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“So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?” Askes the court wizard of Whiterun. He was only half paying attention. His focus was much more centered on the enchanting table and the sword he was tasked with imbuing with fire magic. “I really don't think so.”
“He said you needed help with a project.” Aegir said but added. “Though, knowing you Farengar, you have forgotten. Back at the College, you were always so distracted with your work that you would have stepped into your own frost rune if I didn’t stop you.”
“Aegir?!” Farengar dropped the soul gem he was handling and swiveled around.
“Hello old friend.” Aegir smiled. “I’m impressed with your rank in the Jarl’s court. Balgruuf is a fine patron.”
“And you have become a priest...”
“As I always said I would.” Aegir replied. “You have your research and I have my faith. Both of us have fulfilled the goals we set all those years ago.”
“Please forgive my earlier rudeness. I am so often interrupted by visitors wondering in, I can occasionally become quite savage.” Farengar straightened up his blue robes. “Now... what did you say you wanted?”
“Your research on the dragons.” Aegir explained. “The Jarl said you could use some assistance.”
“Oh yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me.” Farengar said. “Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”
The priest raised an eyebrow and frowned. “What does this have to do with dragons?”
“Right... I am not dealing with a mere brute mercenary, but a thinker and scholar like myself.” The wizard laughed. “You see, stories of dragons have begun to circulate, many dismiss them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where are they coming from?”
Aegir flinched but nodded in agreement. “Yes, it is foolish to dismiss the stories. Tell me more about this tablet.”
“I ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites.” Farengar walked over to a hanging map and pointed to a location south of the city. “Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”
“Where, may I ask, are you getting your information?” Aegir rubbed his chin.
“Now, now, we must keep some professional boundaries.” the wizard chided. “All you should know is that I have sources. Reliable ones.”
“The Thalmor thrive on misinformation, Farengar.” Aegir pointed out. “Surely you understand my caution.”
“This again?” Farengar sighed. “My source is not with the elves. They hate the Thalmor probably as much as you do and the Zealot that’s been attacking their prisoner transports. You don’t need to worry about it.”
The priest took a moment to weigh his options. “Raiding an ancient Nordic tomb may not be as simple as you think, old friend. But you can count on me to retrieve it for you.”
Just as Aegir was about to leave, Farengar asked. “What is your interest in all this? I thought a priest of Talos would be more concerned with the ongoing hostilities.”
Aegir smiled and turned up his hood. “Talos’s gaze is wider than the war over Skyrim. His guidance has brought me here and that is all the motivation I need.”
Bleak Falls Barrow was built on the side of a mountain that cast a shadow over a small village called Riverwood. It was a pretty little spot with clean air and crystal water. Very different from the ice and snow he was used to in Windhelm. The beauty alone was worth the quest.
The locals were friendly enough and the innkeeper didn’t mind his Talos worship. Many inns refused to serve him out of fear that the Empire would punish them. Aegir understood, people had been abducted by the Thalmor for even being suspected of Talos worship, but it meant many cold nights spent outside.
Once he was settled in, Aegir had one of the local hunters show him the path up to the tomb. According to him, a group of bandits was camped out there and an expedition of the barrow was suicide. Aegir would need to plan his next move carefully. Retrieving the stone wasn’t his primary motivation anyway. He felt a pull to this village. Talos wanted him to be here. This must have been the place he would find the last Dragonborn.
But it could have been anyone.
Sven, the young man who sang at the inn, looked the part but did not have the heart of a warrior. The Blacksmith, Alvor and Hod the Lumberjack seemed too old. The mischievous boy Frodnar seemed too young. The local drunk, Embry, was a coward and Orgnar the barkeep was completely unconcerned with anything outside the inn.
Aegir would need to widen his list of candidates. His vision had referred to the Dragonborn as a man, but it could just as easily be a woman. Or not a human at all. Nords were his first-choice but any race could receive the blessing of Akatosh. Faendal, the hunter that showed him the way to the barrow, had been the most helpful and he was a wood elf...
Aegir admittedly disliked the idea of a Bosmer Dragonborn but if it was the gods’ will, he would fulfill Talos’s orders.
It just so happened that the day of his second exploration of the path up the mountain, Aegir met two newcomers in the village. They were a rebel soldier and a sympathizer. They brought grave news from the city of Helgen. All that Aegir had been warned about was coming true. A black dragon came out of nowhere and destroyed everything in sight. As far as was known, the two men in Aegir’s company were the only survivors.
The story brought the priest dread... but also Hope.
The soldier, Ralof, was everything a dragonborn should be: Strong, Brave, loyal... a warrior with convictions. It could not be a coincidence that the dragon appeared just before his execution. Fate had a plan for this one... However, Ralof insisted that the man Aegir was looking for was the leader of the rebellion, Ulfric Stormcloak.
Ulfric was Aegir’s Jarl, his liege, and the rightful king of Skyrim, but the Dragonborn? Aegir had his doubts. Ulfric was an older man set in his ways. He was determined to take his throne and drive out the oppressive Empire. His concerns were not with the return of the dragons. Still, he had the power of the voice, a trait shared by all Dragons and Dragonborn, Aegir could not deny it made him a prime candidate. For that reason, he agreed to an expedition to Helgen to hopefully find the Jarl. Ralof would not accept the possibility that Ulfric was killed in the destruction. The Imperial turncoat declined to go with them. Aegir was tempted to think less of Ralof’s friend, but it was clear that the lad didn’t lack bravery. After facing execution, escaping Helgen, saving Ralof’s life and diligently attending to him afterward, he could be allowed a few days to recover from all he had been through.
The priest and the soldier left Riverwood before sunrise one morning. It would only take a few hours to reach Helgen but they packed supplies for a few days at least. Digging through the ruble would be no easy task.
“Before we enter Helgen, I wanted to visit a shrine of Talos nearby.” Aegir said as the hiked up the road. “It will strengthen my powers to bask in my lord’s glory.”
“Oh... whatever you need, Priest.” Ralof replied respectfully. “I know the shrine you speak of. A visit will do me good as well.”
The Stormcloak rebel took the lead as the took an off road that lead to Falkreeth. Aegir still had a better feeling about Ralof than he did Ulfric. It was said that the gods’ bestowed great power on the mighty but humble. Ralof was so convinced of his Jarl’s greatness that he could not see the possibility that he was the man meant to save the world. Maybe Talos would confirm Aegir’s suspicions if he meditated at his shrine.
The Talos statue was off the road and up a dirt path a way. Beside it was pitched a modest tent with a campfire and cooking pot. They probably belonged to the shrine’s caretaker. When the Empire bent the knee to the Thalmor and banned the worship of Talos, the elves went about destroying Talos’s statues and desecrating his shrines. Priests of the order were sent by Ulfric to ensure that Skyrim’s worshiping sites were protected. Sure enough, a priest in brown robes was knelt at the statue's feet, his arms outstretched to the heavens.
“Welcome, Pilgrims.” The pries greeted when he heard Ralof and Aegir approach. Upon seeing the other priest, he got up from his kneeling position and bowed.
“Why if it isn’t young, Leif.” Aegir said with a smile. “I was curious where you’d go once you took your vows.”
“Brother Aegir?!” The younger priest exclaimed, eyes widening. “This is a surprise! I thought you were wandering the north. I heard rumors… that you were involved with the one being called the Zealot…”
“Talos has brought me to the south.” Aegir explained. “I have come to gather my strength at this shrine.”
“Of course!” Leif bowed. “All faithful are welcome.”
“Does the shrine receive many visitors, priest?” Ralof asked as he knelt beside Aegir.
“No... not this close to the boarder. Though, I have a family from Falkreath that visits once a week.” Leif said with a sigh. “They have been kind enough to bring me food and offered me shelter during the last storm.”
“So, you were not here the day Helgen fell...” Aegir murmured.
“No.” Leif shook his head. “But I did see a dragon...”
“You did?” Ralof asked. “Was it black as oblivion and covered in spines?”
Leif swallowed nervously. “N-no, it was green, with a frill on its head, a tall fin on its back and a wide leaf-shaped tail.”
“That can’t be right.” Ralof said puzzled. “That isn’t the one that--”
“So, there are at least two dragons now.” Aegir closed his eyes, bowing his head. “Talos protect us...”
The conversation of Ralof and Leif faded into the background as Aegir meditated. This was troubling news. Troubling news indeed. He needed the gods to tell him Ralof... or even Ulfric was the Dragonborn. He needed to know.
"Akatosh , Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kyne, Mara, Stendarr, Zenithar… Mighty Talos; Is my search at an end? Have I found the one I am seeking?”
Go to the south, to the hold of the running horse. You will meet him there, The Last of the Dragonborn, the only man who can save Tamriel from Alduin’s wrath.
“Please, time is running out... it is already too late to save Helgen...” Aegir pleaded at his question not being answered. “Must more villages burn before I have an answer?”
The savior should not be measured by the strength of his arm alone... what matters is the strength of his heart.
“Lady, Mara?” Aegir felt instant serenity at hearing the female voice. “Gentle mother... please give me council.”
Not all heroes are measured by might. Find a compassionate soul, someone who can wield great power responsibly. The war hardened and ambitious are not who you seek.
Aegir was gently shaken out of his trance by Ralof who spoke softly but urgently. “Priest? Priest are you alright?”
“I... yes.” Aegir murmured. His voice was horse from chanting and his legs had gone numb from kneeling so long. The sun was beginning to get low in the sky. “Oh... how long has it been?”
“Many hours.” Ralof said, sighing with relief. “Leif said it was normal for you to fall into intense trances, but I was getting worried.”
“Apologies, my friend.” Aegir bowed his head. “I lose sense of time when speaking to the gods. I did not mean to make you worry.”
“Has Talos given you any visions about Ulfric? About the dragons?” Ralof asked, expectantly. “You were praying so long... you must have learned something?”
The war hardened and ambitious are not who you seek.
“Lady Mara does not believe Ulfric is the man I am looking for.” Aegir admitted honestly. “The Dragonborn should not have other ambitions besides slaying the dragons...”
“Mara?” Ralof’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head. “I thought you were praying to Talos.”
“I was.” Said the priest. “But it was she who answered my prayer.”
Ralof seemed dissatisfied with Aegir’s answer but did not push the subject. Aegir could feel the doubt and disappointment radiating off the Stormcloak soldier. A tense moment passed then Ralof relaxed his shoulders.
“Even if Mara is right... we should still go to Helgen and look for Ulfric and any other survivors.” Ralof said confidently. “He is still my Jarl, and my friend.”
Aegir hid a smile. “We shall... but not tonight. It will be getting dark soon and the visions have sapped much of my strength.”
“You both are welcome to share my fire.” Leif said kindly. “It will be nice to have some company.”
“We’d be honored.” Ralof smiled. “I have a few rabbits we can eat for our dinner.”
“You went hunting while I was out?” Aegir asked, rubbing his sore legs.
“It was a way to make myself useful.” The soldier laughed. “I’ve been an invalid for too long. Can’t rely on the nanny out here.”
Aegir snorted. “I doubt our friend back in Riverwood would appreciate the title you’ve given him.”
“He’d think it was funny.” Ralof shrugged as he pulled out a cooking pot.
Dinner was simple but satisfying. Leif was particularly grateful to not be eating alone. Aegir empathized with the young priest. Their duties in these troubled times often sentenced them to a life of isolation, with only the gods as company. Aegir often entertained the idea of getting a dog. Just a loyal friend to follow him on his journey.
When the stew was all eaten and their plates all stacked in a bucket, the three Nords stretched out under the night sky. The Warrior’s stars shined dimmer now that Last Seed was coming to an end. Soon it would be Hearthfire and the Lady would take her turn to watch over the heavens. Hearthfire meant that the freezing rains would soon become snow and Aegir’s journey would become harsher. Leif would not be able to continue camping out by the shrine in just a tent. He would need more permanent shelter. Aegir whispered a quiet prayer that the gods would look over his younger peer. Maybe the family in Falkreath could extend their hospitality once again... or by some miracle the Elves would be driven out completely and Talos’s worshipers would be safe.
Morning came and Aegir was awoken by the singing of the birds and the chattering of squirrels. The woodland creatures had not a care in the world. No weariness of war, no fear of the impending doom of Tamriel. They enjoyed their humble lives and brightened the world with their presence. It brought Aegir a simple joy that eased his mind of the heavy burden he was tasked with. The little things were important too. All his efforts would be worth it if it meant the birds could keep singing.
Breakfast was dry, salted beef and the last of a loaf of bread gifted by Leif. Afterwards, Aegir and Ralof bid their host farewell and backtracked to the main road.
“Take care of yourselves!” Leif called to them as he began morning worship. “Talos guide you!”
“Thank you, Leif!” Ralof waved as the shrine disappeared behind them. “I have a good feeling about today, priest. I woke with a strength in my bones and determination in my heart!”
“That’s the spirit.” Aegir smiled to himself.
Ulfric was not the Dragonborn but Ralof still could be. The gods would not give Aegir a straightforward answer, trusting him to make the correct choice. As the priest’s certainty of Ralof grew, he thought of how best to approach the next step. The Stormcloak soldier could not shout as a Dragonborn should but Ulfric was a student of the Greybeards, masters of the way of the voice. Perhaps it was Ulfric’s destiny to teach his devotee, pass on the knowledge and unlock the power lying dormant in Ralof’s blood. If that was the case, it was all the more important to find him.
“Shor’s bones! It looks even worse than I remember.” Ralof proclaimed as they approached the ruin of, Helgen. “Even the stone looks melted...”
“Legend says that dragon’s fire burns hotter than normal flame.” Aegir said quietly. “It is fortunate that it ran out of fuel before it could spread to the forest.”
“Aye.” Ralof grunted, stepping over the splinters of the town’s gate.
The stench of death was everywhere. Scavenger birds picked at a pile of charcoaled flesh and a lone mangey wolf skunked away with a bone in its mouth. It had been almost a week... why had the empire sent no one to look after the dead? This place would need a priest of Arkay to perform the last rights for the souls trapped her. Aegir could feel the darkness of a haunting in every hair on his body. If something wasn’t done soon the land would be cursed...
“Priest...” Ralof said in a horrified whisper and pointed to a rune painted in blood on one of the walls.
Aegir grit his teeth and called a spell of protection to his hands. He cast the golden aura over himself and Ralof and suddenly the darkness around them became visible. A foul black mist slithered on the ground and shadowy figures crawled on the walls.
“You can always be sure that when tragedy occurs, a necromancer will never be far behind.” Aegir said, voice rumbling with anger.
“Defiling Heretics!” Ralof growled, raising his ax. “Let us find him and send him to oblivion.”
Aegir shook his head. “I do not believe the necromancer is still here. Blood magic such as this rune is meant to bind a location to his power and feed it to his hidden lair. He uses the souls trapped here to fuel his dark rituals.”
“There must be something we can do.” Ralof argued. “Can’t you cleanse the rune with your magic?”
The shadows crawled down to the black mist and joined with it to create a ghostly sludge. Skeletal forms began to rise and take the shape of black shades with red glowing eyes. Ralof brought down his axe on one of them and was about to rush another but Aegir caught his arm.
“You can kill the shades, but they will only rise again.” The priest said with warning, pointing to the circle of light they both stood in. The shade Ralof slew bubbled up from the ground and took shape again but did not cross into the circle. “I can protect the two of us but removing the rune is beyond my area of skill. It will take a priest of Arkay or a wizard knowledgeable in the Conjuration School.” Aegir removed his own axe from his belt and handed it to Ralof. “The blade has been blessed. Using it on these foul things should banish them long enough for us to search for the Jarl.”
“Right.” Ralof nodded, giving the axe a swing to test the weight. “I will dispatch them so we can resume our search.”
Aegir reached out his arms, spreading out his fingers so a green ward spread in a shield before him. “You attack, I’ll defend.”
Ralof nodded then took off. He cut down one shade and stepped back so another’s strike would hit Aegir’s ward instead of him. They continued this pattern until there were no shadows and the black mist was reduced to sludge on the ground. Now, Aegir could have handled it all himself. A ward spell in one hand, his axe in the other... but he wanted to see Ralof fight. See the skill of the warrior with his own eyes and make a judgement on how well he worked with others.
The Stormcloak rebel did not disappoint.
“Your combat skill is impressive.” Aegir complemented once all the shades were gone.
“It is a fine weapon.” Ralof smiled as he cleaned the sludge from the blade. “It’s so light.”
“Skyforge steel.” The priest smiled. “It was given to me by my mentor.”
“A Kingly gift.” Ralof whistled, handing the axe back to its master. “Was he in the Companions?”
“She might have been.” Aegir chuckled with a shrug. “The old woman had once been many things and had endless secrets. Come now, show me to the keep that leads to your escape tunnel.”
The entrance to the keep had collapsed and Aegir was thankful that they took Ralof’s friend’s advice and brought shovels. Digging their way to the tunnel was made much easier. The air inside was thick and musty. Aegir cast a mage light into the dark and the it may as well have been traveling through fog with the amount of dust and ash. All around was deathly silent.
“Ralof... there is no life in this place.” The priest muttered as he cast a spell along the wall. He saw no heartbeats here or any deeper in the tunnel. “I want you to be prepared for the worst.”
The Stormcloak rebel nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat and pulling up his cloak to cover his nose and mouth. “If we find Ulfric here he will be dead. If we do not find him, he is alive and has escaped.”
“Yes.” Aegir pulled up his scarf. “Let us pray we do not find him, then.”
It was troubling to Aegir, now that it was certain they were searching for a body and not a living man. Each unfortunate soul they came across, Ralof turned over and took great care to make sure it was not his Jarl. They moved deeper and deeper into the depths of the earth until they came across a section that Ralof recognized as one that collapsed. However...
“By Talos! It’s been cleared away!” The warrior exclaimed. “It looks as if a great force has pushed the boulders out of the path.”
“An unrelenting force.” Aegir mused.
“Ulfric’s thu’um!” Ralof said victoriously. “Only he could have done this.”
“Indeed.” Aegir stepped forward on the unblocked path. “This way should be where we continue our search.”
The path was shorter here. A few twists and turns and then suddenly the afternoon sun was visible, shining through the tunnel. Aegir and Ralof emerged from the earth and stepped into the forest north of Helgen. On the grass, there lay a blue woolen cloak with the insignia of a mighty bear stitched into it. Ralof picked it up, brushing off the dirt and holding it reverently.
“This is all the evidence I need.” He said, voice full of great emotion. “Ulfric escaped with the others. He did not die in that awful place!”
Aegir smiled, closing his eyes and leaning against a tree. Admittedly, he was as relieved as Ralof was. The loss of Ulfric would mean untold suffering for the Nord people under the boot of the Thalmor. Ralof’s smile was infectious but Aegir felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.
“The rebellion isn’t over... there is still hope. I... I must go to Windhelm at once! Fight at Ulfric’s side once more!” The rebel held out his hand to Aegir and exclaimed. “Come with me, Priest! With you as a battle mage we will be as Unrelenting as our king!”
Aegir almost took that offer. Oh, how he wanted to, but...
Go to the south, to the hold of the running horse. You will meet him there.
Not all heroes are measured by might. Find a compassionate soul, someone who can wield great power responsibly. The war hardened and ambitious are not who you seek.
Talos’s voice was insistent, pulling on his mind. Mara’s warning meanwhile whispered in his ears. Why now? Were the gods telling Aegir he was wrong? Ulfric was not the Dragonborn and neither was Ralof? Was his search not over yet?
“I... cannot.” Aegir said, his own disappointment audible. “My destiny is not in Windhelm. It is in Whiterun hold... it might be for you too.”
Ralof’s smile fell as he seemed to think over something. With a sigh, he shook his head. “Sorry, Priest, I am a Stormcloak Soldier. My duty is to Ulfric and his rebellion. I... I swore an oath to drive out the empire and put my Jarl on Skyrim’s throne.”
“I understand duty.” Aegir said kindly. “If that is what is important to you, you must go and meet Jarl Ulfric in Windhelm. My duty is to follow Talos’s will... and he is telling me to stay in Whiterun hold and continue my search.”
“Aye.” Ralof gave a sad nod. “...You will give my regards to my family back in Riverwood, won’t you? And my apologies to my friend for not saying goodbye?”
“I will tell them.” Aegir promised, extending a friendly hand. “I pray you have a safe Journey.”
Ralof shook Aegir’s hand in farewell. “Same to you, Priest. I know you will find the person you are looking for.”
“Of course, I will.” The priest said, though he did not feel as confident as he sounded. “I have faith in Talos.”
“Well I have faith in you.” Ralof smiled.
The two men parted after it was decided that Ralof take most of the supplies with him for his long trek north. Aegir spent the night in the sheltered forest next to a modest campfire. Ralof left him with rations for his dinner but the priest had no appetite. He knelt in silent prayer, clutching his amulet of Talos so tightly it would leave its impression in his hands.
Was he making a mistake by not going with Ralof?
Was he abandoning the Dragonborn?
Was Tamriel’s only hope going to become an instrument in the rebellion?
Ulfric was a great man but his goals were self-serving. He could not be trusted to guide the bearer of so much power.
If Aegir was making the wrong choice, he could be dooming the entire world.
The doubt was eating away at him.
The doom of Tamriel is upon you, Priest. The First born of Akatosh will come to swallow the world. If you do not act, everything will come to an end. Go to the south, to the hold of the running horse. You will meet him there, The Last of the Dragonborn, the only man who can save Tamriel from Alduin’s wrath.
Find him, fight at his side and watch his back. Keep him on an honorable path.
You must not fail.
“I must not fail.” Aegir chanted. “I will NOT fail.”
When he came out of his trance the first sunbeams of dawn were peeking through the trees. The birds were singing, and the squirrels were chattering.
Aegir took a deep breath and slowly picked himself off the ground. He was sore from the labor he did the previous day and stiff from praying all night. After forcing himself to eat an apple and a piece of dry beef, he set a course for Falkreath. He should have resumed his mission at the barrow near Riverwood but something had to be done about the blood rune in Helgen and the Arkay priest in Falkreath was the closest person Aegir knew of that could remove it. It would also brighten Aegir’s spirits to see Leif’s friendly face again.
Tragically, that is not what he would find when he reached the hidden shrine.
The first thing that told Aegir something was wrong was the silence. As he walked up the road the only sounds came from his tired footsteps. A quiet forest meant danger. A more obvious sign of danger was when the silence was broken by a pained cry and the thundering aftershock of a lightning spell. Aegir broke into a sprint and dropped his pack when his eyes were met with a scene of horror.
Three elves stood in front of Talos’s statue, two in gold armor and one in deep violet robes. Talos’s head lay at their feet along with Leif’s crumpled body and the bodies of three others. The small camp was trashed, Leif’s few possessions scattered and destroyed. The grass was so stained with blood that it was now red.
“Looks like you were right, Sanyon.” One armored elf said to the one in robes. “The heretics did have a shrine hidden here.”
“And Elenwen thought I was crazy!” The elf in robes huffed. “Proving her wrong might mean a promotion for me.”
“Not likely.” came Aegir’s voice from under his hood. There was no emotion in the words he uttered despite the tears that rolled down his chin.
“Another one?!” Sanyon barked out a laugh. “Come to die for your false god with the others?”
“I am not the one that is going to die.” Aegir growled as he loosened the ties on his robes. Sadness and despair were pushed to the back of his mind as righteous anger flowed through his veins.
The elves watched him curiously as he pulled back his hood and let the entire robe hall. He now stood before them in nothing but rough spun trousers and thin fur boots. His whole body from the waist up was tattooed with marks of his faith; Symbols of beasts and runes of ancient wisdom. The amulet of Talos was displayed proudly around his neck.
“This one is more bold than the other.” Sanyon said with a sneer. “Belstam, end this cur’s miserable life.”
An armored elf drew his sword and stalked towards the priest. Aegir did not so much as flinch and continued to glare hatefully at his attackers. His Skyforge axe remained on his hip but he did not reach for it, keeping his fists balled up at his sides.
“Where’s your god now?”
Assuming that the Nord was giving up, Belstam raised his sword and then brought it down with all his strength.
“What?!”
The blade was halted when the priest brought up his arms and caught it with his bare hands. A protective magical shell glittered green down his arms. The strength of the blow only pushing him back slightly.
“My flesh is iron.” Aegir’s voice slithering through his grit teeth. “So is my willpower!”
The priest gripped the blade of the sword and twisted, wrenching it from the elf’s hands. With one dextrose motion, he flipped it around and drove it into his attackers gut before he knew what hit him. Aegir kicked the elf’s body back without removing the sword and it slumped on the ground.
“Belstam NO!” Screamed the other armored elf as she charged Aegir with a sword in one hand and a flame spell in the other.
“You’re still not strong enough to withstand my power!” Sanyon roared.
The Thalmor agent cupped his hands together and shot a stronger bolt that struck Aegir, nearly knocking him off his feet. The she-elf in armor swung her sword and the priest managed to bring up a ward to block but the Skyforge axe was knocked from his hand when he reached for it. Volts of electricity shot through his body and shattered the protective shell he cast over himself.
“When will you fools ever learn?!” Sanyon laughed as he increased his spell’s intensity. “You can fight and die all you want. You will not withstand the Thalmor! I have lived three of your lifetimes! Men are little more than short lived animals compared to the Altmer! Your pathetic last stand for your false god will be a footnote in history. Ha! Not even that!”
Aegir grit his teeth, using his ward to push the destructive spell back. The she-elf was waiting for an opening to cut him down. The priest squinted through the pain, drawing on his life force to feed his magic for one last spell. His ward came down and the she-elf lunged.
Time seemed to slow as the priest leaped out of the path of her blade. His hands raised above his head and an ethereal white double-bladed axe materialized within them. He brought it down in a crushing blow as blood sprayed across his tattooed body.
Sanyon’s spell fizzled out as his hands began shaking with fear. “W-who are you? WHAT are you?!”
“I know why it is the elves despise Talos so.” Aegir stepped over the other elf’s broken body, not answering Sanyon’s question. “Jealousy.”
He advanced forward, not feeling the unfocused bolts of sparks that Sanyon threw at him.
“The all so mighty Altmer are the longest living race on Nirn and yet they have never accomplished as much as one mortal man.” Aegir said flatly. “Talos Concord and United Tamriel, creating an empire that kept peace for an age. So great were his deeds that the gods ascended him to the heavens and made him divine. You elves cannot stand that your people have not done the same.”
Sanyon stumbled back shrinking at Aegir’s words. “Lies… lies…”
“That is why you’ve poisoned the Empire HE founded against him. Why you label his worship as heresy and slaughter his faithful.” Fury burned in the priest’s voice as he continued his advance. “The only way to kill a god is make is so no one believes in him. Well that is never going to happen. Do you hear me?! NEVER!!”
“Wait! I know who you are now…” Sanyon quivered. “Y-you’re that Zealot! The one that’s been attacking our prisoner transports and freeing everyone!”
“I am no zealot of Talos.” Aegir frowned, raising the divine axe over his head. “I am merely his messenger.”
With one strike, the elf was cut in two. Aegir’s mask of righteous anger evaporated with Talos’s axe. Grief and despair washed over him now as he fell to his knees and let out an anguished cry.
They killed young Leif! They killed the kind family from Falkreath! A man, his wife, and their son who didn’t look older than sixteen! From the destruction of the scene, it looked like the worshippers had tried to fight back before being massacred… the Woman still clutched a broken Iron sword and the father was severely burned laying on top of his son’s body to shield him. Leif’s face was twisted in such a horrible expression of agony that he was unrecognizable.
“Why?” Aegir said through his tears. “If only I had gotten here sooner… I… all this power and I can do nothing!”
This was not how things were supposed to be. The end of Tamriel was upon them and the Thalmor cared more about killing farmers for worshipping a god they didn’t. Ulfric and his soldiers spent all their resources fighting them and were so blinded by hatred they became cruel and unwelcoming to outsiders. The Empire and the Stormcloaks could meet each other on a valley of blood while Alduin burned down the world around them and they wouldn’t even notice!
Talos founded the empire to bring all of Tamriel together. Now everyone was growing more divided…
And the scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled!
Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!
Just like in the old songs. These really were the end times…
But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then!
Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!
Hope was still out there. Aegir gazed into the eyes of Talos’s broken statue and steadied his breath. He still had a task to accomplish. There was no time to wallow in doubt and uncertainty. Talos foretold that Aegir would meet the savior in Whiterun. The priest would trust in his god to guide him to the right person.
Aegir picked himself up and washed off the blood as best he could before dawning his robe again. He spent hours digging graves for Leif and the family. He then dug a spot for the elves he had killed as much as he felt they didn’t deserve it. He’d continue to Falkreath as planned and enlist the help of the priest of Arkay to give them all their last rights and to cleanse the darkness lurking in Helgen.
When all that was done, he would return to Riverwood. Farengar still needed the stone tablet… perhaps in retrieving it, Aegir would finally find the one he was looking for.
Aegir finished covering the last grave and gazed at the setting sun. He held his amulet close to his heart and watched as a black winged shape flew over the distant mountains.
“I will not fail…”
