Chapter 1: Gods fucking dammit
Notes:
First fanfic ever posted
Heads up, I haven't written in ages and I'm a bit rusty. I've just had this idea for ages and had to put this down somewhere and now I've decided to publish it here
Also also, english isn't my first langugagethis fic is very much inspired by Vanessa. M/Dynamite124 (https://dynamite124.tumblr.com/) and Pat Mahoney (https://www.tumblr.com/nevermorepjm)
mod. They've done wonderful writing for Taliesin
I will put refrences in end notes if there's something directly quoted or the like, because who am I if I don't go above and beyond?
Link to mod: https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/93413Lastly, do not feed my or their works into ai
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morgan didn’t hate the snow. She hated the cold. She hated the heavy snow flakes falling from the sky. She didn’t hate Skyrim but it’s not exactly her favourite country right now.
At all costs she avoided the path with the snow, she stayed in the carriage tracks, the beaten path, she even walked on the slippery icy stones. Despite avoiding the snow, the snow somehow always managed to creep inside of her boots despite strapping them as tightly she could and tucked in her trouser’s legs. At least she was going to leave Skyrim, for a couple of months. She has arranged and prepared Tolfdir to perform her duties in her absence and she had promised to send him letters when she had arrived and departed from mages guilds. In her opinion he suited the role much better than her but she was simply better.
Even though she was looking forward to leaving the cold landscape she wasn’t exactly looking forward to when she eventually reached the Imperial city. Especially the university. Just the thought of it sent shivers down her spine.
Approaching the border she heard fighting. Against her wishes, she went off road and into the small forest just off the road. Gods forbid she’s curious about what the commotion is about. She’s always been nosy and that somehow always led her into trouble.
From the little she saw from her hiding spot she recognised the armours: imperials and stormcloaks. Thank the divines she’s leaving the country for the next six months so she won’t have to worry about this silly civil war. Hopefully when she’s back they’ve gotten their heads out of their arses and realised how wasteful it was. There’s much more pressing matters.
Behind her she could hear shuffling. In her hands, she prepared lighting bolts. She’d rather not fight a wolf or a bear. But that is expected in Skyrim, this country was filled with those pests. She turned around and fired off the two lighting bolts at the stalker. Who happened to be an imperial officer.
“I’m so sorry! I thought-”
She wasn’t allowed to defend her actions. With a swift pommel strike she was out like a light.
The rumbling from the uneven road is what woke her up. She shifted around, moving her arms up to her head. There was a strange tightness around her wrists. She opened her eyes, they had tied her hands. She checked her fingers for any new rings but the ones she had were gone. Her amulet was gone as well. And her bag with her documents, potions, books. God damn soldiers and their slippery fingers. At least she still had her cloak.
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake,” a blond stormcloak said, “you were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush.”
“Indeed I did,” she muttered. Looking around the carriage she saw two other men: a man in just rags and- by the divines that’s Ulfric Stormcloak. His mouth gagged and his hands tied in the same fashion as hers. He looked even more rugged. What was he doing by the border? Trying to escape the country? Coward.
“God damn you stormcloaks-”
Morgan tuned out the argument between the two men, no need to waste her time with unnecessary exposition. She shifted closer to the imperial soldier steering the carriage, gently patting him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, this is a mistake. You see, I’m the archmage of college of winterhold. I was just leaving for a work trip and I thought-”
“Shut up,” the imperial soldier said sternly.
“If you don’t believe me, send a message to the college. Right now-”
The cart stopped and the imperial guard stood up. He grabbed onto her cloak, pulling her closer. “Open your mouth.”
“Listen, I’m sor-”
With a swift motion the soldier put a piece of cloth in her mouth and tied tightly at the back of her head. “Shut. Up.” The soldier sat back down and the carriage began moving again.
Morgan huffed, feeling her mouth getting dry with the cloth inside of her mouth. Her big mouth and her ego getting in the way. This could have gone smoother if she had kept her mouth shut. It was still morning and hopefully they will have this solved by the afternoon. If they took the moment to listen they would all just laugh at this misunderstanding. If they just looked in her bag everything would make sense.
“Hey, we shouldn’t be here,” spoke the horse thief to Morgan, “it’s the stormcloaks they want. Not us.”
“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” spoke the stormcloak. Morgan rolled her eyes and leaned against the backrest.
Where were they even going? She recognised the road, she had been here just thirty maybe forty minutes ago. She wasn’t going back to Helgen? She had just left the inn more than an hour ago and now she’s going to be paraded through there? She needed off now. But that will make her just look suspicious and she was already, very much so, on thin ice.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Watch your tongue! That’s Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!”
Not this again. This is the only thing she has been hearing for the past several months from her students and some of her teachers. It was a hot debate among many of them, no question about it. Morgan considered Ulfric a murderer. Now, she wasn’t exactly an expert in nord traditions but she did come to care for them over years. In her opinion Ulfric didn’t follow the tradition and is ruining tradition by making ridiculous claims as ‘Skyrim belongs to the nords’ while in fact the snow elves were there before the men.
Morgan passed the time by ranting and making snarky comments in her head. Soon enough they were in Helgen. By one of the gates she saw the general speaking to a Thalmor emissary. Of course he was. She heard the Stormcloak complaining about the possible involvement in the ambush which would not be very surprising. They have ears and eyes everywhere.
The carriage stopped and everyone got off and stood in a line. She got a look at the announcers: an older nord woman and a red haired nord holding the list.
The stormcloaks moved in accordance with the list and the horse thief ran off, getting a swift end. She wished the children of the village didn’t watch this. That kill was just the first of many.
She moved up to the two nords, looking at them both. The nord woman chuckled when she laid her eyes on the cloth in her mouth.
“Who are you?” The red hair asked, looking up from his list. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.” He looked to his superior for permission. The woman tilted her head, considering it.
“She has it on for a reason. But just for now,” the woman decided. The woman loosened the gag.
“Morgan Elyzona Vyctyrrya Brucetus. Breton. I’m-”
The legate moved the cloth back, tighter than before, into her mouth when she got the information she wanted and returned to her post.
“Captain, she’s not on the list. What do we do?”
“Forget the list. She goes on the block.”
Morgan’s eyes widened and ferociously shook her head. This cannot be happening. She’s not on the list, you idiot . Be a good soldier for once.
“I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains return to High Rock.”
She shook her head even more. She looked more in denial that she was going to the chopping block than that their information was completely wrong. That’s not where her family is. They live in the Imperial city. Not high rock. She doesn’t even know if she has family in High Rock.
Her heart was beating ever so fast. She thought she was going to throw up. She prayed she didn’t throw up whilst she was gagged. The red haired man gently put his hand on shoulder and moved her to the stormcloaks.
Morgan felt her eyes sting. This is not how she pictured herself dying. She’s had many near deaths experiences here in Skyrim, every single one of them unexpected. She didn’t know the place she would die but here she could see the exact position and the how.
The first stormcloak was placed against the chopping block, his head forced down. Morgan turned her head away. She was not religious in any way but she prayed that her death would be swift and painless. She heard the man say his final words but not processing it. It was just sound to her.
A roar was heard in the distance. No roar she recognised. She looked to the villagers who looked as confused as her.
Thump .
The first rolled off the chopping block. Morgan could feel the acid working its way up her throat.
A second roar was heard now. This time much closer. She looked around to see the origin of the sound. There was no way to tell.
“Next, the breton,” the captain spoke. Morgan looked around, maybe there’s another breton that she wasn’t aware of?
“Breton!” She commanded, staring daggers at Morgan.
Morgan swallowed hard and slowly moved towards the chopping block. This was really happening. She repeated the same prayer over and over again to any of the Gods that will listen to her. At this point she was desperate enough to pray to the daedric princes.
Just like the one before her, the captain forced her head down on the chopping block and kept her foot on her back. Morgan was facing the executioner. She hoped he could see her begging eyes and he’d trust his gut that this was wrong. She doesn’t belong here.
Third roar and this one was just above them. Behind the executioner she saw a massive, black- whatever in oblivion it was. The ground violently shook when the enormous creature landed on the tower behind. The captain fell to the ground and the executioner lost his balance. She can run away.
Morgan rose up from the ground, ready to dash out of here. But she couldn’t help but to feel stared at. She looked up at the creature towering above them just like ants. It can’t be. She’s only read them in stories and fairytales. A living, breathing dragon. Dark as the night and eyes filled with red bloodlust. She slowly backed away, keeping her eyes on it. The dragon roared into the skies, the ground shaking much more than the previous roar. The skies were filled with dark clouds, the sunny day going away. From the sky fell rocks. Burning rocks.
“Dragon!” Screamed a woman.
Everyone scurried around as the dragon flew above the small village, destroying any way out of the village. Morgan spun around her spot. There must be another way out. Her eyes landed on another tower. A vantage point. She ran towards it along with other stormcloak soldiers.
The soldiers were assisting their fearless leader who first began cussing out the imperials before thinking of a plan. While they were doing that, Morgan burnt off her bindings and took off her gag. She ran up the stairs, the back of mind screaming how bad of an idea this was. She didn’t want to run around like a chicken without a head, she needed a plan.
Morgan got the first floor of the tower. She leaned over, putting her hands above her knees. She wasn’t usually so out of breath, she runs up and down stairs everyday. But with the dragon, the way her heart was thumping against her chest. She was old but not old enough to have a heart attack. Though, it felt like she was at the brink of having one.
When she felt like she started to catch her breath she began walking towards the other set of stairs. Just as she was about to pick up her pace, the wall to her right was broken by the dragon. She gets caught by one of the wall stones and flung towards the other stones, the back of her head hitting one of them.
The dragon stared at her with its deep, dark red eyes. It took a deep breath before breathing out fire. Morgan’s reflexes were way too slow. She reached her right arm up before she could cast a greater ward spell. Her leather armour and arm burnt but she persisted. The ward was cast and prevented her from being entirely engulfed in fire. The dragon was just as stubborn as her. It moved its head further into the tower. It finally began to sink in exactly how massive this dragon was. Her hand began to shake. It was just waiting for her to let down her ward so it could swallow her whole. If she didn’t know better it looked like it was smirking at her.
“FIRE!” yelled a woman outside of the tower.
The dragon snapped its head out of the tower, moving its focus to them instead of her. It moved away from its window, shaking the whole tower with the gentlest of movements.
Morgan took several deep breaths before rising from the stony floor. She wobbled towards the dragon-made hole and looked out. She could see two gates: one heading towards where they arrived with the carriages. The other gate would lead to another village then Whiterun. The other gate it is.
She looked for paths there. If she felt to get even more burnt she’d have to climb over the burning remains of the village. The inn she had stayed in earlier today was still somewhat intact and had a clear way into the attic; probably also created by the dragon.
She took a deep breath, shut her eyes and leaped from the destroyed tower into the burning inn. She miraculously landed on her feet on the attic floor. She laughed to herself in surprise and looked for a safe way down. If she was careful she could get to below. She carefully walked on the planks. She was getting closer and was ready to jump down, it was just below her. She crouched down, shifting her weight- the planks collapsed underneath her. She fell down and-
Morgan woke up outside of the inn and was being dragged. It was hard to tell who exactly was assisting her, her vision blurred and the sounds surrounding them were just muffled. She heard a man shouting. She looked ahead of them, a small figure was getting into focus. The figure came into focus as it ran towards a tall figure with red hair. A small boy, a boy she recognised. She had seen him running around with toy swords. Behind the boy was a man stuck underneath the burning rubble. His father. She asked directions from him. They discussed the best ale. Tears began rolling down her cheeks which she quickly wiped away. She never pictured herself to feel sorrow for people she knew for five minutes. How could she be surprised? The same thing happened ten years ago when the college was in shambles.
“You two, follow me!” The red haired Nord shouted to Morgan and her rescuer.
Her rescuer dragged her between a wall and a burning house. She looked up at him, the blond nord who was defending Ulfric Stormcloak’s honour on the wagon.
“I see you’re awake,” he said as he let go of her.
“Yes, I am,” she mumbled. She put a hand to her temple. Weat. She looked at it, a mix of sweat and blood. Fantastic.
“We need to get out of here,” the blond nord spoke.
“No, I think I will stay here. Warm and cozy compared to the rest of skyrim.”
The blond nord glared at her, clearly not appreciating making light out of the situation.
“We can go through the keep,” the imperial soldier suggested, ignoring Morgan’s comment. “As long as we’re here I’ll ignore your traitorous acts, Ralof.”
Oh, these two have history. Intriguing. Nothing she could focus on right now unfortunately. Hopefully something she could investigate further when they’ve escaped.
“Thank you Hadvar.”
As soon as the moment had passed they were back to running for their lives. Ralof held her hands as she jumped down from ledges. She shooed him the first time he offered but he kept insisting and thank the divines he did. As soon as she got off that first ledge she felt the whole world spin.
The keep wasn’t too far away. Hadvar and Ralof sprinted but Morgan had to slow down. Her head was wrecked from jumping up and down. And with the lack of oxygen from the fires she needed to rest more. She could feel the lack of air in brain.
She slowly ran after the two nords. The ground shook and she easily lost her balance, hitting the ground. The path to the keep was blocked with rubble and the dragon. She slowly stood up from the ground, cursing to herself as she was readying her ward. It was strange to see an expressionless creature grin. It wanted to trap her. At every opportune moment it had, it faced her.
She had hoped another convenient moment occurred. Like clockwork, someone was opening the gate she wanted to run through. Whoever it was probably saw a chance to run while the dragon was looking at her. Whatever divine was at her side was going to get- well, whatever a divine wanted.
It would definitely start breathing fire if she moved. But she had to. With a shift in her stance, she changed her spell to something less protective. In her left hand she felt the cold magic being summoned. With a deep breath, and a whole lot of focus, she aimed for its eye. It didn’t hit exactly in the eye, just underneath. The dragon was thrown off but didn’t seem all that bothered by it. In its confusion Morgan ran toward the gate and out Helgen. She sprinted towards the first tree she saw. She hid underneath it, covering her mouth to hide her heavy breathing. As if the dragon would be able to hear her from the sky.
The dragon roared loudly. Somehow, it sounded angry. It kept flying around Helgen, roaring loudly. In the stories dragons were portrayed as intelligent and wise. Or they were protective of their hoard and angry. This was clearly a very, very angry dragon.
Morgan peaked her out. The dragon flew away from Helgen and headed towards Bleak falls barrow instead. She hoped that it wasn’t going to Whiterun.
She got out of her hiding spot, feeling better from resting. She took the chance to inspect herself and see how badly hurt she was. Her head was clearly injured. Her right arm burnt and somehow her right side of her abdomen as well. She gently pressed her fingers against her chest. One of her ribs was broken.
After checking for wounds she fixed her braid, gently patting it to make herself look more presentable. It was in vain.
The closest healer could be at the Talos shrine. Maybe an hour's travel, maybe a bit more with how badly injured she is. She could heal herself but after her little stunt with the dragon she felt drained. If she could just rest and get healed by a proper healer she could handle the rest.
Walking to the Talos shrine took way longer than she anticipated. It must be late noon by now. Morgan had to stop several times to either catch her breath, prevent herself from throwing up, and to throw up. But she got there.
Closing into the shrine, she was met by a white horse. Its saddle and reins made out of black leather decorated with gold details. She could steal it but the way the horse was looking at her felt less than inviting. It would probably kick her.
Up the hill she hears the mutterings of a mad man. It wasn't exactly comforting hearing the Talos priest speaking like a mad man but she will take anyone's help right now.
When the voice yelled “I'm hallucinating!” She wanted to roll down the hill and drown in lake Illianta. But she persisted against her better judgement. The priest could be a skooma addict but a much more capable healer than herself. And if she had to sober him up, she would. With force.
At the top of the hill Morgan was met by the sight of blood and corpses. Dead priest. Dead Talos worshippers. A dead Thalmor agent. All of it is still fresh, maybe just a couple hours old. Could this have happened at the same time as Helgen was attacked?
Amidst the corpses stood an alive Thalmor agent. Clearly stabbed, most likely from the devout unless he got betrayed by his fellow agent. No doubt a better fate than his colleague at least.
Morgan felt a giggle brewing inside of her. She let out a chortle which turned into a giggling and then just mad laughing. Maybe because of the concussion or the sheer shock from what just happened. She couldn't differ if it was realisation or fear. She is going to die here if she doesn't get any healing. By the divines, she is going to die here and the wolves will eat her. Maybe dying at the chopping block wouldn’t have been so bad? It would have been a quick death.
Her colleagues will have no clue what happened to their fearless archmage. For all they know she's about to enter Bruma. No idea that she was caught in an ambush. Morgan couldn't stop laughing no matter how much it hurt. She leaned against the cliff side, holding her side.
The Thalmor spy turned to her with furrowed eyebrows. Who in their right mind would stand here and laugh ? A mad woman, clearly.
It took a moment for him to realise the state the mad woman was in. His delayed realisation most likely due to his own blood loss. Her braid was a mess, hair sticking out along with a lone twig. Dried blood on the side of her temple and in strands of hair. Not to mention the burnt flesh peaking through her burnt armour. Probably a survivor from the dragon he saw heading towards the mountains.
The Breton woman was probably hoping for a priest to heal her. “I killed your priest. Apologies,” he said, “in fairness, he started it. I was only defending myself.”
Morgan stopped laughing, looking up at the altmer. Despite the events she had just been through, he was covered in much more blood than herself. Definitely from killing all these people. She paused. Did he kill his own colleague? No, it must have been the followers.
“Oh good, I was worried that you just murdered these people on a whim. Glad you're reasonable,” she said wearily. Speaking and standing was an awful combination. It surprised her how she spoke two coherent sentences in one go. Yay for Morgan.
The high elf chuckled. “Indeed I am,” he said proudly before coughing. Gods damn Talos worshippers. He spat out the blood that was collected in his mouth and went to look for his bag.
“I see they also used self-defense,” Morgan said, her words slurring as she slid down the cliff side. Gods she's exhausted. Her head felt fuzzier by the second. The wolves can't get her though. Nor the agent. She had to stay awake. She pinched herself in her burnt flesh, feeling more alert than ever.
“It's just a flesh wound,” the Thalmor replied. Morgan chuckled. He huffed as he picked up his bag. He prayed he was lucky enough that the potion he had brought was still intact. He let out a disappointed sigh seeing the crushed bottle and his items covered in health potion.
Morgan paid close attention to the Thalmor agent. He seems to be out of luck as well. She could use this to her advantage. “I'll make a deal with you, high elf,” Morgan shifted around on her spot, straightening her back to appear more in control.
“Are you in a state to do that, breton ?”
“I heal your ‘flesh wound’ and you take me to Whiterun.”
“You do realise you will be aiding a member of the thalmor, right? No doubt the people of Skyrim would prefer to see us all dead.”
“You're stabbed. A Thalmor but no less a person. Let me aid you.”
“I survived the great war! A stab-”
“By the divines! I heal you, you take me to Whiterun. We go our separate ways. Deal?” Morgan insisted, looking up at the high elf with her slightly dazed expression. Maybe she wasn't as much in control as she thought.
The altmer felt the aura of authority from her. Nothing he's unfamiliar with. The dazed look on her face did make it harder to take her seriously. For all he knew she always looked like that. But, with her current state that was not very likely. He pondered the offer. He wouldn’t get very far with his stab wound and he's already been bleeding for the past hour. It would get infected in no matter of time. No citizen of Skyrim would aid him. He could also just heal it himself but felt far too weak.
The Thalmor crouched down next to her, wincing in pain. “What makes you so certain you won't suffer the same fate as the others?”
“I could just finish the job the priest had already started.”
He chuckled and inched closer to her. “A very foolish decision.” In her state she probably couldn't swat off a fly. It was already clear she can't stand on her own two feet. Killing her would be far too easy.
The Breton woman reached her hands out to the “flesh wound” with much effort. He took her wrist, pulling one of her hands closer to the wound. He could feel the soft, warm energy emitting from her hand. His wound is closing. He let go of her when he believed the wound could heal by itself. The Breton was quite the capable mage, as expected.
Morgan let out heavy breaths, letting her arms fall to her lap as she shut her eyes. “To whitewun,” she mumbled as she slipped out of consciousness. Her body tilted away from the high elf but he caught her before her head could hit the ground.
Thank the divines he has his horse.
Notes:
Listen, I don't want to get hopes up or anything
I did NOT for this chapter to be THIS long. I usually don't write very long chapters. I surprised myself
I am also working on the second chapter already. Something's wrong with me and it's the burning passion of two characters that fucking hate each other until they realise they're not so different after allDon't know exactly WHEN/IF it will be posted
okay byeee see you next chapter
Chapter 2: A Thalmor walks into a Skyrim village...
Summary:
Taliesin has reached Riverwood, his saviour still uncounscious. He stops in Riverwood, hoping some kind soul will help her awake this mystery woman
Notes:
I did not think I would finish this chapter so fast lmao, I started on it soon after I published the first one
It's a bit shorter than the last one and primarily Taliesin pov
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun was reaching dusk. There wasn't much light on the road to Riverwood so Taliesin had created a candlelight despite hating the blue light it emits. He'd rather not get surprise-attacked whilst having an unconscious woman. More importantly he didn't want to stress Neighomi, she's been through enough today. Poor Neighomi has to carry the weight of two people. If he wasn't so damn soft he'd dump the unconscious Breton woman at the side of the road and-
He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted or where he would go. He can't return to the Thalmor, not after the failure at the Talos shrine. He'd return to the summerset Isles in a box.
The anxiety of the future wasn't something he should concentrate on at this moment. He had a deal to uphold and he was finally seeing the lit torches from Riverwood.
The altmer got off his beautiful horse and gently patted her side before adjusting- he just realised she never told her name. Nor did he. It didn't really matter, this was just an exchange of aid. Saving each other's lives. Though she's much closer to her end than he was. She was hot and sweaty, probably a fever from the burns getting infected. Not to mention the obvious concussion, she hasn't shown signs of consciousness for hours. Besides from the occasional twitching. But she was still showing signs of being alive.
The three of them entered the small village, quaint and uninteresting as every other settlement in Skyrim. They didn't get very far until a guard walked up to them. “Thalmor scum, what's your purpose here?” Said the guard with the most heavy Nord accent.
“How dare-” he had to stop himself. No need for a repeat of what happened at the shrine. “My companion needs healing, quickly.” He said in a calmer tone, nodding at the unconscious black haired woman.
The guard took a quick peak at the woman then looked back at Taliesin. “Kynareth's temple in Whiterun is her best bet but I doubt she'll survive. That's a day or two trip on horseback,” the guard explained, also in a calmer voice. This is going better than expected. Except for the news that she probably wouldn’t survive the trip.
“Any proficient healers in this hamlet?” Taliesin asked, taking a quick look around the village. Right at the entrance was a smith, a general store, and a bit further down the road an Inn. Not looking bright for the breton.
“None here. Sigrid might be able to do some basic healing, enough to wake up your friend. Lucan Valerius might sell potions but he has just closed for the day.”
“And where does this Sigrid live?”
The guard points to the smithy. “She's the wife to the smith.”
Taliesin nodded and led Neighomi to the steps of the house. He walked up the steps and knocked, waiting impatiently for someone to open. He could hear voices inside. At least two men, a woman's voice he assumed to be Sigrid, and a child. One of the men opened the door, looking up at Taliesin.
“Yes?” The red haired spoke. A Nord dressed in imperial uniform, not something you see everyday. The man shifted to a defensive stance. Taliesin couldn't blame him, he was quite handsomely intimidating in his uniform.
“I'm looking for Sigrid. I have-” oh, what to call a total stranger who just saved your life. Well, he just called her companion but that didn't feel quite right. “I found this woman, she's in urgent need of healing and a guard told me Sigrid might be able to assist.” He explained as he moved aside so the Nord man could see what they're dealing with.
Taliesin watched as the man's eyes widened, peaking his head inside his home to call for Sigrid. He rushed down the stairs and gently got her off Neighomi, carrying her inside the house and put her down on the bed. Taliesin quietly observed as the woman rushed up from the basement with bandages and ointments.
“By the eight,” she gasped and rushed over to the Breton woman's side. Sigrid gently removed the woman's leather armour, what was supposed to be easy was now more challenging now it has been burnt to the woman's arm and side. Taliesin went to the other side of the bed and helped as best as he could, averting his eyes to not look at anything private or the disgusting burn wounds. With each other's help they managed to peel off the leather armour, revealing a thin tunic which Sigrid cut open. Taliesin looked away, returning his gaze when her chest was covered.
The Breton woman surprised Taliesin. Both her arms had arcane symbols tattooed. There were not many but the few he could see were mirroring each other. Except for one and a half which was now ruined by the burn wound on her right arm.
“I know this woman, I met her in Helgen. Morgan Brucetus I believe,” the red haired man announced. “The dragon separated us, I didn't think she was going to make it.”
The high elf snapped his head to the Nord. Not only wasn't he hallucinating a dragon, he recognised that name. Probably from one of many thalmor dossiers. Now, he didn’t read hers but he does know she's the archmage by word of mouth.
His heart began to beat much faster now. He might experience a heart attack. He looked back to the woman as he started casting a basic healing spell. Not as strong as hers but enough to begin her healing process. He had a chance to process the news he just heard. A dragon. The thought of it was ridiculous but what he saw flying above him earlier today wasn’t a simple hallucination.
“Where and when did you find her?” The Nord asked, obviously suspicious of the thalmor dressed altmer.
“Mid day by Lake Illianta. She was somewhat coherent.” A lie but he couldn’t go around announcing the massacre he caused or the exact location. Besides, it wasn’t a complete lie. They were close to the lake.
“Do you know her?” The nord was very obviously suspicious of the two. This could be a justiciar and his spy. It was fortunately much simpler than that.
“We didn't have the chance for proper introductions.” Taliesin answered, “she's not a thalmor spy if that's what you think. I met her today.”
“Good,” the Nord said, heading back towards the basement.
Sigrid and Taliesin spent the next couple of hours healing Morgan. They both were exhausted, especially the Nord woman who had to force her daughter into bed several times. The altmer was just about drained on magicka.
They both decided to call it quits for the night and continue the healing process in the morning. Morgan was healed enough that she'd survive the night. Taliesin got comfortable by the table, resting his head on his arms as he drifted off to sleep.
Morning arrived. Taliesin didn't get much sleep but enough to keep going for the day. He stretched out his arms and back while letting out a quiet, high pitched whine. Sleeping on a chair wasn't a preference but he was inside and not out camping in the wilds where spiders crawled into his sleeping bag or had to get bitten by mosquitoes.
He looked over to his ‘companion’ who was still twitching in her sleep. At least she wasn't twitching on Neighomi's back, that made her so uncomfortable.
He couldn't help but to ponder what an archmage would do so far away from her college. Maybe she had more initiative than her successor? He'd read about the events that occurred in the college, it must have been about five years ago since the eye of magnus mysteriously disappeared. Was she there? Did she meet his former colleagues that met their ends during those events?
Why couldn't she wake up? His curiosity was killing him. New questions kept coming to mind and the person with the answers was currently unconscious.
Taliesin got up from his chair and went to her side to continue healing her. It was looking better, her burn wounds not as infected as the day before. She would still need a proper healer and that's still in Whiterun. If he could just heal her enough to wake up that'd be perfect.
The early morning hours passed. Not long after Taliesin began healing Morgan, Sigrid and her daughter Dorthe joined. The small Nord child was most intrigued by Taliesin's magic and asked several questions, which he happily answered. He tried to answer as honestly as he could but there were things a child shouldn't know. Or her mother.
Around early afternoon, Sigrid's husband entered the house with newly crafted armour. He handed it over to the altmer along with an explanation: the thalmor armour was going to make the villagers nervous. That was the point. Regardless, he understood their reasoning and went to change. It was a simple leather armour with metal elbow and knee pads. It didn't feel as safe as the heavy cloak and leather armour he usually wears. It was good enough for now.
Later in the afternoon, Sigrid decided it would probably be for the best to just let the Breton to rest. She placed a cold, wet rag on top of her forehead before turning to Taliesin.
“You should rest as well. Get some air,” Sigrid suggested.
Taliesin nodded in agreement. He'd much rather continue but he didn't want to argue with someone who has been hospitable to let a Thalmor inside of their home and healed a total stranger.
Outside he could see that rain was creeping over the mountains. Despite Skyrim flaws, it was beautiful. Even now in the cloudiest of weather it was breathtaking. Looking up at the Throat of the world was daunting. He couldn’t picture willingly walking up the seven thousand steps. The view would most likely be beautiful but not worth the trip.
He strolled around the village. Children were running around with a dog tailing them. The local drunk stood outside the inn with an ale in his hand and sang out of tune songs. It hurt Taliesin's ears. It hurt his soul most of all.
With a brisk walk he quickly got away from the singing drunk and was now on the bridge. He rested his arms against the parapet, watching the rushing river and the fish fighting against the stream or going along with it. Living here wouldn't be so bad. No thalmor would think he'd stay in Skyrim, especially in a little village like this. He would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the nords and imperials. He could learn how to fit in more, get into wood chopping and running the sawmill if he must.
After ten minutes or so he returned to the village. The red haired nord (who he had forgotten the name of) stood outside the tavern speaking to another nord. A blond young man. He listened to the two men as he took care of Neighomi, who he hadn’t seen all day. He was so preoccupied with healing that he had almost forgotten about her.
He felt two sets of eyes bore into his neck. He took a quick look around the small village only for his eyes to land on the two nords whispering to each other. Taliesin petted his majestic horse before walking up to the two nords, immediately stopping their conversation. The red haired one exchanged a glance while the blond one inspected the high elf carefully, most likely trying to figure out if he was a thalmor or not.
“I saw a dragon yesterday,” Taliesin spoke, looking at the red haired one. The nord turned his attention to him, exchanging a glance to his friend.
“Then you saw correctly. It attacked Helgen,” the man explained.
“Black as the night, eyes the colour of blood. The size of a mountain. A roar that would shake giants to their knees and a fire hotter than Oblivion,” the blond nord said.
The nord’s description was not comforting but it painted a clear picture of how dangerous this creature was. It didn’t exactly match the description of the dragon he saw yesterday but he was experissing some blood loss and converts. “You two are lucky you survived. Not many would,” Taliesin said.
“Not many did,” the blond one spoke, “Me and Hadvar went there this morning to look for survivors. All there was left was charred corpses and embers still burning hot.”
“Hadvar, that was his name,” Taliesin thought to himself.
“We need to inform the jarl in Whiterun but we cannot leave,” Hadvar said, “there’s only one guard and if the dragon returns we need to be ready.”
The two nord men looked to the altmer, expectantly. He looked between the two, as if expecting they were going to explain as to why they were looking at him. Clearly, they thought it was obvious.
Wait a minute.
“You want me to go to Whiterun?”
“You have a horse. You saw the dragon.”
Taliesin thought about it. He was heading to Whiterun anyways but his companion was still unconscious. The deal was for him to get her to Whiterun, maybe she had a similar plan to the Nords? When she wakes up, he could just let her speak to the Jarl and he leaves. They can go their separate ways, just like they had agreed. He could just leave without her but he wasn’t one to break agreements.
“I need Morgan to wake up first, I can’t leave without her,” he explained.
“This is urgent,” Hadvar said sternly, taking a threatening step towards him. Taliesin didn’t flinch.
“And so is her health. She is stable but fragile. I don’t think she will wake up for another day or so,” Taliesin argued. He actually had no idea when she was going to wake, this was not his expertise but he hoped she would wake up soon. He did not care much for the archmage or their politics or the life of this one mage. The soft, weak part of him told he owed her and could not abandon her.
“Why do you need her to wake up?” The red haired nord asked, raising an eyebrow.
Taliesin rolled his eyes. That is none of this nord’s business. It was natural for nords to be suspicious of Thalmor, he was sure that it was second nature for them.
“For my own conscience. Not all Thalmor are heartless.”
The red haired groaned. He let out a sigh and backed away from the elf. “Alright,” he muttered, clearly not satisfied with the answer.
“Maybe Lucan has something that could wake her up? An awful smelling potion or a miracle cure?” The blond nord suggested.
The other nord shrugged, “You think that’s a possibility, thalmor?”
The thalmor spy pondered. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of forcing her awake but if they allowed her rest and time to recover. He nodded. “Yes. But, we cannot leave today. She is going to need to rest.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
The three men entered the store. It was small with a fire in the middle and the counter just off to the side. Against the wall were shelves filled to the brim with potions, common potion ingredients, baskets of bread and various vegetables, and books. The counter was equally as unorganised as the shelves.
It was not exactly a good first impression, especially when the shopkeeper was arguing with a woman. Something about a missing gold claw.
Taliesin cleared his throat, the two imperials quieting as they turned to the three men who just entered.
“Ah customers! Sorry for the mess, we had uh- a minor robbery,” the shopkeep explained. The imperial woman sighed and turned her heel to walk up the stairs. “I don’t know what you heard, but the Riverwood trader is still open!”
“Lucan, there’s no worries,” spoke the blond man and leaned up against the counter, “Listen, we need your help. There’s another survivor who’s been unconscious for-” he turned to Taliesin.
“A bit more than a day.”
“A bit more than a day,” the blond nord repeated, “and she needs to wake up. Do you have any concoction that could be of help?”
“Hmm yes. I might have something,” the shopkeep began rummaging through his many items. He threw books and tomes across the floor, moved baskets onto the counter. In the bottom corner of the bookshelf stood two big bottles of orange liquid. He took a quick whiff of one of them, his nose scrunched and let out two short coughs. He lazily put the cork back into the bottle and gave it to the blond nord. “That should do the trick. No need to return it.”
“Thank you Lucan,” the blond nord kindly smiled, holding the bottle with both of his hands.
They exited the shop and crossed the road to enter Hadvar’s uncle’s home. Sigrid was in the room preparing dinner and keeping an eye on the unconscious archmage. The nord woman turned around, her eyes landing on Ralof. She stopped cutting the vegetables and rose up from the table. “Ralof. What are you doing here ?” She said, her words filled with venom.
“I’m just here to help,” Ralof cautiously walked towards Morgan with Hadvar at his side.
“Don’t worry, aunt. I’m keeping him in check,” Hadvar reassured.
The two nord men took each side of her bed. Hadvar gently lifted Morgan up into a sitting position, keeping one hand on her chest and the other on her back to prevent her from falling over. Ralof opened the bottle. He furrowed his brows when he accidentally caught a whiff of the expired potion. He moved the bottle underneath her nose, moving it around in circles for the aroma to escape.
Morgan took a deep breath before coughing violently. Ralof quickly removed the potion and put the cork back on. Hadvar sat on the bed, holding her shoulders as she coughed and recovered.
“What in the oblivion was that smell?” She asked in a hoarse voice.
“You’re awak-”
“Yes, yes. We all know I’m awake,” she muttered and coughed into her elbow.
Morgan looked around the room. This was nowhere she recognised. She only recognised the three men who surrounded her, her rescuer from the burning inn and the man with the list. Most surprisingly she saw that the Thalmor spy was allowed inside a Nord's home. While the two nords looked relieved she was awake, the elf remained expressionless. Maybe that’s how an elf looks when they’re relieved when their rescuer is alive and well.
“Where am I?” she whispered, looking to Ralof.
“We’re in Riverwood in Hadvar’s uncle and aunt’s home.”
She slowly nodded in response.
“Do you remember what happened before you went unconscious?”
Morgan looked down at the bed as she tried to remember. She went to the Talos Shrine, found the stabbed Thalmor among the corpses. She looked up, her eyes landing on said Thalmor who was lightly shaking his head.
“I remember Lake Illanta and meeting him,” she nodded to the elf, “I don’t remember much else,” she lied but not that these two nords could tell.
The red haired nodded, satisfied with her answer. Taliesin was quite satisfied as well, her story matching up well with his own.
“We have quite a bit to catch up on.”
Notes:
I didn't think I was able to push out another chapter so soon lmao
I'm gonna spend the rest of my day now rest my wee little head and start outlining future chapters. I was surprised when I re-read and edited the chapter how coherent it wasAnyway, new chapter in a couple of days if I remain this focused on this story???
Quotes used from mod:
- I unfortunatley can't remember the exact instance when Taliesin says "I know why they sent me to..." in the game but it's not me who wrote that line
Chapter 3: An archmage, an imperial soldier, a stormcloak soldier, and a Thalmor walks into a bar…
Summary:
The two nords decide to catch up Taliesin and Morgan about the events that occured in Helgen
Notes:
I broke the ao3 curse temporaily and wrote a short chapter
Enjoy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morgan got some armour Alvor couldn’t sell which she understood. It was a prototype mix of leather and steel, and he had hoped someone would buy it. And people did, after he did major modifications. The steel chest piece on the prototype was uneven, the arm guards sat loose as well did the knee pads. The one who commissioned the armour was much taller than her. It wasn’t exactly his best piece but it fit on her after some modifications. He advised no closure combat with this armour which she assured would not happen. She offered to pay him for the armour when she found her bag but Alvor just shook his head, saying her going to Whiterun for Riverwood was payment enough.
After they got the armour sorted she tried to sort out her messy black hair. It was still in the same braid she made leaving Helgen. Before she was sent back on a carriage to face death. She shook her head as if that would get rid of the memories. She kept focusing on untangling her. Dorthe, which she now learnt was Hadvar’s cousin, sat down on the steps with her as she struggled with her hair. Dorthe had no interest in helping and wanted to learn more about the dragon. Morgan admitted to not remembering much from that day but told what she could. She had to pause her storytelling every now and then, to collect herself. She didn’t want to worry the little girl and excused her pauses with being too focused on her hair or feeling dizzy.
Morgan moved her hair to her back when it was finally untangled. Moving her to her back exposing her small, pointed ears. Dorthe looked at them, not because of her elf-like ears but because of the jewelled piercings. Morgan was bothered, she concentrated on making herself a new braid. Her hair wasn’t that long, just below her shoulders and the braid was finished in just under a minute. When she was done, she took off one of her earrings and handed it to Dorthe to let her take a closer look.
“They’re very pretty,” the nord child said before giving it back to her.
“I think so too,” she replied with a smile and rose up from the stairs, “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Dorthe.”
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. I think I will be very busy for a long time, with the dragon and all.”
“Will you visit?”
A small smile appeared on her lips, a feeling of longing. A wanting to stay. Little Dorthe didn’t make it easier but she has already planned other commitments. She crouched down and took off the earring that Dorthe seemed to like the most and placed it in her hand. “How about you keep it until I come back? Maybe your dad could make something similar and we could be matching?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The little nord girl beamed and rushed over to her dad who was just closing down shop. She could hear her showing off the earring and already begging him to get started.
Morgan rose up, her knees aching. Crouching in her state and her age wasn’t the best decision but it was worth it. She turned to the inn with a heavy sigh, dreading the meeting. Meetings at the college weren't uncommon, they had one every morning before class. But they were light, done in thirty minutes. It didn’t help that the Thalmor agent was looking at her, his arms folded and his eyebrows in a furrow. He looked like he was going to scold her.
She walked up to the inn and opened the door for the two of them. The elf walked in and she followed suit. The inn was small, no more than four rooms to stay in. The firepit was small, two chairs and a bench with a small table in between were situated there. Most of the tables they could sit at were pressed against the wall, very likely because of the lack of floor space. And lastly, there was a nord bard playing Ragnar the red. The only song she will be thinking about as they head to Whiterun tomorrow.
Morgan and the elf found the table the two nords were sitting at, they had already prepared the giant tankards of ale for all .
There was little small talk. Ralof began by recalling the dragon landing on the tower, Morgan being forced onto the chopping block and-
Morgan tuned out, keeping her hands on the warm tankard. She was there, she didn’t have to fully pay attention to the story. She was there, she saw it all happened first hand. She was there. The retelling of the story was just for the elf’s sake. She was there staring down the dragon. She was there feeling the fire and now had constant reminders of them. She was there surrounded by falling buildings. She was there as the dragon stared at her with a sharp grin.
She was there .
She felt her hands shaking, she gripped on the tankard tighter before taking a swig.
“- and then Morgan got separated,” Ralof spoke, looking at the breton who was drowning herself in the ale, “is there something you would like to add?” he carefully asked.
Morgan slammed down her tankard when she heard her name. She whipped her mouth clean with the back side of her hand as she looked at the three men who had various expressions of concern, “no, I think you got it all.”
“Did you see what it did before it flew off?”
“Nope.”
“Did you at least-”
“I got a pretty bad concussion. I don’t think my memory of the events should be trusted. We’ll just relay your story to the jarl,” she snapped before taking a sip from her ale, “I promise, we will get you aid. If not from the Jarl, then from me. I could send trusted mages,” her voice calmer now. She didn’t mean to sound so angry. It was this formal meeting in the inn. The wrong setting. It put her off.
Hadvar nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I need to admit something, I don’t think I fully understood how you two found each other,” he said, moving his index finger to point at the both of them.
Morgan and the high elf glanced at each other. With just a glance, it felt like they were speaking telepathically to each other.
“I really don’t remember much,” Morgan said.
“I found this poor soul at the side of the roof. Her hair was a mess, scorched and clearly had just- well, you saw the state she was in, Hadvar. I offered ever so kindly to ride her to Whiterun to get some healing. She exhaustedly agreed, not having much choice in the situation to be honest. I unfortunately couldn’t heal her since I had drained my magicka on three pesky wolves. They were ravenous! But they didn’t even get the chance to dig their teeth into me or my loyal steed. Either way, we rode here and we had to stop here in your quaint village due Morgan’s condition worsening," he dramatically told. Morgan looked at him astonished. Did they offer acting lessons to become a thalmor? Was he a student at the bard college before becoming a Thalmor agent? She had to be honest with herself, she did not like how he portrayed her but she enjoyed the theatrics.
Ralof and Hadvar just nodded during the whole dramatic retelling, probably as astonished as Morgan. “Yes, that makes sense,” Hadvar finally said.
The table became quiet, everyone just sipping on their drinks. No one was in the mood to share drunken stories or adventures. The tension between the two nords was noticeable. Not as bad as yesterday but it was still very much present. The elf glanced at Morgan, trying to see if she would know anything. She just lightly shrugged.
Hadvar decided to call it a night and thanked them that they were going to inform the jarl. Ralof left soon after.
The thalmor shifted seat to sit directly in front of her. Perfect opportunity for some interrogation. They both had their arms folded and planted into the table, leaning forwards to get closer up in each other’s face. Both of them were surprised they had the exact idea.
“So, you are the famous archmage?”
“What’s your name?”
They asked their questions at the exact time. Morgan did not like this. The elf was quite amused.
“I asked first,” the elf quickly said.
“I am the archmage. What’s your name?”
The elf leaned back, his arms folded to his chest. He unfolded his arms and placed them back onto the table, “You can call me Taliesin.”
“Not your actual name I presume?” Morgan remained stationed.
“No,” he simply said, “let’s just stick with the alias.”
Morgan nodded, resting against the wall. “Why haven’t you left yet?”
“We made a deal!”
“You could’ve taken your horse and left,” she leaned on the table again, staring into green eyes, “You could have returned to your embassy. Regarded as hero after killing your so called ‘Talos herectics’,” she whispered to make sure no one else but them heard her words.
Taliesin’s expression became sad, solemn even. “Yes, I could have done that,” he mumbled.
“Then why didn’t you?”
The elf leaned against the table as well. “Because I know why I was sent to accompany agent Sanyon,” he whispered, “I was expected to die there. And then you showed up and changed that!”
“And if you were to-”
“They would keep sending me on suicide missions until I die,” even in his whispered tone she could hear the fear.
She took a deep breath. First time she felt sorry for a Thalmor. “It sounds like I’ve doomed you more than saved you.”
“You did save me,” he reassured and leaned away from her, “even though I might have to run country to country. I’ve heard that Solstheim is nice this time of year.”
She looked at him, her lips pressed thin and her eyebrows furrowed. She felt really sorry for him. Taliesin could not hide his feelings regarding this, probably because of the alcohol. They sat in silence for a long time.
“Right, I should get us those rooms,” Morgan mumbled and went for- her bag was gone. She remembers now, it was still in the snow by the Cyrodil border.
“Rooms are ten septims,” Taliesin said and placed twenty septims on the table.
“Thanks, back in a bit,” she took the septims and walked up to the counter. She was pleasantly surprised that the inn keeper was also a breton.
“Hello, two rooms please. For me and the high elf,” she pointed to the table where Taliesin sat. She placed the septims on the counter and watched the breton woman take it.
“Right, your rooms will be on the left side. You get room one and two,” the noted in her book, “So, what’s your story? Just here to relax?”
“For the night, yes,” she answered, a bit confused by the woman’s question.
“We don’t get a whole lot of travellers here in Riverwood,” the woman continued. She was clearly not subtle about her suspicions. Morgan let it go for now, they were just staying the night. Probably never this woman again until she has to pick up her earring.
Morgan returned to the table and finished her ale.
“I have questions for you now,” Taliesin said, “how did someone so young become the archmage?”
She laughed and quickly covered her mouth not to spit out good ale all over the table. “I’m not that young. I will be turning thirty in a couple months.”
“Quite young compared to your predecessors,” he pointed out.
“Well, there were prior events. Eye of Magnus, your colleague Ancano playing advisor. I assume you’ve read about it in some dossier before travelling here,” she explained.
“Yes, but why you ?”
She sighed, making small circles on the table, “I became the archmage three years ago because of my initiative and leadership when we had acquired the Eye of Magnus and the events the played out afterwards,” she didn’t enjoy reflecting on those years but she took comfort and pride that it made her into the woman she is today.
“How did you become a Thalmor?”
“Oh, so we are getting personal?”
“We are drinking and in a tavern, the perfect time to overshare,” she said with a smirk.
Taliesin chuckled before becoming more serious, “maybe another time. I can’t go ahead and spill all my secrets in one evening. I have to keep the appearance of being the handsome, mysterious stranger,” he said as he got from his seat.
“Is that not a bit unfair?” she asked, rising from her seat as well, “You know almost everything about me and I know nothing about you?”
“Exactly,” he wandered off to his room with key in hand and went into his small room.
Morgan let out a sigh. So awfully dramatic. She took her own key and went to her own room.
Notes:
It's really funny the amount of time I spent researching and figuring timelines for this chapter. Maybe I will show it, who knows
It is late now, I wrote this in like 2 hours and did about 30 minutes of editing. I'm fixating so hard on this right now
Chapter 4: Pretty fly for an altmer
Summary:
Morgan and Taliesin finally arrives in Whiterun after a long trip from Riverwood
Notes:
The fic fixation has got to me bad. I've reinstalled skyrim, made a timeline of events but I'm also having a lot of with writing this
Also, taking some minor liberties with Skyrim's magic system because 1) kind of boring 2) to fit the story. If it's something totally absurd I will definitely change itAlso, hey, minor spoiler. The way I have searched the far and wide of the interwebs to find any crumbs on arcane tattoos might drive me to insanity
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The trip to Whiterun took longer than expected. They’ve already travelled for two days and to their surprise no wolves decided to jump them. Morgan got the honor to ride on Naomi which surprised her, horses usually didn’t like her nor did she like horses. But maybe she was just really bad at understanding them. Maybe Naomi was just good at understanding people and understood that this Breton couldn’t walk for too long and was kind enough to let her ride on her anyway.
The road to Whiterun was awfully quiet too. Not only between the high elf and the breton, the forest in general. It was as if nature had also run away when they saw the dragon flying above them. It was strange not hearing the birds chirp, deers running in front of them or not hear wolves howl.
Morgan kept herself occupied with her thoughts. She couldn’t stop thinking about their ‘interrogation’ in the Sleeping giant. She couldn’t picture why the Thalmor would want to kill him. Sure, he’s flamboyant, sarcastic, and answers questions with half truths and could steer conversation to whole different topics with careful precision. He’s also a murderer. He's a textbook Thalmor, but they what? No longer need him and just toss him out to fend for himself?
Howls were heard just up the hill for the first time in days. Taliesin stopped walking, Naomi stopping right behind him. Morgan began to pet the horse in an attempt to keep her calm. The altmer pulled out his weapon from its sheathe. She couldn’t exactly figure out if it was an abnormally long dagger or a very thin short sword. Regardless, it was beautifully crafted out of black metal with intricate details along its blade. She couldn’t see the hilt since Taliesin’s hand was covering it but she assumed it had the similar pattern.
From the hill ran two wolves down. Naomi was ready to bolt or even throw off Morgan but she remained on. She hushed the horse and gently stroked her mane. Taliesin on the other hand wasn’t having as sweet a moment as Morgan and Naomi. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Taliesin striking the wolves with precision, slashing the wolf’s front legs and twisting around to throw an ice spike at the one readying itself to jump onto his back. The second wolf was thrown feet away, hitting its back against the mountain. Taliesin returned his attention to the alive wolf, giving it a swift kick before slashing its throat.
Taliesin breathed heavily, cleaning off his dagger/shortsword against the wolf’s fur before sheathing it. He took Naomi’s reins and began walking again.
“Bravo,” Morgan said, lightly leaning on Naomi’s neck, “I must ask, where did you get that dagger from?”
Taliesin glanced at her with a grin and let go of Naomi’s reins. He took out his dagger and held it up, “Berwhale the avenger !” he announced overdramatically then put it away, “a gift from my father.”
“Must be quite special to you then.”
“You can’t imagine.”
Another two days passed. Morgan kept trying to inquire more about his dagger, learn who had made it and if it was maybe ceremonial in some way. Taliesin gave no proper answers to her questions. At least they were filling the eerie silence with light conversation.
They arrived at Whiterun or at least its many farms. She can’t imagine it being easy to farm in the cold tundra. There was next to no flora or trees for miles. She saw some lone trees but nothing like the forest they were travelling through a couple days ago. But the land outside Whiterun’s walls were dotted around with windmills, small farmhouses, and fenced in farms with hairy cows, goats, or vegetables that would survive the harsh nature in the tundra.
As they got closer to the Whiterun’s gates they could see three people fighting a giant. It was swinging its club around, warding off the two men with their greatsword and battleaxe. The ginger woman was shooting arrows at it, it appeared to become more annoyed because of it. It slammed its club into the ground, shaking the ground to make the three warriors fall onto the ground.
It was quite entertaining to watch. Morgan assumed it was the companions, she had encountered them a few times during her travels as well as the college, chasing after some stray troll that had sneaked its way onto college grounds.
It all became way less entertaining to watch when the giant caught eye of the three and began walking towards them. Taliesin took his horse’s reins and tried to lead them away. Naomi was too nervous and stayed exactly where she was. Morgan gently patted her, keeping glancing over to the giant. It was much bigger than she remembered. Her patting became a bit more erratic as the giant got closer and closer. She could see that the Companions had got back onto their feet and ran after the giant.
Naomi groaned in discomfort and threw Morgan off her back then ran away towards the stables. She didn’t hit her head against the ground, thankfully. Her head did feel fuzzier than before, like someone had stuffed her head with cotton.
Taliesin helped Morgan up from the ground and anxiously watched Naomi run away from danger. His nerves calmed when she had stopped at the stables. Such a clever girl.
The ground shook violently. The duo held onto each other for stability.
“We should probably do something, right?” Morgan asked.
“That would be wise,” Taliesin answered and let go of her, “I shall go for its legs, bring it down onto his knees and then stab it in the heart,” he turned to her, “you stay here and observe.”
“What?”
“See? You can’t even hear me. Naomi throwing you off wracked your pretty little head even more,” he sighed theatrically, “you’re in no state of fighting,” he said sternly.
Morgan was going to protest but let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. You are right. I’ll watch from right here as you swing with your dagger. What was it called again? Berwhale the coward?”
Taliesin gasped, placing a hand over his heart, “How dare you slander Berwhale with such a cheap insult? I’ll have you know you will never encounter another dagger like Berwhale!”
“And you can tell me all about it when I have killed the giant,” she said with a smirk. She climbed over the fence. The companions had led the giant away from the main road but if any passerby were close there was no guarantee they weren’t getting a club thrown towards them or a Companion.
Taliesin jumped over the fence and took out Berwhale when he landed on his feet. For claiming to be so ‘old’ she was quite spry. She got right into the action. If he didn’t see the ice spikes flying from her hands he’d assume she was doing some interpretive dance.
The mer threw his ice spikes at the giant’s knees as he rushed towards the creature. The two nord men were already hacking and slashing on the giant’s legs. Nothing deep, the slashes were probably like paper cuts to this creature. The giant stumbled about as it swung its club towards the nords. Maybe the paper cut wounds affected it more than anticipated. It would fall onto its knees any second now if it kept being this unstable.
With a heavy swing from the man with the battleaxe, the creature fell onto its knees and let out a man-like roar into the sky. It shakes the ground with its fist and club in a fit of rage. Taliesin and the Companion men fell to the ground but quickly got up.
Taliesin readied his second phase of his plan. Morgan and the archer kept attacking it at a distance, keeping it weak so it wouldn’t be able to rise up. He raised his arm with Berwhale and sprinted toward the giant. The giant swung his arm and club to ward off attacks, his club hitting the two melee companions, knocking them both down to the ground. The creature’s empty hand grabbed onto Taliesin’s arm who was just about to perform his first attack against the giant’s upper body.
Morgan watched as the exhausted giant rose up from the ground while tightly holding onto Taliesin’s arm who was swinging body vigorously to get free.
“Morgan!” he called out as he threw an ice spike against its chest which only angered it even more. It growled and grabbed Taliesin’s other arm. Maybe a passerby wouldn’t get a club or companion thrown at them, but an altmer.
The archmage pulled up her sleeves. How to best approach this without this strange high elf getting his arms pulled off or crushed?
They needed to coordinate if they actually wanted to get rid of the giant. The nord men with their big weapons seemed to be the only ones who could silently communicate to each other while the archer was doing her own thing, seemingly shooting arrows randomly at the giant.
“You! Mage!” the nord woman yelled, Morgan snapped her head to her. “We can aim for the left wrist. When they-” she nodded to the nord men “-have gotten it down to its knees again, I pin it down! You use some freeze spell on it when its leg is down!”
“On it!” Morgan replied. Maybe she was too hasty to judge the archer’s shots.
The nord woman shot the giant’s hand. Morgan threw ice spikes with one hand at the same spot, attempting to hit the arrows that stuck to its hand to irritate the giant’s hand. In her other hand, she prepared a cloak spell for Taliesin.
The giant’s grip on Taliesin's arm began to loosen. With one last ranged attack from the nord woman, it let go of his arm. Soon after, the two nord men hit just under the giant’s knees making it fall to the ground. The altmer swung in the giant’s grip, his feet just above ground. Morgan focused on the cloak she had prepared, two of her tattoos glowing just a bit brighter before she sent out the cloak spell onto Taliesin. Wisps of snow and frost surrounded him, emitting a cold aura. The giant a low growl of annoyance and let go of his other arm. He fell safely onto his knees. He jumped back onto his feet, ran up the giant’s legs and stabbed it in the eye, pulled it out before jamming Berwhale deep into where the giant’s heart is.
The giant let out an exhausted sigh as it slumped over. Taliesin jumped off the and looked at Morgan with a proud smirk. “What were you saying earlier?” he asked as he walked over to her, the frost cloak still surrounding him.
“Remind me,” she muttered. She leaned against the fence, her hand on her hip and her other pressed against her mouth. She pretended to cough but the cough became a bit too real when she felt a sour taste in her mouth.
“That you’d watch me swing with my silly, little dagger: Berwhale the Coward.”
“I did not say that.”
“It was implied,” he said. The cloak spell disappeared and leaned on the fence next to her, “Quite a bit of work you put in. How’s your head?”
“I think I might throw up,” she mumbled.
Taliesin let out an ‘ah’ sound and took a step away from her, gently patting her on the back from a distance. “Please don’t throw up on me again.”
“I wasn’t- oh gods,” she quickly turned around to throw up on the other side of the fence.
The nord woman strided over to the duo, putting away her bow on her way over. The two men stayed by the giant, probably trying to figure out how to remove it from the farmland. Even from a distance she could see wet blood on the men’s weapons and dripped down onto the ground and on the giant.
“Quite impressive work there. Ever considered joining the Companions?” The red haired woman asked.
“No,” the duo said in unison. Morgan turned back around, her face paler than usually.
“Way too busy,” she said, holding onto the fence for stability.
“I understand. Either way, thank you for your help. Our doors are always open if you reconsider,” the nord woman said, returning to her the other nords.
Taliesin pushed himself off the fence and offered his arm to the breton. She unsteadily pushed herself off the fence and held onto his arm with both her hands to steady herself. They moved slowly out of the farmlands and moseyed towards the Whiterun stables where Naomi waited for them. He petted her before they continued their way up the hill Whiterun was situated on.
“You’ve got a showy way to cast spells. Where were you taught?” Taliesin asked, still letting her hold onto his arm.
“My mother. And then a couple years at the Arcane University then I decided to attend my last years at the college here in Skyrim,” she answered.
“And you wanted to leave the warm, lush forest Cyrodil for cold, bare Skyrim?” He asked, baffled with her answer.
“I needed a change of-,” she paused, deliberating on how to best describe it, “-perspective,” she continued. Might be the subtlest way to describe it.
Morgan let go off his arm when they reached the gates that would lead them inside the city. Before they could enter they got stopped by two guards that were standing by the gate. They approached them with stern looks on their faces, both of them very clearly eyeing Taliesin.
“The gates are closed,” one of the guards spoke with a heavy nord accent.
“We’re here on the behalf of Riverwood. They’re worried about the dragon that is roaming around,” Morgan explained.
“You know about the dragon?” said the other guard as his face softened, “the jarl will want to speak with you two.” The guard walked away and opened the gates for them.
The guard with the nord accent squinted his eyes at them both. “We’ll keep an eye on you two,” he said sternly as he moved aside to let them into the city.
Whiterun was much bigger than she had remembered. Right by the entrance was the smith where a woman stood speaking to one of captains, probably ordering more armour for the civil war. More likely it was an order for improved armour for when the dragon attacks Whiterun.
It was more lively at the market, people walking in and out the tavern or the various shops. Merchants were shouting, claiming to have the ‘freshest fruits and vegetables’ or ‘silverware you never have to clean’. Behind one of the stalls stood an imperial woman with her daughter sitting right by her side who was pulling on her mother’s dress to get her attention.
Morgan glanced at Taliesin who was eyeing the woman’s stall. She looked to the stall as well, not seeing anything in particular. Either he fancied the woman or was starving.
At another stall stood a wood elf selling fresh meats from the wilds. Morgan looked at it and with that amount of meat it all couldn’t be fresh, it must be a couple days old at least. They probably kept it ‘fresh’ by keeping it in some sort of icebox. There was no way they could sell all that meat in one day unless there was a banquet at the keep.
The wind district wasn’t any quieter but it was beautiful. A huge, old tree stood in the centre of the district. Stairs leading up to Jorrvaskr and the famous Skyforge. From the stairs leading up to the wind district the two could see the smoke rising from the forge and the giant stone bird statue standing above it.
The wind district was beautiful but not enjoyable as a priest loudly delivered sermons about Talos by the Talos statue. Not many seemed to listen and ignored him for the most part. That clearly didn’t stop him, which a part of Morgan respected. The other part of her wished that his sermons were just a bit quieter.
Even from the top of the cloud district they could hear the sermons of the priest.
The cloud district was the most impressive part of Whiterun. Its height offered a view of the whole city. Just an hour ago they were at the gates and now it felt like they were at the top of the world. It was fun watching the people of Whiterun walking around their city. It sort of reminded of her quarters in the college. From her windows she could look down to see her students walking or, what happened most of the time, running to their lectures.
Taliesin nudged her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts and returned to the task at hand.
The duo walked into the Dragonsreach. The ceiling is high with rafters, the roof supported by wooden beams with carved archway supports connecting them. As they walked up the stairs, they saw archways curved in such a way it looked like the inside of a giant creature’s ribcage. In the middle of the room was a large firepit and two long tables on opposite sides of the firepit, the tables already set for a feast.
Up ahead they saw the jarl with his advisor appearing to be arguing. Beside the Jarl stood a dark elf with shoulder-length red hair with her back straight and her hands behind her back. She glanced over to the pair and walked away from the arguing men. When she got closer to them, she placed a very obvious hand on her hilt. Obviously as a warning.
“What’s the meaning of this interruption? The Jarl is not receiving visitors,” she spoke, her voice deep.
“We have news about the dragon,” Morgan said.
The dark elf eased, taking her hand off the hilt. “You know about helgen?” she asked in a low voice, obviously not wanting unwanted ears to hear this conversation. “Well, it explains why the guards let you in. Speak to the jarl, he will want to hear this,” she said, turning her back against them before returning to her post next to the Jarl who was still arguing with his advisor. The dark elf whispered into his ear and the Jarl held up a hand.
The Jarl looked at the two, he inspected Morgan with his eyes as if he recognised her. “So, you two were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?” he asked, resting his head on his hand.
Morgan nodded. “Yes, we did. We-” she cut herself off, thinking back to the events she could only focus on the destruction. The countless lives lost that day and all she did was run away. She opened her mouth to continue telling the Jarl everything he needed to know but she was unable to speak. A mental block of sorts.
“It destroyed Helgen. Nothing left except for crumbled walls with very few survivors," Taliesin said, continuing the story Ralof and Hadvar relayed to them, “It was heading this way before we departed Riverwood.”
“By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” The jarl said before turning to his advisor, “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust the strength in our walls? Against a dragon ?”
“My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once,” his housecarl spoke, now known as Irileth, “it’s in the most immediate danger if the dragon is still lurking in the mounta-.”
“The Jarl of Falkreath will view this as a provocation! He will assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him! We should-”
“Enough!” Jarl Balgruuf roared, cutting off his advisor, “I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” He took a deep breath, turning his attention to Irileth. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”
Irileth nodded and headed toward the exit of keep.
“If you excuse me, I will return to my duties,” the advisor excused himself and left the dais.
“That would be best,” the Jarl said under his breath. He looked to the duo, giving them his full attention. Taliesin looked quite impressed at the jarl, besides being unwilling to pick a side in this silly little civil war he was most decisive in the well-being of his people.
He looked to his travelling companion whose mind was elsewhere again. He gently poked her side with his elbow. Morgan perked up and straightened her back, turning her head to the Jarl instead of the floor. Second time today. Her concussion could have got worse after being thrown off Naomi.
“Well done you two. You sought me out on your own initiative. You’ve done Whiterun a service and I will not forget it. One of my servants will get you a token of my appreciation,” the jarl spoke.
“Really, it was no problem,” Morgan said with a kind smile.
“There is another matter that might interest you two.”
Notes:
I don't know if it's a me problem or ao3 problem but my end note from chapter 1 keeps showing up from me lmao
it doesn't really matter
Also more Morgan lore WhOO. Trying my best to drip feed it, I would like to spill everything but that's not as funMaybe more chapters will be posted this weekend???
Chapter 5: Heart to heart
Summary:
Taliesin and Morgan get assinged a task from the jarl and his courtmage. Before leaving they have other things to attend
Notes:
Writing this chapter took about an hour longer to finish because I'm catsitting my dad's/childhood cat this weekend. He needs constant attention, needs to be accompanied everywhere, cannot eat on his own unless I sit right next to him, stare at me as if I should know what he exactly wants, and licks my leg when he wants something in that moment. I would die for him
Anyway, semi long chapter??? Enjoy!!!???
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Jarl led them to one of the keep’s siderooms. A wall filled with books, a massive desk in the middle of the room that had various books and maps laid across it. There was even a bigger map attached to planks and wheels standing off to the side of the table. The court mage was sitting by his enormous desk with his hood on and was clearly in the middle of something with the way he kept his nose too buried in some ancient tome to hear them entering his office.
“Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help with your dragon project,” Jarl Balgruuf said, nodding towards Morgan and Taliesin.
Farengar did not look up. Too thick of a hood to hear anything Morgan guessed.
“Farengar,” jarl Balgruuf repeated sternly,
“Hmm? yes,” the nord wizard looked up from his tome, his eyes landing on the Breton. His eyebrows raised, his eyes looking like saucers. He rose up from his chair and quickly adjusted his robes.
“Go ahead, fill them in with all the details,” the jarl encouraged.
“Yes, of course,” he stammered, pulling on his cloak even more and fixing his hair underneath his hood before walking closer to the duo. He kept adjusting and rubbing his hands nervously “So, I have been looking into the dragons,” he began but quickly cut himself off. “I apologise for being unprofessional but you’re the archmage. In my office. It’s an honour!” he took Morgan’s hand, eagerly shaking it. “I’ve heard the stories and read your thesis about alteration magic! The part where you discussed- my, I don’t even know where to start. Just brilliant. Very enlightening!”
Morgan blanked on a response to her eager ‘fan’. She just let him shake her hand until he eventually let go of it. “Well, thank you so much. It was always a school of magic I wanted to delve more into,” she said with a kind smile, not mentioning how she rushed the very last parts because of a deadline.
“Maybe we could-”
The jarl cleared his throat.
“Oh yes, my research about the dragons,” he took a step back, straightening his back and clearing his voice. “I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search for an ancient tablet that may or may not actually exist,” he explained. “But I could look into finding someone else,” he said, eyeing the jarl.
“No, it’s alright. I’m not unfamiliar with delving into dangerous tombs.”
“And where exactly would we need to go to find this maybe existing tablet?” Taliesin asked.
“Straight to the point, I like that,” Farengar said, putting his finger on his nose and pointing to Taliesin, “No need for tedious hows and whys. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?”
Something in the air shifted where Morgan and Taliesin stood. She glanced behind her where he stood. It felt like he was going to say something. She didn’t know what or when but before disaster would strike she lightly jabbed her elbow into his stomach. He let out a quiet ‘oof’ noise before flicking her shoulder.
“I, uh, learned about a certain stone tablet said to be in Bleak falls Barrow - a ‘Dragonstone’, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites,” Farengar shifted a bit, clearly not saying the whole truth but nothing they would press about right now.
“And why do you need such a map?” Taliesin asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Research,” Farengar simply said. He leaned on the table where his map of Skyrim was located and pointed to Riverwood “so you need to head towards Riverwood. Enter the Bleak Falls Barrow, find the tablet, no doubt in the interred in the main chamber, and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”
“Is there an alternate route, to get there faster?” Morgan asked, looking at the map on the wheels for alternate routes.
“Well, yes. Before the western watchtower and straight towards the mountain there’s a small path. Though there are more unwanted dangers there. It’s close to a big giant camp and there have been sightings of several wolf packs there,” Farengar explained, pointing to the opposite side of Riverwood to where the small path was located, “You’d be saving a day’s travel but I would not recommend it.”
Morgan kept looking at the small path. It could save them a lot of time if they took that path instead if they’re careful enough. “We’ll get on it as soon as possible. I have some injuries I still need to recover from,” she explained, turning towards the jarl.
“Of course. Go to the temple and leave for the barrow as soon as possible,” the jarl said, “I will tell Hulda you two will be staying there for the night.”
Taliesin and Morgan returned to the wind district after, standing underneath the burnt Gildergreen. She saw it before the lightning struck it, it was beautiful with its ever reaching branches that seemed to touch the sky. She loved it the most when it was in bloom. It was beautiful regardless, it had stood through centuries and survived no matter what turmoil was thrown at it.
Morgan looked up to Taliesin who seemed as fascinated by the tree as her. He looks back at her with a sigh, “This is where we’ll go our separate ways.”
Morgan felt a lump in her throat when he said that and looked back at the Gildergreen, “I understand,” she murmured. She felt her eyes stinging. Her concussion and inert care for people made it hard to keep it together. He held up to his part of their deal. He helped her in getting to Whiterun and did so much more for her before reaching the city. He didn’t have to do anything else for her.
“So, where will you head next? Ravenrock?” she said with a sniff as she turned back to Taliesin.
“No, I won’t go that far,” he said, “I’m going to Belethor’s general goods,” he continued.
Morgan was a bit stunned, “and then where?” she sniffed again. The stinging behind her eyes disappeared and was replaced with confusion.
“To the bannered mare,” he said methodically, “you didn’t think I’d actually leave?”
“I just thought- maybe,” she let out a sigh, feeling her shoulders tense, “I just assumed you would leave when we got to Whiterun and you’d leave for- whatever. I thought you also felt a responsibility to speak to the jarl about Helgen and,” she let out another sigh, this one much heavier. “Why are you staying?”
“I’m curious where you are headed next in all honesty. So far you have survived a dragon attack, fought a giant, spoke to a jarl all in the span of less than a week,” he answered, “and now off to find some dragon tablet. I’m intrigued where you will head next. There’s also the matter that I can't exactly return to the Thalmor.”
“Right,” she mumbled.
“Alrighty then, enough emotional vulnerability for the both of us. Go to the temple and we can meet up at the tavern for some supper and bed rest for tomorrow,” he walked around the Gildergreen and waved to Morgan before walking down to the market.
Morgan entered the temple of Kynareeth. Walking in there she was filled with a sense of calm. The hanging ivy from the several archways and the potted plants of various flowers contributed to it. She walked to the middle of the temple, standing on top of the mosaic. It was hard to see under her shoes but she thinks it was supposed to look like a bird. She shifted her foot to get a better look at it. Definitely a bird.
An older woman dressed in orange robes approached her, asking if she needed any help. Morgan answered much too quickly and explained she was in Helgen. The old woman understood and led her to one of the - surprisingly comfortable - stone beds.
Getting healed didn’t take that long or at least it didn’t feel like it did. As Danica, the name of the old woman, healed her they spent hours talking. It was a delight, she had a twisted sense of humour and a special way of giving a different out look on life. Morgan’s life would have looked very different if she had met this brilliant woman when she had just moved to Skyrim.
Morgan examined her healed arm. It was scarred from her elbow to the end of her wrist, no amount of restoration magic could undo it. Unless she’d figured out how to travel back in time with chronomancy and told her past self to put off her journey to Cyrodil. But then who would inform the jarl about the dragon? Ralof and Hadvar were adamant they had to stay for Riverwood’s protection, would they still be as stubborn to stay if she or Taliesin wasn’t there? Would anyone have found Taliesin alive at the shrine or would he be as dead as his previous colleague?
Maybe it was a good thing she couldn’t travel back in time. She would be too overwhelmed with the ifs and buts. And also not having to worry about the when and where.
Most importantly now, her head felt much clearer. The ever existing headache was gone and her mood felt more stable. She had a tiny scar on her left temple from falling onto the table but it was hardly noticeable.
Morgan headed toward the exit with a quick thank you but turned her heel around to the old priest. “I really mean it. Thank you so much Danica. Not sure where else I could have gone,” she said.
“Probably the temple of Mara but they’re shabby healers. It’s for the best that they stick to love and marriage,” she said with a shrug, “though I’ve become more healer than priest. But, these are trying times for us all and I will assist in any way I can.”
“Your assistance has been very comforting.”
“Thank you, your words are most kind,” she said with a gentle smile, “but you had other matters to attend to, if I recall.”
“Yes, I do. I just needed to-”
“I know. Go now, it’s getting dark out.”
“Yes. Thank you so much,” she said once more just for good measure as she left the temple.
Taliesin went on a brief shopping spree, only picking up the necessities. Like camping equipment, fur cloaks, food that would last a long time which he bought from the Drunken Huntsman. He went by Carlotta and bought some apples. Well, quite a few apples. He did a quick stop at the Arcadia’s Cauldron for some health and magicka potions. He hoped they wouldn’t have to use them but to ancient tombs that are filled to the brim with draugr, spiders, and what-not. It was a silly notion not to bring some. He wasn’t sure when they’d return to civilisation with the way it has been going so he bought extra. It’s been pretty straightforward so far but knowing their luck they’d somehow get roped into someone else’s problem. Especially with Morgan’s bleeding heart for people. And his own. They were similar in that way.
Now to the dreaded last shop he needed to go in. He had assumed that the Drunken Huntsman would have some warm sweaters. The owner directed him to Belethor’s general store for such things. The utter despair he felt. Maybe he was too harsh to judge a man he knew so little about but the way he spoke of his hypothetical sister and that he’d sell her made him want to slap that Breton across the counter.
The little bell rang as he entered the shop. Belethor stood by his counter, reorganising his items. He perked up with a grin. “Welcome! Everything’s for sale, my friend! Everything. If I had a sister, I’d sell her in a second!”the man spoke with his cheerful salesman voice.
Taliesin tensed. He has such a punchable face. With an exhale his shoulders lowered and he walked over to the counter. “Need two sweaters,” straight to the point. No need to chit chat with this man.
“I can get some from the back. What sizes do you need?”
“One that fits me and my friend. She’s about-” he hadn’t considered how tall Morgan was. She was shorter than himself of course but he hadn’t taken notice of her exact height. They’ve been travelling together for days. Thinking about it, she had spent most of her time up on Naomi and when she had been standing she was hunching. He held his hand up to his sternum “-this tall.”
Belethor nodded and went to the room behind to search. Taliesin waited. And waited. Gods it’s boring to wait.
“What brings a breton to Skyrim?” Who in oblivion possessed him to ask something like that? He leaned on the counter and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Belethor shouted from the backroom before he returned with two sweaters, one blue the other red. “Why, the wonderful weather and the hospitable people, of course! Not to mention my great fondness for dragons and petty political power struggles,” he set down the sweaters and told the price before he continued with his long winded answer. “Ah, but without a doubt, the most compelling feature of this frozen wasteland is the volley of inane questions leveled at me on a regular basis.”
Unfortunately Taliesin had to admit to himself, no matter how painful and agonizing, that was a little funny.
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” he said as he picked up the sweaters and left the shop.
Morgan entered the Bannered mare, met by the many smells and sounds of a lively tavern. Everyone talking enjoyed their various spirits, most likely ale, while some nord played one of five songs the Bards College taught.
It took a while for her to find her travelling companion. From the counter she could see sitting in a corner with a chair next to him with various items on it. She walked over and took the free seat by him.
“You look better.”
“I feel better,” she said. She glanced at the pile of stuff with the apples on top and then to Taliesin, “I see your shopping spree went well.”
“Yes, a very successful venture,” he said proudly.
A silence fell between them. Morgan looked at the nord playing something on his lute. No song thank the divines. Her headache was gone, she didn’t need another.
Taliesin eyes fell onto Morgan’s arm that was resting on the table. Just underneath her shirt he could see the burn scar. They looked much better than when Sigrid and he healed them. “May I ask a question, if it’s not too personal?” he asked.
Morgan turned her attention to him. “If I get to ask one as well,” she requested.
“Of course, I’m an open book,” he said theatrically. “Back in Riverwood, I saw you were tattooed with arcane symbols. Just decorative I assume?”
“Oh no! They have a purpose,” she rolled up her sleeve of her none scarred arm to show her tattooed forearm . “Now, these two symbols are just here to help with spellcasting. The Psijic Order mystics believe that magicka can-” she paused, considering how to describe it, “- now, all creatures are filled with some sort of magicka. That’s why we can use bugs and plants for potions, every living thing has some level of magical properties. And the Psijics mapped out where these magicka properties channel. So, the location on my forearm is a primary spot for spellcasting while, let’s say, the top of my shoulder can channel frost magic better than my fingers. There’s mages from the psijic order who have their whole body covered in” she explained.
Morgan hadn’t paid full attention to Taliesin during her explanation but looking at him, he looked intrigued. A sense of relief was lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t feel guilty about it, it was just this of being pent up with information and it all just fell out of her mouth all at once without being able to stop. She missed this feeling of rambling. Gods, she missed her college or teaching.
“That is quite fascinating,” he said, taking a closer look after her explanation. “How did you learn about this?”
“During the Eye of Magnus ordeal they popped up every now and then before they took the eye. When things were back in order I decided to learn more about them and read about arcane tattoos. I only started with one to see if it would work. I had to get the proper ink and tools for it of course but they’ve worked quite well.”
“You certainly proved its usefulness earlier today,” he said, leaning against his chair.
“Speaking of,” she pulled down her sleeve and rested her arms on the table, “on her way here and while fighting you keep bringing up your dagger’s name. Is there some sort of altmer culture? Ceremonial dagger?”
“It is indeed. My trusty ceremonial dagger. We have quite the history, you see,” he said, getting his back off his chair to straighten his back. “Hard to believe it, but when I was a child, I was nothing at all like the strapping young soldier you see before you. No no, on the contrary: I was an awkward schoolboy that daydreamed and read books after school, and had quite the sweet tooth and never exercised much,” he chuckled fondly, his smile disappearing. “Never really had many friends either. My father insisted I enlist with the Thalmor, and of course I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said softly, trying to approach this gently.
“I’m sorry, who’s telling the story? You or me?” he sounded offended but Morgan couldn’t really tell if she had actually hurt his feelings by saying that or if it was part of the facade he had built up.
“Anyway, one day, he brought me into his study to help him open a dresser that was giving him a bit of trouble. After I opened it on the first try, I laughed at him. He then sat me down. To scold and beat me I thought - as was his custom. But then, as his mouth opened, out flowed the most beautiful, elaborate story my young mind had ever heard! I was the ‘chosen one’!” he exclaimed, “destined to slay a great enemy of the people: a great dragon that threatened the safety and purity of our good land. He showed me this dagger,” he paused, taking out Berwhale and placed it on the table, “ ‘Berwhale the Avenger’ he called it. And bayed me to take it, that I would use it to slay the great beast once and for all!” he exclaimed and grabbed its hilt. He took a sigh and let go off his dearly beloved dagger. “But to train with it, I would need to enlist in the ranks of the Thalmor, who would show me how to properly wield it.”
Morgan swallowed hard before she asked her follow up question. “Was it uhm- Was this dragon, by chance, a black dragon who burn down villages on a whim?”
“No actually. As it turns out, the ‘Great Dragon’ was the evil of Talos worship, and my father was just a bigot. Hurray for metaphors,” he said sharply. “It was all a lie. An elaborate ruse to get his lazy sod of a son out of the house and earning his living. The dagger was worthless,” he muttered, tucking Berwhale away.
“Taliesin, I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes filled with pity.
“Don’t be. I’m not,” he said flatly, “It helped me develop the courage I needed to get out on my own. I suppose you call that a big win for parenting,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Take note if you ever have children of your own: with just the right balance of carrots, sticks, and fantasies you can make a soldier out of a sap. Anyway, the joke’s on him really,” a proud smile crept onto his face, “I’ve since learned that the art of blacksmithing and enchanting, so now Berwhale the Avenger is a a weapon worthy of his impressive title,” he leaned back onto his chair, arms folded. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Morgan had placed her hand inside the palm of her hand, her head tilted. “A very strange name for a dagger, I got to say. But I’m glad everything worked out for you,” she said. She watched his face scrunch up, leaning forward and pointing an angry finger at her.
“Watch your tongue, miscreant! I let your earlier comment from earlier today slide due to your concussion. Berwhale will avenge my honor deep in your backside!” he threatened. It was not a threat Morgan took seriously though. He put down his hand. “You’re lucky you’re pretty and I’m inclined to let this comment slide. That and you did save my life,” his mumbled. “But you’re right, everything did work out eventually. Without him, I might have never met my new companion.”
Before they could jump to a different topic to ask each other, a young redguard woman walked over with two plates of food and drinks, “here you two go. Thank you for your patronage,” she said before walking back into the kitchen.
Morgan frowned at the food and then looked at Taliesin, “You ordered food?”
“I said we were meeting for supper. You were away at the temple for ages so I took some initiative since we are those kinds of people now. Or well you have always been, archmage,” he said with a sly smirk.
“Thank you,” she said and began eating. She swallowed before talking again, “I was thinking about tomorrow. TWe can take the path to Bleak Falls Barrow that’s closer to the city. It seems to be more applicable with the whole dragon situation going on. We don’t know when another attack will occur and having the dragon tablet could prove beneficial.”
“You want to willingly take the dangerous path to a possibly even more dangerous ancient nord ruin?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, “You’ve just today fully recovered. Farengar said there’s dangers on that path. Pack of wolves. Giant camps. We don’t need to put ourselves in unnecessary danger. There’s also the question if this tablet even exists.”
She sighed, clenching her hands into fists under the table. “Yes, I understand. But this is the matter of thousands of lives. Maybe the tablet has very important information to completely stop this black dragon that we need to get to quickly before another Helgen happens!” she argued, “maybe there isn’t a tablet but something else that could prove useful!”
“The tablet or other mystical items won’t matter if we are injured on the way or, worst case, die , ” Taliesin said sternly, “this will all be pointless if we die before we even get to the location. And I personally enjoy living.”
“Me too. But I value the lives of thousands over just one. If that means I have to face more dangers, fine,” her voice was softer but there was a strain of annoyance in her voice.
“What you are arguing is implying we get there alive. If you think us two can fight a giant without the assistance of three companions you are-” he stopped himself and took a deep breath. “If we take the safe path that ensures the lives of thousands,” he gently said, hoping that would get through to her.
Morgan pressed her lips into a thin line, not looking at him as she poked a potato with her fork. “We’ll take the safe path then,” she mumbled after a moment of silence.
“Good,” he whispered. Helgen and the dragon must have really rattled her. He thought it was the concussion making her unable to remember certain events. Perhaps she remembers it too clearly. Nothing he was going to press now. If he pushed he was sure she’d burn him to cinders.
The rest of the evening was spent in silence as they ate their food and drank their wine. The tension did not go away but it had eased. Morgan was still not looking Taliesin’s way. He couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment for arguing in a tavern, even though it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, or if she was in deep contemplation about – whatever. Anxious about tomorrow possibly or planning on leaving without him. No way to tell.
Maybe they both were just tired from the day. They had just arrived in Whiterun without any real moment to sit down and relax until now.
Morgan rose from her seat and left her empty plate and mug at the table, “did you find out where our room is?” she asked quietly.
“Second floor, third room on the left.”
She nodded and headed towards the stairs that led to their room. Maybe she was just tired. A good night's sleep would do her good. For now, it was just himself and Berwhale.
Notes:
next up on the agenda is bleak falls barrow
i dread it because I already have it planned. I hate, HATE, writing fight scenes but I've used this fanfic to practice my writing so it's just practiceALSO regarding the arcane tattoos. The only source for arcane I could find was uesp's wiki in Lore:Magic and Online: Mystic Magicka Flow Body Tattoos. I definitely took some creative liberties for this and will continue
Chapter 6: How to kill a bandit with one spell or less
Summary:
Morgan and Taliesin reach Bleak Falls
Notes:
Heeeeey
I’d like to personally thank the clair obscur soundtrack that I listened to while I wrote fight scenes. In particular “Une vie à peindre”. Really helped me writing fight scenes lmao
Also would like to thank my childhood cat, Pelle, who I had the pleasure spending the weekend with and was also at my side the entire time. He was constantly demanding pets, attention, and company to his food bowl. I spent the entire weekend planning future events, outlining future chapters and I'm really excited to write itHeads up for this chapter, lots and LOTS of violence. There's also depictions of death and a mentions of corpses
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The road to Riverwood wouldn’t take as long as last time. No more stops for throwing up or having to rest early. At the courtesy of the jarl, she got to borrow a horse. No more slow strides because there was only one horse. Nothing she was overjoyed about but it did ease her anxiety that they’d get there before – well, before anything bad happened.
The tension from the night prior was still present. At least in her chest, it was tight with guilt. They had only talked briefly during the morning, mostly making sure they were ready to depart. Her behaviour was like a toddler’s tantrum. A childish outburst. Then giving him the cold shoulder for the rest of the night. It was immature. She tried to gesture to the horse to ride faster, clicked her tongue, and moved around with the horse’s reins. Something, anything, to tell the horse to go faster. She cursed under her breath and let out a heavy sigh.
“Taliesin,” she called out.
He stopped Naomi to a halt and began riding again when she had caught up. “Yes?” he inquired
“I’m sorry about last night. It was,” she sighed, “I didn’t mean to get so angry about… planning our path. It was really immature of me and I’m really sorry for raising my voice and ignoring you. Especially after what you had told me about your father. I’m really, really sorry.”
“It was incredibly immature. But I can understand why you got angry. So, apology accepted,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. She returned a smile. Her smile felt forced. It didn’t feel right for him to apologise that easily and then just smile about it. It didn’t feel earned.
Reaching Riverwood went much faster when they both were on horseback, twice as fast actually. It was early afternoon when they had reached the outskirts of Riverwood. They went past its bridge and headed straight upwards the mountain. It was relatively warm even for Skyrim. It was the end of summer now and in two weeks fall would roll around. The temperature wasn’t an instant shift, the first week of Hearthfire was always a bit warmer. At least in Winterhold. She didn’t really have an idea how it looked for the rest of Skyrim. In Cyrodil the summer warmth would stay until the end of Hearthfire at least.
When they reached the snowier parts of the mountain, the cold was very present. It was as if summer didn’t exist up here. They both put on their sweaters and cloaks to protect them from the cold air. They tried riding closer to each other while Morgan held a small flame in between them. The thought was kind but not great when she accidentally set Taliesin’s coat on fire. It was for a short moment and they quickly put it out. From then on they decided to ride separately.
Neither of them were surprised when another struggle occurred. The biting wind was picking up. The snow had yet to obscure their vision. They needed to find shelter before it did.
Not far up ahead Taliesin could see a tower, seemingly unoccupied except for the one man outside. They got off their horses and approached closer on foot to not get unwanted attention. They took cover from behind a rock, trying to see if there was anyone else at the tower. There must be since the man was clearly keeping look out. Morgan was ready to leave until she saw a head peak out at the top of the tower. She looked down to Taliesin who was just about to pull her back down.
“There’s someone up there,” they both said in unison and exchanged disturbed looks to each other.
“We’ll freeze to death if we stay out here,” Morgan said, crouching down next to Taliesin again.
“We could always talk to them.”
“Because that went so well for you last time,” she muttered, “talking to them seems like our best option though.”
“It seems so. I’d also like to avoid further bloodshed,” he agreed flatly.
They approached the man standing outside the tower. He wore some sort of hide armour with his arms exposed. How was he not freezing? Even a nord born and bred from Skyrim would admit it was awfully cold up here.
“Hello!” Morgan said cheerfully, hugging herself tightly. The nord looked down at her with a glare, his arms tightly folded over his chest. “Just quick question-”
“Leave,” the nord bellowed, putting his hand on his axe that was attached to his hip.
“Listen, we just want to take shelter until the wind calms. We won’t go snooping around your stuff, we won’t cause a fuss or disturb you,” she insisted, her voice stern.
“I’m warning you, back off!” he growled, pulling out his axe with a swift motion right in front of her face. If it was just half an inch closer she’d get an awful cut on her nose.
Morgan took a step back and stared at the bandit. “What is wrong with you?!”
The nord looked at them up and down, most likely estimating how much money they have and if they’re worth the trouble. After a second’s deliberation the man swung at Morgan again. She stepped aside, throwing a ball of lighting at him as Taliesin stabbed him in the chest. The man fell down to the snowy ground, twitching violently from the electricity. His blood turned the pure white snow to a red. Morgan threw an ice spike to his head so he wouldn’t have to suffer.
The inside of the tower was bare. The first floor had a lit torch and a table with a backpack, perfectly squeezed in between the stone stairs and the wall. On the floor of the table was a body, nothing dressed a typical bandit. She looked like a hiker with her geared up outfit. Morgan averted her eyes from the corpse, her throat getting thicker. Sick bastards.
They had to walk outside on a makeshift wooden platform to reach the second floor. The inside of the second floor was covered in snow. From the entrance they could see another table with food and bags of coins, a couple sleeping bags. The most apparent part of this part of the tower was the rotting and broken wooden plank ceiling. One massive hole in the middle of it. Inside of the tower they saw a wooden staircase leading up to the top, half of it covered in icy snow. At the top of the stairs stood a man with his bow ready. He fired off an arrow towards them as soon as they entered, no time for any sort of diplomacy. In fairness, they must have seen them kill their- Co-worker? Co-bandit?
Taliesin hurled an ice spike at the archer as he rushed towards the archer. Morgan created an ice cloak in her hands and reached her hands out towards her companion when it was done, wisps of ice and snow surrounding him. Just like the fight with the giant, anyone in or close to it would get hurt. Which suited well for him.
He kept forcing the archer to walk backwards, giving the man no chance to retaliate. The archer tripped onto the last step and fell onto his back. Taliesin adjusted his grip on Berwhale, quickly plunging him into the man’s throat.
“Idiot,” a voice said behind him. Taliesin pulled out Berwhale and turned around to the disembodied voice. Behind him stood another archer, bow and arrow ready. They let go of the arrow, hurling towards him. He barely had time to register what was happening. Out of reflex he ducked and slipped down a couple of the steps, going past Morgan who held her right hand up with a brownish orange light emitting. She ventured up the stairs slowly, her eyes fixed on the mid air frozen arrow despite the harsh winds. Another arrow fired her way. Morgan moved her left hand upwards, the same brown orange light emitting as the arrow stopped mid air. With a deep inhale, the arrows took a sharp turn around and flew back to where it came from. A loud thump coming from upstairs. She sat down on their stairs and rubbed her temples.
“Are you alright?” Taliesin asked, walking up the stairs as he dusted off the snow.
“I will be,” she mumbled, “not used to alteration magic. And telekinesis. Very useful though.”
“To imagine you can use something else than just destruction spells,” he said as he walked past to examine the damage from their scrap. The tower was as damaged as they had got there. The only difference was the two dead bodies. The one who surprised Taliesin had their arrow stuck in their throat.
“At least I have some variety. You just throw your ice spikes and stab people with Berwhale and call it a day.”
“It’s efficient!” he argued, “besides, I know at least twenty different ways to kill someone with Berwhale. If you pay some attention you might see them. I have variety .”
After some respite, they started removing the bandit bodies. They shoved off the two bandits from the top of the tower, letting the wolves take them. The one at the entrance was lightly covered in snow. They just shoved him off to the side so they wouldn’t trip over the body when they were leaving the tower.
Morgan contemplated on what to do with the hiker’s body. It felt wrong leaving her but they weren’t going to any civilisation for awhile. She looked through her items to find some sort of identification or sign that someone knew that she would be here. There was moldy bread and a journal in her backpack. No name attached but the first page she wrote she started travelling from Rorikstead. It was nowhere they could go now or had plans for. Morgan took her journal and put it in their pack. Maybe one day they would go there and she could find the hiker’s family or friends?
The path back to their horses was much more treacherous. The wind whining through the air. Morgan was convinced her fingers were frozen to her horse’s reins and they’d fall off if she tried to remove them. They couldn’t see anything ahead of them except the one singular torch on the second floor of the tower.
The horses were led inside of the tower and got to stay on the first floor of the tower. It was tight but neither of them wanted to stay out in the storm and freeze. Morgan and Taliesin on the second under the somewhat intact ceiling. It was still cold but the tower protected them from the worst of it.
“This was supposed to be the safe path,” Morgan chuckled and turned to Taliesin.
“Ah, don’t jinx it! There could be an avalanche or a dragon swooping down any minute,” he said dramatically. “I’d consider this relatively safe,I don’t think anyone would have predicted bandits would hide up here. But we got a very nice tower from them.”
She chuckled again. “I’d rather not stay here.”
“It’s a fixer upper, you just need to have some vision. We could get someone to fix the ceiling. A nice sofa here would be nice over there and a painting.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I see it,” she sighed. She turned her head to him, her smile falling flat. The guilt was crawling back into her chest as all the adrenaline settled. “Listen, I’m still really sorry about yesterday.”
He turned to her with a frown. “I know. Why are you bringing it up again?”
“Because I still feel bad about it. And just- I just want to know I’m sorry.”
“ Just don’t do it again. We had a disagreement, and we figured out a solution. It’s water under the bridge.”
She nodded in response.
The harsh winds on top of the mountains calmed after a couple hours. They took the time to rest and eat before continuing their path up to Bleak Falls Barrow. The path was too narrow to continue on horseback so they left them in the tower. It wasn’t the easiest decision, it was like they were abandoning them. But it was safer in the tower, they’d be protected from the wind and hopefully any wild, feral animals.
Morgan looked at the hiker’s body before they left. Felt wrong leaving her there but if they put her outside of the tower she’d be eaten by the wolves. They have her journal. There’s not much to do than finding someone that knows her who can honour her memory.
They reached the stairs of Bleak Falls Barrow within an hour. It was the right decision to wait out the storm, the path up to ruins lacked any sort of natural protection. There was a lack of trees and big rocks to hide behind.
It was a giant ruin with only one set of stairs leading up to the platforms. The ruin had several platforms, each one higher than another and each platform had an arch. The one in the middle had an eagle head which looked similar to the one at the Skyforge.
Morgan would have loved taking a closer look at it all and admire the craftsmanship that has survived the passage of time. They were unfortunately interrupted by an arrow landing in between them. They were two bandits they could see and the third one who was firing their arrows was hiding.
A bandit sprinted towards Morgan, pulling out two swords as she approached. She took a deep breath, holding her hands apart as a ball of fire appeared in between her hands. She pulled her hands further and further apart making the ball bigger before sending the ball of fire into the chest of the bandit approaching her. The two-weapon wielding woman tumbled backwards and slowly got up from the snowy stone floors, using one of her swords as supports before getting back onto her two feet and ran towards her again. Morgan readied another spell both her hands, another ball of fire reappearing in between her hands. The bandit sprinted again and lunged herself at the mage before she could cast it. The two tumbled down the stairs, one after another. Morgan reached the bottom of the stairs first, laying flat on her back. She sat up to reorient herself before looking for the bandit that knocked them both down.
She didn’t get much time to readjust herself before the bandit lunged at once more and was on top of her. The bandit woman had only one sword left, the other one most likely somewhere in the snow or on the stairs. She still kept up the fight with her single sword. Stabbing her left and right but Morgan interrupted her with minor spells in her face making her miss. The bandit woman let out a frustrated growl and plunged her sword into her shoulder, twisting and digging it deeper. Morgan let out a cry of pain. Her heart was beating faster and faster.
Morgan the stab in her shoulder made her more present in the moment, the dizziness from rolling down the stairs disappeared. She grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it into the bandit’s face and froze it attached to her face. The woman let go off her sword and fell off Morgan, grabbing onto the frozen snow and trying to peel it off her face.
Morgan got up from the snow, flinching at every minor moment she did with her left arm. The sword still stuck to her shoulder. She grabbed onto the hilt, inhaled a deep breath. She scrunched her face in pain as she pulled the sword out of her. It barely moved, her shoulder sending out the agonising pain throughout her body. The corners of her vision darkened. She quickly blinked it away. She inhaled once more. She took a tighter grip around the hilt and pulled it once more. She managed to pull it out slightly but the way she was holding the sword was too awkward to fully pull it out. She shut her eyes and grabbed onto the blade instead. With three deep breaths she pulled out the sword. She dropped the sword onto the ground and walked up the stairs, again, as she healed her shoulder.
At the top of the stairs, she was met by a dead body on the floor and Taliesin parrying with Berwhale before slicing the bandit’s sword arm and then slicing the man’s throat.
Morgan stumbled over to him and looked down at the bodies. “Nasty work,” she mumbled.
“They attacked us.”
“They certainly did.”
The two of them looked at the bodies before Taliesin turned to look at his companion. “Where-”
An arrow hit Morgan in the stomach. The archer was not visible to them. She looked up, her eyebrows heavily furrowed and held up her good arm, pointing a finger in the direction of where the arrow came from. At the end of Morgan’s finger a ball of fire appeared, growing large quickly before it fired off towards the archer’s hiding spot.
“Milk-drinker!” she yelled. She pulled out the arrow out of her stomach with a swift motion and placed a healing hand on the wound. She looked to Taliesin who had this bewildered, concerned look. She took a deep breath before speaking again. “You were saying?” she asked softly,
“Nothing. Nope. Nothing.”
“Just tell me.”
“I was just wondering where you went. I lost sight and then, I think, I heard a cry from you .”
“Yeah, took a bit of tumble down the stairs,” she nodded to the stairs where at the bottom he could clearly see the lost sword, the dead bandit and the bloodied sword that used to be in Morgan’s shoulder.
Taliesin nodded. “Right, should we head inside then?”
“Yes please.”
The inside of the Bleak Falls Ruin, well, was in ruins. Piles of dirt, stones and broken pedestals were laying around and about. It was surprising it was still standing when most of its supports were crumbling away.
Up ahead was lit by a fire and voices were heard. They crouched down and carefully approached a hiding spot. The voices were distant but they could hear brief bits of their conversation.
“So, we’re just supposed… Arvel runs off with the claw?”
“The dark elf wants to go ahead, let him.”
“What if Arvel doesn’t come back? I want…”
“... keep an eye out of trouble.”
Taliesin looked at Morgan with an inquisitive look. She just shrugged, not really sure what he was wondering or tried to communicate.
He looked over their hiding spot before taking cover again. “There’s only two of them. I doubt they’re going to be friendly.”
“They might know something about the tablet.”
“Are you sure you want to try talking sense into these-”
“Choose your next word carefully.”
“I was going to say scoundrels.”
Morgan looked over to the two bandits. They were sitting around their fires, four sleeping bags around it and an opened chest. They’ve heard about the third one, what happened to the fourth? Were the ones outside a separate bandit group? Way too many questions that she doubts she will get any answers for.
“We’ll have the moral high ground if we try reasoning with them,” she argued before taking cover.
They left their hiding spot and arrived at the bandit’s small camping site. They both raised their hands to show they were no danger to them.
“Hello. We’re not looking for any sorts of trouble or distress,” Taliesin announced. The male bandit raised his bow and aimed it towards Taliesin and the female bandit pulled out her sword.
“We just want to pass by and look for an important item. We'll just get what we’re looking for and you two can take whatever you’re looking for,” he continued.
“We’re not looters or adventurers. Just need to get an important item regarding the dragons,” Morgan added.
“I don’t believe you,” the female bandit spoke, taking a step closer.
“Do we look like adventurers and looters to you?”
“That’s exactly what you look like.”
Morgan looked down at her own armour and Taliesin’s. They were still wearing the armour Hadvar’s uncle had made. Which was not his best work. The dried blood on both their armours and the holes in Morgan’s didn’t exactly help.
“Again, you can have whatever you two want. Pick and choose. It’s your own little buffet of dusty trinkets and draugrs. We just need to get to the main hall. Everything else is yours,” her companion assured them again.
The two bandits whisper to each other, looking their way every now and then as they discussed. The man lowered his bow and spoke up. “We’ve come to a decision.”
“Which is?”
“You can leave, alive, if you give us your dagger.”
"Absolutely not! Berwhale is not a toy!”
“Then this will be your tomb!” the man yelled and fired an arrow. It stopped mid air, in the same fashion as what happened at the tower. Morgan’s hand was clenched as the arrow turned around to face the bandit. She unclenched her hand and the arrow went flying into his eye.
The man screamed in pain and pulled his dagger as he rushed towards Morgan. She stepped aside and shot an ice spike in the back of his neck.
The woman ran towards Taliesin and swung at him. He held up Berwhale and parried her attack. He shoved her away then sent an ice spike into her stomach and slashed her arm. She took a deep breath before raising her sword slightly above her shoulder then quickly lowering as she struck for Taliesin’s chest. He stepped to her aside, letting her continue stride forwards. He threw an ice spike into her back. She fell onto the ground. She quickly gathered herself and got up, running towards Taliesin again. She stopped midway when a firebolt was thrown from Morgan.
“No diplomacy for us today,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips.
“None at all,” she muttered and looked down the ancient corridor. It was dark, the only light shining down the corridor was from the small fire. Morgan summoned a small orb of pure white light and stuck it to her shoulder before going down the stairs. Taliesin scrunched up his face, the light right in his eyes. But he followed her, from a distance.
Notes:
i'm so SO very excited to write dungeon of bleak falls barrow
LESS excited to write more fight scenes. Why is Skyrim built so angry and aggresive?
Chapter 7: Wordwall
Summary:
oh my god they reach the inner sanctum of Bleak Falls Barrow. Hope nothing bad happens!!!
Notes:
I know I posted another chapter like... 12 hours ago???
Literally had nothing to do today so I just got to it and wrote the chapter and edited it in the same eveningWarning, there are mentions of spiders and I made them worse because I hate them and myself (jk jk)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
All of the ancient Nordic ruins looked the same to Morgan at this point. Same stale air, similar stone works, random urns everywhere, and hallways that either led nowhere or collapsed. It was no different from Saarthal, except probably no giant orb with runes emitting a soft blue light. Come to think of it, almost ten years later, it was like a big mage light. Just thinking about how long ago it was she and Tolfdir found the eye made her feel like she had sprouted white hairs.
The layout of Bleak Falls Barrow felt much smaller than Saarthal though. And darker. Thankfully, her candlelight was still hanging around her shoulder.
The hallways were covered from ceiling to floor with thick rots, rubble laying sound, fallen apart corridors, and spider webs hanging down the archways. They were easy to get rid off, one little spark from the tip of her finger against the webs burnt them.
“Do you have any idea where you are going?” Taliesin asked from behind her.
“Oh yeah. You see, the ancient nords got lost in their crypts all of the time so they carved these arrows into the walls,” Morgan explained and pointed to one of the walls. With no arrows.
“Very funny, archmage. Do you tell these lies to your students as well?”
“Yes and they think it’s hilarious. Shame that you seem to lack humour,” she teased as she peaked around the corner so they wouldn’t get surprised by a skeever or draugr. Or the bandit.
“I can be funny,” he protested. “Do you know why the High Kings are all so anti-social? Because they spend all their time in Solitude .”
Morgan stopped and turned around to him. She had a slight smile on her face and tried to hold back a laugh. She couldn’t laugh at one of his stupid dad-jokes. “That’s not even that funny,” she chuckled.
“Your face says otherwise,” he said smugly and walked past her. She shook her disapprovingly and catched up with him.
Morgan walked to another set of stairs, leading them down to a lit room. A shadow moved in there before a man appeared who approached a lever in the middle of the room. She dismissed the candlelight spell and crouched down, Taliesin crouching down right next to her. The man pulled the lever. He stood there for a second expectantly, looking around the room as if something was going to happen. As the man went to pull the lever again a flurry of arrows shot at him until he fell dead. Both of them grimaced while watching it happen.
They walked down carefully into the room where the bandit had perished. Morgan looked around the room, seeing faces on three faces on the high up on the wall in front of them. Except for one that laid close to the bandit’s body. All three of them had animal symbols in their mouths. To her left were the pillars she was ever so familiar with which had the same symbols as the heads. She looked over to Taliesin and motioned her head to one of the other pillars. He firmly shook his head.
She moved the pillars to match the symbols in the stone faces’ mouths, looking between them every now and then to make sure they matched. When she was sure she had got the order right she walked over to the lever. Her chest filled with anxiety that she was about to share the same faith as the bandit. She let out a heavy breath before she pulled the lever. She shut her eyes tightly, waiting for the arrows to hit her. Nothing happened.
She let out a sigh of relief and turned around to Taliesin and curtsied.
“Would have been more impressive if the answer wasn’t so blatant,” he said as he walked into the room and looked around before moving onto the next room.
“Clearly not obvious enough for the bandit,” she followed after him and created another candlelight.
Taliesin glared at her when the blue light spread out. “I loathe that spell. Couldn’t you have picked something a bit more subtle?” he complained. “You know, to bring out the colour in your eyes?”
“It’s either going in blind, grab a dead man’s torch or the candlelight and I’d rather not do either of the former,” she said before taking a step down the rickety spiral staircase. “Besides, I think your eyes are quite pretty in this light,” she continued down the stairs and let out a surprised yelp when three running skeevers ran up towards her. She reached out her hand and a gout of flames left her fingers, burning the skeevers.
“Seems like your light brought some unwanted attention,” Taliesin said as he slipped her and the skeevers and reached the bottom. Morgan muttered under her breath before she walked down to the bottom of the stairs.
The room they entered lacked the roots that were on the floor above them. There were way more spider webs which didn’t bode well for them. Morgan quietly prayed that it was just small spiders instead of the giant frostbite ones. They walked further into the dungeon, each step echoing around them.
“Is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” A man’s voice echoed through the corridor. “I know I ran ahead with the claw but I need help!”
They continued down the corridor, more and more spider webs appearing as they approached the origin of the voice. Ahead the corridor had collapsed, filled to the brim with more webs and spiders crawling around. They took a left and were faced with a wall of spider webs.
“Hello? Is anyone out there?” The man’s voice called out again.
“There's got to be another way,” Morgan mumbled and looked to her right only to be faced with another collapsed corridor. She groaned and turned to Taliesin who was already cutting a way through the thick wall of spider webs.
Passing through the spider webs they entered a big open room. Spider eggs and more webs covered the entire room. On the opposite side they saw a dark elf stuck in the spider’s web. “You two! Help me down before it-” a shadow appeared in the middle of the room, getting bigger and bigger by the second. “No! Not again! Help!”
An enormous spider revealed itself. Cuts were seen on its legs and it seemed to be bleeding from its body. Should be easy enough for the two of them.
The spider quickly approached them, spitting either poison or web at them. It was hard to tell the difference. Morgan and Taliesin were lucky enough to dodge it, going in opposite directions. Both of them threw spikes at the spider's legs, attempting to make it fall over. The spider hissed loudly, quickly spitting in Taliesin’s direction. Web landed on him in random places on his body. His ice spike throwing arm got stuck to his side. He cut himself loose with Berwhale but the spider kept its focus on him. It spat again towards him, this time its poison. He avoided it, the poison landing on the stone as a muddy, dark green puddle.
While the spider was distracted with Taliesin, she seized the moment and cast a less quick spell. A blast of flame left her hands, setting the spider ablaze. It hissed in pain. It quickly turned around to her, scurrying towards her determined as it fired off webs at her instead. Morgan backed away from it, continuously sending ice spikes at it and its webs before her back hit against a wall. She hit it with another ice spike before its web caught her right arm and pinned it to the wall behind her. She used her free hand and created an icy spear which flew into the spider’s many eyes. It staggered backwards, appearing to fall. Morgan held her breath, observing it carefully. It steadied on its fit and quickly scurried towards her, spitting more web at her. It wrapped around her stomach. She threw another ice spear in the middle of its face and it fell onto the ground. It started to slowly rise but abruptly stopped when Taliesin put his dagger into the spider's body.
He walked over to Morgan and cut her loose from the fall. She tripped forward and fell into him. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. It was now he realised how tall she was, the top of her head peaking over his shoulder. The amount of times he has stood by her side or behind and it was now, standing right against his chest, he understood.
He patted her shoulders, dusting off any webs from her and inspected there was no poison residue on her. Morgan returned the favour, getting rid of all the webs from him.
“Hey! You two!” The dark elf shouted. They stepped away from each other. Morgan could feel her face flushed, feeling like they were being interrupted in some private moment. Which was stupid. It was just making sure he was alright. Getting rid of any spiders.
“You did it! You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up!” The dark elf demanded, struggling in the web.
“Your friends mentioned-”
“Yes, the claw. I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories. I know how it all fits together. Help me down and I’ll show you,” he insisted. This was clearly Arvel the other two bandits mentioned.
The duo looked to each and were ready for him to run away as soon as they got him down but there seemed to be no other way to get to the main chamber.
Taliesin cut Arvel down from the web. As soon as he landed onto his feet he sprinted into the corridor behind him. “You fools! Why should I share the treasure?” he shouted as he ran away from them.
Morgan looked to her companion and gestured to him to go before him. “You’ve got the longer legs.”
“How observant you are,” he said before he ran after the elf. Morgan ran right behind him.
They ran past a couple giant urns. Taliesin stopped running in the slopped path, holding out hand arm to stop Morgan running past him. Up ahead were undead with blue glowing eyes, all holding various weapons. Draugrs . They were swinging and clashing swords with Arvel. It didn’t take long before one of the undead ran its sword through his back and pulled it out, letting the dark elf fall dead to the ground.
Taliesin let his arm fall to his side as he pulled out Berwhale. Morgan slipped past him and aimed her hands towards the three draugrs, two lighting bolts leaving her hands and hit the draugr that stood in the middle of the other two draugrs. Electricity travelled between all three of them before they collapsed onto the ground. She turned around to Taliesin with a smirk before approaching the dead dark elf and draugr.
She crouched down, moved the draugr aside to get to the man’s pack. In it she found the gold claw and a journal. She flipped through the journal until she found some relevant information about the claw.
Taliesin stood behind her, carefully watching the other dead in case there was any sign of a twitch or any movement from the remaining dead bodies. “I’m noticing you’re not worried about the dead,” he said and kept his eye on a suspiciously armoured dead body. “I, I mean I’m not! But I do feel a lot more confident with you around.”
“Must be the nicest thing you’ve said about me,” she said as she rose up and handed over Arvel’s journal. “I’m glad that I make you feel just slightly more safe.”
Taliesin smiled amusedly as he read the journal before giving it back to her. “My, my. Seems Lucan and his sister’s little bauble serves a higher purpose,” he said and looked over to the claw, “It’s tacky so he can keep it. His messy store makes sense now.”
“His store? Sister?”
“Right, you were still unconscious.”
She furrowed her eyebrows.
“You thought I was going to anxiously wait for you to wake up right by your side? I practically gave Hadvar the idea of waking you up! And Ralof suggested Lucan’s store which was messy. Probably from a break in from a quartet of thieves,” he explained.
“Maybe we can return it when we get out of here,” she suggested. She walked out of the crypt and avoided the obvious pressure plate with Taliesin following her lead.
They got into the routine as they continued further into the ruin. There were more draugr rising from their tombs, crypts, and coffins and were ready to swing any trespasser passing them. The routine of fighting became easy when they were all predictable. Taliesin took care of any stragglers that got too close and Morgan used a variety of chain lighting and fireballs at draugrs who were grouped together.
The only real obstacles were traps were triggered. The pressure plates were easy to see but the trip wires were not. She had to pull him away from not walking straight into giant swinging axes lined up. He had to pull her away when a ceramic lantern fell onto some spilled oil.
After many more draugr fights, they reached the supposed Hall of Stories. The corridor’s walls were engraved with some sort of depiction of draugr and dragon priest. Unfortunately, it was nothing either of them fully understood.
They approached what they assumed to be the door. It was made out of a black stone but the middle was gray with three holes where the claw was clearly supposed to go in. Above it were three rings, each with its own animal symbol. Very similar to the pillars from earlier.
Morgan put the claw into its place. Nothing happened. She crouched down and checked Arvel’s journal for any clues. “The solution is in the palm of your hand,” she mumbled. She looked up to Taliesin who shrugged.
She looked back at the tacky golden claw, turning it all sorts of ways until she faced it palm up towards her. She groaned in frustration and began moving the inner circles from bottom to top. She placed the claw back into its holes and pulled it out quickly as the wall began to shake. She took a step back to Taliesin, watching as the wall went into the ground.
They stepped into the vast, dark cave. Bats flew towards, both ducking to not get any of them flying directly into their faces.
Morgan brought back the candle light and began approaching the mound. Up on it was a coffin and a curved wall with some sort of language on it. She had seen two before, years ago. From her memory something always strange happened when she approached them. Chanting. Lights disappearing. The only thing she was able to see was the words on the wall.
They walked up to the mound, the chanting in her head appearing as soon as she took the final step. She looked towards the word wall, already seeing the faint blue glow coming from it.
Taliesin began looking around the coffin and the inside of the chest for the dragon tablet, complaining about the ancient nords. Him talking sounded like background noise, muffled and distant compared to the chanting.
“How can you concentrate looking for the tablet?” She asked, leaning against the edge of the edge of the word wall.
Taliesin looked over to her. “What…” his voice faded away, the chanting getting louder.
She let out a groan, leaning putting a hand against the wall. Taliesin rushed over and wrapped an arm above her hip. “Did you hit her head again?” his voice was much clearer now when he stood next to her.
Morgan shook her head and looked at the glowing words. “Do you not hear it?” she whispered.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said. She pushed herself away from him and the wall and approached closer to the glowing text, the corners of her sight getting darker.
“You’re not seeing this?” she asked, her voice quivering as she pointed towards the glowing words.
Taliesin shook his head.
She turned towards the wall, the chanting inside of her getting louder and more incomprehensible. Her vision darkened as the words became brighter. Just like the other times she was filled with knowledge she didn’t understand.
After a couple of seconds of her staring against the walls of ancient language, the chanting disappeared and her vision came back. She turned back to Taliesin with a heavy sigh. She would have to explain something she didn’t even understand.
They both jumped when a loud crack came from the coffin. Out crawled out a draugr with a great axe in his hand. They didn’t get much time to process what just happened. Both of them got ready with their weapons of choice before getting back into the routine of fighting draugr. Morgan moved over to Taliesin position as he rushed towards the draugr. He didn’t even get two steps towards it before it let out a shout that echoed throughout the cave. The unnatural shout pushed Taliesin away from the draugr and knocked into Morgan.
Taliesin jumped back onto his feet and sprinted towards the draugr as it recovered from its shout. He slashed its side before getting around to its back and drew his blade against its throat. He didn’t get half way through before the draugr used its great axe pommel and hit him in the stomach before swinging around it towards Taliesin.
Morgan rose up from the floor, her head fuzzy from the chanting. She watched the draugr raise its great axe above its head. She threw two bolts of lighting, stunning it as the electricity travelled through its body. Taliesin kicked it, making it fall onto its knees. He flipped Berwhale to get a better grip of it. He plunged the dagger into draugr’s throat and then pressed his hand against its chest, an ice spike going through the undead’s body. It let go off its great axe and fell onto its side.
Morgan walked up to the coffin and looked inside of it, removing the cobwebs before taking out the dragon tablet and putting it underneath her arm.
“Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled and began walking down from the mound.
Taliesin walked right next to her, examining her face. She looked exhausted. He quickly snatched away the tablet before she could drop it.
“What happened there? At the wall with the symbols?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It,” she let out a sigh. “Can we talk about this later? When we’re not in some ancient ruin?"
Notes:
WE ARE GETTING SOMEWHERE AGAIN AH
Chapter 8: Returning to Riverwood
Summary:
They get to pretend to be errand boys, returning a claw and dragon tablet. Pretty chill times..... for now
Notes:
I’m so sorry but we are pulling the first classic old trope
also writing the middle part of this chapter was like pulling teeth, I could not figure out a good way to get to fucking leave. I'm somewhat happy with what I got down. While thinking about this chapter, I did laugh a bit. It's such silly trope, I love it.Also while editing this I realised there's a whole lot of dialouge. If you're a dialouge enjoyer, you're welcome
Chapter Text
The exit by the word wall was treacherous to say the least. It was a very small cliff with no clear safe way to get down nor a clear path to any civilisation. There was a river that’s right by Riverwood which they could follow but that means climbing down a frozen and snowy stone wall. So, they went back inside and went the same way they came from. It went much faster when they didn’t have to fight draugr, get through spider webs, or have to fight said spider.
It was evening when they got out of Bleak Falls Barrow. Stars were peaking the clouds of the orange, pink coloured skies. They stood there for a while, looking up at the sky. Taking in the view of – everything. After appreciating the colours Kyne had used, they ventured down the mountain back to the tower they had left their horses.
The way down was quiet and dark, some distant wolf howls but none that were close enough to be considered a threat.
Morgan’s mind wandered the way down. Her head filled with confusion with unanswered questions. Who could even answer them? She didn’t know of anyone who had been studying ancient nord ruins or their culture. Well, the closest person that she “knows” is Farengar who seemed to have taken up an interest in nord ruins and dragons. Or some scholar at the college she hasn’t had the opportunity to meet yet.
It’s dark when they reach Riverwood. They were pleasantly surprised when they were met by more than one guard. One stood by the entrance as they went through the gate, two were patrolling the roads. The Jarl does keep his promises.
There wasn’t exactly anywhere they could keep their horses for the night so they got to stay behind the inn. The Sleeping Giant was livelier than when they shared drinks with Hadvar and Ralof. A bard was playing “Ragnar the Red”, workers from the mill and Hadvar’s uncle were enjoying some drinks. Hadvar and Ralof were nowhere to be seen there. Most likely returned to their duties as soldiers so they weren’t labelled as deserters or, more likely, patrolling with the guards.
Morgan walked up to the counter where a tall, exhausted looking nord stood. “Welcome to the Sleeping Giant. If you’re looking for Delphine, she’s out. Probably will be back in a couple of days,” the man said, his voice sounding bored. “What do you want?”
“Two rooms or beds just for the-”
“Ah, sorry miss, we just got the one room.”
“Oh. Well,” she stammered as she looked back at Taliesin.
“I don’t mind sharing if you’re paying.”
She looked back at the innkeeper, contemplating. Maybe they just leave and head straight to Whiterun instead? They’d get the tablet back to Farengar and she could be on her merry way back to the college. Her “tour” through Cyrodil could be postponed with the dragon about. At the same time, she needed the rest. Taliesin too. And it’s cheaper to share a room.
“Fine,” she said and placed the septims on the counter.
The man gestured for them to follow him. He led them to their room and opened the door. A double bed. Thank the divines for not giving them a single.
“Just holler if there’s anything you need, I’ll be at the counter for at least another two hours,” he said and left the two alone.
There wasn’t a lot in the room. A desk with a chair, a wardrobe next to it, and a drawer with its back faced towards the bed. The bed was in the middle of the room, somewhat neatly made. Nothing interesting hanging on the walls, just a small window with a pair of curtains.
“So, how do you want to do this? We could make this small barrier between us or something,” she suggested as she set down their bag on the drawer.
“If that makes you more comfortable,” he responded and sat down on the chair. She nodded and did so. She picked up their cloaks and bundled them up in a line in the middle of the bed. She sat down on the right side of bed and let out a sigh, finally sitting down somewhere comfortable.
“I feel like it is more appropriate to talk about what happened here,” she said and looked to her left where Taliesin was sitting, “or we can talk about it in the morning if you need to sleep.”
“We are in a tavern and I could get us something to drink, almost perfect time to overshare,” he said with a sly smile. She chuckled, dissipating as she thought about how to start explaining.
“When- it’s not the first time this has happened. Me, other students, and my mentor explored Saarthal and that’s where it first happened. The second time was in the Labyrinthan when I was getting a staff for the eye of magnus. And the third time just a couple hours ago,” she chuckled bitterly, “it’s all the same too. Chanting, my vision darkening and just a couple symbols on the wall glowing.” She paused for a moment. Memories of her younger self flooding back.
“I had someone close by the first two times and there wasn’t really any moment to discuss it since there were other more pressing matters. You’re the first person who has seen this happen. My mentor was busy with the eye. My friend who had accompanied me to Labyrinthan was preoccupied and we had a bit of a time limit,” she turned away as realisation settled. They never got the chance to talk about it. A lump in her throat began forming. She held back though.
“Do you know anything about these walls?”
“A bit. There was a book I read a couple years ago. Something dragon language. I learned they’re called ‘Word walls’ and tried to learn the language. Then I got distracted with other duties,” she muttered.
“And you don't understand the symbols?”
“Not at all.”
Taliesin was silent for a moment, as if reflecting on the answers. There was not much to work with. With the sparse occurrences of whatever was happening to her and not fully understanding the walls purpose.
“It’s no mere coincidence this is happening. This could be connected to the dragons returning. Or a dragon returning. We've yet to see another,” he finally said.
Morgan nodded and looked away from him. It frustrated her to be in the dark about something about herself. Especially when she had taken time to read about this but it was as if all of her knowledge about the subject had fallen out of her and simply ran away from her. She had some answers in the back of her mind, remnants of memories of reading and returning to Saarthal when things had calmed down.
“Is it weird that I'm not scared?” She wondered out loud, turning back to him. “I mean I was in the barrow but now I feel fine about it. It's weird to feel this normal about it right?”
“There's no doubt about it that you are a weird individual. But I don't think it's weird. Concerning but not weird.”
“That's not very comforting to hear.”
“Would you rather I lied and said: ‘no, it's not weird or concerning at all. The way you reacted to imaginary chanting and staring off at a wall with ancient language, totally normal! I heard Greta has been doing it for years!” he said in a mocking tone. “Would you have preferred that?”
“No. That's worse. Much worse.”
“My point exactly,” he responded bluntly. “We'll figure it out after we've delivered the tablet and spoken to Farengar. He seems to be more knowledgeable about the subject. Or we go to your college and find something there.”
Morgan nodded and leaned her head against the wall as she shut her eyes. The same thoughts were repeating. The first time seeing one of the walls and feeling a connection to the words. As if she was supposed to understand the words but was missing something. The second time before Morge - the second time feeling the same connection and just more questions appeared. Hours ago a third time. The chanting had never been that loud or felt that angry when she didn’t read the words. How overwhelming it felt. Utterly terrified that she had lost it when Taliesin couldn’t see what she saw.
The thoughts made her drift off to sleep which continued to lead her to unpleasant dreams. Standing in the vast darkness with the blue glow off in the distance and the chanting. Instead of the chanting she usually heard it was people screaming her name. The blue glow approached her and the screaming got louder and louder. She couldn’t move.
Morgan jolted awake, her head resting on his shoulder. When in Oblivion did he get in bed? She got herself slowly off the bed so as to not wake Taliesin and stood by the window to take deep breaths to calm herself. It was still dark out. The skies had cleared making the aurora borealis clearer. Or at the least an edge of it from what she could see from the window. It was nothing in comparison to the aurora borealis that could be seen from her quarters in Winterhold, the gentle waves as it moved through the sky. As if she could touch them if she reached far enough.
She stepped away from the window when she had calmed down and looked back into the rest of the room. Taliesin was asleep, still leaning against the wall but now had his arms folded. He looked at peace. Oh, how she wished she could go back to sleep but now she’s awfully awake.
On the desk in the room stood an open bottle of alto wine and a mug. She quietly thanked her companion and poured herself a cup and sat down by the desk. The miracles of getting older and getting sleepier when drinking alcohol. Or at least for her. Getting drunk or even getting tipsy would take a couple of bottles, or at least used to. That’s what she gets for being friends with a nord and an orc and drinking most evenings with them. She missed them so dearly.
She poured herself one more cup in their honour and finished it quickly and got up from the chair before she fell asleep. She laid down on her bed, her back turned to Taliesin. She felt her body getting warmer and heavier from the alcohol. An oddly comforting feeling as she drifted off to sleep again.
The sun’s rays slipped in between the curtains and landed on Morgan’s face. She groaned and placed a hand above her eyes. No matter how hard she tries, she knows she can’t go back to sleep once she’s awake. Unless there’s more wine but it probably won’t be as enjoyable. She’s already awake now and shouldn’t go back to sleep.
She sat up on the bed with a tired groan. A tiny headache was brewing inside of her head. A tiny headache from good wine is worth it any day. It would pass in a couple hours either way.
“Good morning,” Taliesin said from the desk where a basket of bread and a pitcher of water stood.
“You got breakfast?” she asked as she slowly got herself off the bed.
“You paid for the bed and I paid for the board.”
“Well, thank you,” she took one half of the bread and sat back down on the end of the bed.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Return the claw. Travel back to Whiterun,” she said, her voice somewhat muffled by the bread in her mouth. “Unless you have anything to add onto our to-do list.”
Taliesin shook his head. “Well, maybe check on the horses before we go.”
“You can take care of them while I return the claw then.”
The shop was in a neat order. Everything in its place with a couple trinkets on the counter. The bookshelves were organised depending on their uses. Spell tomes and potions standing together on the shelf. Stacked cheeses, baskets of fresh produce had their own bookshelf. No signs of a break in anymore.
The man behind the counter seemed to be doing some final touches to his shelves, placing green liquid bottled potions with the other potions.
“Welcome!” the man said as soon as he heard Morgan’s footsteps. He turned around from his shelf to face her. “Oh,hey you’re the one- what was his name again? Doesn’t matter. Happy to see that my potion worked.”
“That was your potion?” she couldn’t help but to grimace at the memory of waking up to that foul smell. “Do not tell me you sell that here.”
“No, no! It was an old potion that I had uhm… forgotten,” he muttered. “Everything I sell here is top quality, I assure you!”
“I sure hope so,” she mumbled and walked up to the counter.
The man leaned onto the counter and looked her up and down. “So, what can I help you with? Spell tomes? Long journey?”
“Actually, I’m here to return something,” she placed the claw on the counter, “that’s if you’re Lucan of course.”
The man’s eyes lit up with a gleaming smile. “Oh, I assure you I am,” he picked up the claw and held it up closer to his face. “Can’t believe you found it. It’s smaller than I remember. Funny thing, huh?” Lucan chuckled and placed the claw onto the counter. “I’ll never forget this. You’ve done a great thing for me and my sister. Give me a moment,” he crouched down behind the counter and rummaged through some items until he stood back up again and placed a coin purse on the counter and pushed it towards Morgan. “A reward and a thank you for finding it.”
“Oh no, there’s really no need for that,” she insisted and put her hands up in protest, “I didn’t even know it was yours until we accidentally found the thief.”
“I insist,” he pushed the coin purse closer to her, “maybe don’t see it as payment for the claw. Think of it as a thanks from Riverwood for talking to the jarl on our behalf.”
Morgan reluctantly took the pouch and looked at Lucan. “Anyone would have done it.”
“Just take the money and leave before I change my mind,” he said, annoyed, and waved her off.
She exited the store and took a quick look inside of the pouch. Quite a bit of spending money. Money that they could use to get Taliesin something proper than the hand me down armour he got. She’d definitely need to contribute with money from her own collection but it’s a start. She tied it close and began heading towards Taliesin who was leading the horses away from the back of the inn.
Morgan stopped in her tracks as she heard a young voice shouting her names from one of the houses. She turned to the direction of the voice and saw Dorthe running up. She couldn’t help but to smile as she saw this little girl. So innocent from the worries of war and dragons.
“You’re visiting!” Dorthe exclaimed. She stopped running as soon as she reached Morgan’s side, completely out of breath from running and excitement. “Have you seen any more dragons? Were they big?”
“No, I haven’t. But I did see a giant,” she answered with a chuckle, “Did your dad make any earrings for you?”
“No. But he’s working on it. We made sketches for it!” she answered, “Do you want it back?”
“Nah, you can keep it until you’ve got your own.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Taliesin walking up to them with the horses. “I see you got a friend,” he said with a smile as he looked at Morgan. When he got close enough, he let go of the horse reins and crouched down Dorthe’s level. “Ever been on a horse before?”
She shook her head.
“Dorthe?” a man shouted from the smith and walked down the steps and approached them. It’s Hadvar’s uncle and Morgan had completely forgotten his name. Something on an A. His expression went from worried to calm in an instant when his eyes landed on his daughter.
“Thought I saw some recognisable faces last night. What are you two doing here?”
“Just passing through,” Morgan answered and looked to Taliesin. “We should head towards Whiterun while it’s still light out,” she said with a sigh. Gods damn her and her getting attached to easily. The thought of leaving without properly saying “hello” or “good-bye” made her heart ache. They’d done so much and she hadn’t got a chance to pay them back.
“Hey, Dorthe was it?” Taliesin asked enthusiastically.
Dorthe nodded and walked up to him. “Yes?”
“Does your dad have goggles when he welds? Got ink at home too?”
She nods, a mischievous grin growing on her face.
“So, what you want to do is to paint the edges of the goggles with the ink when he is not looking. Unfortunately, I can’t help you now but I trust you can do this on your own. Can you?”
“Yes!” She eagerly nods, knowing exactly what he is planning. She runs off back to her dad's side who wraps an arm around her. Taliesin smirks and stands up, grabbing Naomi’s reins and holding out the jarl’s horse’s reins to Morgan. They both got onto their horses and waved goodbye to Dorthe and her father as they rode out of the village.
“You are a trouble maker,” Morgan whispered when they reached the edge of the village.
“Oh, says you,” Taliesin retorted.
After two days of travelling, they were back inside of Dragonsreach. The jarl and his advisor weren’t at the dias. His housecarl was nowhere to be seen. A very calm day Whiterun’s hold.
From the court mage’s office, the two could hear Farengar discussing something about the Dragon War and a second voice that was familiar to Morgan. Getting closer to the office they saw Farengar at his desk looking over books and notes with a hooded woman. Morgan squinted her eyes at her, trying to see from a distance if there were any recognisable features. She couldn’t see very well but her voice was familiar. She just couldn’t place it where she has heard it before.
“Time is running, Farengar, don’t forget. This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back,” the hooded woman stated. Morgan wasn’t really fond of the plural use of “dragon”. If they have to deal with another dragon that’s the size of Dragonsreach, she might as well start digging her grave now.
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously value-”
“You have visitors,” the woman said and nodded to the duo standing in the doorway.
“Hm? Ah, welcome back Archmage and-” Farengar looked to Taliesin, his mouth open before he shut it. “Back from Bleak Falls Barrow. And you didn’t die!”
“No, we didn’t,” Morgan said and walked up to the desk and placed the dragon tablet onto it. “We found it in its sanctum so you weren’t that far off.”
“This is unusual compared to the brutes the Jarl sends my way,” he chuckled and carefully pulled the dragon tablet closer to him, carefully inspecting it.
The hooded woman got close to the tablet, tilting her head as she looked at it. “You went into Barrow and got it? Nice work,” she complimented without looking their way. She picked up her bag and headed toward the door. “Send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it,” she said before exiting the room. Morgan quickly glanced at her as she walked past, she saw at least a couple strands of blonde hair and blue eyes under her hood. She was about the same height as herself, maybe a bit shorter actually.
“I have a quick question,” Morgan began. Farengar looked up from the tablet. “In the sanctum-”
“There’s been a dragon sighting!” Irileth announced. Morgan snapped her attention to the housecarl, her eyes wide. She clutched onto the table, holding her breath. “It was seen by western watchtower. All of you should come and hear more of this,” she continued and headed towards the stairs that led to the second floor.
Farengar quickly tailed after Irileth, asking her a hundred questions as they walked. Morgan let go off the table and marched after them, her heart beating faster with every step she took. She didn’t look Taliesin’s way but she assumed or rather hoped that he was following her.
The jarl stood by his war table as a guard stood there shaking like a leaf. Irileth gently nudges him as if to prompt him to talk. “Tell him what you told me,” she said softly. Morgan was gently tapping herself at the side of her thigh. She couldn’t tell if she was impatient for the guard to start talking or if she was afraid.
“We saw it coming south. It was fast, faster than anything I’ve ever seen. It was just circling overhead when I left. Never ran so fast in my life,” the guard explained, slowly starting to shake less.
“What did it look like?” Morgan hastily asked, her tapping getting faster.
“Uh, I think white? Green? I couldn’t get a good look at it,” the guard answered. Her tapping slowed. Not the same dragon. Still horrified by the thought that Whiterun could turn into another Helgen but they should know more now. Farengar has been researching this subject since the news of a dragon or even before.
“Good work, son. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. We’ll take it from here,” Balgruuf said. The guard bowed and took his leave. “Irileth, gather guardsmen and take them to the western watch tower. Farengar, you stay here.”
“My lord-”
“I can’t afford to lose both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons,” the jarl explained. Farengar sighed and nodded before descending down the stairs.
“Unfortunately, there’s no time to stand for ceremony. I need your help but I have not forgotten what you’ve done. Proventus will arrange rewards for the two of you,” he turned to the both of them, arms behind his back. “I want you two to go with Irileth and help her fight. You’ve both seen a dragon and you-” he looks to Morgan who is tightly holding her wrist to stop herself from tapping, “- survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here.”
Morgan quickly nodded and rushed down the stairs as fast as she could to catch up with Irileth. Taliesin grabs her arm at the bottom of the stairs and pulls her aside.
“Taliesin, we don’t have time for this,” she said firmly and pulled her arm out of his grip.
“They want us to fight a dragon? A dragon?!”
“So we both heard the same thing. Good. Let’s get going,” she began walking away but made a u-turn back when she heard him talking again.
“For me it should be the same as hunting-”
“Taliesin,” she firmly said, again. “We can’t stand around here and talk nothing. There’s-”
“I’m trying to estimate our survival!” he argued. “What’s your experience back at Helgen?”
“Hadvar and Ralof-”
“I want to hear what you experienced.”
Morgan pressed her lips together, glaring at him for pressing for answers she didn’t want to give. She could only assume he was scared as well, just better at hiding it than her. She couldn’t blame him. She took a breath and felt herself calm a bit. “It destroyed Helgen, fast. One moment I was running towards a tower with my hands bound and the next jumping out of the same tower. Everything after that is blurry. No matter where I went it was right there.”
“What’s the plan? Are we to run in circles screaming until the dragon dies of boredom? Or are we the bait so that the city guards can take all the credit once the deed is done? Don’t answer that,” he quickly said. Usually, she’d find this humorous. Charming even. Certainly not now. Now was just annoying.
“I wasn't planning on it. Are you done now?”
“Yes, yes. Lead the way.”
Chapter 9: The uses of ranged weapons
Summary:
There's another dragon! AH
Notes:
So, I thought I would finish this chapter yesterday. A cooking accindet happened and I cut my index finger with a potato peeler and almost burnt my chicken to coal and turned my bathroom into a murder scene. But I perservered. Typing on my keyboard for the past 24 hours have been difficult
Anywaaay, dragon fiiiight at the western watchtower
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The tower was still standing surprisingly but its ramparts had crumbled, the remains piled where it used to stand. The fires were still spreading through the dead grass in the tundra. Thick, dark smoke rising to the tower’s height before dissipating into the air. Looking through the smoke they could see one of the tower walls had been destroyed. Smoke was escaping from the destroyed wall and windows.
The scene of the burning tower was eerily similar to what happened in Helgen. The surrounding burning heat, the painful smoke filing up her lungs making it near impossible to breathe or to focus. The quickly spreading fire.
Morgan shook her head as if to shake off the memory from her mind. She couldn’t get distracted now.
Irileth instructed everyone to look for any survivors, be cautious, and keep eyes on the sky. The guards ran off to the tower after her orders and spread out, looking behind every stone and under rumble for any signs of survivors. Irileth turned to Morgan and Taliesin and nodded her head in the direction of the tower. Morgan firmly nodded in response and ran towards the burning tower with Taliesin tailing right behind her. If the remaining guards were smart they’d hide in there.
She walked up the now destroyed and tilted rampart, putting out any fires with a simple frost spell. Approaching closer to the entrance she saw a man dressed in a guard uniform cowering in a corner. His uniform was scorched and covered in ash. The guard looked up when he felt someone’s eyes landing on him, a minor cut that went from his jaw to the middle of his cheek. He got back onto his feet and stumbled towards her, his eyes wide with terror.
“No! Get back! It’s still here somewhere!” the guard warned as he walked out of the tower, “Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!” He looked as if he was about to fall any minute, probably exhausted from the fighting and the continuous stress. Morgan gently grabbed his arms to help him stand easier on his feet. She looked into his eyes, trying to seem calm and collected but she had the same terror in her eyes as the guardsman.
“Guardsman!” Irileth said as she walked up to two of them, “What happened here? Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!” she demanded, standing right beside Morgan.
“I don’t know!” the guard replied in panic.
“Keep your eyes to the sky, it could appear-”
A close, echoing roar interrupted Irileth. Everyone looked to the sky and saw the same giant creature flying away from the mountains and towards them. Green scales, its mouth agape as it roared its fires onto the ground, and approached them at an alarming speed.
“Everyone, inside the tower! Now!” Irileth yelled. The guard that Morgan held onto pulled himself away from her and ran back into the tower. The guards covering the ground clutched onto their weapons as they sprinted towards cover. The dragon descended towards the ground. It landed onto the destroyed rampart, shaking the ground violently. It stretched its neck closer to the ground before roaring a cone of fire after the guards. The guards ran faster to the tower. A guard fell over the rubble and scrambled back onto his feet, limping up the tilted rampart.
Irileth ushered everyone inside of the tower, keeping her eyes onto the dragon the entire time. The guards ran inside out of breath and immediately began to doubt that they’d ever be able to take down a dragon. It’s too fast, it’s too big. How do we stop it from breathing fire? What if it flies too high for our arrows?
Morgan’s feet were stuck to the stone floor, her eyes fixed on the dragon. It wasn’t the same one from Helgen. The most obvious difference being its scales. Despite it being a giant creature it was smaller than the black dragon destroying Helgen. It didn’t have the same red eyes that constantly followed her. This ones’ was yellow and looked for anything moving.
The dragon tilted its head when it noticed her and began beating its wings and was back in the air, heading towards where the tower stood.
A firm hand grabbed Morgan’s arm and pulled her inside of the tower. She looked to whoever grabbed her arm and saw Irileth staring at her with fury. She pulled her arm away from her and leaned against the wall hunched over. The entire tower shook as the dragon soared and screeched.
“I-” she took a deep breath. And another one. She straightened herself and looked to Taliesin who looked relatively calm. “Are you alright?” she gently asked.
“I’m fine as I can be,” he replied and got closer to her, gently placing a hand on her arm. “Are you?”
She shook her head as the dragon roared again. “No,” she said and looked at Irileth. “Any ideas to take it down yet?”
“We need to ground it. Aim for its wings and make every arrow count. When we have secured the dragon we give it all we have until it's dead,” Irileth ordered, looking at her guardsmen.
“I can take the tower. I can cast something more powerful but I need you to keep it away from the tower,” Morgan said. The idea that was brewing inside of her head made her nervous but it’s life or death and she’d risk it.
Irileth nodded. “We have a plan,” she announced and looked to her guards, “Move out and take that dragon down!”
In unison, the guards replied with “yes ma’am” and exited the tower with their bows ready with Irileth following them. Morgan began walking up the stairs. Half way up she realised she hadn’t asked the essential part of her plan.
“Follow me, I’ll need you to be an extra pair of eyes for me,” she said as she looked to Taliesin before she continued up the stairs. “Do you know any ward spells?” she shouted.
“Not at the top of my head no,” he answered, grabbing a spare shield before following her up to the top of the tower.
Morgan looked to the skies and below to ensure the dragon wasn’t above them or would randomly swoop up and breathe fire as she would concentrate. It was for once at ground level, snapping and breathing short breaths of fire at the guards. The guards retaliated against it, the majority of them firing their arrows while a few used their maces and swords to weaken the dragon.
She sat down behind the short stone wall with Taliesin sitting next to her. She put her hands together, small wisps of frost circling around her hands. Her companion had the shield ready and kept his eyes on the dragon.
“What are you making?” he inquired, glancing towards her hands.
“A blizzard,” she replied muttering, “it will take a moment. I will tell you when we need the dragon up here.”
“Now hold on. You want it up here? With us?!”
“I just need it to fly past us,” she explained. The frozen wisps in her hands became bigger, big snow flakes taking form as they were travelling around her hands and slowly up her forearms.
“I can’t tell if you’re stupidly brave or incredibly reckless,” he muttered, his grip on the shield getting tighter.
“It’s the latter,” she said with a grin, “how’s it going down there?”
Taliesin looked over the wall. The guards who fought the dragon up close were dead, they either had their guts spilling out or were burnt to charred corpses. Irileth and her remaining guards had taken cover behind the rubble as the dragon was spewing fire as one guard was scrambling to take cover.
The fires on the ground were only getting bigger and spreading much faster. Irileth seemed to speak to her guards, giving them the motivation to keep going. As if wanting to survive and live to tell the tale wouldn’t be enough motivation.
The dragon moved towards the guards’ hiding spot. Despite the arrows that had stuck between its scales and the small holes through its wings, it was just as determined to kill them and destroy everything in its way as before. The dragon took flight again and flew around the rubble they were hiding behind, spewing its fire then flew up to the sky.
Taliesin hid behind the wall and held the shield above their heads in case the dragon got any ideas of wanting to fly directly above them and have them for dinner. He looked over to his companion who didn’t seem to notice the shade casting over them. The ice wisps were half way up her arms, snow covering her forearms and a ball of ice was in the centre of her hands.
“We need it up here now,” she murmured, her eyes not moving from her creation.
Taliesin looked down, trying to see where the dragon would be now. The guards had spread out, their bows ready but all seeming unsure where to aim it. The sound of beating wings and roaring wasn’t gone so it must still be here. In the corner of his eye, he saw the green scaled beast. He threw several ice spikes after it, a few hitting its back and one hitting its wing. “Hey dragon! Sorry for the cold shoulder!” he yelled, a quiet groan heard next to him.
It glowered up towards Taliesin and beat its wings faster to fly closer to its assailant. He crouched down, peaking his head over the wall they were sat against. “Get ready.”
“Tell me when.”
The dragon circled around the tower, dragon-made winds shaking the tower. With every beat of its wings it was getting closer and closer to the top. Shaking the top of the tower more and more, feeling as if it would fall and collapse in a second. The floor beneath them was already crumbling. It wasn’t a question of “if” the tower would crumble, rather a “when”.
The dragon reached the top of the tower and looked down at the hiding half-mer and mer. The presence of it was overwhelmingly intimidating. Its face simply emulated power and formidable with its sharp features and massive teeth peaking out from its closed mouth. It was even more horrifying when its chest began glowing orange and lowered its neck down towards them.
“Now!” Taliesin shouted. Morgan looked up from her spell and got back onto her feet, standing in a front stance before unleashing the blizzard towards the dragon. It wasn’t as big as he had expected or as accurately shot. The blizzard hurled towards the dragon, leaving a path of frost and snow before attaching itself to the dragon's left wing. It screeched out a ball of fire from its mouth, erasing any evidence of the path the blizzard had created. Morgan quickly ducked and got behind Taliesin’s shield. The power of the fire ball pressed them against the short wall but the shield protected them from the blast of fire, going around and above them instead of right at them. The fires surrounded them and got closer as the dragon flapped its wings. It kept screeching and roaring in pain.
The blizzard stuck to its wing was cut and torn it apart, giving it giant holes in its wings. Within a minute they heard the dragon crashing down onto the ground and Irileth shouting at her men that this is their chance.
The tower still stood, miraculously.
Morgan spread out a layer of frost on the top of the tower, eradicating the flames and turning them into steam. She shakily got up from her crouch and leaned against the half wall to look down on the guards who were attacking the dragon from all sides. The blizzard still persisted which pleasantly surprised her. She had outdone herself. And exhausted herself. It’s been years since she had used so much magicka and had to concentrate on a spell for that long.
“Final push,” she muttered before running down the stairs. She heard Taliesin dropping the shield and running after her.
As they reached the outside of the tower they saw a guard that had somehow climbed up on the dragon and smashed their mace into the dragon’s head several times. The dragon let pained screeches and one final roar of fire collapsing onto the ground. The guard on the dragon’s neck raised their arms and screamed in joy as their fellow guards helped them down. The guards cheered and lifted up the guard and threw them into the air with their remaining energy.
Morgan felt immediately at ease watching the dragon’s body collapse. They can be killed. They can be taken down with a great amount of effort.
The guards put down the dragon defeater and began inspecting the dragon. Taliesin moved towards it, taking a closer look as well. Morgan sat down on the rubble closer to the dragon and put her face in her hands. Exhausted was one of the many words she’d use to describe what she was feeling right now. Drained is another one but it falls within the same category.
A loud gasp made Morgan remove her hands from her face. She looked to where it originated from. The guardsmen were looking at the dragon as its scales turned burnt and turned into ash that turned into wisps of blues and oranges that flew towards her. She stared at the dragon carcass, now just a pile of bones. A reminder of what it used to be.
She turned to Taliesin who looked horrified. She looked at the guards who seemed to have mixed feelings of awe or curiosity. Irileth shared the same expression as her guards.
“What was that?” she heard Taliesin asking before looking at her, “what are you?”
Morgan couldn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer. She kept her eyes on the dragon carcass and asked herself the same question. Her heartbeat raced. Her breath quickened. Gripped by panic. Hostage by her own emotions.
“I can’t believe it! You’re Dragonborn!” One of the guards said and approached her, his face filled with excitement.
“What?” she croaked out.
“In the very oldest tales, back from when there still were dragons in Skyrim,the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That’s what you did, isn’t it? You absorbed the dragon’s power?”
Morgan got up from the rubble and walked away from the guard, her breath stuck in her chest. “I, I don’t know,” she stammered.
“Well, you can shout now, right?”
“Guardsman, leave the woman alone. Give her a moment to breathe,” Irileth said sternly. She looked at Morgan with a gentle look, as if she was some sort of scared animal trying to run away. “Return to Dragonsreach and report to the jarl. We’ll take care of the dragon.”
Morgan nodded and walked away from the discussing guards of her maybe or maybe not being the dragonborn. It’s too much. An emotional ride from relief to being utterly terrified of herself again.
When she was about halfway back to Whiterun she crouched down and took a couple deep breaths to calm herself. She didn’t even take the time if he tailed after her. It didn’t really matter. He could run off or die in a ditch or go running back to the Thalmor embassy. She didn’t care. She didn’t have the energy to think about it right now. She did care though. She didn’t expect him to run after her like some novel she’d read in her youth. She’d understand if he was scared and left.
Taking deep breaths didn’t help. Touching or pulling the grass didn’t help either. It had been so long she had felt this way that she had forgotten how to deal with these sorts of emotions. There isn’t exactly a guide book she could have read to resolve her feelings about potentially being dragonborn but it would be nice. It felt childish the way she was crouched down onto the grass and cried about not knowing herself.
A hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her spiralling. She looked up to see Taliesin towering over her before he crouched down her level.
“I don’t know what happened,” she whispered, “it’s never happened before. But it’s like I’ve gained some sort of understanding. I don’t know how to describe it,” she rambled, avoiding his eyes as she started pulling the grass again.
“We can talk about it later,” he reassured and gently squeezed her shoulder.
Morgan nodded and rose up from the ground with Taliesin.
The road back to Whiterun was quiet. She didn’t want to fill the silence, she needed to think about this. There could have been other signs from her childhood or her stay at the college that could clue into what was happening to her. Maybe the early signs of her being a mage? No, it can’t. Maybe she picked up some remnant magic from the word walls she had stumbled across? Taliesin didn’t hear the chanting or seemed to be affected by it so it can’t.
The pondering of the archmage was abruptly interrupted by thundering voices. It was hard to tell what was said but it was definitely words in some language neither of them understood.
“Another dragon?” Taliesin asked as he looked up to the sky.
“It doesn’t sound like it,” Morgan replied, “let’s be quick in case it is.”
The jarl’s advisor and a man neither of them recognised stood by the Jarl Balgruuf where he sat on his seat. When they reach the top of the stairs Proventus waves them over to their discussion. From a distance they could hear the unknown speaking about “beards” and “calling”. An odd combination in a sentence.
As they approached the Jarl’s seat the two men went quiet. “What happened at the western watchtower? Was there a dragon?” the Jarl asked, looking between the two.
“There was one. Your men shot it down with a great amount of effort and we took care of it from above with some spells. We got it down to the ground and one of the guards got the final blow,” Morgan explained, keeping her hands behind her back and pressing her lips together. Two fingers tapping the back of her other hand. “There was- I don’t know how to explain. A phenomenon perhaps? Either way, when approached-” she points between herself and Taliesin, “it turned into ash and- I don’t know, I absorbed its essence? Soul? One of the men said I’m ‘dragonborn’.”
The jarl looked to the unknown man then to his advisor with a slight smirk.
“I know how strange it sounds-”
“So it’s true. The greybeards really were summoning you?” The jarl said.
Morgan frowned. “The greybeards? Those old fart- the old men at the top of the throat of the world?”
“So you know who they are.”
“I know the basics. I think I just said everything I know about them,” she chuckled. They didn’t seem amused by her little knowledge.
“They’re masters of the Way of the Voice. The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice, the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu’um or a shout. If you really are dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift,” the jarl explained gently. Probably sensing how nervous she was. The tapping turned into rubbing her hands behind her back.
“That’s if I am what you’re hypothising,” Morgan countered, “for all we know it could be Taliesin.”
“Oh no, all credit goes to you,” Taliesin said, which would sound humble if it weren’t for theatric, sarcastic way of speaking.
“You two must have heard the thundering sounds on your way back. That was the Greybeards summoning you!” the unknown man exclaimed, “this hasn’t happened in centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!”
“Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend, the archmage none the less? Capable as she is, I don’t see any signs of her being this, what? Dragonborn?” Proventus asked.
“Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant-”
“Hrongar. Don’t be so hard on Avenicci,” the jarl spoke gently and patted Hrongar’s arm.
“I meant no disrespect, of course. It’s just that, what do these Greybeards want with her?”
“Yes, we’re wondering that too,” Taliesin said.
“That’s the Greybeards business, not ours,” the Jarl said to Proventus before looking at Morgan and her companion, “Whatever happened when that guard killed that dragon, it revealed something within you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue? My advice, go to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It’s a tremendous honor. To walk the seven thousand steps.”
Seven thousand steps? The Greybeards will not see her until the next era. She glanced at Taliesin who looked as if he was questioning his decision to stay and follow her. Probably considering if he would be right for him to leave the first chance he gets.
“Before you leave, I’d like to bestow the title of Thane to-”
“Oh, there’s no need for that. I don’t need-”
“It’s the greatest honour I can bestow and you are most deserving of it,” the jarl continued and Proventus held out a bag of money to her, “I would usually give you a weapon from my armoury but it seems you are in no use of it, archmage.”
“I appreciate this, really,” she said as she took the money. It was much heavier than she expected. That’s what she deserves for killing a dragon, right?
“I also assign-”
“Oh good, more gifts,” she thought to herself.
“- Lydia as your housecarl,” the jarl continued, “she will be here soon. You are welcome to wait in my keep for her arrival.”
“Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf,” she bowed while holding the bag of money to her chest. She glanced at Taliesin who bowed as well.
Morgan turned her heel and headed towards the entrance of the keep. She couldn’t think about how she’d have to climb seven thousand steps to meet these Greybeards. Instead, she distracted herself with the thought of the outrage from her parents if she didn’t inform them immediately about this and they’d go to Skyrim to see her. She decided to think about the stairs again instead.
“So, back at the Sleeping Giant. Was that supposed to be a subtle way to tell me you’re Dragonborn? In that case, we will need to work on that,” Taliesin said as he stopped walking to stand underneath the arches.
“What? No, I didn’t know. That was a first for me. I think for anyone for a good while,” she said as she put the money into their bag.
“Well, at least it wasn’t an embarrassing first time for you. Look at how things turned out! A guard killed a dragon for you which you then absorbed, you potentially have a new power bestowed onto you, and you’ve been given the title of ‘Thane’. Looks like today really is your day,” he listed as he leaned against the support, “So, what’s next on the agenda?”
“Well, I was thinking we should go to the college but before-”
“No, no, I meant what are we doing about Lydia? She’s not coming with us, is she?”
“We haven’t even met her yet. I can’t make a decision without meeting her first,” she argued.
“I won’t argue with your decision,” he sighed, “I will, however, judge you for it. Silently. At a distance. I know better than to bite the hand that can easily scorch me,” he muttered, folding his arms, “But remember, three is a crowd.”
Morgan smirked. “Want me all for yourself, is that it?”
“You think I’d be jealous?” he said, offended, and placed a hand over his heart.
“It sure sounds like it,” she said, folding her arms. She kept looking at him with a smirk, watching a small smile appear on his face.
“You’re the ones who helped with the dragon?” A young, feminine voice asked. Morgan turned to the origin of the voice and saw a young nord woman, no older than twentyfive. She had shoulder length brown hair with two braids going from the top of her crown to her shoulders. She was dressed in steel armour and had a shield on her back along with a sword on her hip.
Taliesin pushed himself off the support and put his hands behind her back. Morgan smiled at her and reached her hand to the young woman. “We are. I’m Morgan and he’s Taliesin. I assume you’re Lydia?”
“I am,” she answered and shook her hand firmly, “It’s an honour, you’re a hero and whatever I’m supposed to tell you,” she sighed.
“You don’t sound particularly excited about this,” Taliesin said from the back.
“You two, eight guards, and Irileth were out there. The guards at the tower are dead or half the squad that went there are dead too. I knew them, including the ones that didn’t make it back. And out of nowhere the archmage and a random high-elf decides to show up and suddenly fixes a whole of problems the jarl’s court are having. I apologise for not being particularly excited,” she scowled at Taliesin before returning her gaze to Morgan, “I’m sorry if I’m not in a pleasant mood.”
“There’s no need to apologise, I understand,” Morgan said and let go of her hand, “it’s always hard losing friends. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I- thank you,” she softly said, “I am responsible for your life and anyone accompanying you. I had to express my concerns before I perform my duties as your housecarl.”
“Of course. You have reasonable concerns,” Morgan gently said and went to pick up the bag from the floor.
“There’s two paths we can take to High Hrothgar. We can either take the pass through Falkreath or travel around the Throat of the World,” Lydia suggested and followed after Morgan.
“I need to return to the college of Winterhold. There’s matters I need to take care of and things I need to gather before we can travel,” she explained, heaving the bag over her shoulder. Lydia quickly took it away from her and put it over her shoulder with ease.
“I assume we will take a carriage there.”
Morgan nodded and walked out of the keep with Lydia at her side and Taliesin behind her as she explained the plan going forward.
Notes:
I AM LOOKING AT MY OUTLINE NOTES and oh god
I was so indecisive if I should introduce Lydia or not but I clearly decided that's she's here and will be unfortunately third wheel until I introduce a fourth, modded follower
I'm gonna go and update my tags now and agnoise about my injured finger
Dynamite124 (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 19 Aug 2025 04:26AM UTC
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ImpossibleClara on Chapter 1 Tue 19 Aug 2025 08:01AM UTC
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PinkAbyss on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 03:27PM UTC
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ImpossibleClara on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 05:41PM UTC
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PinkAbyss on Chapter 3 Wed 20 Aug 2025 07:49AM UTC
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ImpossibleClara on Chapter 3 Wed 20 Aug 2025 12:10PM UTC
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PinkAbyss on Chapter 4 Thu 21 Aug 2025 01:08PM UTC
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ImpossibleClara on Chapter 4 Thu 21 Aug 2025 01:14PM UTC
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