaarum snorted. “I can understand claiming lands for our beloved aarre to live in safety, but this territorial grab does not seem necessary.”
“These Thalmor invaders,” Naaslaarum began. “The Dovahkin said they are akin to those accursed Ayleids. Perhaps the Firstborn wishes to swiftly establish a bulwark against their infestation of these lands?”
“You have more faith in Thur Alduin’s benignity than I, beloved,” the male dragon answered. “Yet it seems as though his leadership is still the best path foward for dovahhe and joorre alike.”
His sky-blue eyes found Viintaas. “If you are ready to return, we shall accompany you. It is long past time we revisited the world outside.”
Viintaas felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Y-yes! Let’s go!”
Naaslaarum stifled a giggle at the sight of the armored Dragonborn practically bouncing to his feet like a hatchling. Viintaas looked around briefly, then paused, bewildered.
Nobody told me how to get back!
Voslaarum stood gracefully and regarded his newfound student kindly, expectantly.
The young Atmoran paused, then his eyes lit up in sudden realization. “Powerful dragons can create portals!”
The revered dovah’s rich laugh was like a balm to all anxiety. “Pruzah! Returning to Bromjunaar, or wherever else a sonaak thur is sent from, is a rite of passage for both patron and pupil.”
Voslaarum lowered his strangely adorable head, large eyes shining. “If you permit a dovahziigron, a dragon soul bond, between us, I can see wherever you desire to go.”
“Dovahziigron,” Viintaas repeated, brimming with curiosity. “Is that what happened when I called Vahlok for help? A dovahziigron?”
“Indeed. Communication through such a connection is a far more potent power than mere telepathy,” the revered dragon replied. “Unfortunately, there will always be those among the arrogant who will challenge your abilities simply because you walk in human shape. Ignore them. Yours is the true soul of a dovah, kul Ahzidal. Do not allow nivahriin meyye to fill your mind with self-doubt.”
Viintaas gazed at Voslaarum searchingly, overwhelmed by the unconditional acceptance those bright azure eyes reflected back at him. He did not feel pressured, belittled, or manipulated. He felt…whole.
The Last Dragonborn reverently placed both hands on the revered father’s glistening muzzle. He was inundated with a similar sensation to dragon soul absorption, only it was lighter, more jubilant. Knowledge gained through life instead of death. Voslaarum gently nudged the young Atmoran with his nose, his comforting rumblings reverberating through Viintaas’s chest. The young Dovahkin beamed, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He did it! He had a patron! He had to tell EVERYONE!
“Concentrate, Dovahkin,” Voslaarum reminded him genially, clearly accustomed to working those with a hatchling’s focus. “I require a bit more information to open the correct gateway.”
“Oh! Yes! Winterhold.” Viintaas was momentarily abashed, but the revered dragon’s aura was so soothing he could not even chide himself. He focused on the college, on the surrounding city, even the Sea of Ghosts. Anything that could help Voslaarum discern the proper location.
Naaslaarum observed the rite in respectful silence, pleased that her mate had found such a genuinely goodhearted priest. It was shameful how corrupt their society had become in the days before the War. The mother dov had already decided to personally reprimand any who treated Ahzidal’s child unfairly. Even if said perpetrator was the Enchanter himself! The dragoness had heard disturbing tales of Ahzidal’s mental decline. She sincerely hoped Alduin’s resurrection had completely restored the Falmer Slayer’s mind.
Naaslaarum rose softly, stretching as she lovingly nuzzled Britlovaas. Protecting the Last Dragonborn was the least she could do after he saved her precious baby.
“Zu’u mindoraan,” Voslaarum rumbled. “I can create a passageway to this place.”
Viintaas grinned, relieved his distractible mind had not ruined the ritual. “Should I let Vahlok know we are coming so that he can inform the others?”
Voslaarum fluttered his wings, eyes gleaming with mischief. “No. You are kul Ahzidal and ward of the Guardian himself. Show the less trustworthy sonaakke that you do not answer to them. Your sire will see the importance of such a display, though I know he must miss you dearly.”
Viintaas laughed. “Dramatic entrance it is!”
Voslaarum chuckled, then with a toss of his head the revered dragon adeptly conjured a sizable portal before them. Viintaas took a deep breath, then resolutely strode into the swirling vortex.
Notes:
Thanks for not giving up on me guys! It's good to be back!
Approximate Dovahzul Translations
Zu’u hon hi = I (can) hear you
Al rok kuli = Destroy him my son
Tahrovin = Treachery
Yuvonsotpeyt = Golden White Rose
Dii brit jud = My beautiful queen
Dii nonvul jun = My noble king
Rathtiid = River (of) time
Ko laas uv dinok = In life or death
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