Chapter Text
(For funsies - Click Here for Mood Music)
“Old friend, I think this is the last time I will make this trip,” you say to the gray dragon perched on a low stone wall.
“Krosis, fahdon,” he responds. “Nuz dovah mindok daar sul los het.” (Sorrow, friend. But I know this day is here.) Each word spoken by that ancient voice, like the sound of a heavy stone being dragged across the bones of the world, rumbles your chest in a way that has become so familiar and almost comforting. In spite of yourself, you realize that you will miss conversing in this way.
“Paarthurnax, how could you possibly know this would be my last visit?”
“Hin tiid ol dii grah-zeymahziin bo gut nol dii koraav.” (Your time as my ally flows far from my sight.)
“You excel at giving answers that are not answers, you old puzzle-lizard.”
The dragon releases hot air through his mouth, an action that resembles laughter. “Krosis. Not all things can be clear to me either, Dovahkiin.”
You smile, and there are several moments of silence. You are sitting on a large stone across from your comrade. He towers over you, though his physical presence causes no alarm. The snow falling around you starts to thicken, and the sky darkens. Here on the top of the mountain, you can see that a storm is coming. It is time to take your leave. You wonder how to say a final good-bye to the ally who helped you slay his own kin all those years ago. “I am beginning to know how Durnehviir feels. I have walked Tamriel far longer than necessary. A guardian who will not die and has outlived her usefulness.”
“Nid, lost onikaan. You have dovah sos, but you are mortal, Dunmer. You are not cursed as Durnehviir. The thu’um of the Dovahkiin, zol mul, will soon be silent.” (No, have wisdom. -dragon blood -most strong)
You remember the voices of dragons long dead. Fierce opponents, with only the cruel instinct to dominate and destroy. An instinct that surfaces in you occasionally, as you remember how you enslaved Odahviing to serve as your sometime battle-mate. But as Alduin the World-Eater passed and the dragons were slowly eradicated by your hand, it became harder to always see your actions as righteous. Were you not, in some way, one of them? Did you not share the same lust for glory?
Paarthurnax, for his part, attempted to convince members of his kin to work against their natures and discard their need to subjugate all other races. For years, dragons could be seen wheeling around the Throat of the World from as far away as Riften. He tried to demonstrate the necessity of changing their merciless ways not just for the sake of their survival, but also in terms of morality. He failed.
The last dragon to slay was your old unwilling comrade, Odahviing. He was not surprised when you drew your sword against him, despite oaths you had both taken. “Nii los un dez, Dovahkiin.” (It is our fate, Dragonborn.)
“I do this not out of malevolence, but out of mercy,” you had said.
“Vonmindoraan,” he replied. Incomprehensible . It was the last thing he would ever say.
When had you returned home, you ordered your steward to give away your cow and chickens to a nearby farmer. You no longer summoned your horse, or used illusion magic to bend the will of others to yours.
Yet, an ember flickers briefly inside you now – the blood that covets prestige and triumph. “Do you think they will write any more songs about me?” you ask.
“Mu nunon lost gein lovaas. You have curious thoughts,” Paarthurnax replies. (We only have one song.)
“ The Dragonborn Comes was kind of terrible, to be honest. Perhaps it is best if they do not.”
“Your song is not over.”
“That is not what I meant. In the taverns, the bards…” You stop, realizing how undignified you are, prattling on. As if Paarthurnax had even ever heard the songs about the defeat of Alduin. “I wonder about my legacy, is all.”
The dragon thinks for a moment, then a sigh escapes him that sounds like wind going through castle walls. “Legacy or fame?”
You have no answer you are willing to say out loud.
“I thought you were ready to be done, fahdon. Did you not just say you had outlived…”
“Yes yes, of course. I am old and diminished. I do not know what came over me,” you respond. A cloud goes over the setting sun, and a chill brushes your skin. Though you had spent a couple centuries in the frigid climate of Skyrim, your Dunmer heritage gives you no natural resistance to the cold. The frozen stone under you has worsened the bone-deep ache in your legs. Stiffly, you use your staff to help you stand.
“I will tell you this. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis, but I believe you have something left to do.” (The vortex of time is turbulent)
“Is that right?” you respond, stretching your spine. “And what is that?”
The dragon looks up to the clouds. “Faal Naubostrun. It is not entirely clear, but the word I have heard on the wind is Aldolein.” (The Storm Comes.)
“Alduin?!” Suddenly the creaks in your bones are more easily ignored. You cast a glance over your shoulder, as if the dread destroyer might have materialized behind you.
“Aldo lein , though it means much the same. But you, Dovahkiin, are the one who has looked into the Elder Scrolls and seen the expanse of time. You have just as much knowledge about what that could be.”
“Or who.”
You had given your farewells to your oldest friend, and spent the night in High Hrothgar. Sleep had come instantly. Any sorrow you might feel about being too weak to ever visit Paarthunax again had been eclipsed by the struggle of journeying down the mountain. No, the melancholy would come later, you were sure, when you were alone.
After picking up supplies from the Whiterun markets, you now begin your journey home to Windstad Manor. Years ago the journey from there to the Throat of the World only used to take you the better part of a day. But you move slower now. Rather than cutting across country, you plan your trip to spend the night in the restored Hall of the Vigilant. Sore from taking the 7,000 Steps yesterday, you amble at a slow pace.
There are surprisingly few people on the road North. The usual mix of traders, travelers, and patrolmen is nonexistent, and your only company is the occasional butterfly or deer. Out of habit, you keep glancing up at the sky, but of course, there are no winged creatures swooping down other than a few hawks enjoying wind currents.
As the sun reaches its zenith, you see up ahead the familiar windmill of Loreius Farm. No, not Loreius Farm any longer, of course. Old Vantus had sold it long ago, (“Too many odd folk come ‘round here wanting somethin’ or other from me,” he had grumbled.) He and his wife had retired to somewhere in Cyrodiil. You wonder if they are still alive. Probably not.
You find the latest inhabitants to be disagreeable. The farm had passed through a few hands, but now it belonged to a group of Nords. They had expanded on it, turning Loreius Farm into a small settlement they called Siben. They were friendly enough, but never allowed travelers to stay long, nevermind spend the night. It was an issue of particular annoyance to you because you once owned the land behind theirs. After Vorstag had gone, you donated Heljarchen Hall back to the township of Dawnstar with the plan that it would be turned into a library, open to everyone. However, the young Jarl found a loophole in the contract, and sold it to the Nords. You tried to appeal to the group’s leader, asking him to allow at least part of the Hall that you had built with your own two hands to be allocated for public use. He politely but firmly declined.
Not wanting to be seen by any of the irksome Nords, you get a cowl of Chameleon out of your bag and put it on your head. The enchantment allows you to usually pass unseen, so long as you don’t get too close. Not wanting to make any extra noise, you slide your walking staff into the hooks on your bag and approach Siben. You hear shouts before you see anything.
“Rokvir, flank them! You two, with me!”
“Never should have come here!”
“Get the children out!”
You hear the familiar blast sound of a shock spell being thrown, and the boom of it hitting a target. Smoke suddenly starts billowing upwards from something, though a low hill and the bend in the road prevents you from seeing the source. Another shock spell gets thrown, and you hear agonized shouting. Out onto the road scuttles a spider a few feet tall made of yellowy-brown metal. It clanks towards you, and you instinctively place your hand on the hilt of your sword. What is a Dwemer maintenance construct doing here ?
You see a steel arrow strike the spider, but it just glances away. The mechanical beast throws another shock spell at someone, and you hear a groan. A Whiterun patrolman appears, swinging his sword wildly at the construct. You sigh, wondering if the city is ever going to train guards that have a clue what they are doing.
Drawing your sword, you jog up the road as silently as you can and get behind the spider. Still engaged with the patrolman, it does not see you. You bring up your weapon and bring it down squarely upon the dynamo core housing. It collapses to the ground, and you jump away. “Get back!” you yell to the guard. A burst of electrical energy erupts from the spider, shocking the too-slow man and bringing him to his knees. The force of the energy eruption dismembers the construct, and it now lies in motionless pieces on the road.
“S’wit!” you say angrily to the patrolman. “Have you never dealt with one of these before? They always…” You notice that he appears to be on the edge of consciousness. “Nevermind. Here.” You dig a healing potion out of your bag and hold it out to the incompetent guard.
He looks up at you with bleary eyes, blood flowing down his neck from under his helmet. “Are…are you…”
“Drink this.” He takes it out of your hand.
“Will you help them? The children…”
“Of course,” you respond, softening your voice. “Just rest now.”
Before going around the bend, you quickly check your gear. You rumble through your bag and bring out your old Amulet of Talos. “Just in case,” you mutter as you fasten it around your neck. Sword still drawn, you advance down the road.
The smoke has gotten thicker and darker as you approach the settlement. It is billowing from the roof of the structure nearest the road – the original Loreius farmhouse. The thatched roof is ablaze, and one of the walls has collapsed. You glance inside but see no signs of anyone. You walk past the leek and potato field and see two patrolmen lying dead amongst the crops. You get closer to the ring of new buildings, and then you see them.
In the center between all the huts and houses are dozens of Dwarven constructs. Metal spiders swarm the grounds, aggressively attempting to enter the buildings. On the balcony of a two-story building across from you, a patrolman is firing arrows at the spiders on the porch below. They hurl shock spells at him, and he dodges each in turn. In front of the small hut on your right, three spiders bash the wooden door. You can hear muffled screams inside.
Deciding the swarm is too large for stealth, you release your thu’um. “FUS RO DAH!” you shout at the trio of constructs. They fly backwards, knocking into other spiders. One smashes against a building and explodes into inanimate parts. You turn around in time to see a shock bolt heading for your face. You duck, and with your left hand, release a fire spell at an oncoming spider. Straightening up, you swing with your sword arm, landing a blow on its leg. The construct lowers itself to the ground, readying for a jump attack. You whirl to the side, firing another spell directly into its dynamo core. “Aim for the housing!” you yell up to the guard. “The power source!”
With the patrolman raining arrows, you fight your way through the spiders. You push your body to make movements it has not attempted in years and breathe through muscle resistance. Minutes are marked with blows, evasions, and strategic spell-casting. Thus you thin the horde of constructs.
You run to the door of the hut, pulling off your bag to free yourself for further combat. “Whoever is in there, now is the chance to come out and flee! Hurry!” You hear a latch click, and the door opens. Inside, you recognize a few of the Nord settlers. “Get to the road and make for Whiterun. Tell the Jarl what is happening here!” Several old men and women come through the doorway, as well as a woman in her twenties carrying a baby.
“The young ones!” she says to you. “Up at the hall!”
“The spiders got inside the hall?” You find it hard to believe that the constructs were able to penetrate the doors you had built with security in mind.
“They came from the hall. They just appeared out of nowhere and…the young ones are trying to fend them off! Please, my husband…”
“Run to the road, sera. I will get to the hall.”
A shock bolt hits you in the back and you are thrown forward into the woman and her baby. You wince, and regain your balance. Turning around, you shout “IIZ!” freezing the attacking construct, as well as two more behind it. You bring up your sword, but the wail of the woman behind you makes you stop.
“No! No…” She holds the bundle in her arms up to her face and says words to it in a language you don’t recognize. The blanket is singed black from shock damage.
“Is there a healer?” you ask. She continues murmuring incomprehensibly to the baby, a tear falling from her eye. “Sera, is there a healer somewhere in this village?”
“I’m a healer. Of sorts.” You glance over your shoulder at the sound of the male voice. A dark-haired Nord (or perhaps an Imperial - the man-races all sort of look alike to you) is dressed in bizarre attire.
“Attend to the child!” you bark. You dash back off the porch and strike the first frozen spider with your sword. The ice that had formed from your thu’um shatters, and with it, the metal construct. The guard up on the balcony nails the second one with a well-placed arrow. With your left hand, you throw a single fireball at the third spider. The ice melts, but the spider is not destroyed. It launches a jump attack and clatters into your face. You fall backwards, the construct landing on your skull. You hear a strange high-pitched noise, and then, nothing.