Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An unfamiliar bite stung Kyron’s cheeks. At first, he mistook it for the sun. He had awoken to the burn of heat across his face many a time before, during his travels in the Alik’r Desert, when he’d stopped for midday rests and slept long enough for the sun’s rays to creep into his shade. But this feeling was different — it numbed rather than burned, and it bit deep, like it was trying to eat down to his very bones. When he forced open his eyes and saw the blinding white of snow surrounding him, he remembered abruptly that he was not in Hammerfell anymore.

He was in the back of a cart, part of a convoy traveling through a snow-cloaked forest of towering trees. As the cart bumped and rocked over the rough road, and he felt his shoulder knock against the warmth of another, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Three other men were slumped against the rough-hewn boards with him. All were bound up with ropes, and one of them had his mouth tied shut with a length of cloth. Things were not looking good. In fact, Kyron thought as his memories trickled back, it seemed that things had gone from bad to worse.

One of the men, dressed in what looked like soldier’s garb, noticed his stirrings and spoke. “Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

Kyron grunted in response. He was not yet awake enough for conversation, that was for sure. But the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and kept talking. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

One of the others in the cart scoffed and swore. Whether he was defending his honor or lamenting his fate, Kyron didn’t really care. He was busy trying to piece together what in Oblivion had happened.

The soldier had been partially right. He had been trying to cross the border, yes, but whatever ambush they had fallen into, Kyron had not been there. His ordeal had begun the night before, when a trio of lowlifes in some kind of uniform had snuck up on his camp while he slept, wrestled him into ropes, and robbed him of everything he’d had. Gold, food, weapons, armor -- they had forced him at knifepoint to strip off his gear, giving him a prisoner’s tunic to protect his modesty. They had even torn the amulet of Tava from his neck, an indignity for which Kyron hoped the Lady of the Air would strike them down.

Unarmed and outnumbered, Kyron had bided his time, waiting for the escape opportunity that he was certain these idiots would eventually afford him. But the next morning, they had taken him to a group of similarly-uniformed people who looked far more competent, proclaiming that they had found a “Stormcloak sympathizer” smuggling goods in from Hammerfell. Kyron’s protests had landed on deaf ears, so he’d begun to fight -- and gotten clobbered across the back of the head for his troubles. The burst of light swallowing up his vision was the last thing he remembered before waking here.

His head still ached, doubly so when the driver of the cart cut into the chatter of his fellow prisoners with a sharp, “Shut up back there!” As a stab of pain shot through his skull, Kyron felt a matching stab of fury in his heart, at the driver and at his entire damn company. It smacked of disrespect, shouting at those you already had at your mercy and it wasn’t honorable to strike a person from behind, especially not when they were stripped of weapons and dressed in rags.

The driver’s orders seemed to fall on deaf ears anyway. The thief was staring at the gagged prisoner, who was glaring at the floorboards with smoldering eyes, snow gathered on the fur of  his fine black cloak. “And what’s wrong with him?”

“Watch your tongue!” the soldier snapped. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

A look of terror crossed the thief’s face. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you.... Oh gods, where are they taking us?”

The soldier smiled bitterly. “I don’t know where they’re taking us, but Sovngarde awaits.”

A sliver of cold fear crept into the heat of Kyron’s anger. He had heard about the civil war rending Skyrim apart. In fact, it was part of the reason why he had journeyed to this cold land in the first place. Talented warriors were a dime a dozen in Hammerfell. But in Skyrim, everyone said, able-bodied citizens were being chewed up and spat out by the conflict. The lack of available fighters meant you could make some actual coin as a mercenary, and Kyron’s family was in dire need of some actual coin.

So Kyron had been well-aware of the war. But he knew little about the combatants and their positions. That all was Empire business. Hammerfell had won its independence and freed itself of those concerns, and he’d thought the war would matter little to a Redguard like him. But apparently, he had misjudged how bitter the battle had grown, and how willing the two sides were to sweep innocents up into their grudges. As the walls of a city came into view through the trees, and the unmistakable shouts of soldiers giving and taking commands rang out, the gravity of what was happening began to sink in.

He was being taken to a military execution.

The world grew distant and dreamlike. Kyron saw villagers staring, children being ushered inside, uniformed soldiers gathering in the shadow of a towering stone keep. The cart came to a halt and they were ordered to get out, and then a ringing voice began calling out foreign names and unfamiliar places -- “Ralof of Riverwood! Lokir of Rorikstead!” -- and all Kyron could think about was home, the shifting sands and craggy peaks and spectacular sunsets that he would never see again. He felt a little twinge of sympathy when the thief who’d shared his cart bolted and was quickly taken out by an arrow to the back. He had known running was pointless as soon as they’d been taken through a city’s walls, but who could blame a man for one final act of desperation?

The soldier reading out names reached the end of his list and realized there was one prisoner left over. “Wait… You there. Step forward. Who are you?”

Kyron cleared his throat so his voice would come out strong. “Kyron Stormhollow of Hammerfell.”

The soldier frowned in surprise. “What are you doing here, Redguard? You a sellsword? A sailor from Stros M’kai?”

Kyron simply glared back. If these people cared about justice, they would have asked these questions before loading him into the back of a cart with their enemies.

“Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

The captain’s face was already twisted with the hard cast of a person whose enemies stood before them, and Kyron expected no sympathy from her. Sure enough, she spat, “Forget the list. He goes straight to the block.”

“By your orders, Captain. I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains get returned to Hammerfell.”

As though that were supposed to be a comfort. Kyron’s family back home needed coin, not his body in a box. He wished he could apologize to them, and tell them somehow that in his final minutes, he was not afraid. As the enemy soldiers began to quarrel, exchanging triumphant boasts and defiant barbs, he turned his focus inward and let the world drop away. All he could do now was die with a brave heart and a peaceful soul. A rumble of thunder shook the air, and he smiled, knowing that the Lady of the Air was with him.

The thud of the headsman’s axe brought him back to reality for a moment, and he swallowed hard the sight of the first head rolling away in a spray of blood. Shouts and jeers split the air, and through them, he heard an order: “Next, the Redguard!”

Before he could step forward, another rumble shook the earth -- but this time, Kyron was not so sure it had been thunder. There’d been a strange quality to it, something unnatural and unfamiliar.

One of the soldiers seemed to be having the same thought. “There it is again. Did you hear that?”

The captain was too deep in her bloodlust to listen. “I said, next prisoner!”

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.”

With his heart in his throat, Kyron stepped forward and knelt beside the bloodied chunk of stone. He tried to keep his thoughts on those things he wanted to have in his heart as he died -- his home, his family, his faith -- but he couldn’t quite stem the simmering anger underneath, the fury at being condemned to die like this, helpless and unjustly accused, rather than meeting his end with his blood pumping and his swords swinging like he’d always imagined.

As his cheek pressed against the cold, sticky stone, Kyron glared up at the headsman as he raised his axe. His last act of defiance would be to make the man who killed him feel the light of his eyes go out.

And then, a dark shape as big as a house came soaring into view on wings so powerful that the headsman stumbled in their wind. The earth shook as it landed atop a stone tower and let out a roar that seemed to rend the very air. Kyron could’ve sworn he saw a swirling cloud open in the sky and fiery meteors streaking down -- although it was hard to say for sure, because a moment later the force knocked his head against the stone block and stars erupted in front of his eyes.

Even through the daze, he knew this was his chance. Fighting the pain in his head and the blurring of his vision, he stumbled to his feet. People were running and shouting, and he could hear the sounds of clanging metal and burning wood. He had to take shelter somewhere that the flames couldn’t reach. The stone keep was his best hope.

There was a tower across the yard, and he darted for its door. But then a black shadow passed overhead, and he skidded to a stop as the monstrous shape landed on the city wall and swiped one enormous clawed foot through the tower’s wall. Masonry went flying, and Kyron ducked, covering his head as best he could with bound hands.

It was a dragon. A fucking dragon. There was no mistaking it.

He turned and fled in another direction, taking refuge behind the burning remains of what appeared to have been an inn. His vision was blurring again, and he leaned heavily against the timbers, trying to let his head clear.

As he waited, a loud thump came from overhead. He glanced up in time to see an enormous fur-clad man leaping down from the inn’s second story, soot staining his cheeks and determination bright in his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice Kyron, instead making a beeline out into the cover of another building, where he began to shout to a pair of figures in the street.

“Haming! Come, this way! Hurry!” The man reached out a hand as a young boy stumbled blindly towards him. “Torolf, over h--!”

Another blast of fire rained from the sky, and a villager’s body fell flaming to the ground. The desperate call choked off in horror, and when the boy reached him, the huge man placed a hand aside the child’s cheek and kept his face turned away. “Don’t look, Haming. Come with me, quickly!”

The two of them began to run again, away from where the carnage raged. They darted past where Kyron was crouched, and he caught another glimpse of the boy’s searching gaze, before the man blocked his view once more and prodded him on with an urgent, “Keep going! Be brave.”

Kyron shuddered as the man and boy ducked out of sight. He’d seen some nasty fights in his time, but the slaughter of innocent civilians was something else.

The fire consuming the inn was worsening, and Kyron could feel its heat prickling on his cheeks. He was going to have to move, but it was hard to know where to go. Running across open ground was too risky, but as building after building fell, the places that might’ve lent cover were quickly filling up with flaming beams and broken chunks of stone.

Casting a glance around, he spotted a narrow passageway between the city’s stone wall and a low stone house. That looked like his best bet -- he would not have to worry about the buildings igniting around him. The screams and shrieks that heralded the dragon’s movements seemed to be focused several hundred yards away. Now was his chance.

Kyron ran for it.

He was halfway down the passageway when a rush of air from giant wings caused him to stumble. An enormous shadow descended over him a moment later, and the alleyway echoed with a sound that he would later realize was the heave of giant lungs.

Then Kyron was enveloped in a white-hot blast of agony. Flames obscured his vision and bit into his flesh, and for a moment he could do nothing but scream.

When he came back to himself, he was on the ground, face pressed into the dirt. He was aware of a great pain, but it felt strangely distant, as though it were happening to someone else and he was only feeling the twinges of sympathy. For a moment, he thought he might already be dead.

Then he felt the thick softness of fabric thumping against his body, putting out the embers that still smoldered on his ruined clothes. A voice was speaking near his ear, but his senses were too scrambled to make out what it was saying. Then strong arms scooped him up. He groaned as the pain swelled with the movement, but he was in no position to do anything more.

The flashes of fire and deafening explosions faded away into warm black darkness. Kyron felt himself being lowered, and then hard stone underneath him. The pain was becoming more and more insistent, and he had to bite back a whimper as the rough fabric of his tunic was gently pulled away.

Then suddenly, there was a burst of golden light and cool relief. A sigh escaped from Kyron’s lips as the burning agony faded away; he glanced down at himself just in time to see a delicate layer of skin close over the rawness of open burn wounds.

With less pain clouding his mind, Kyron’s wits returned to him, and he realized that somebody had just brought him back from the brink of death. He looked up into a young but weatherworn bearded face, with kindly blue eyes and a thick mane of black hair. As the man got to his feet, Kyron recognized his towering stature -- it was the same man he’d seen minutes earlier, rushing the young boy out of the dragon’s path.

“There you are… stay with me.” The man murmured in a voice that was gentle but insistent. “I know you must be in pain and I’m sorry I can’t do more for the moment, but we have to keep going.” He drew a small iron dagger from his belt and held out one hand. “Let me see those bindings, I may be able to cut them.”

Kyron blinked down at his hands before lifting them obligingly.

The man grasped at the ropes quickly but carefully and worked the tip of the knife under them. With a small flick of his wrist, the ropes severed and came loose, falling away from Kyron’s hands and allowing him to rub at the sore abrasions left behind.

“Good, that’s better.” The man sheathed his dagger and spun away. He hurried to a corner of the room, and then turned and crossed to another, yanking open wooden chests pushed against the walls and snatching pieces of clothing from them. He came back to Kyron with a bundle of armor and a glimmer of urgency in his eyes.

“You will need these. We will have to travel down through the keep’s underground passageways, and those rags will not protect you.” He pressed a leather cuirass into Kyron’s hands, and then without further comment, knelt and began to put the boots on Kyron’s feet with practical swiftness.

It took a moment of staring down at himself before Kyron could process what the man was saying. The roughspun tunic he had been wearing had been practically burned off. Moving gingerly, he shed its remnants, slid the leather armor over his head, and began fumbling with the buckles.

“Who are you?” he managed to ask as the strange man stood back up.

“My name is Elijah Sunborn. I am just a tradesman; I was passing through Helgen to sell wares when I saw the soldiers come into town.” Elijah held out a hand to help Kyron to his feet once the armor’s bodice was fastened. “We have to get out of here.”

He was right; Kyron didn’t waste any more breath. Taking Elijah’s hand, he staggered to his feet. There was a weapons rack on one side of the room, and as his companion began to examine the iron grate that barred their way, Kyron grabbed a pair of swords. They certainly weren’t his stolen scimitars, he thought bitterly as he strapped them to his sides, but they would have to do.

“There we go,” Elijah murmured as the iron grate slid up into the ceiling. He glanced back at Kyron. “Ready? Stay with me.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Kyron kept close on the big man’s heels as together, they ran deeper into the keep.

Chapter Text

The stone walls reverberated with the sounds of distant shouts of pain and terror, as well as the deafening bellows of the beast from an age past. Dragon . The word ricocheted around inside Elijah’s head in time with the thudding of his boots as he ran. Dragon . They were supposed to have died out centuries ago -- either that or gone missing. Tamriel only remembered them in song and legend, and by the remnants of ancient burial sites where dragon bones were laid to rest. There was no way one could be tearing the city above his head asunder in flame and fury.

But it was. He reached out a hand to steady his newfound companion as the young man stumbled from the pain of his injuries. It was. 

Elijah was worried about this stranger at his side. He’d seen the dragon bear down upon the man as it spewed fire from its maw before taking wing again and roaring its malice over the massacre of Helgen. He’d nearly given it no second thought, preparing to turn from the sight of another death with a heavy heart, but somehow, the deafening chaos had not quite drowned out the lingering hoarseness of the scream. And if the man was still screaming, that meant he was not silent, not dead.

Elijah had moved faster than he was sure he’d ever moved in his life. It was a blur in his mind -- putting out the flames with his cloak, lifting the stranger into his arms, bolting for the door of the keep -- but even through the whirlwind of danger and confusion threatening to overwhelm him, he could tell that his meager healing spell had been barely enough to get the man back on his feet. His skin was scorched; the entire left side of his face, shoulder, and chest were blistered and the barely-formed layer of new skin was chafing at the edges of his borrowed leather armor and beginning to bleed again. Elijah decided once they made it a little further, they could stop to catch their breath, and he could try to mend a bit more.

What he really needed to do once they were safe was take him to Michael, but he didn’t know if the man would trust him enough for that. He supposed he didn’t know if he should trust the man enough for that -- it was probably foolish to assume someone would be honorbound when they’d ridden in on a prisoner’s cart. But the rage he’d felt as he’d stood nearby and listened to the soldiers condemn someone to death by the blade with no proof of a crime--

The stranger stumbled again just as they reached a winding staircase, and Elijah caught him again, set him back on his feet, as gently and swiftly as he could.

“Watch your step.” Elijah grabbed a still-burning torch from the wall and began to lead their way downwards at a swift pace. “Keep going, but don’t fall.”

His companion’s eyes slid from the torch to Elijah’s face. It took a moment, but the words seemed to click, and he grunted his acknowledgment before following.

They reached the bottom of the stairs without incident, but just as they rushed through the open door to the next room over, a shattering split the air and the ceiling just a few paces ahead crumbled, sending huge stones crashing into the hallway.

With a shout, Elijah threw an arm over the stranger and pulled him into a hunkered position against the wall, curling his own head down and bracing for impact. 

The two of them were still shaking and shuddering when the settling dust began to make them cough, and Elijah smeared sweat-stained strands of his hair away from his face and laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder, letting warm magic flow from his palm and seep into the cracked skin he could see.

“This dragon does not give up easily.” Elijah coughed and swallowed. He blinked dust from his eyes and tossed aside the extinguished torch. “Let’s rest for a minute. I hear voices on the other side of that door.” He glanced towards their only way forwards. “Could be soldiers, and I don’t know if they can be reasoned with. We may be in for a fight if not.” With a shaking sigh, he rested his head against the wall behind them and sucked in a breath, trying to clear his head. “Did I hear that your name is Kyron?”

There was a pause, just long enough for Elijah to wonder whether the other man intended to ignore him. But then he coughed and said in a rasping voice, “Yeah. Kyron Stormhollow. I’m from Hammerfell.”

“Hmm.” Elijah let his spell taper off slowly, and gave the unburned shoulder across from him a friendly clasp. “Good to meet you, Kyron Stormhollow.”

He didn’t push the conversation beyond that. It was becoming evident that Kyron was only keeping his wits through sheer adrenaline and the need to survive. His wounds and no doubt the shock of them was clearly taking up much of his awareness; he stared sightlessly when he wasn’t forcing himself to focus and his responses to Elijah’s nudges were delayed by several moments each time. 

Michael would know how to help. Elijah tried not to let himself get preoccupied by concern, not when he still needed to navigate their way out of Helgen. He hoped Kyron’s distracted disposition was only a result of his visible injuries and not indicative of a more severe harm, such as a serious blow to the head.

Michael will know what to do . Elijah told himself sternly, thinking of golden curls and a wide smile as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached down and tugged Kyron up to stand beside him a moment later, then turned and rested a hand against the wooden door. He listened for a long moment, but the sounds of voices had faded. Maybe the soldiers in the other room had moved on.

“Kyron.” He said quietly, and waited until a slightly unfocused gaze rose to meet his. “I think it’s safe to move forward, but keep your guard up. This is a storeroom, and we may be able to find a few supplies, such as potion vials. But we will look quickly, and if we cannot find anything in a brief search, we will keep going.”

Kyron’s brow knit slightly, and a few long seconds passed before he seemed to understand enough to nod.

Thankfully, the soldiers had indeed run further underground, but blood was spattered on the floor and at least one body that Elijah avoided looking too closely at was pushed behind a bookshelf. He checked a few barrels and hanging sacks as briefly as he could, managing to tuck a few vials of healing serum into the pockets of his fur armor. Kyron pulled a small dagger from where it had been driven into the surface of a wooden table, and Elijah watched him fumble to sheath it in his belt before leading the way from the room and into the corridor beyond.

The two of them scrambled through a series of abandoned rooms, always waiting for the voices ahead of them to fade before pushing on to the next. Elijah wasn’t willing to risk a fight with someone so badly hurt at his side, and thankfully the soldiers seemed too occupied with reaching safety themselves to pay any heed to what might be behind them. 

It wasn’t until they reached the deepest part of the keep where the stone hallways opened up into the underground caverns that Elijah realized why they hadn’t heard anything for a while. He ground to a sudden halt, feeling his heart leap into his throat, as his gaze roved over the bloodbath before them.

The Imperials and escaped Stormcloaks had clearly clashed in open battle in that room, and there didn’t look to be any survivors.

Elijah took a few quick breaths, then swallowed hard. He slowly stepped over a body that was missing at least one limb, and kept going, hearing the squelch of his boots in the tide of blood.

“Be careful not to trip.” He said over his shoulder to Kyron in as measured a voice as he could muster, then continued picking his way across the floor.

At the room’s exit, there was a broad contraption with a lever, and a drawn wooden bridge. Elijah bent one knee, grasped the lever in both hands, and pulled up with all his strength, forcing the rusted metal into compliance. The bridge dropped, and he glanced back once to make sure that Kyron was finding his footing, and the two of them crossed.

No sooner had Kyron cleared the last step of the bridge when a thunderous roar shook the world, and the entire stone tunnel crunched inwards before completely collapsing on itself. Elijah stumbled back from the force of the cave-in and threw out a hand to catch Kyron before he could fall over backwards.

“Well. We won’t be going back that way.” Elijah said grimly, after he’d finished coughing the dust from his lungs. “I suppose we are fortunate that those stones didn’t come down on our heads.” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow, then turned to look down the length of the cavern. “We should push on. These tunnels will emerge somewhere above ground, and then we can get help.” He turned to his companion, and a dozen things he wanted to say leapt to his tongue -- about how he knew they’d only just met, and Kyron must have questions, and that Elijah wanted to bring him to a friend of his; a healer -- but he bit them all back, because he knew Kyron didn’t have the fortitude yet to fend all those questions. 

Instead, he settled for a simpler one. “Are you alright; can you keep going?”

Kyron glanced down at himself, as though the answer to that question might be written somewhere on his body. He blinked a couple times before saying, “Yeah, I’m fine. I can make it.”

A fresh wave of concern pulled at Elijah, but he simply nodded and led the way deeper into the cave. He might’ve insisted they take a rest -- perhaps spared Kyron’s pride and claimed to need a moment himself -- had they not rounded a curve and stumbled into a cavern filled with frostbite spiders.

Drawing his warhammer, Elijah assumed his best fighting stance and moved to place himself between the beasts and his injured companion. But before he could take a swing at the nearest scuttling arachnid, he saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye.

There was Kyron, facing off with the largest spider in the room. He was using a fighting technique that Elijah had never seen before, one that apparently involved a sword in each hand, but he didn’t seem to be having a very good time of it. His first swing only grazed one hairy leg, angering the spider and causing it to spit venom. Kyron dodged the wad of poison with surprising dexterity and then attempted a second blow. This one connected, and the spider buckled into a pile of broken exoskeleton -- but the angle at which Kyron had swung the blade didn’t account for its length, and the tip of the sword caught among the stones, jerking it from Kyron’s hand with a clang.

That was all Elijah saw before his attention was taken up by the creature in front of him, and he brought his warhammer down with a mighty crunch. Another spider crawled up in its place, and Elijah easily dispatched that one too. Then he turned to help Kyron -- but as it turned out, his companion didn’t need it. A second dead spider lay at his feet, although he didn’t look terribly happy about it.

“Stupid Nord swords,” Kyron growled, apparently to himself. “Too long. No curve. Barely even sharp. What garbage.” He let his remaining sword fall from his hands with a clatter and drew the dagger from his belt instead, taking a few practice swipes as though to test its weight. “Maybe two of these would work….”

Elijah wiped the spider guts off the head of his hammer and slung it back over his shoulders. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Kyron turned to face Elijah, his face splitting into a broad grin. Through the loose strands of brown hair falling over his face, Elijah could see his eyes gleaming. “Gonna take more than that to bring me down.”

It seemed the burst of adrenaline from the fight had done him good. They had better take advantage of that, Elijah thought. “Very good. Let’s keep moving.”

The underground seemed to be following the path of a stream, and soon their boots were crunching and splashing over wet rock. Elijah could not help but notice that there were bones strewn about on the path’s fringes, some of which appeared to be human. He shivered at the thought of the travelers who might’ve stumbled into these caverns and not managed to find their way back to the surface. But all this water had to emerge somewhere, and he was sure that if they followed it, they were bound to find an exit.

A sudden increase in the number of bones strewn around the cave alerted him to something amiss. He put a hand on Kyron’s shoulder to get his attention and quietly indicated that they should move more slowly. As the stone walls around them opened up into another large cavern, Elijah spotted the killer asleep in a patch of weak sunlight that leaked through a gap in the stone roof -- an enormous cave bear.

“Do you see that?” Elijah murmured as quietly as he could. “There’s a bear just ahead. I would rather not try to handle her in a fight right now. We can try to move past without waking her. Go slowly, and try not to step on anything that might make a loud sound.”

Kyron nodded and dropped into a crouch, waving one hand in a silent indication that he would follow Elijah’s lead.

Elijah was tempted to hold his breath, but he tried to keep his breaths steady and even instead. He began to slowly edge around the perimeter of the cave, pressing his boots as silently as he could over the damp soil, his eyes trained on the huge slumbering mound of fur. Kyron moved behind him, so stealthily that Elijah had to look back and make sure he was following, and after what seemed like an eternity, the two of them reached the other side of the cave as the bear continued to snooze, blissfully unaware.

It wasn’t until they’d rounded a bend however and the bear was out of sight that Elijah let himself exhale the tension that had built up in his shoulders and beckon to Kyron to signal they could pick up the pace. And not long later, Elijah heard the crunch of freshly fallen snow under their boots and realized a faint gray light was filtering in through the cavern’s end.

“This looks like the way out.” Elijah made sure Kyron was still keeping up and offered a small smile. “I admit I was starting to wonder. Careful, there’s a step up here…”

The two of them emerged into daylight, blinking in the sudden brightness after the darkness of the cave. The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, but there would be a good few hours before nightfall. Far above their heads, Elijah thought he caught a glimpse of a pitch black wing, but when he turned his head, searching the skies with alarm, there was only the whistling of the wind through the trees. 

He heard Kyron behind him take a shaky breath, and he turned, regarding the man with as earnest an expression as he could muster. “I think we will be safe now. I’m not certain who else might have made it out of Helgen, but it seems quiet on the road.” He paused, unsure how to say the words at the tip of his tongue, then sighed quietly. “Listen, I know we only just met, but I’m concerned about your wounds and I think you should see a healer. My closest friend is a practiced healer and alchemist, and he lives nearby, just an afternoon’s journey from here. If you would be willing to trust me, I can take you to him.”

Kyron squinted at Elijah, clearly trying to focus on his face, but he was looking worse by the second. As soon as they’d reached safety, the extra vigor had started draining away from him. “Healer? Yeah, I could probably do with one of those.” He pressed one hand to the side of his head with a slight frown, as though he were trying to clear out his thoughts, and continued, “I only just got to Skyrim. Don’t know where I am. Don’t know anyone else. And you already saved my life, so… yeah, let’s go.” 

He tried to take a step towards Elijah, but stumbled as he did, dropping down onto one knee. An obvious effort to stand back up failed so badly that Kyron lost his balance completely, body crumpling under him as he flopped face-first into the dirt.

“Huh,” he said faintly. “Maybe I’ll just... sit here for a minute first. Get my stamina back.”

Elijah got a hand on his back as quickly as he could, casting another healing spell and listening to the faint sigh of relief he got in return. “I don’t think it’s wise to linger here in the open. Give me just a moment.”

Without waiting for an answer, Elijah stood and grasped at the buckles of his belt, carefully rearranging the small pouches he carried with him to hang against his hips rather than to his sides. He’d dropped his larger pack of wares back in Helgen since he’d figured there was no sense trying to drag along his gathering haul if it meant he didn’t escape from the city, but he still had his weapons. Using a few pieces of leather and a couple of wooden pegs, he quickly fashioned a makeshift sling, and tucked his bow, arrows, and warhammer into it. Pulling the strap over his head, he situated the bundle to hang in front of his chest rather than behind his back.

“Alright.” Elijah knelt by Kyron again and began to slide his arms underneath him. “Come with me. If you can hold onto me well enough not to slide off, then I think we can make the hike together.”

Kyron wasn’t terribly responsive, but despite that, Elijah managed to get him onto his back, his arms hooked underneath Kyron’s knees and the man’s unburned cheek resting against the back of his shoulder. He could feel the slight tremor now in Kyron’s limbs that spoke to deep exhaustion and likely some lingering shock, and he tried not to let his worry cause him to tense.

“Are you comfortable? I’m not causing you any pain, am I?” Elijah checked before taking the first step, hoping he wasn’t gripping Kyron anywhere the burns crossed his skin.

“M’good.” Kyron’s voice came out as a slurred sigh. Elijah felt his cheek press in a little more firmly, as though perhaps he found the softness of Elijah’s fur cape comforting.

“Alright. Good.” Elijah scanned the road ahead of them, mentally planning the best route to take before he plodded onto the path. “We will be there soon.”

He heard a soft grunt against his shoulder, and tried to stay focused on his feet and the uneven stones underneath them. He’d have to go as quickly but smoothly as he possibly could.

Elijah had so many questions for this stranger, but had known from the start that they would have to wait. So yet again, he swallowed all his curiosity back, and instead concentrated on how he would explain this to Michael.

In the distance behind them, the smoking towers of Helgen faded into the growing twilight with every step Elijah made further down the road.

Chapter Text

Kyron woke up feeling confused but not afraid. He knew he wasn’t in his own bedroll as soon as his consciousness began to return to him, but that was only because he felt warmer and more comfortable than he had in weeks.

He opened his eyes to see the wooden beams of a roof high above him, shadows dancing among them with the flickering of a nearby fire. He was lying on a soft straw mattress covered in warm furs, and he could smell the scents of wood smoke and cooking meat. Soft voices drifted from the direction of the hearth, too faint for him to make out the words. 

He could remember where he was and how he’d gotten here only in snatches, but something in his gut told him he was safe. He cleared his throat and tried to call out to ask who was there, but his voice came out as a low rasp that dissolved into a quiet fit of coughing.

“Sounds like he’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice said, and then there was the scrape of a chair being pushed back before a face appeared in Kyron’s view, with blue eyes and long dark hair that brought back a little more of his memory.

“Easy, take a deep breath.” Elijah took a cup from the small bedside table and knelt at Kyron’s shoulder, passing it to him but keeping his hands close, as if ready to help Kyron bring it to his lips if needed.

Luckily, Kyron’s strength had returned to him somewhat. He drank deeply, sighing with relief at the way the cool water soothed the roughness in his throat. Then he set the cup aside and glanced curiously around the cozy cottage. “What’s this? Your friend’s place?” He frowned as sifted through the last things he could remember before falling asleep. “How’d I get here? I thought we stopped for a nap just outside the cave.”

Somewhere near the hearth, the unfamiliar voice gave a short laugh, and Elijah looked torn between amusement and concern. “We didn’t stop, no. You did sleep most of the way, however.”

“This behemoth carried you on his back like a pack mule.” Another face came into view, this one framed by golden curls. The healer patted Elijah’s shoulder and then sat at the foot of Kyron’s bed. “You both got here just after dark last night. Your wounds had drained most of your strength, so even though I was able to get a little medicine into you and Elijah was able to get you settled in bed, neither of us thought you’d woken up all the way up, and it seems like we were right.”

“How much do you remember of the attack at Helgen?” Elijah’s searching gaze found Kyron’s. “And do you remember what came before that? I was listening to the soldiers read off names for the block, and -- at least to me -- it seemed like you’d been unfairly caught in a skirmish. Were you traveling somewhere? Is there anyone who would be looking for you?”

“Helgen….” Kyron closed his eyes, shuddering a little as he was shot through with the memory of fireballs and timbers raining like hailstones. “That was the name of that town? I -- I remember everything, I think. Everything important. That -- that thing attacked, and chaos broke loose. I ran. Got hit. You saved my life. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Elijah made a warm sound somewhere deep in his chest, and his eyes smiled, but he waited for Kyron to continue.

“Before the dragon came -- yeah, I remember that too. Be hard to fucking forget.” Kyron felt his lip curl at the memory. “I was traveling to Skyrim from my home in Hammerfell in search of mercenary work. My friend Sira came here about a year back and joined up with the Companions in Whiterun. From her letters, it sounds like a good group, with good coin to be made, and so I’ve been planning to join her. But as soon as I got on this side of the border, I ran into trouble. Some brigands in soldier’s uniforms snuck up on me as I slept. Robbed me blind and then turned me into their superior, claiming to have captured -- I don’t know, someone worth capturing. I tried to explain myself but nobody would hear it.”

At that, the amiable look vanished instantly from Elijah’s eyes and he visibly bristled with anger. “ What? ”

“Might as well get the chair while you’re over there.” The healer at the foot of Kyron’s bed said dryly, watching as Elijah jumped to his feet and stomped away.

“Damn soldiers.” An aggrieved mutter drifted back, then Elijah reappeared a moment later dragging a chair. He scooted it over by the bedside and dropped into it with another angry sound, crossing his arms over his chest when his friend reached out to pat his knee. “They knew they could get away with something so despicable because he’s a foreigner -- no family here to report him missing.”

“At least that means he’s probably out of danger from now on.” The healer reasoned. “Since he wasn’t captured for a crime, there won’t be a stain on his name to clear.”

Elijah grimaced faintly and turned his attention back to Kyron. “I’m sorry for your troubles. The soldiers are becoming brash at the borders especially, since the patrols don’t answer to any one specific jarl. Troops that are stationed within holds can be reported to the authorities there if they cause trouble, but otherwise the accountability is lost.”

“Soldiers with more greed than scruples are an unfortunate reality of war, I guess,” Kyron growled. “Though if you ask me, it reflects poorly on whoever commands them. How can you expect to fight a war if your troops don’t know how to wield their blades with respect?”

“Well, I think you were probably particularly unlucky.” The healer chimed in. “I’d bet anything you’d have been turned into Falkreath authorities yourself if the Imperials hadn’t just happened to have grabbed that bastard Ulfric in the same ambush. They were in a hurry to off him, I’d bet. Maybe this would have all been over by now if they had.”

“Michael, I don’t even know if Ulfric escaped the city.” Elijah’s brow knit together. “It was chaos. Death and destruction everywhere. I’m certain we’ll hear the news if he makes it back to Windhelm, but for now there may be no way of knowing.”

“Ulfric leads one side in your war, right?” Kyron glanced between the two Nords, trying to assess their feelings on the man. Both of them had heavy brows and darkened eyes, but to Kyron’s judgment, they seemed to be wearing the weariness of those witnessing a thankless war rather than the outrage of those uttering the name of an enemy. “You don’t think Ulfric somehow brought the dragon upon Helgen?”

At the suggestion, the both of them looked gobsmacked, turning to stare at each other with wide eyes.

The stunned silence stretched long enough that Kyron felt the need to add, “Because if not, he’s got to be one of the luckiest men in the world. Another few minutes, and he would’ve been dead.”

“Well.” Elijah’s soft smile made a comeback, albeit with a touch of sadness. “It wasn’t Ulfric’s head on the block when the dragon landed…”

“Oh. I, uh -- yeah. Fair point.” Kyron felt a deep chill. It hadn’t really sunk in yet just how many times he’d escaped death the previous day. “Guess I owe that dragon a debt.”

“I really, really doubt that people can summon dragons.” Michael said with a frown. “Dragons aren’t like daedra or undead where they don’t have a soul of their own or anything. It’s almost impossible to attach any kind of summoning spell to something that has a soul, and as far as I know, dragons have some of the most powerful souls of any living thing. Except the damn things weren’t supposed to be living anymore.”

“Nobody knows for certain that they truly died off.” Elijah pointed out. “They disappeared, yes, but there are only so many known burial sites. They were never all accounted for.”

“If some of them really survived, I hope it wasn’t very many,” said Kyron grimly. “If one dragon can destroy an entire city and fly away like it was nothing, I’d hate to see what an entire population could do.”

Elijah and Michael exchanged another look, tinged with discomfort. Abruptly, Elijah turned away and made for the cabin's hearth. "Not to change the subject, but Kyron, do you feel well enough for stew? I've been cooking some venison, and I imagine it's been a while since you've last eaten."

“Mmm.” Kyron could already feel his mouth watering. “Stew sounds great.” He moved to sit up straight enough to hold a bowl, groaning softly when the motion sent a wave of dizziness pulsing through his head. He might’ve tipped right back over if Michael hadn’t reached over and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Whoa, there.” Michael laughed softly. “It’s good you’re feeling better than you did last night, but you’re going to need some serious bed rest over the next couple of days before you can get up and around again. Hopefully you shouldn’t feel too much pain,” The healer said kindly as his fingers brushed over the grooved scars on Kyron’s arm. “But the flow of humors in your body need time to replenish themselves, and you’re probably gonna feel pretty sore and worn out until they do.”

“Huh.” Kyron’s attention had been captured by the sight of Michael’s hand against his own ravaged skin. It was amazing, he thought, that what had been open wounds that might’ve threatened his life just the previous day were now safely closed over. “You’re a magical healer, right? Spells and potions and the like?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.” Michael smiled at him, then looked up as Elijah came back with a bowl of stew in each hand for them. “Thanks, El.”

Elijah bent down and retrieved a hay-filled sack from under the bed, then tucked it behind Kyron’s back so he could be supported comfortably enough to eat. Then he settled Kyron’s bowl in his hands and handed him a spoon before moving towards the fire again to get a serving for himself as well.

“This cottage is about midway between Riverwood and Whiterun.” Michael continued after taking a big bite. “Kynareth’s temple is in Whiterun, so they already have plenty of healers, which means I mostly see patients from Riverwood, but it’s nice to be a bit out of town. I can do more research this way without disturbing folks.”

“Research, huh?” Kyron didn’t know much about magic -- mages were pretty rare in Hammerfell, and he’d never met one himself -- but everyone said they were smart and bookish. Those who distrusted them often said they knew too much for their own good. “What kind of research?”

Michael lit up a little, and beamed back at Kyron. “Mostly with alchemy! Almost everything that goes into potion-making has more than one potential benefit or effect, and not all of them are obvious right away. I’m trying to put together a book or two about all the possible concoctions that can be made with each known ingredient. And I’m testing different methods of bringing out those effects -- like instead of just brewing things, I’m also testing using magic on dry ingredients, or letting some ingredients age -- the same way you might age honey for mead -- or comparing different ways of adding an ingredient to a brew; whether it goes in fresh or in a powdered form.”

Kyron nodded slowly as Michael rambled. He didn’t fully grasp what the healer was talking about, but he understood enough to realize that this man was not raising the dead so much as he was tinkering with flowers. And he clearly had a good heart, if he was using his skills to help the folks from a nearby village. “Sounds like a peaceful sort of life.”

Michael laughed and pushed some of his curls back from his face. “For the most part I guess it is. This behemoth brings some excitement with him every now and again though. Some of which I could do without.” He gave Elijah a friendly thump on the shoulder, and Elijah made a faint half-amused, half-indignant sound.

“Are you an adventurer, then?” Kyron asked, turning his gaze on Elijah. The man certainly looked the part, what with his rugged build and outfit of fur and hides. “You really seemed to know how to handle yourself, back in Helgen.”

Elijah smiled softly at the compliment. “Not quite an adventurer. I do wander the wilds quite often, but more as a hunter-gatherer than someone actively seeking trouble.” He chuckled at a mutter from Michael. “I avoid crypts if at all possible, for instance. I’ve handled the very occasional bandit encampment if they’re small enough, mostly the ones that lurk near the roads, looking for easy pickings. But generally I come into towns to sell fish, meat, ore, and alchemy ingredients, and either make camp at night or stay here with Michael.”

“You must know the roads and towns around here pretty well, then? Maybe you could point me in the direction of Whiterun when I hit the road again.” He paused to scoop up a bite of his stew, realizing he'd been too busy talking to start eating. It was warm and flavorful, rich with game and vegetables, and as soon as it hit his tongue, he realized how hungry he really was.

“Actually, I think we may be able to travel to Whiterun together.” Elijah said, his voice abruptly a touch grim. “The Jarl needs to know about the dragon as soon as possible. Riverwood and the people settled nearby, like Michael, are completely unprotected if it comes back this way for any reason. I want to ensure the news reaches him myself. As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we can make our way there.”

“Hopefully you’ll be back on your feet in a couple days.” Michael said, then reached out and patted Elijah’s arm. “And it’s not just you who could use the rest before you hit the road again; El didn’t get burned but he did breathe in a few bucketfuls of smoke. I dosed him with a potion just before you woke up so he’s not coughing right now, but he has been. And it’ll be good for him to give it at least a day before he goes back out in the cold.”

Kyron nodded his agreement. “I should be ready to go when Elijah is, gods willing. I tend to heal up pretty fast.” He paused to gulp down another mouthful of venison. It was getting harder and harder to focus on anything but eating. How long had it been since that meager dinner he’d had by his campfire? Two days? Three? “I’d welcome the company on the road.”

“Thankfully Whiterun isn’t far from here.” Elijah got up to refill his own bowl of stew and passed a second helping to Michael as well. “A few hours on foot; maybe a little longer if it snows. Jorrvaskr is fairly close to the Jarl’s palace as well.”

“Oh. Huh.” Kyron paused as a thought he hadn’t considered flitted into his mind. “Does this jarl align himself with those soldiers who captured me -- the Imperials, I guess it was? I don’t know if they still want my head, and I’d rather not walk into a palace and be immediately sent back to the block.”

Elijah was already shaking his head. “Jarl Balgruuf doesn’t align himself with either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. He’s one of the only people in power in Skyrim with the backbone to do so. He puts his people first and refuses to cozy up to either side for political clout. I have heard the citizens say that he might someday be forced to choose a side, but at least for the time being, he seems to be standing his ground.”

There was a clear note of admiration in Elijah’s voice, and Kyron could not help but feel a little confused. “So he remains neutral to avoid provoking either side?”

“It’s not that. Ulfric has made it kinda clear that he considers anyone who’s not for him to be against him.” Michael muttered distastefully. “But he doesn’t have the manpower to take Whiterun by force. And there’s a priest of Talos that preaches in the public square, which sends a pretty clear message that Balgruuf isn’t interested in licking any boots on the Imperials’ side.”

Once again, Kyron was sensing a bitter weariness among his companions that suggested they owed no allegiance to either the Stormcloaks or the Imperials, but he decided to make sure. “Which side do you support?”

Elijah and Michael exchanged a long look, then Elijah broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “Both sides are wrong. The Imperials bluster around and enforce unjust laws, and the Stormcloaks’ encampments terrorize any innocent civilian who isn’t a Nord. Ulfric himself is a prejudiced bigot who is only in it for his own personal glory, and the Empire could not care less about the lives of the people here - even though they would claim to be fighting for us.”

“I see. You’re caught between two bad options.” Kyron considered this perspective curiously. He had not often seen neutrality presented as a virtue. Redguard culture tended to consider anyone who hesitated to pick up their sword for any reason a coward. In a Redguard view of the world, the best thing a leader could do for their people was choose a side, fight, and win -- and if there were no good sides, you started your own. But Kyron was not in Hammerfell any more. Perhaps Skyrim had some lessons to teach him.

“Regrettably, yes.” Elijah rubbed at his brow. “Do you want any more stew?”

Kyron glanced down at the dregs that remained in his bowl. Usually this would’ve been plenty to satiate him, but he could still feel pricklings of hunger. He supposed he must still be making up for skipped meals. “Yes please.”

Michael seemed a little relieved, presumably glad to have the topic of war closed, and moved from the foot of the bed to a basin in the corner to rinse out his bowl. Elijah went to the fire again and came back with refilled helpings yet again, passing Kyron’s back to him with a smile.

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. Michael had settled into a chair by the hearth with a book, and Elijah seemed content to stare into the dancing flames as he worked on his third helping. This left Kyron with something he hadn’t had since before this entire ordeal -- a moment to breathe. 

He wished he had his amulet of Tava, because he wanted to pray. A prayer of thanks was in order, for sure. He was so incredibly lucky to be alive -- lucky the dragon had come when it did to save him from the headsman’s axe, and lucky Elijah had been there when he had to save him from the dragon’s flame. He was lucky to have escaped a city where so many had perished, and lucky to have met these two kind men who had carried him, fed him, and tended to his wounds. 

But even with all the good fortune he’d been afforded, he wanted to pray for guidance and strength as well. He could feel a nervous energy building somewhere deep inside him, a nagging doubt that had not been there when he’d first set out on his journey. Some part of him wanted to turn around and run straight back to Hammerfell, back to the warm air and bright sun of his home, back to his mother, who would hug him so tightly with her strong, soft arms. It wasn’t an option of course. He had traveled a long way for this chance, and he wasn’t going to abandon it due to a mere scrape with death. But he could feel that he was going to need the strength of the Lady of the Air more than ever to find the will to continue deeper into this cold, harsh land.

Midway through his thoughts, Kyron was pulled back to the present moment by a wave of intense drowsiness. He glanced down, a little surprised, to see that he’d eaten a little more than half his bowl. The hunger that had needled at him not so long before had been replaced by a sense of weighty fullness, and suddenly he realized he could hardly keep his eyes open.

He resolutely forced down a few more spoonfuls, reluctant to leave the good food his hosts had so kindly provided uneaten. But before long, he had to admit defeat.

“Mmm, I don’t think I can finish,” he sighed, letting his spoon drop into the bowl. “Guess my eyes were a little bigger than my stomach. It was so good, though.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Elijah got up from his chair with a smile and came to take Kyron’s dish. “No sense in making yourself uncomfortable. I can finish it.”

“Elijah finishes my half-empty dishes a lot.” Michael laughed from over in the corner, then made his way back to Kyron’s bed. “Before you fall asleep, I wanna work on you a little more. It’ll only take a few minutes.” He pushed up his sleeves. “It helps if I can place one hand on your chest and hold one of your hands in mine. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Kyron relinquished his bowl to Elijah and leaned back to let Michael come in close.

“Let me know if you need me to stop or anything.” Michael said, then rested the palm of one hand over Kyron’s heart and clasped his right hand in the other.

When the golden glow of healing magic stirred to life, Kyron could feel a current of warmth flowing in through his chest like a breath of fresh air and circling through his entire being before drawing slowly away through the link of his hand with Michael’s. The energy was sweet and soothing and in the places his body had been burned by flame, he realized he could feel a stiffness and tenseness that he hadn’t quite noticed before. The discomfort was easing with every pulse of magic that passed through him, but before it had vanished entirely, Michael stopped casting and squeezed his hand once before letting go.

“It’ll take a few more sessions before you’ll be completely well. Not safe to do it all in one go,” the healer explained, then drew away and tucked the blanket back down over Kyron's lap. “That’s the most I should do for now. You can nap, if you’d like. Kinda looks like El might be joining you.”

Kyron managed to lift his head enough to catch sight of Elijah slumped back in his chair, one hand loosely holding a now-empty bowl and the other splayed comfortably over his middle. He chuckled drowsily before sinking back down into the bed and letting himself drift into sleep.

- - -

When Kyron awoke the next morning, he could practically feel the energy coursing through his limbs, all pent-up from a full day of bedrest and ready to carry him to Whiterun. He talked about it all through breakfast, cheerfully ignoring the way his hosts exchanged doubtful glances over their plates of bread and cheese, and as soon as he’d finished eating, he began strapping on his scavenged armor and lacing up his pilfered boots.

Elijah stood up when Kyron did, moving to stand between him and where his single dagger was resting in its sheath on the cabin’s workbench. He smiled apologetically when Kyron looked up at him indignantly. “Let’s not set off to Whiterun just yet. Why don’t you and I go fishing? The White River is barely a stone’s throw from the front door. We can catch enough fish to supply us for meals on the journey there, and give you a chance to stretch your legs. If you’re still feeling well enough to travel after lunch, then we can go.”

As much as Kyron wanted to protest -- Sira would be worried, the dragon wasn’t going to hide in the hills forever, and he felt fine , damn it -- he was reluctant to speak forcefully to someone who had shown him so much kindness. So he sighed and nodded, adding, “Alright, but I still want to take my dagger.”

Elijah laughed at that, and obligingly passed the small blade over to Kyron’s waiting hand.

“Of course. It would be hard to clean a fish without a knife.” Elijah’s eyes glimmered with amusement as he bent to strap on his own boots and stopped to retrieve a small pack that looked like it might have fishing gear in it.

Outside, the air was crisp and bright. Kyron sucked down big, grateful lungfuls, feeling better than ever as he followed Elijah along the small dirt track that wound down the mountainside and to the riverbank below. Birdsong rang out from the canopy of ancient branches that sprawled above their heads and butterflies flitted between the wildflowers that grew by the side of the path. Through the gaps in the forest, Kyron could see a wide valley laid out below them, dotted with farms and crowned with the great walls of what could only be Whiterun. Skyrim really was beautiful, he thought, when it wasn’t trying to kill him.

The wave of fatigue didn’t hit him until they were almost at the river’s edge. It came on so suddenly that his knees nearly buckled -- it was as though one moment he felt totally well, and the next, all his energy had been sucked away so thoroughly that even the weight of his armor felt like too much to bear.

Elijah reached out and rested a hand at Kyron’s back when he stumbled, offering him a sympathetic smile. “We’re almost there. Just a little farther.”

It was all Kyron could do to stagger the last few steps. Elijah spread a tanned hide on the ground so they wouldn’t have to sit directly in the mud, then grasped Kyron’s hand and helped him ease down before kneeling beside him, patting his shoulders encouragingly. “There we go. We won’t have to move around too much while we are fishing; the river flows fast enough that the salmon won’t learn to avoid a particular spot.”

Kyron said nothing as Elijah unpacked his fishing gear. He felt bewildered and frustrated, and most of all, suddenly and completely exhausted.

They fished in companionable silence. Kyron wasn’t very good at it -- he had fished only a few times before, and never in such a fast-moving stream as this -- but Elijah caught a good number of shining silver salmon, which he gutted and cleaned right there by the riverside and tucked into his basket. When they rose to head back uphill, Kyron’s knees were still trembling, and Elijah reached out to wrap a supportive arm around him with no further comment than a regretful smile.

“Can’t believe this,” Kyron grumbled as they made their slow way back up the mountain. “I honestly felt just fine this morning. I swear I would normally have recovered by now.”

“Do you frequently have close encounters with death?” Elijah asked rhetorically, administering another few pats to Kyron’s shoulder. “Not to mention at the behest of a creature of legend?”

Kyron sighed heavily. As much as he hated to admit it, Elijah had a point. “Guess not.”

“I can assure you that no one else in that city who took a direct hit from that dragon’s fire made it out alive.” Elijah encouraged, but as soon as the words left his lips, his eyes tightened and grew unspeakably sad. After a few moments he swallowed hard and murmured, “After I bring the news to the Jarl in Whiterun, there’s someone I need to pay a visit to. There was a boy in Helgen whose grandfather lives a couple days’ journey east of here. I would like to see if he made it there safely.”

“Oh.” All traces of Kyron’s bad mood left him as the memory flashed back into his head -- Elijah, standing in the street, beckoning a young boy out of the great beast’s path. “I saw that, you know. It was very brave.”

Elijah’s brow lifted and he turned his head to look at Kyron in surprise. A heartbeat passed, and he gave a little crooked smile. “It’s kind of you to say. It was his father that died in the blast just moments before. I used to sell fish to the family when I visited there.” Elijah’s gaze dropped to the ground again. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever pass through there again.”

Kyron shifted his grip so he could give Elijah’s shoulder -- or his upper arm, really, as that was as high as he could reach on the huge man -- a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure the kid made it. If he was tough enough to escape a dragon, he can handle the beasts of the road, and even the most heartless bandits wouldn’t touch a boy with only the clothes on his back.”

A sharp twinge of doubt crossed Elijah’s face, but he gave a nod in response to Kyron’s words. “I hope you are right.”

The two of them reached the cottage’s threshold just then, and Elijah released Kyron long enough to open the door before returning his arm to his shoulders to help him inside. Michael looked up from a tome he was reading at the table with a concerned but unsurprised smile just in time to see Elijah deposit Kyron into a chair before moving off with their bag of fish.

“You’re not hurting or anything right, just tired?” The healer checked as he stood from his stool, and at Kyron’s nod, he retrieved a vial of healing potion and brought it over to him to drink, along with a mug of tea from a pot he’d set to brew that morning full of thistle leaves and purple mountain flowers. As Kyron sipped at the tea, he felt his strength slowly return to him and the urge to get back on his feet resurface, but he forced himself to lean back in the chair and be patient with his body.

It wasn’t easy to relax, though, when time seemed to be passing at a maddening crawl. Michael offered him some books, which he idly flicked through for perhaps half an hour before growing bored. Elijah lent him a whetstone, which he used to sharpen the dull, worn edges of his dagger as much as the poor quality of the metal would allow. That filled some time in a satisfying way, but it wasn’t long before the crushing restlessness set in again.

As morning faded into afternoon, Elijah took pity on Kyron’s simmering agitation. “Perhaps we could go out on a small walk, just around the cabin, to help put the strength back into your legs,” he suggested. “There are plenty of wildflowers along the path. Michael can always use help replenishing his supply of alchemical herbs.”

Kyron agreed eagerly. He felt much better as soon as they were out in the fresh air, and it felt good to make himself useful too. Kyron wasn’t expecting to find the task of gathering flowers particularly interesting, but as Elijah pointed out various plants and explained the uses to which Michael put them, he found himself growing more and more fascinated. They moved at a slow but steady pace, and when they had walked far enough for Kyron to begin feeling the quiver of exertion in his legs, Elijah offered him an arm to lean on as they turned around to head back.

Back at the cabin, they sat together at the table and helped Michael bundle the flowers and tie them with string, so they could be hung up to dry. They chatted as they worked, mostly swapping tales of encounters they’d had with the dangerous beasts and magnificent wildlife of their respective homelands, and time passed pleasantly as Kyron regained his stamina. He and Elijah went for another walk as afternoon began to fade to evening, and when they returned, Kyron was still feeling well enough to stand at the workbench outside Michael’s cabin and clean up the leather of his new armor with a cloth and some oil that Elijah provided him.

As dinner cooked over the fire, Michael insisted on looking Kyron over and giving him one last round of healing magic. Once he’d released the last tendrils of the spell, the healer smiled at him and glanced up to Elijah as well.

“Okay, I think I’m satisfied with that. You two should be good to travel to Whiterun tomorrow--” He broke off with a warning look as Elijah turned to muffle a cough into his shoulder, “--but maybe I’ll give you another round of potions tonight and at breakfast.”

“Seems reasonable.” Elijah cleared his throat sheepishly, then got up to take the roasting rabbit legs off the spits and tuck them onto plates with some grilled leeks and warmed bread.

“Elijah will come back here once he’s seen to these errands regarding the dragon,” Michael said to Kyron as a plate was set down in front of each of them. “But I hear you’re planning to stay with the Companions for a while. If your health doesn’t hold out, please don’t be too proud to go to the temple. The priestess there, Danica Pure-Spring, is a renowned healer and would be able to help you if you needed it. She knows me too from my trips there, so you can mention me if you think it would help.”

“I’ll remember that.” Kyron smiled at Michael across the table, hoping he could see how much it meant to him having someone to look out for him when he was so far from home. “I hope you’ll come see me when you take trips into the city.”

Michael beamed back at him. “I sure will. I go pretty often, so I’m sure we’ll see a good bit of each other.” He glanced up through his curls as Elijah sat down next to them with a plate of his own in hand. “And if I’ve got this behemoth around, I’ll bring him with me.”

And so it was that when Kyron fell asleep that night, it was secure in the knowledge that he had at least two fast friends in Skyrim.

Kyron and Elijah set out next morning after a light breakfast, a bit of tea, and a promise to Michael that they would be careful on the road. It was early enough that dew was still sparkling on the grass. Deer and foxes were their only company as they made their way down the mountain path to the banks of the White River, but once they had traversed the stepping stones that crossed the river’s shallows, the road grew wider and busier. Travelers on foot and farmers driving their carts to the market raised hands in greeting as they passed. Everyone seemed so calm, Kyron noted with surprise. He had been certain that news of the dragon attack would’ve permeated the entire hold by now.

The traffic only grew thicker as they approached the city gates. Nobody gave their little group a second glance. Kyron had been a little worried that he might stand out in Skyrim, but the faces he saw on the road to Whiterun came from all over Tamriel -- Imperials, Bretons, elves, and Redguards like him were mixed in among the Nords.

It wasn’t until they reached the enormous gates in the city wall that anything seemed amiss. The wooden doors were steadfastly closed. At first, Kyron thought they were simply early, until he heard the disgruntled whisperings flitting among the crowd.

“City’s closed with dragons about, they said!”

“Dragons! Can you believe Whiterun itself is taking such nonsense seriously? Next thing you know, they’ll be talking about fortifications against fairies!”

Elijah returned the glance that Kyron gave him, looking just as grim as Kyron felt. With some effort, the two of them managed to shoulder their way through the crowd, until they were standing before the gate, and a guard in yellow garb was moving to block their path.

“Halt!” The man called out, squaring his shoulders and facing them down. “City’s closed with the dragons about. Official business only.”

Elijah lifted his head and countered in an authoritative tone, “We have news from Helgen about the dragon attack. We wish to speak to Jarl Balgruuf.”

The guard, clearly taken aback, paused for a moment before signaling to the others posted at the gate. “Fine.” He told them. “Go on in. But we’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Elijah nodded in thanks to the men who opened the gate, then led the way into the city. As they passed through the massive wooden doors, with the guards eyeing them and the crowd watching curiously, Kyron couldn’t help but think that this was not at all how he’d imagined it would feel to arrive. He had to jog lightly to keep up with Elijah’s confident strides as they made their way along the cobbled streets and past wooden buildings decorated with intricate carvings, heading for the palace that lay at the city’s pinnacle, jutting up into the sky.

Chapter Text

Elijah didn’t drop his act until the guards had closed the gate behind them and the curious faces of others disappeared from view. He kept his shoulders straight but relaxed his brusque pace, checking over his shoulder to ensure Kyron was right beside him.

Whiterun was somewhat of a jewel of southern Skyrim. Given its central location and warmer climate than most, it was a hub of trading and commerce. As Elijah and Kyron made their way up the wide road towards the city’s marketplace, he could hear the familiar calls of merchants from their stalls, selling fresh produce, wild game, and finery from skilled craftsmen. 

On his own, Elijah came to Whiterun most often when he had either ore or alchemical ingredients to sell. He’d noticed that Adrianne Avenicci had spotted him on their way in, and seemed surprised when they’d passed right on by without saying hello. Her gaze had lingered on Kyron curiously for a moment before she’d turned back to her forge. Arcadia’s Cauldron looked as welcoming and friendly as it always did, but Elijah kept his gaze averted from its doors. He half-wondered if Arcadia would be peering through her windows at him and wondering what he was doing in town with a stranger.

Elijah and Kyron reached the well in the center of town, and he beckoned to his companion to turn right with him and follow him up the stone stairs towards the Gildergreen. Someone particularly unpleasant stopped, opened his mouth, and Elijah did something he rarely did.

“Not now, Nazeem.” Elijah snarled, flexed his shoulders outwards, and shifted his weight dangerously in the direction of the aristocrat in such a way that he was forced to take a step back as his eyes widened in alarm.

That drew quite a bit of attention. Citizens and town guards alike who were used to him making quiet and friendly visits to the city stopped in their tracks to stare at him. Elijah turned away and kept going, walking briskly until they reached a spot just in front of the plaza where Heimskr was preaching.

“This is Jorrvaskr.” Elijah said to Kyron, gesturing up at the huge overturned longboat that served as the mead hall for the Companions’ guild. “If you’d like to, we can part ways here. But if you were willing, we could check in momentarily to see if we can find your friend, and then you could accompany me to the palace. I have a feeling that Jarl Balgruuf would be interested in hearing both of our perspectives on the dragon attack, since we were not together until we reached the keep.”

Kyron’s eyes were wide as he gazed upon Jorrvaskr’s splendor. “Damn,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone, “it’s so nice. Kinda embarrassed to show up in ratty armor with just an old iron knife.” He continued in a stronger voice, “I’ll come with you to see the jarl. But yeah, it would be nice to stop and make sure Sira knows I’m alive.”

“As far as I’m aware, new Companions members are given a Skyforge Steel weapon of their choice upon initiation.” Elijah encouraged, walking with Kyron up the short flight of steps to Jorrvaskr’s double doors. He nodded at the smoke rising a ways up the hill. “That’s the Skyforge. It’s tended by Eorlund Gray-Mane. Many consider him to be one the best, if not the best, blacksmith in Skyrim.”

The look of awe on Kyron’s face grew deeper. “Gods. Sira told me she had to demonstrate her skills in a sparring match before they’d admit her. I wonder if I’ll have to prove myself right on the spot.”

But he needn’t have worried. The carved doors of the ancient mead hall creaked open to reveal laden tables and a merry fire, but no people.

“Hello?” Kyron’s voice echoed off the high ceiling. “Anyone here?”

An elderly woman melted out of the shadows at the sound of his voice, a broom clutched in her wizened hands. “Are you looking for the Companions, dear? I’m afraid the entire company is away at the moment. Lots of work with this war going on, you know.” She looked Kyron up and down, before turning an approving gaze on Elijah. “I can tell Kodlak that a pair of promising young recruits dropped by, if you would like to come back in a few days.”

“Just one ‘promising young recruit,’ actually ma’am.” Elijah clasped Kyron’s shoulder and nodded respectfully to Tilma. “We would appreciate it, if you didn’t mind.”

“My name is Kyron Stormhollow,” Kyron continued. “I’m a friend of Sira Dawn-bringer. If she returns here before I do, would you please let her know that I came by?”

“Of course, dear. I hope we will see you again soon.”

“Thank you.” Elijah said, at the same time Kyron answered, “I’ll be back.”

They left Jorrvaskr and headed up the taller flight of stone steps across the plaza. As they climbed the stairs, the familiar words of Heimskr’s usual sermon floated up on the breeze; a sermon which Elijah usually tuned out after giving a polite nod to the priest. This time, he couldn’t help but wonder what it must sound like to Kyron.

“Today, they take away your faith. But what of tomorrow? What then? Do the elves take your homes? Your businesses? Your children? Your very lives?”

Elijah knew that the warriors of Hammerfell had won their freedom from the Empire. He admired Kyron’s people for that, but he also knew Skyrim’s situation was different. Hammerfell’s devastation at the hands of the Aldmeri Dominion had led to their most prominent factions uniting to face a common enemy, whereas in Skyrim, the White-Gold Concordant had divided Elijah’s people, creating rifts and sowing vulnerabilities, all of which enabled the Thalmor to gain an even stronger foothold. Then, there was the matter of Ulfric. Privately, Elijah despised the man.

“And what does the Empire do? Nothing! Nay, worse than nothing! The Imperial machine enforces the will of the Thalmor! Against its own people!”

At least for the time being, Jarl Balgruuf would continue to support the freedom of the people to worship who they chose, while refusing to allow Ulfric Stormcloak to gloryhound over the city of Whiterun. Elijah felt a sense of gratitude for that good fortune as he and Kyron reached the top of the stairs, knowing he was bringing the news of the dragon attack to someone who wasn’t distracted by matters of the war, and wasn’t concerned with which side he should report to for orders.

“We bring news from Helgen about the dragon attack.” Elijah said again to one of the guards outside Dragonreach’s palace doors. The man nodded and gestured for them to go in.

The doors swung wide and the two of them crossed the entryway, finding the gazes of everyone in the Jarl’s court trained on them. When they scaled the wooden steps, Balgruuf’s housecarl, Irileth, drew her weapon and marched towards them. Elijah kept his confident stride until she was close enough to cut his throat with the tip of her sword if she wanted to.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

“We have news from Helgen about the dragon attack,” Elijah repeated yet again, careful to keep his tone respectful, and nodded towards Kyron at his side.

“Well,” Irileth’s stony expression cracked just a little, and she gave them both a tiny, if rueful, smile. “That explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

Balgruuf was already watching as the two of them approached. From the look on his face, he’d heard what Elijah had said to Irileth, and sure enough, as soon as they stopped before his throne, he got straight to the point. “You were at Helgen when it was attacked? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Elijah had briefly bowed his head in a gesture of respect, but now he lifted his chin to meet the Jarl’s gaze. “Yes sir. I was passing through Helgen on one of my usual routes. My companion here, Kyron Stormhollow, had just recently traveled to Skyrim and was in the city as well when the dragon attacked. Imperial soldiers were preparing to execute Ulfric Stormcloak, but they never got the chance. The dragon set the entire city aflame, destroying everything in sight, and I don’t know who else might have escaped alive. We barely made it out ourselves.”

At this, Kyron moved further into the light of the torches and turned his left side towards the Jarl. “The tale we bring you would be hard for anyone to swallow. In case you require stronger proof than the word of two strangers, you can see that I was touched by the dragon’s breath.”

Balgruuf regarded Kyron with what Elijah thought might be a mix of concern and respect. “May the gods watch over your future ventures in Skyrim, son. You bring honor to your people with your bravery.”

Kyron took those words quietly, with a respectful bow of his head.

“Based on what we saw after the attack, the dragon seemed to be heading this way, and I fear for Riverwood and the homesteads nearby, as someone close to me resides there.” Elijah continued. “We bring news to Whiterun as a call for aid.”

“By Ysmir!” Balgruuf muttered, almost as if more to himself than to Elijah. “Irileth was right.” Then he turned to the steward at his side, his eyes glinting like steel. “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should listen to the boy and send troops to Riverwood at once.” Irileth stepped forwards. “It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

“No!” The steward argued, and for the first time, Elijah glanced around the room and realized there had been some form of council already in progress when they’d entered. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not--"

“Enough!” Balgruuf’s command rang out across the court, and all dissent immediately quieted. “I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

This, Elijah thought, was the mark of a great leader. Balgruuf took care of his own first, and everything else -- politics, profit, and even tradition -- came after. Elijah turned to look at Kyron with a faint smile, and as their eyes met, the smallest twitch at the corner of the mouth broke through the mask of seriousness on Kyron’s face.

“Yes, my lord.” Irileth crossed an arm over her chest and then whirled around, immediately calling out orders to some of the guards standing by. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my duties.” The steward, looking a bit cowed, waited for the Jarl’s nod before leaving the space beside the throne.

Balgruuf fixed his gaze on Elijah and Kyron again. "Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiatives. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here,” He beckoned to a guard, and the man walked forward with a satchel in hand. “Take these, as a small token of my esteem." 

Into each of their hands, the guard placed a set of leather bracers. The pieces were beautifully crafted, well-oiled, decorated with silver rivets instead of steel, and lined with soft, dark wool, for warmth and comfort even in the midst of battle. Elijah nodded his thanks before donning them, marveling at how the supple leather seemed to fit him perfectly. He was no slouch at smithing himself, but he tended to find even his best pieces felt a little stiff before he had worn them enough to break them in. Beside him, Kyron was also strapping his bracers over his wrists, and while his expression was still quite impassive, Elijah recognized the look of someone admiring the quality of a piece in the appreciative way Kyron’s fingers traced over the leather and lingered on the buckles.

“Whiterun will be ready to face this threat.” Balgruuf said as the two of them looked up again. “I’m having my court wizard working on ways to defend the city against these dragons. He’s been looking into a matter--”

“My lord!” Irileth’s voice called out from the direction of Dragonreach’s entrance hall, and Elijah turned to look almost as quickly as Balgruuf stood from his throne in shock.

At Irileth’s side, a guard stumbled forward, panting and limbs trembling with exertion. Elijah quickly stepped back out of the way, opening one hand so Kyron would know to follow him, and the guard stopped where they’d stood a moment before, performing a shaky salute across his chest before Irileth came to stand beside him.

“A scout from the western watchtower.” The housecarl reported. “Tell him what you told me,” she said. “About the dragon.”

“It’s here!” The man blurted, earning gasps of alarm from all around the court. Elijah felt himself swallowing hard. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen!”

“What did it do?” Balgruuf asked, one hand reflexively gripping the sword at his hip. “Is it attacking the watchtower?”

“No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure." The guard’s voice pinched off with an edge of terror.

Balgruuf seemed to notice. His voice took on a confident and solicitous air. “Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it.”

The jarl waited until the guardsman was on his way to do as he was told, out of earshot, before turning to Irileth with a more urgent expression. “Irileth, you'd better gather some soldiers and get down there."

“I’ll order my men to muster near the main gate.” 

“Good. Don’t fail me.” 

Elijah was meeting Kyron’s grim gaze with a sinking feeling of his own when he felt Balgruuf’s eyes on him and turned back towards the man. The jarl’s expression was apologetic, but his tone was decisive as he addressed them. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friends. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. Since you survived Helgen, you both have more experience with dragons than anyone else here.”

Elijah could feel adrenaline beginning to rush in his veins. He’d not expected to face down a dragon again so soon… or at all, really. He respected Balgruuf and wanted to honor his orders, but inwardly he felt woefully unequipped to handle this sort of threat. He was a tradesman, and the deadliest purpose he had ever raised a weapon for was fending off the occasional ruffian. Most of his skills with a knife came from cleaning fish and meat for the tables of families. 

But Michael was one of many that lay in danger of the dragon’s path if it could not be defeated, and Elijah would do anything to protect him, and if that meant taking up arms in the shadow of this threat, then he would do it. So he crossed an arm over his chest and bowed his head briefly in a gesture of deference. Beside him, Kyron was doing the same.

“And one last thing.” Balgruuf’s gaze swept from Elijah and Kyron to Irileth. “This isn't a death or glory mission, Irileth. I need to know what we're dealing with."

“Don't worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution."

With that, Irileth turned and marched for the doors of Dragonsreach. Elijah locked glances with Kyron and they both hurried to keep pace with her, receiving salutes from the guardsmen on their way out.

They’d reached the bottom of the stone stairs when Irileth stopped and turned to them under the shade of the Gildergreen. “I understand you two may want to make some preparations, but be quick about it. I need a few minutes to gather my men at the barracks, so there’s a little time, but not much. I’ll meet you just outside the main gate.”

“Thank you housecarl.” Elijah nodded respectfully, then watched her hurry off towards the front of town. Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked into Kyron’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Elijah murmured. “I didn’t mean for you to be dragged into this.”

Kyron clapped a hand against Elijah’s lower back in a rough gesture of reassurance. “It wasn’t you who dragged me into this,” he said dryly, meeting Elijah’s gaze with a little grin. “That damn dragon dragged us both. I don’t really know how having been nearly killed by the wretched beast once is supposed to help us, but I’ll be happy if I can land a few good blows. Get some vengeance for Helgen.” He straightened up, clearly shifting from dreaming to thinking. “How in Oblivion are we going to fight that thing? Do you have a plan?”

Elijah did his best to suppress his relieved smile at Kyron’s nonchalance and lifted a hand to rub at his brow. “I imagine I will be of most use with my bow. I am a fairly good shot, and even dragons have chinks in their armor. And at some point, the beast will have to land. If you are planning to attack from the ground, I would think you could do a significant amount of damage to the wings with a blade.” He glanced down at the iron dagger in the sheath that Kyron was carrying. “Speaking of which, do you want to stop by Warmaiden’s on our way to the gate? We passed it on our way in. Adrianne Avenicci is the smith and she makes good steel. We may be able to find you a better weapon.”

“Yeah, that would be wise. Even sharpened, this old knife I picked up would break apart trying to cut anything tougher than a well-done steak. I don’t have coin on me, but you have my word that any gold you spend will be repaid in full once I’ve had my first job.” Kyron’s brow darkened a little. “I’m sure any smith you trust will sell fine weapons, but they’ll be Nord weapons. I wish those bastards hadn’t stolen my scimitars. And my amulet. It would’ve been nice to ask the Lady of the Air for a little protection.”

At his companion’s wistful musings, Elijah found his brow lifting in surprise. “Lady of the Air? We may have different names for her, but to Nords, the goddess Kynareth reigns over the realm of the sky. This is her temple.” Elijah gestured to a building behind Kyron’s shoulder. “And this is her tree, the Gildergreen. I think we would have time for you to visit the shrine inside and pray, if it seemed worth doing.”

Kyron’s eyes went wide. “Kynareth! Yes! I call her Tava, but I’ve heard her other names once or twice. If you think we have a moment to step inside, it would mean a lot.”

“I do.” Elijah led the way to the temple’s front entrance, placing a hand against the decorative wooden doors and pushing them inwards.

The soft moans and sighs of relief of bedridden soldiers met their ears as soon as they stepped inside. Kynareth disciples stood at the sides of badly wounded folk, tending to their injuries and soothing their pain. The air inside smelled as crisp as the breeze on a mountain path, and the floor was paved with tiles that dipped down into shallow streams of clear water. As they entered, the head priestess took notice.

“Hello Danica.” Elijah dipped his head to her as she approached. “Michael isn’t with me today, I’m afraid. I’ve brought a friend who wishes to pray at the shrine.” He rested a hand on Kyron’s shoulder. “We haven’t much time; we are expected to meet with Irileth for battle shortly, but hope the Lady Grace would forgive us for the hurry.”

“Of course. Welcome, child of Kynareth.” Danica spread her hands wide and smiled benevolently at Kyron. “Come this way. May her blessings be upon you.”

Elijah followed Kyron to where the shrine, with its brilliant blue jewel, rested at the back of the temple. He stepped away from the pedestal and stood patiently nearby as Kyron knelt before it, bowed his head, and placed both hands over his heart. The prayer didn’t take long -- only a minute or two passed before Kyron sighed softly and got back to his feet -- but when he did, there was a renewed sense of strength about him.

“Thank you,” he said, looking first to Danica and then to Elijah. “I’m ready now.”

“Good.” Elijah nodded to the head priestess again as they turned for the door. “Thank you, Danica.”

“Grace of Kynareth be with you as well, child.” Danica said, and waved softly until the door fell shut behind them.

Outside, the streets of Whiterun were becoming busier, and as he and Kyron hurried towards the main gate, Elijah realized why. Given that a dragon had been sighted nearby and the city’s gate had been locked to outsiders causing a backup in foot traffic, Irileth must have opened it and ushered the civilians inside to keep them from harm as much as possible.

Most of them had grouped in the merchant’s square, and conversations about the dragon flew back and forth over their heads as the two of them moved as quickly as they could through the crowd. The people were tense, and several looked afraid; very few were actually bartering with their goods as they’d come to the city to do, and instead were standing by their carts or with their packs at their feet, watching the horizon over the western wall with wide eyes.

The street was clearer closer to the gate. Elijah spotted Adrianne, still faithfully working the forge, but looking over her shoulder towards the west every so often. He caught her eye, and received an uncertain smile in return, then she glanced at Kyron by his side and motioned them over to the door of Warmaiden’s.

“Alright, come inside, the both of you. Too loud out on the street to hear a word you have to say, I’d bet.” She shut the heavy doors behind them and crossed her arms over her blacksmith’s apron. “I’m guessing you have something to do with all this, given the guards let you in before anyone else.”

Adrianne’s keen powers of observation let nothing slip. Elijah nodded reluctantly. “It is quite a story. But I’m afraid we cannot stop long enough to tell it at the moment. We’re to meet Irileth outside the gate on Jarl Balgruuf’s command. We came because my friend here needs a weapon before we do.”

Adrianne turned and sized Kyron up with a half-smile. “Favor the dagger, huh?” She’d noticed the iron dagger on his belt, evidently. “A good steel one would suit you better. Or perhaps a war axe?”

Kyron’s gaze roamed appreciatively over the well-shaped weapons displayed on the shop’s walls before finding Adrianne’s face. “A pair of steel daggers would suit me just fine.” 

Elijah dug in his armor’s pockets for his pouch of septims and stepped over to the counter where Ulfberth War-Bear was manning the shop. He counted out the right amount as quickly as he could and smiled at the way Adrianne fetched the weapons and approached Kyron -- not quite handing them over right away.

“I can tell you’re worn from traveling and are a little light on coin. So let’s have a trade, your name for some nice sheaths to go with these daggers.” She grinned and pulled out a pair of leather coverings from the satchel on her belt.

Kyron returned her smile readily. “A generous offer. I’m Kyron Stormhollow. Well met.”

“Stormhollow! Now that’s a fine warrior’s name.” Adrianne sheathed both the daggers and handed them over with an approving nod. “Good luck out there, you two. Sunborn, I expect a full recount of your tale this evening over some mead at the Bannered Mare.”

Elijah couldn’t help a small chuckle. “I’m certain it will be all over Whiterun in a matter of hours once we’ve told it.”

“You bet your ass.” Adrianne opened the door to shoo them out. “Best not keep Irileth waiting.”

“Thank you both,” Elijah called over his shoulder, and heard Ulfberth’s farewell of, “Good doin’ business with ya.”

Over the last stretch of road between Warmaiden’s and the gate, Elijah found his mind occupied not with rising anxiety about their impending encounter with the dragon, but how in Oblivion he was going to manage to fit all that had happened in the past few days into a single evening’s round of drinks. It wasn’t until the huge wooden doors had thudded shut behind them and he was meeting Irileth’s gaze with a nod that he realized it, and privately had to suppress a smile. He supposed that had likely been Adrianne’s intention, as a way to rally him for the battle ahead. 

Irileth pivoted to face the guards gathered before her once Elijah and Kyron had folded into the left flank. “Alright men! Here's the situation. A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower."

A ripple of mutters swelled through the group. Elijah heard gasps of disbelief and groans of unease. A woman close by murmured, “Did we hear that right?”

"You heard right!” Irileth’s voice rose higher. “I said a dragon! I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

“But housecarl,” A man spoke up from the other side of the detachment. “How can we fight a dragon?”

"That's a fair question.” Irileth paused thoughtfully. “None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to see one in battle. But we are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes... our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

“No housecarl!”

“We raise our weapons!”

“For the glory of Skyrim!”

And among the chorus of impassioned cries, the faintest mutter of “We’re so dead…” floated back from the guard standing just in front of Elijah and Kyron.

Irileth drew her sword and raised it high. "But it's more than our honor at stake here. Think of it - the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"

There was another round of brave shouts, and Irileth nodded, then spun on her heel. “Alright, let’s move out!”

The soldiers kept pace at a light jog over the boardwalks that led down from the city’s gates and out onto the well-worn dirt road past Whiterun’s stables. The stablehands were tying the horses fast and adding extra hay to their troughs to keep them calm, and the roads were completely clear of civilians as the guardsmen headed swiftly to the watchtower.

If things weren’t so dire, Elijah might have stopped and appreciated what a beautiful day it was. The sun, golden overhead, was just beginning to sink lower in the sky, and the late afternoon breeze ruffled through the wild grasses that grew on the roadside. The scent of wild heather and mountain flowers stirred in the air, and blue and orange butterflies flitted away from the tussocks of grass that were disturbed by marching boots.

A haze on the horizon made Elijah have to squint, but it wasn’t until he could make out the rough edges of the tower ahead that he realized the haze was a layer of smoke on the wind. His chest tightened with alarm -- the dragon had attacked since the guardsman had run back to Dragonsreach with his report! Irileth seemed to notice the same thing, and quickly ordered the soldiers to a halt at the side of the road.

"No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here. I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere.” She pulled her helmet’s face shield down and gestured sharply towards the smoking remains of the tower. “Spread out and look for survivors! We need to know what we're dealing with."

A guard next to Elijah and Kyron drew his double-handed axe and grinned wildly. "That dragon should have stuck with killing Imperials. Now he's gonna learn how real Nords fight."

“You two!” Irileth called, and Elijah caught Kyron’s eye before hurrying over at the housecarl’s command. “Facts, as fast as you can give them to me. What should we expect?”

“If at all possible, we have to drive the dragon to land.” Elijah thought quickly. “While it is in the air, it will breathe fire over anything in its path, and can stay out of range of most weapons. Skilled archers could target the wings and face. The scales on the dragon’s back are useless to try to penetrate; they’re like plates of armor.”

“We shouldn’t climb too high on the watchtower,” Kyron added. “The dragon can break through walls with ease, and if it claws into the tower, people could fall to their deaths. Stone walls are good at blocking out the flame, though, and so if we stay low to the ground, we can use them for cover.”

“Excellent information. Are you any good with that bow, boy?”

Elijah nodded under Irileth’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Good. Let’s investigate the tower first, then draw back with me and we’ll watch the skies.”

It was tough getting to the base of the watchtower. The ancient stone had broken even more under the dragon’s breath, and patches of still-smoldering fires dotted the grass. Elijah ended up pulling himself up onto the crumbling walkway and rolling to the side to get his feet underneath himself before making his way up to the door, but almost as soon as he did, someone ran out into the sun, cowering forward as if expecting to get bludgeoned from behind.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Elijah gritted his teeth against that horrifying image and helped to pass the man down to Irileth and Kyron who were waiting on the ground below. Grabbed? Had the dragon carried the men off into the sky?

“Guardsman! What happened here? Where's this dragon?” Irileth questioned as soon as she had a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Quickly now!"

“I don’t know!” The guard twisted around, scanning the skies with a grim frown. There was a moment of quiet, then his eyes widened and he cried out, “Kynareth save us, here he comes again!”

Elijah felt, more than heard, a shattering roar split the air. Heart racing, he grabbed his bow from his back, and raised his eyes to the sky just in time to see a brass-colored dragon diving out from behind a nearby mountain to the south. His breath caught in his throat; he’d half-expected the same pitch black wings that had flown over Helgen. That was definitely a different dragon.

"Here he comes!” Irileth drew her own bow and notched her first arrow. “Find cover and make every arrow count!"

The dragon bore down upon the watchtower, swooping so low that for a single, terrifying moment, Elijah could count the number of teeth in its gaping maw. He heard the beast inhale just in time to scramble down to the ground and brace his back against the stone before the world around him erupted in a blast of flame, and he flinched as he felt the scorch of embers on the back of his neck.

When the heat dissipated, Elijah sprinted as fast as he could from one shelter to the next, searching for the dragon’s erratic flight. Fear gripped him when he realized the monster was hovering in midair, but its attention was focused elsewhere, on the guards fleeing from its renewed spray of fire. So he notched a steel arrow and gripped the red fletching, drawing the bow back to his shoulder, and let out a slow breath. The world narrowed to his tunnel of focus, and then, he let the arrow fly.

There was a tiny burst of dark blood where the arrow embedded itself at the joint between the dragon’s body and wing, then a furious bellow as it whipped around to face him. Elijah curled behind another chunk of crumbling stone wall and waited for the wall of fire to cease. He was shaking and trembling, and there was a foul, acidic taste in his mouth from the smoke in the air. He spat onto the dirt, and then with shaking limbs, he crawled into open air again and notched another arrow.

As the battle raged on, Elijah learned when he’d have to dive for cover and when it was safe to hold his ground; firing arrow after arrow at the vulnerable places on the dragon’s body until his fingers were rubbed raw and his eyes were streaming from the soot and smoke in the air. Another guard had already gotten grabbed, carried high into the air and dropped to his death, so Elijah hid under the stone when the dragon came too close with its massive talons as well as when it rained fire down on the soldiers below.

Abruptly, the fight seemed to take a turn. The dragon faltered in midair when one of Elijah’s arrows lodged itself at the corner of its mouth, then it dropped to the ground, its massive limbs carving furrows into the dirt where it dug in its claws. It was so close that Elijah could have reached out and touched its wing and for a moment he was frozen with fear, then he found his wits and sheathed his bow, trading it for his warhammer and gripped at the hilt with bleeding fingers. 

The dragon’s huge head whipped around to look directly at him, its eyes gleaming with hatred and malice. Elijah let out a shout, almost more for his own benefit than for the purpose of intimidating the dragon -- what a thought -- and swung, hard and heavy with the steel brunt of his weapon. He knocked the dragon’s head aside, drawing blood from those shining teeth, but then something dense as stone crashed into his chest and sent him sprawling backwards.

Winded, Elijah struggled to take in a breath, to figure out which way was up or down. He realized the dragon had slammed him with its spiked tail just as the beast drew back for another blow. He was lying prone across the ground, he had to move -- there was no way he’d survive if he didn’t get up.

Then the dragon opened its mouth, and Elijah saw the glow of orange firelight at the back of its throat.

Chapter Text

The first oncoming roar sent a tremor through the chunk of stone under Kyron’s feet and a shiver through his guts, borne of equal parts fear and anticipation. He gripped the hilts of his new daggers and twisted to stare up at the sky, his blood pumping and his heart ready to face down that mess of black spikes and leathery wings once more.

But what he saw instead were gleaming scales of brass. The new dragon soared towards the watchtower like an arrow, covering a distance that would’ve taken half a day on foot in a matter of seconds, and angled its wings to swoop down. Kyron saw its mouth open, saw gleaming rows of teeth and a curl of forked tongue.

Then he saw fire.

He dove to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder and rolling behind a chunk of fallen masonry as the air filled with the dragon’s primal screeching and sound of rushing flame. Pressing himself to the stone as best he could, he tucked his head beneath his leather-clad arms, waiting for the wave of heat to roll over him.

But it didn’t come. After a moment, the sound of flames died away, and Kyron carefully raised his head and dared to peer out of his shelter. Tufts of smoldering grass and charred bits of wood marked the fiery path that the dragon had carved through the battlefield -- but it had missed him by at least a hundred feet. Now it wheeled overhead on its massive wings, angling its terrible head towards the huddled group of guards that were raising their bows to meet it.

A wave of horror washed over Kyron, and he felt his knees grow weak. How many dragons were there? He had believed that this battle might be the end of it, if they were able to defeat the beast that had decimated Helgen -- but would another dragon simply rise to take its place? If these things could swoop out of the mountains at any moment, raze a city to the ground and fly away unscathed, what could possibly be done? For a moment, his head filled with a vision of untold suffering -- of scorched farms and burning buildings, of charred corpses littering streets, of families and children with nowhere safe left to go.

A volley of arrows cut through the air with a soft hiss -- and pinged off armored hide like so many matchsticks. The dragon bared its teeth, embers flickering at the edges of its mouth, and the guards scattered as a spray of fire rolled towards them.

Then Kyron spotted an arrow flying from a different direction. It embedded itself into the joint of the dragon’s wing, and the gout of flame choked off as the beast roared in pain.

He felt a surge of new courage. It was bleeding. If it could bleed, it could die.

Heart in his throat, Kyron got to his feet. He had no bow; there wasn’t much he could do until the damn thing was on the ground, so he ducked from cover to cover, scrambling over rock and brush to try to keep himself at the dragon’s flanks and out of the path of its breath. As soon as it came down, he would leap onto its wings and shred them as best he could, and if he had his way, the beast would never take off again. He repeated that plan in his head, holding onto it like a prayer as the shouts of men and shrieks of dragon and the stench of smoke filled the air around him. Memory burned at the back of his mind, and he kept his hands on the hilts of his daggers as a reminder to himself that they weren’t tied. He was not helpless; not this time.

He was crouched beneath one of the watchtower’s collapsed ramparts when he finally got his chance. The dragon had just taken an arrow to the soft scales around its eye, and it had honed in on the guard who had shot it. Kyron was expecting another burst of flame to engulf the poor man, but instead, the dragon extended its talons and landed with a ground-shaking thud.

The positioning was perfect. Kyron scrambled to the top of the rampart, ignoring the steps in favor of climbing up the side of the stonework. Below crouched the dragon, its leathery wings folded into big, easy targets. Kyron drew his daggers, gripping them backwards so that he could raise them above his head and end his mighty leap with a double stab.

But before he could take another step, the dragon’s neck shot out. Its jaws closed around the unlucky guard, who screamed as he was shaken like a rabbit in the mouth of a hound and flung off into the ruins of the tower. The poor man’s last wail still hung in the air as the dragon swiveled to point its blood-splattered muzzle at Kyron. Its mouth opened, and tendrils of orange licked around its teeth.

Somewhere in Kyron’s head, he reacted perfectly: side-stepping to the left to avoid the jet of flame, shifting his weight to redirect his momentum, and taking a few running steps before launching himself off the rampart, daggers up and pointed at that vulnerable wing membrane. He knew how to do it -- he could practically feel the moves in his body.

In another part of his head, all his body felt was the memory of what it felt like to be swallowed up by a ball of fire.

The screech of the dragon’s fiery breath seemed to go on and on. When it finally ended, Kyron found himself back at the foot of the ramparts, curled up in the stones and with tears streaming down his face. His daggers lay at his feet, and when he tried to pick one up and return it to its sheath, his hand shook so badly that the hilt slipped through his fingers. The terror that gripped him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was so powerful that he felt like he might just die of fright, like his heart might explode or his lungs might tear right through his chest. It was the fear of a helpless child, not the fear of a warrior, and Kyron did not know where it had come from or how to send it back. It held him in its grip like a curse.

Somewhere above, the dragon roared. Kyron tipped his head back against the stone, struggling to breathe, struggling to see if death was swooping towards him on giant wings. Through the blur of tears, he caught a glimpse of a hawk wheeling high above, its wings spread wide against the bright blue sky, seemingly unperturbed by the battle raging below.

The sight sent a wave of strength pulsing through Kyron. He tried to leap to his feet -- but his muscles felt like warm butter, and instead he flopped onto his hands and knees. On the stones below him were his daggers. He took them, shoving them resolutely into place, and then he planted a foot on the ground and braced a hand against his knee and forced himself upright.

The terror was still there, still sucking at him with the currents of a dark and hungry sea, but his head was above the water now. He spun in place, scanning the battlefield for his foe, and spotted it just in time to see an arrow strike it in the mouth. The dragon’s head was soaked in blood now, and this latest wound seemed to knock it off its wings. With a bone-shuddering impact, it crashed to the ground, and out of Kyron’s line of sight, behind the rampart.

Once again, Kyron climbed, hauling himself upwards with muscles that felt only partially within his control. He reached the top just in time to spot the dragon’s tail whipping around and knocking a figure off its feet. It was Elijah, Kyron realized with a jolt of horror -- there was no mistaking the huge frame wrapped in furs. There was also no mistaking the dragon’s intentions as its sides heaved and smoke gathered around its nostrils.

There was no time to think. Kyron drew his daggers and leapt.

The wind was knocked out of him as he slammed against the dragon’s scaly back, but he managed to keep his grip on his weapons. One blade had pierced the membrane on the edge of the enormous wing, while the other had lodged itself in between two plate-like scales. As the beast shrieked and shifted beneath him, Kyron managed to get enough purchase with his feet to launch himself forward again, aiming for the joint that connected the body to the wing.

As the blood gushed over his hands, the last of the wrenching fear drained from Kyron’s body, and he wondered with a kind of sick glee whether anyone else alive had felt just how hot a dragon’s blood was.

Elijah was climbing to his feet, a golden glow of healing light swirling about him and his eyes bearing a furor unlike any expression Kyron had seen on him. He moved towards the dragon’s head, and when the beast snapped its jaw at him as if to tear him apart, he bludgeoned its snout with his warhammer with such force that Kyron could hear the crunch of ancient bones and feel the bellow of pain in the dragon’s chest beneath his knees.

His grip on the beast began to slip as it bucked and heaved under him. Wrenching his daggers out of scaly flesh, he slipped one blade between his teeth and held it there so that his right hand was free to wrap around one of the spikes that protruded from the dragon’s back. He pulled himself up higher onto the shoulder before stabbing into the joint once again. The dragon hissed and craned its neck, but before it could twist far enough around to get at him, Elijah struck it with his warhammer once more.

“Yes! We have it now!” Kyron shouted to Elijah over the thunder of the dragon’s roars. “We have it!”

Elijah grunted and suddenly sheathed his hammer, leaping up and grabbing onto the dragon’s horns with both hands. He pulled himself up until he was sitting astride the great beast’s neck, then pulled a steel dagger of his own from his belt and plunged it through the crest of the dragon’s skull with a sickening sound.

With its last breath, the dragon roared heavenwards, and to his disbelief, Kyron thought he could make out words in that blistering voice.

"Dovahkiin? No! "

Elijah was flung from the great beast’s head, and then the dragon crumpled, its wings splaying outwards, its scaled cheek hitting the ground, and the fire of enmity died from its eyes. 

As the body came tumbling down, Kyron slipped his daggers into their sheaths and dropped lightly into the grass. Laughter bubbled from his lips as he stumbled over to where Elijah had landed, and even though Elijah was twice his weight and he had no hope of lifting him even when he wasn’t shaking so fiercely he could scarcely keep his balance, he offered his friend a hand.

“You alright?” he asked as Elijah reached up to take the hand and then got to his feet without actually putting any weight on it. “That was incredible, what you just did!”

“Mmm.” Elijah didn’t seem to be experiencing the same post-battle euphoria that Kyron was. His face was a little drawn. But he forced a smile and gave a nod of thanks. “Same to you. I’ve never seen anyone leap so far before. Thank you, for that. I thought surely--”

At that moment, the huge dragon’s body shifted, and both Kyron and Elijah jolted back in shock, their hands flying to the hilts of their weapons. But the great beast wasn’t stirring back to life -- in fact, quite the opposite -- its flesh was suddenly engulfed in a flame that bore no heat. Before their eyes, the dragon’s skin and scales dissolved away, leaving behind a massive skeleton, and a brilliant, multicolored light streamed into the air and circled around Kyron and Elijah. It settled beneath their breast bones like a flock of birds nesting in the bush.

As the light coursed into his body, Kyron felt an enormous energy stir inside him, unlike anything he’d felt before. There was a heat to it, and a weight, and a sense of power, the kind of power that could tear down mountains and withstand the passing of centuries. And yet, it didn’t feel like an alien influence or a foreign spirit. It felt… it felt like him , like for the first time he was aware of how very far beyond the bounds of his body his soul stretched.

As the glow faded away, and as the shifting energy curled back up to slumber comfortably in the depths of Kyron’s being, a blood-splattered guard approached the pair of them at a slow walk, awe evident in every line of his body. “You’re… You’re Dragonborn!”

Beside Kyron, Elijah sucked in a breath, and went rigid. When Kyron glanced up, he could see that his friend had gone pale and was gaping slightly, thunderstruck.

“Dragonborn?” Kyron glanced from Elijah to the guard and back again. “What do you mean?”

"In the very oldest tales, back when there still were dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power.” The guard explained, looking between the two of them with something like worship on his face. “That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

“I… I don’t know what we did.” Kyron glanced down at himself, half expecting to see golden light still flashing under his skin. “Killed a dragon. That’s all I know.”

"There's only one way to find out.” The guard’s voice rose with excitement. “Try to Shout... that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do."

Elijah shook his head and backed up a step. “You must be mistaken.”

“Yeah.” Kyron offered the guard a weak grin. “No offense, friend, but I think the excitement of battle might’ve gone to your head.”

It was clear, though, that their protests were falling on deaf ears as the other surviving guards began to gather and exchange excited remarks.

“Dragonborn, you say? My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Born with the dragon blood in ‘em, like old Tiber Septim himself.”

“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons.”

“There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just coming back now for the first time in... forever. But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. That’s what we’ve just seen!”

“Don’t be a fool. One Dragonborn, I could believe -- but two? One of them ain’t even a Nord! Nah, that was just some old magic locked up in that beast’s hide dispelling as it died.”

Kyron scoffed as the conversation unfolded, torn between amusement and annoyance. On one hand, the idea that he of all people might be tangled up in some old Nord legends was pretty funny. On the other hand, he and Elijah had just killed a damn dragon. Was it so much to ask to bask in the glory of the kill for just a few minutes without this nonsense overshadowing it?

Elijah didn’t seem to be all too enthused either. He was facing slightly away from the commotion, his expression impassive and his gaze a thousand leagues away.

By this time, Irileth had walked over from the other side of the battlefield and was examining the dragon’s skeletal remains with a grim expression. The look she gave her subordinates as they clamored for her attention reminded Kyron of a long-suffering mother humoring her pack of kids.

“What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet.”

“Come on, Irileth, tell us, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?”

“Hmph.” Irileth gave the skeleton an investigative tap with her boot before coming over to join the group of guards. “Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.” Her gaze fell approvingly on Kyron and Elijah as she spoke those last words.

“You wouldn't understand, Housecarl,” one of the guards protested. “You ain't a Nord.”

Irileth drew herself up at that. “I've been all across Tamriel! I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends.”

It was wise advice, and Kyron felt his respect for the housecarl grow as she turned away from her charges and walked over to address him and Elijah directly.

"That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. I don't know about this Dragonborn business, but I'm sure glad you're with us.”

Finally, Elijah seemed to break out of his reverie, and he turned to meet Irileth’s gaze with a half-smile. “It was an honor to fight with you. It certainly made all the difference, having a united force to face this dragon down. For my part at least, I know I could not have mustered the courage to face the beast alone.”

The housecarl gave him an approving nod. “You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here. I'm taking command here for the moment. You head back to Whiterun and let the Jarl know what happened."

As the guards began securing the watchtower and tending to their fallen comrades, Kyron and Elijah set out back along the path back to Whiterun. Neither of them spoke, but there was a mutually-understood sense of urgency between them, and somehow they both knew to break into a light jog at the same moment. The sun had begun to dip low in the sky, and the light falling across the plains was turning golden.

Then, just as the two of them were beginning to near the stables, a low rumble rippled through the air. Kyron’s first thought was that maybe there was a storm on the horizon, but the sound quickly unfolded into an immense crashing thunderclap that shook the very heavens and the stones beneath their feet. The world quaked around them and Elijah lost his footing and stumbled onto his knees, then a powerful calling echoed through the sky and rang back off the mountains that surrounded the plains.

“ DOV - AH - KIIN! ”

The wall of sound passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving an immense stillness behind. It was as though every living thing for leagues around had stopped, just for one moment, to listen.

Kyron felt his breath catching in his chest. He looked down at Elijah, who was staring up at him, and he saw his own wide-eyed bewilderment reflected in that big bearded face.

“Let’s get back to the Jarl,” he said, and Elijah nodded, brushing the dirt off his hands as he stood.

They encountered a small crowd moving the opposite direction as they approached Whiterun’s gates. It seemed the news that the dragon was now gone had traveled faster than they had, or perhaps people had realized they needed to get back to their farms and cottages before nightfall and decided to brave the roads anyway. Those remaining in the city seemed to have migrated to the local inn, which was alive with a merry buzz. Once Kyron and Elijah had ascended the steps to the city’s middle district, the streets were nearly deserted.

The guards standing watch outside of the Jarl’s palace seemed to be expecting them and ushered them in at once, and the steward was waiting for them just inside the door. “Good,” he said. “You're finally here. The Jarl's been waiting for you.”

Jarl Balgruuf was leaning forward on his throne, deep in thoughtful discussion with similarly-featured man -- a brother, Kyron guessed. “You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards….” He trailed off as his eyes fell upon his approaching audience and lit up with curiosity and anticipation. “So you’ve returned. What happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?”

Elijah spoke up. “The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon.”

A satisfied look crossed the Jarl’s face. “I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that. Did something... strange... happen when the dragon died?”

At this, there was a long pause. Kyron glanced at Elijah, and saw a deep conflict in his friend’s face. He cleared his throat and asked, “How did you know?”

Unmistakable excitement sparkled in the Jarl’s eyes. He did not answer Kyron’s question, instead saying, “So it’s true! The Greybeards really were summoning you. Which one of you is it? Who devoured the great beast’s soul?”

Those were strange and alarming words, so strange and alarming that had Kyron not been speaking to anyone else, he might’ve been insulted. But Jarl Balgruuf clearly meant no slight, and was in fact looking between the two of them with a mixture of awe and respect that Kyron would never have expected from someone of his station. “I… don’t know what you mean, sir. When the dragon died, we absorbed some kind of power from it.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes.” Kyron frowned and tried to catch Elijah’s eye, but Elijah was staring at the ground. “The guards said we were something called Dragonborn, but….”

“Not just the guards. The Greybeards seem to think the same thing.” Noticing the blank look on Kyron’s face, the Jarl continued, “The Greybeards are masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World. The Dragonborn is uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

Before Kyron could respond, the Jarl’s brother spoke up. “That thunderclap we heard -- that was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! 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 friends here? Capable as they may be, I don't see any signs of them being this, what… Dragonborn?” 

The voice of the steward held just enough of a condescending edge to make Kyron bristle. He too thought that this Dragonborn business was all a lot of Nord nonsense, but he had the common decency not to say so.

Clearly Hrongar shared his opinion. “Nord nonsense?!” he spat, his considerable frame seeming to grow even larger as he drew himself up. “Why, you puffed-up, ignorant--! These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!”

Jarl Balgruuf held up a hand. “Hrongar. Don't be so hard on Avenicci.”

“I meant no disrespect, of course,” the steward said quickly. “It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with them?”

“That's the Greybeards' business, not ours.” Jarl Balgruuf turned his attention from his bickering council back to Kyron and Elijah. “Whatever happened when the two of you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards, it's a tremendous honor.”

Is it? Kyron thought wearily. He could not think of anything he felt less inclined to do than embark on another long journey. He had scarcely recovered from his travels from Hammerfell, he hadn’t a septim to his name, and he was but a stone’s throw away from the promise of an old friend and a new life. All he wanted to do was put this behind him and go join the Companions.

“I envy you, you know.” Jarl Balgruuf’s voice had gone soft with warm reminiscence. “To climb the 7,000 Steps again... I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that?”

Kyron felt Elijah shift beside him and glanced over to see the tense look had fallen slightly from his friend’s face and something reverent had crept in instead. “I didn’t know that.” He paused, then added softly, “You have walked an honorable path.”

Balgruuf gave a nod of acknowledgement. “High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before. No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you."

Kyron paused a moment to see if Elijah would speak again. When he did not, he filled the silence, choosing his words carefully. “Jarl, I… I do not wish to disrespect your beliefs and customs, but I came to Skyrim to seek a simple living. I do not know how I could possibly be this person of legend of which you speak when I’m not even of Nordic blood.”

The Jarl was regarding him with patient softness in his eyes, like a father might regard a bashful child. “Dragonborn have been placed in the mortal plane outside of Skyrim, you know. Perhaps the gods knew that you would be here when you were needed.”

Kyron continued stubbornly. “Elijah and I were standing side-by-side at the moment that the dragon’s power flowed towards us. Perhaps it only appeared from a distance as though I were absorbing it too.” He turned to Elijah, who looked at him with wide blue eyes. “If you plan to make the pilgrimage, you would have my blessing. Perhaps I can accompany you as a traveling companion, if I manage to make a bit of gold before you leave. But I don’t think these summons were intended for me.”

Elijah’s brief silence was heavily laden with uncertainty and doubt. Then he seemed to muster a few words, “If I did go, I would be glad if you came with me.”

“Perhaps there’s wisdom in waiting for the day’s events to sink in before making the journey,” the Jarl said kindly. “And as for the matter of gold, I may just be able to help. You’ve both proven to be capable and reliable, and my court wizard, Farengar, has been seeking to hire just such a person for an important task. It’s related to the return of the dragons, so you would be doing Whiterun yet another great service.”

A look of relief had passed over Elijah’s face at the change of subject, and Kyron was not going to turn down a chance for some work. “I believe we’d be interested in hearing more.”

“Come, then. I’ll introduce you to him.” The Jarl rose from his throne and strode towards a small room that lay off the main chamber. “Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I’m not sure he ever sleeps….”

Kyron could sense the magic filling the space as soon as they’d stepped across the threshold. Blue runes glowed ominously from a small table against the back wall, which also seemed to be decorated with more candles than would be needed for any reputable activity and an evil-looking skull that stared at him with soulless sockets. Strange purple crystals littered the large desk in the center of the room, some of them dull and empty while others radiated a glow that pulsed in a rhythm unsettlingly like that of a heart. Then there was the wizard himself -- a tall, thin man wrapped in black robes, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood.

The Jarl spoke to him in a respectful but authoritative tone. “Farengar, I think I’ve found some capable lads who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill them in with all the details.”

If Michael had dispelled all the misgivings Kyron had had about mages as soon as he’d opened his mouth, this Farengar character immediately set about re-instilling them. The way he squinted down his nose at the two of them, as though he were at a market stand and they were some apples of questionable quality, did not do much to make Kyron feel better. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. 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."

That sounded like exactly what Kyron had expected a man of books like this to want from a mercenary. “All right. Where are we going and what are we fetching?”

The wizard smirked. "Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?" Before Kyron could quite wrap his head around that, Farengar went on, “I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. Go there, find this tablet -- no doubt interred in the main chamber -- and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Elijah was giving Farengar a skeptical look. “And what does this have to do with the dragons returning?”

“Ah!” The wizard’s voice turned from condescending to approving in an instant. “This one is no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker -- perhaps even a scholar?” The look on Elijah’s face seemed to convince Farengar that this was a poor tack to take, and he continued in a hurry. “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed 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 were they coming from? The tablet I seek is a ‘Dragonstone,” said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Retrieving this information would--”

“Great. Dead dragon map. Sounds good.” Kyron had no desire to spend more time talking to his unpleasant man in his creepy laboratory for a moment more than necessary. “Anything you can tell us about Bleak Falls Barrow?”

“It’s an old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself. Oh, perhaps you just want to know how to get there. It’s near Riverwood, a miserable little town south of here.”

“The people who live in that town are in the most immediate danger should this dragon menace continue.” Elijah intoned each word slowly, a clear note of displeasure in his voice in response to Farengar’s haughtiness.

The wizard just shrugged, not seeming terribly concerned. Kyron shot a glance at the Jarl, wondering if he might scold his wizard, but he seemed resigned to the man’s antics. “This is a priority now, Farengar,” he said. “Anything we can use to fight these dragons, we’ll need quickly, before it’s too late.”

“Of course, Jarl Balgruuf. You seem to have found me some able assistants. I’m sure they will prove most useful.”

The Jarl turned to Kyron and Elijah. “Succeed at this, and Whiterun will be even deeper in your debt. But... not tonight. Tonight, the hour grows late and the candles burn low, and the two of you have got a dragonslaying to celebrate.” A smile crossed his face. From his belt, he removed two coin purses, passing one to each of them. “Go get yourselves some hot food and strong drinks at the Bannered Mare. You’ve more than earned some rest.”

Elijah accepted the reward with a respectful nod of thanks, then mustered a smile when Balgruuf gave him an encouraging look. “Thank you, sir. It will be good to have a respite.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” Kyron nodded his thanks to the Jarl as well, then turned and clapped a hand against Elijah’s solid back. “To the inn, then? I bet your blacksmith friend is waiting for us.”

“Mmm.” Elijah glanced around the room once -- the jarl was returning to his court and Farengar had turned his back to them -- then regarded Kyron with a softer, albeit slightly more tired smile. “I’m sure she is. Let’s go.”

They exited the keep to find that night had fully fallen, and Kyron paused for a moment on the steps down from Dragonsreach to admire the sight of Whiterun’s moonlit roofs and glimmering torches spread out below them. The Bannered Mare was a particularly bright spot, and when they got down to its door, it was easy to see why. The day’s excitement had clearly put much of the town in the mood for mead. The crowd of revelers had spilled out of the doors into the street, and torches had been set out for them.

The place was so packed that Kyron doubted he would’ve ever gotten up to the bar on his own, but Elijah’s huge frame skimmed through the crowd like a boat through water, and all Kyron had to do was follow in his wake. It was clear that Elijah was a known fixture here. Multiple people recognized him and called out in greeting, and he responded to each one with familiar warmth.

When they reached the bar counter, the innkeeper gave Elijah a nod and he smiled back, but waited patiently for her to finish tending to the orders that had already come in; clearly an unusual behavior if the jostling and cheerfully demanding shouts of the other patrons were anything to go by. When the woman was free, she turned to them with a big smile, a more genuine one than she’d had plastered on her face moments before. “What can I get you, dear? Who’s this friend of yours?”

“Hello Hulda.” Elijah clasped Kyron’s shoulder. “This is Kyron Stormhollow. He’ll be joining with the Companions as soon as they return.”

Kyron gave Hulda a polite nod. “Well met.”

“Hail, Companion!” Hulda grinned and set out two dinner bowls. “What a welcome to the city, though. A dragon! Outside our own walls! Can you believe it?”

“Might have been hard, had I not seen it with my own eyes.” Elijah admitted as if sharing a secret, which made the innkeeper’s eyes twinkle. 

She took their orders and filled their dishes with meat, potatoes, bread, grilled vegetables, and handed them each a share of spirits; a bottle of draft wine she filled from a keg behind the counter for Elijah, and a bottle of traditional nord ale for Kyron.

She passed them their food and accepted their handfuls of coin, then Elijah leaned in a bit closer and asked, “Have you seen Adrianne? She mentioned she would be here tonight.”

“I certainly have -- she asked for you too, actually.” Hulda winked at them both. “She’s sitting at the guest tables in the kitchen; too rowdy in here to have much of a conversation.”

Elijah counted out ten additional septims and handed them to her with a clink. “Could we rent a room too? If there’s any left, of course.”

“There’s one last spot -- the one in the back behind the kitchen as a matter-of-fact. Fine idea to nab it before anyone else barges through my door.” Hulda laughed softly. “Good to see you dear. You know where the extra blankets are if you need them.”

“Thank you, Hulda.” Elijah gave her a warm smile and picked up his food, then nodded to Kyron and led him past the other revelers and through a doorway. They passed the inn’s huge cooking fire where a spit was turning with roasted meat, and found Adrianne settled expectantly at a small table with three chairs in a quiet corner of the room. She lit up with anticipation when she spotted them.

“There’s our local dragonslayers! By the Eight, you two should hear what the guards are saying about you. There was such a ruckus in front of the barracks by the time I closed up shop.”

Elijah exchanged a hesitant look with Kyron before sinking slowly into a chair and giving Adrianne a nervous smile. “I’m not sure what all might be going around…”

Adrianne threw back her head and barked a laugh. “That you showed better skill as an archer than a dozen of our rigorously-trained men? That you -- Stormhollow -- leapt upon that great beast’s back and rode him like a steed? That the two of you are Dragonborn -- Skyrim’s long lost heroes from centuries past?”

Kyron looked to Elijah with a soft smile, leaving space for him to answer his friend. Elijah didn’t answer right away, though, instead taking a moment to uncork his wine and fill a tankard from the nearby counter. He took a swig, then leaned forward onto his arms with a sigh. “Well… most of that is true. I’m not completely certain about this Dragonborn business though.”

“What exactly happened out there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Sunborn. No offense.”

Elijah chuckled faintly and shook his head, then leaned back in his chair. “None taken.” He looked at Kyron. “When we got out to the watchtower, the grounds were smoking and the dragon was nowhere in sight. As we were getting the remaining guards to safety, it swooped out from behind the mountain peak and began to attack.”

“Scared the shit out of all of us,” Kyron added. “It came faster than anything I’d ever seen, cutting paths through the battlefield with its fiery breath.”

Elijah nodded. “We lost sight of each other for a while. The first half of the battle was merely driving the dragon to the ground. While it was in the air, we were at a severe disadvantage. Arrows wouldn’t penetrate its back scales, but there were some vulnerabilities like the face and wings. The third time it landed, it stayed down, and we were able to come in with stronger weapons. It knocked me off my feet with its tail, and when I looked up, Kyron was leaping through the air onto its back.”

“I wanted to get at the wings,” Kyron explained. He paused for a moment, considering admitting that that had been his second attempt, that he had not exactly charged fearlessly up to the beast and leapt astride it the way the guards might be claiming. But the memory of that sickening, all-consuming fear held him back. Maybe he would tell Elijah about it later. Or maybe not. He hid his hesitation by catching Adrianne’s eye and grinning widely. “Lucky thing I had those fine daggers of yours. Not many smiths can say that their steel can pierce dragonhide and have that be fact rather than mere boasting.”

She laughed. “Now that’s one thing I might have over Eorland Gray-Mane! So who struck the killing blow?”

“That was Elijah. And it was incredible, too! Once we had the dragon cornered, we were giving it some real grief, me with my daggers and he with his warhammer. The beast was thrashing about. Its head came down, and Elijah did not waste the chance -- he jumped between its horns and stabbed it through the skull.”

Adrianne let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“And when the dragon died,” Elijah said slowly after swallowing a bite of his dinner, “Its flesh melted away into nothingness, until only the bones were left behind. And when that happened, a bright light flowed like the coursing of a river from its body into ours. I -- I felt something, when it did. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like I was somehow older and wiser and stronger in that one moment than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“You felt that too?” A chill ran down Kyron’s spine. He had already discounted that moment as euphoria from the thrill of the battle of a lifetime. But the words Elijah had chosen were so apt. “I… I thought I was imagining things.”

“That’s just it.” Elijah sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It was gone right afterwards, and who is to say it wasn’t simply a feeling of post-battle triumph? And I -- I can’t be Dragonborn. If that light was proof of that gift, then the gods have the wrong person. I’m not a hero.”

He said these words in such a small voice that Kyron felt a little surge of indignance. “I don’t know,” he said, giving Elijah’s shoulder a shake -- or at least attempting to, the man was like a pillar of stone. “Pretty heroic to drag a perfect stranger out of the middle of a burning street while a dragon wreaks havoc around you, if you ask me.”

Adrianne, who’d been listening quietly and kindly, jumped in at that. “Stormhollow makes a good point. You’re a humble lad. But the gods don’t ask us mortals if we want the destiny they give us.”

“I’m a tradesman.” Elijah tried to protest. “I’m not fit for anything higher than that. I’m not a warrior or a diplomat or a conqueror. Isn’t the Dragonblood supposed to be a blessing? Why in Oblivion should I be considered worthy of a blessing that holds legendary power?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Adrianne’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “You’re everything a true Nord would aspire to be. Big, strong, good at working with your hands, good at taking care of your own. Honorable beard. Can drink with the best of them. Makes an honest living.” The smith drank from her bottle of mead and crossed her arms over her chest. “Trust me, Sunborn, there’s not many warriors or diplomats or conquerors out there that would be worthy of the Dragonblood. They’re full of their own self-importance, and would care more for their personal glory than for the good of Skyrim. If we’re due for another Dragonborn, and it’s got to be you, then I say we struck better than gold.” She turned her head and fixed her gaze on Kyron. “Besides, from what I heard, you both devoured that dragon’s soul. The journey will be easier if you both have a friend at your side.”

“Maybe.” Kyron took a sip of mead with a wry smile. “I mean -- Elijah and I have been bonded by fire and blood now, and if he asked for my help on his path, I would be honored to oblige. But I have my doubts about this Dragonborn business too.”

Adrianne banged her bottle against the table in mock disgust. “Two reluctant heroes! I don’t believe this.”

“It’s different with me,” Kyron protested. “I like battle. I dream of heroic deeds as much as the next young warrior back in my homeland. I came to Whiterun to join the Companions, and I have no plans to shy away from glory if that’s the path the gods have set me on. Elijah hesitates out of the goodness and meekness of his heart. I hesitate because I think it’d be ridiculous if some Redguard who arrived in Skyrim just days before turned out to be a great figure from Nord lore. The authorities had me in chains not a week ago, wanted to chop my head off, and now I’m supposed to be a living legend?”

Adrianne, who had been listening to his rambling with an amused smile, abruptly frowned as soon as Kyron mentioned chains. “What’s this about chopping your head off?”

At that, Elijah scoffed angrily under his breath. “A handful of Imperial soldiers abducted Kyron from his camp near the border, robbed him, and tied him up with a group of Stormcloak rebels. Ulfric happened to be captured the same day, and the whole lot of them were sentenced to death. When it became obvious that Kyron was not a Stormcloak and there was absolutely no proof of a crime to his name, he was ordered to the block regardless.”

Underneath the righteous outrage Kyron could hear in his friend’s voice, he could tell Elijah was less on edge now that the topic had moved away from the subject of the Dragonborn legends. The man was more absorbed in his dinner, scooping up bites of tender venison and salted potatoes, chewing a bit grumpily as his eyes flashed with the memory of Kyron’s arrival in Helgen. He relaxed just slightly when Kyron smiled and patted his arm.

“Of course, when the dragon attacked, I got unlucky again and wound up with these scars.” Kyron gestured to the left side of his face, where the dragon’s flame had left its mark. “I would’ve died if not for Elijah. He healed me as best he could and carried me all the way to the house of his healer friend. When those soldiers jumped me, I thought maybe Skyrim was a terrible place and I should turn around and go home. But then I met Elijah and Michael.”

“Mmm.” Adrianne’s eyes took on a sad and knowing cast. “That’s Skyrim for you. Some of the best folks in the world live here, folks who would give you their last septim for your supper and who understand honor like a fish understands water. But some Nords are proud and small-minded.” She leaned forward, and something gleamed in her eyes as she met Kyron’s gaze. “From one foreigner to another -- don’t ever let anybody tell you that you don’t belong here.”

Her words stirred something warm in Kyron’s heart that he couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. “That… I will keep that in mind.”

“Anyone gives you any trouble, you send them straight to me.” She laughed before downing the dregs from her bottle and fixing Kyron with an eager look. “Although I daresay your feats today will mean folks in Whiterun at least ought to respect you for a while. I hear you’ve been having words with Jarl Balgruuf himself?”

Kyron nodded. “We went straight to him when we arrived this morning, since we had news of the attack in Helgen. The tale was scarcely out of our mouths when the damned dragon showed up here, and he asked us to assist the guards, since we had encountered a dragon before. And then… well, there was the whole Dragonborn business. He thinks we should go to High Hrothgar and see the Greybeards.”

Adrianne grinned. “A wise man, Balgruuf. I think you should do what he says.”

“Maybe. But in the meantime, we’ve got a new task. There’s some stone tablet in a barrow south of here that the court wizard wants to get his hands on.”

“Farengar? Hope he didn’t give you too much trouble. The man’s insufferable, but he does his job well. I wonder what his research might turn up.” Adrianne’s eyes traveled from Kyron to Elijah, and warm amusement colored her face. “Well, if you’re going digging around in some ancient crypt tomorrow, maybe you ought to get some sleep. It looks like Sunborn is ready for bed.”

Kyron realized that while he and Adrianne had talked, his friend had polished off his dinner and most of his bottle of wine. Elijah seemed to have heard his name, stirred with a sound of protest, and blinked open tired blue eyes.

“M’awake.” Elijah mumbled, then his chest jolted with a sharp hiccup.

Kyron chuckled heartily and patted Elijah’s shoulder. “Not for long, though, I reckon,” he said, before scraping up the last bite of roast potatoes from his own plate. “I’m just about done myself. What do you say we take Adrianne’s advice and get some rest?”

“Mmm…” Elijah blinked again as if trying to brush the cobwebs of sleep from his head and nodded agreeably. He looked across the table to Adrianne as he stood. “Thank you for talking  with us. It’s a relief to be able to tell someone everything that’s  happened.”

“Oh don’t worry, the whole of Whiterun will know about your adventures by the end of the day tomorrow, as promised.” Adrianne ribbed with a grin, then nodded at Kyron. “You two be careful out in that crypt now, you hear?"

“We’ll do our best to get into just the right amount of trouble.” Kyron pushed away his empty plate and stood. “It was nice to get a proper talk with you, Adrianne. I hope we’ll be seeing each other often around the city.”

“I’m sure we will. Sleep well, the both of you.” She saw them off with a little wave of her hand, and Kyron followed Elijah’s slow, sleepy steps down the hall.

The room at the end of the hall was warm and comfortable. A pair of single beds, layered with straw mattresses and thick animal furs, were set next to each other against the far wall. Near the door, there were a couple of low wardrobes for putting away their things for the night. The walls were decorated with woven mats, and soft goat pelts were laid out as rugs on the smooth wooden floor.

Elijah had a light pack with him in addition to his gear, and after he’d laid aside his bow and hammer, he undid the buckles of its flap with fumbling fingers and dug through the contents. He pulled out a pair of light tunics for sleep, one that could only fit his enormous frame and one that Kyron recognized as his from the days he’d been recovering in Michael’s cabin.

“Michael washed this before we left,” Elijah mumbled in a voice that was thick with sleep, passing the smaller tunic to Kyron’s hands. “Probably best not to sleep in your armor.”

“Probably not. Thanks.” Kyron took the tunic and set it on the bed as he began to work at the fastenings of his armor. With the promise of rest so close, he could feel himself growing sleepier and sleepier. But there was something still needling at the back of his mind. “Hey, Elijah? Can I ask what you meant when you told Adrianne that you don’t think you could be a hero?”

“Mmm…” Elijah rubbed at his eyes, then hiccupped laboriously. “M’not fit for that kinda grandeur. I jus’ do what I have to do.”

He had swayed slightly on the spot as he said this, and Kyron thought better of opening up such a delicate topic right at that very moment. “Yeah, maybe we can talk about it some other time, hmm?” He slipped his sleeping tunic over his head and sat down on the edge of his mattress, chuckling softly. “When you’re not quite so burdened with dinner and wine.”

Elijah made a sound, somewhere between a resigned sigh and a faint protest, but didn’t argue, and finished changing into his own sleepwear. He set his pack under the foot of his bed, then undid a braid in his hair, combing his fingers through the long strands to unwind the tangles. Finally, he opened a wardrobe and pulled out a thick woolen blanket. He brought it over to Kyron’s bed and draped it around his shoulders.

“D’you need more than one?” He asked softly.

“Mmm.” Kyron tugged the soft wool up around his chin, savoring the sensation of being bundled. “No, one is enough for me.”

Elijah gave a kindly nod and moved away, snuffing out the candles in the room, then returned to the wardrobe and took out two blankets for himself. He sank into his bed with a sigh of deep exhaustion, tucking one blanket over his waist and legs and hugging the other one around his broad shoulders.

“Hope you sleep well.” Elijah murmured just before his eyes closed. His breaths soon grew deep and even.

It took Kyron longer to fall asleep, but not by much. He often had trouble quieting his thoughts after an eventful day like this one -- but tonight, he was warm and comfortable, sated by good food and drink, and safe within the walls of a city, the roof of an inn, and the company of a friend. Soon he was drifting in a haze of drowsy contentment so soft and so deep that he was not roused even as he became aware of a shadow of that expansive feeling he’d gotten from the touch of the dragon’s light, and a strange sense of that something ancient might quicken in his blood as he slept. In fact, he was only lulled deeper into his slumber, and he dreamed that night that he was soaring over sky-piercing mountains and river-streaked valleys, with stars all around and ribbons of brilliant color dancing across the sky.

Chapter Text

Michael began his day like he did most others, rolling over in his bed with an enormous yawn, eyeing the low-burning coals of the fire, and deciding he didn’t feel like leaving his cozy cocoon of blankets just yet. He half-drowsed until the dwindling warmth of the hearth was not enough to hold back the slow creeping chill of the outdoors, then got up and shuffled over to stack some more wood on the remaining embers, grumbling under his breath the whole way.

Not long later, the fire’s heat and light was making the space inside the cottage warm and comfortable again, so Michael heated some porridge, washed his face, and opened up his latest journal of alchemical notes before getting to work.

He had a couple of new potions he’d been working on -- healing mixes that could be spread on as poultices instead of taken orally, something he hoped would work well for patients who were not conscious enough to swallow. He’d gotten the right potency but was still working on the consistency. A lot of the thickeners he would normally use were either changing the alchemical properties of the brews, or were prone to spoilage. So he was working his way down a list and crossing out everything that wasn’t quite right, and today, he was planning to test a mix with purified clay.

Michael set out his mortar and pestle then ducked outdoors with two buckets in hand. One he filled with sediment from the river, and one he filled with water, then he sat on the porch elbow-deep in the bucket of mud, washing and rewashing handfuls of it until the sand and silt was gone and he was left with a fine slurry of red clay and clean water. 

As he worked, he found his gaze drifting northwards. Elijah would likely be coming back from Whiterun today, and Michael hoped he would stay for a while before setting out on another journey. He usually did spend at least a week or two around after a big trip, but so much had happened that Michael wasn’t sure his best friend wouldn’t want to work off the restlessness by plowing back into the woods at the first opportunity. 

A detachment of soldiers had arrived in Riverwood the previous day, so Michael knew that Jarl Balgruuf had received the news about the dragon with utmost seriousness; something Michael was grateful for. His head swirled any time he tried to think about what it could possibly mean that a dragon had returned to Skyrim, and was half-tempted to set out on a trip of his own for a while if Elijah didn’t stick around, just so he could reach out to other mages and try to get his bearings on things.

It was early afternoon by the time Michael went back inside, sopping wet but satisfied, and set about bottling the clean clay. After he’d had a bite to eat, he’d mix up a portion of his poultice brew, combine it with the clay, and leave it to rest overnight. Then the next morning--

Michael looked up at a sudden knock at the door, and hurriedly finished shrugging on a dry tunic before running to open it. That had to be Elijah. Just in time for lunch, too. But as the door swung wide, Michael took in the sight of both Kyron and Elijah, and frowned in confusion.

“Don’t tell me the Companions turned you down without even giving you a first job?” He shooed them both inside and crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet we could hire Jenassa to muscle them into at least giving you a chance .”

Kyron smiled wryly. “Nah, I haven’t even spoken to them yet. Bit of a change in plans.”

Michael glanced at Elijah, who seemed to be looking anywhere in the cabin but at him, which really set off a warning bell. His scowl deepened. “What happened to turn you back around, then? El, what’s wrong?”

Elijah breathed a tight sigh and sank down into a chair. “There was… while we were in Whiterun, another dragon attacked the city’s outer defenses.”

Michael felt his jaw drop. “ What? What do you mean ‘another’ one?”

“It was a different dragon than the one that attacked Helgen,” Kyron explained, leaning against the doorframe. “That one had black scales. This one was bronze.”

Michael raked a hand through his curls and pulled out a chair for himself too. He struggled to wrap his mind around the idea of two dragons -- or maybe more -- wreaking havoc over Skyrim. What very little he knew of the Dragon Wars from centuries ago flashed through his mind. The ancient Nords had lived under abject tyranny. What was going to happen if the old wyrms came back?  

“So, wait a minute. This dragon attacked the outer walls -- but supposedly, you were close enough to see what color it was? That doesn’t add up, so what is it you’re not telling me?”

Elijah cleared his throat and looked immensely sheepish. “Jarl Balgruuf asked us to help Irileth on the battlefield by the Western Watchtower since we had ‘experience’ with dragons and no one else did.”

“ What? ” Michael exploded, then made an effort to soften his voice when he noticed Elijah’s gaze drop to the floor again. “Balgruuf asked you to fight a dragon?”

“We weren’t exactly charging out there like heroes of yore,” said Kyron. “There was a whole garrison of guards with us.”

“Still!” Michael buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this. I’m glad you’re both back in one piece, but… damn.”

“It was no small battle,” Kyron admitted. “Not everyone got to go home that night.  But…” He trailed off for a moment, glancing at Elijah as a little glint of pride cut through the seriousness of his demeanor. “We managed to win ourselves a bit of battle-glory. We were fighting the dragon two-on-one when it went down. Elijah struck the killing blow.”

Michael stared, first at Kyron, then at Elijah, then after a minute realized he should close his mouth. It was hard to imagine anything but a scene from the tales of ancient heroes. He knew from his conversations with Kyron while he’d been recovering that the young man had traveled to Skyrim specifically for mercenary work, but even so, a two-on-one fight with a dragon -- bigger and more powerful than any other living creature on Nirn -- that was a feat beyond anything Michael could have imagined most man or mer was capable of. He couldn’t recall exactly how the dragons of old had been removed from power, but he sure as hell remembered old stories of legendary battles involving scores of soldiers.

And it was hard to think of legendary stories like that crossing over with Michael’s story… even through his Elijah.

“I have to admit Kyron, I’m really impressed you faced down a dragon less than a week after getting roasted alive by one.” Michael shook his head with a chuckle. “Lesser men would have turned and run. And you-- ”

Michael got up from his chair, went to stand in front of Elijah, and rested both his hands on his best friend’s shoulders so those big blue eyes would stop hiding from him.

“I know you’re a giant fucking behemoth but even you could’ve been carried off by a dragon. And I know you look up to him, but Balgruuf isn’t technically your Jarl. You could have turned him down and stayed safe. I mean-- I’m amazed you won a battle like that, and proud of you too, ‘course, more than anything, but…”

Elijah cleared his throat softly. “I didn’t agree to fight the dragon because I was worried Balgruuf would be disappointed with me if I refused. I agreed to fight the dragon because I knew if it wasn’t defeated at Whiterun, it could have come this way and threatened you next.”

“Damn.” Michael chuckled, then leaned against Elijah and wound his arms around his neck, squeezing softly. “Okay. I get it. I’m glad we’re both safe. And you, too, Kyron.” Michael glanced his way and suddenly realized that Kyron looked a little downcast. He wondered what he’d said. “And I bet that’s a tale that’s going to last. I wonder if they’ll write your names into a history book or something.”

Kyron cleared his throat. “Well… if what most of Whiterun seems to believe is true, we might be remembered for more than that.” He glanced briefly at Elijah again, except this time his expression was more hesitant than proud. “Did you, uh -- did you hear that enormous sound last night? Loud as a thunderclap breaking right overhead, but… more like a voice?”

Michael blinked. He’d been wondering about that. He’d gone out and scratched his head at the clear pale sky until he’d chalked it up to some idiot mage doing a weird experiment somewhere in the surrounding hills. “Yeah?”

“Jarl Balgruuf believes that that was the call of some -- some monks, I suppose. Called the Greybeards. Summoning Elijah and me to the top of their mountain, because I guess they want to teach us--”

“Wait, what? You gotta slow down, I--” Michael pressed one hand to his forehead and felt Elijah start to squirm. “The Greybeards? What would the Greybeards want with you two?”

Kyron broke off and shook his head, like he was trying to collect his thoughts. “When -- when the dragon died last night, some kind of power flowed from its corpse into Elijah and me. And when it did, I felt this -- this bigness . Like my soul was larger and older than I’d ever realized. I thought I was just imagining things, you know? Didn’t want to believe it -- except now I know Elijah felt the same thing.”

Michael could barely think past the feeling of astonishment settling over him. He knew enough about the legends to begin to guess at where this might be going. He wanted to look at Elijah, but he could feel his best friend’s face buried in his shoulder and figured he probably wasn’t coming out for a while.

“The guards all said it means that we’re Dragonborn. Like the Emperor Tiber Septim himself. Jarl Balgruuf believes it too. He told us we should journey to see the Greybeards as soon as we can, so we can learn how to use this gift.” 

Kyron’s voice had grown more and more solemn with every passing word. Now it dropped into the sort of heaviness that Michael had only heard from storytellers, as though each word were falling from his mouth and striking the surface of a drum. “I didn’t really believe it at first. It seemed absurd. How could I, a Redguard in Skyrim not longer than a week, be part of some great Nord legend? And if a Dragonborn has not been seen for hundreds of years, what are the chances of two of us, in the same time and place? But... I’ve been thinking. The gods work in mysterious ways. And I know there were gods at work on that day in Helgen. I think… I think we were brought together for a reason.”

Elijah stiffened against Michael’s side, and Michael felt a sharp stab of worry for him even amidst the turmoil of his thoughts. The will of the gods -- whether philosophy or prophecy -- was not an easy subject for Elijah. Michael chewed his lip a little. “You might be right, but… that’s not a lot to base such a big assumption on. Have either of you been able to - to Shout? Since you might have absorbed this dragon’s power? That’d be more like proof; some solid evidence to stand on.”

Finally, Elijah sighed and pulled back enough to meet Michael’s gaze. “No. The guards asked us the same thing, but neither of us even know how to make an attempt. Jarl Balgruuf seemed to understand -- he mentioned he also made the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar once. So he suggested we assist him with a matter relating to the dragons before embarking on such a journey, and said it might give us some time to think.”

Michael felt a brief flicker of gratitude for Balgruuf’s intuition. “Okay, so what has he put you up to, then?”

“Farengar,” Elijah started, and Michael wrinkled his nose distastefully, “seems to think there is an ancient Nord relic located in Bleak Falls Barrow that depicts a map of the sites of ancient dragon burial grounds. He wants us to retrieve it and bring it to him, presumably so he can further conduct research in regards to multiple points of interest. Of course, given that Bleak Falls is a crypt…”

“It’ll be crawling with draugr.” Michael pushed a hand through his curls, then noticed Kyron tilt his head in confusion. “Draugr are ancient Nord undead that used to serve the Dragon Cult while they were living. It’s the magic from their old masters that animates them. They typically stick to their crypts but they get real feisty if you disturb them.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “We decided we might spend a night here in preparation before heading up the mountain. We could stop in Riverwood in the morning for supplies, as well.”

Michael gently ran his fingers through his best friend’s hair. Half of him couldn’t imagine soft-hearted, quiet Elijah as a powerful figure of legend, but the other half of him thought it made perfect sense. Elijah was big, strong, and faithful to his people, even if not necessarily faithful to the gods. What right did the gods have anyways, to demand so much of him after failing so deeply to answer his most vulnerable prayers? But Michael couldn’t deny it would be far too much of a coincidence for Kyron and Elijah to have met by chance in Helgen shortly before fighting a glory-driven battle together and feeling the exact same moment of overwhelming power, moments before the Greybeards Shouted across the land for the first time in centuries.

Privately, Michael was already starting to feel convinced, same as Kyron. But he could sense that Elijah needed more time.

“Well, I hope you know I’ll be coming with you.”

Elijah looked at him, dumbstruck. “Michael, no .”

“Don’t start, dammit. I’m perfectly capable of roasting a draugr to a crisp if I need to. And I cannot let you go in there not knowing if you’re gonna come back out again. Delving into an old tomb like that -- you might not see sunlight for days . I’m coming with you because if either of you get hurt in there, you’re gonna need a healer on hand to make sure you can drag your dumb asses back out.”

Kyron laughed at that. “Personally, I’d be happy to have someone along with us to heal my dumb ass.”

“Good. Then that’s settled.” Michael squeaked as Elijah bent forward and pressed his face directly into Michael’s belly as he squeezed him closer again. “El, I promise I’ll be careful. But you’re not leaving me behind on this one.” He waited, but when there was no response, he sighed.

“C’mon, you big milk-drinker.” Michael tugged on Elijah until he’d extracted the behemoth from his huddle against him. “If you go down to the river now, I bet you can catch and smoke enough fish for our packs. I’ll start getting some clothes and other supplies together.”

Elijah mumbled something that Michael didn’t quite catch, then stood up, squeezed him softly one more time, and kissed his curls. He moved around the cottage, shedding his armor for a tunic, laying his weapons down, loading fishing line, bait, and a clean knife into a basket.

“Don’t get eaten by mudcrabs while you’re down there,” Michael teased affectionately, and patted Elijah’s hand as he passed by on his way out the door.

Elijah smiled faintly at him, nodded at Kyron, and disappeared around the bend a moment later. 

Kyron spent a moment watching him go, then turned to look at Michael with a friendly grin. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Sure can.” Michael got up from his chair, pulled a couple of packs out of a storage chest at the foot of his bed, and held them out for Kyron to take. “In the wardrobe over there, there’s a bunch of clean clothes. I’d pack at least a couple of tunics and pairs of trousers into each of these. Roll ‘em up real tight so we’ll have space for everything else. I’m going to pack some potion vials and some of the oil El uses for cleaning his armor.”

With a nod, Kyron took the packs and went over to the wardrobe. Soon he was busy sorting through the clothes and folding them up, taking care to fill one pack with some of the enormous garments kept around for Elijah’s sake.

Michael sat down at the cabin’s workbench and began wrapping a few emergency vials of healing serum in some cloths to keep them from breaking on the journey. “Hey Kyron? You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. But I guess -- I gotta say, in your shoes I’d be pretty skeptical of all this mess too. I’m kinda wondering what it might’ve been that convinced you to give it a shot. Is it just ‘cause you and Elijah got that same feeling after the battle?”

“Hmm.” Kyron left a pause so long that for a moment, Michael thought he might not answer. But then he said, “In part. That’s what cut through my doubt enough to convince me to actually think about it. It’s something concrete, you know? It all sounds crazy -- but the return of the dragons would’ve sounded crazy a week ago, and now I’ve seen two with my own eyes.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Michael sighed deeply. “Well, I mean, I guess I haven’t seen any yet. But I know Elijah’s not crazy, and after getting a close enough look at you, I figured you’re not either.”

Kyron chuckled. “I try to keep my head screwed on right.”

Michael shook his head with a smile and went to retrieve the oil and rags Elijah used to keep his leather armor clean. “I guess… I’m also wondering. Since you sound pretty convinced to me, do you think you’ll do it? Go see the Greybeards? It’s a huge honor, of course. But it seems like it’d be a lot to adjust to right after getting here.”

“I’m... not sure. To be honest, I don’t really want to. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for the opportunity, but… it’s been a long journey. I’d really prefer just to join my old friend and start my work. But if what everyone’s saying is true, it would be a responsibility too great to ignore.” Kyron paused thoughtfully, letting a tunic fall half-rolled into his lap. “I wouldn’t say I’m convinced. I would say that I’m… waiting for more information. If the gods have guided me this far, I’m sure they’ll send a sign.”

Michael smiled softly again. “You have a lot of faith.”

“Yeah.” Kyron raised a hand to his collarbone, as though he were searching for something there. When his hand came away empty, he lowered it. “My family has always placed our faith in the goddess Tava -- or Kynareth, as you call her here. She has watched over us for generations. I may not know the right path, but I’m sure that she will.”

“Kynareth’s path is a good one to follow.” Michael murmured as he began counting some gold into three different pouches, one for each of them. “She’s a merciful Divine. Wise. Did you know in the ancient Nordic legends, she was the first to grant the blessing of the Voice to mortals?”

“Is that so?

“Yeah. She saw the terrible suffering the Nords of old were enduring and had compassion on them. Akatosh was the one to give the gift of the Dragonblood, but that was after Kynareth had granted mankind the power to Speak.” Michael began tying the three coin purses securely with a bit of string. “The mountain the Greybeards live on -- the Throat of the World -- it’s said to be Kynareth’s sacred mountain.”

That made Kyron’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

Michael nodded. “Sure is. There’s a series of sacred emblems all the way up the 7000 steps.”

“So that’s why Jarl Balgruuf called his journey a pilgrimage.” Kyron tugged at the edge of the tunic in his lap, clearly deep in thought. “Perhaps I will make this journey, whether or not the Greybeards’ summons were meant for me. If Elijah intends to go, that is. He seems very uncertain.”

At that, Michael sighed and glanced towards the cabin’s door, left open to let the breeze in. “Yeah. I honestly can’t tell if he’ll end up deciding to go or not. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but I guess it’d be a right mess if he did turn out to be Dragonborn and he never got to live up to it. But still. If it is true… this will be hard for him.”

“You think?” Kyron frowned slightly as he returned to his folding. “I mean -- it would be hard for anyone, of course, to confront that kind of destiny. And I can see he’s a man with little appetite for public acclaim. But once the shock of the situation wears off, you think the role would still weigh on him?”

“I do.” Michael pushed his curls back from his face. “It’s hard to explain, and I might try to avoid saying too much, because it’s not my story to tell, but…” Michael took a deep breath. “Being Dragonborn is a gift from the gods, there’s no way around that. And Elijah… well. Elijah feels like the gods abandoned him a long time ago. He lost his parents in just about the most brutal way you can imagine before he’d seen his twelfth winter. He was left with his sister, who he wasn’t able to save either. She died a couple years later, and he hates himself for that. I think he thought about hating the gods, but somehow he ended up just believing they think he’s not good for anything. So I don’t think the idea that the gods picked him to have this unfathomable power is gonna be something he’s gonna swallow very easily.”

Kyron remained quiet for a long moment after Michael had finished talking. “I see,” he said at last. “Yes, I can understand why this would be a hard journey for him, then.”

“If he can bring himself to believe it, I think he could be exactly the kind of hero Skyrim needs.” Michael gave a crooked smile. “But he still carries some deep wounds and even I don’t really know if they’ll ever fully heal. Maybe something will happen that’ll give him some faith back. Maybe Kynareth will guide us or the Greybeards can awaken something in him. I hope he goes to High Hrothgar. For what it’s worth, I think he’ll go if you do. I can tell he loves you already.”

A very soft expression crossed Kyron’s face. He seemed to spend a moment choosing his words. “I’ve never had so deep a bond with someone after so few days. Whatever it was that happened when the dragon was slain, I’m convinced that it means our fates are intertwined.” He tucked the final tunic away into the final pack and set it aside. “Thank you for explaining what you did to me. I won’t mention the workings of the gods around him.”

“He won’t be offended by your faith, if that’s anything that worries you.” Michael offered softly. “But it’s kind of you to think of his feelings. It might make it a little easier on him to walk this path believing it’s what he can do for the people he loves, rather than fulfilling a duty the gods have given him.”

Kyron nodded solemnly. “If we end up walking together, I’ll speak carefully.”

The rest of the afternoon passed relatively peacefully. Michael and Kyron finished packing what they could, leaving a few things out that they would use that night. Elijah came back to the cottage before the shadows grew long, beaming with a basketful of fish, and happily told Kyron while he cleaned them that the salmon were beginning their run. Then he explained that the run was their return to their breeding grounds from the previous year, meaning the rivers would be chock full of fish for weeks. He pulled a carefully-wrapped bundle of salmon roe from the pocket of his trousers to give to Michael, who tucked it safely into a satchel at his alchemical table.

Once the sun began to sink low in the sky, the three of them gathered around the cabin’s small table with bread, sliced tomatoes, and some roasted rabbit -- as Elijah explained they would probably have their fill of fish while traversing the barrow -- and made their plans for the next day.

“The shops in Riverwood don’t open until the sun has been up for at least an hour.” Elijah pointed out after biting into a well-buttered loaf. There were dark smudges on his hands from the last hours of the day he’d spent smoking and preserving the fish, and Michael passed him a cloth with his mug of ale.

“Right. If we leave here by dawn, we should get to town when the Riverwood Trader opens its doors, and we can grab any emergency supplies we’d need before heading up the trail. What do we lack?”

“Hmm.” Elijah cleaned his hands and made sure to pass the butter dish to Kyron. “We have food, clothes, weapons, medicine, and I will boil some water in the early morning before we leave, for the waterskins. We should think about getting some clean rags, in case we need to bind up an injury. It would likely be wise to purchase some additional arrows; I only have about twenty left in my quiver. I would hope we wouldn’t need all of them, but there’s no way to be certain. And I might buy some pitch, in case we make camp inside the crypt and need a fire to last the night.”

“Lucan doesn’t have a ton of magical stuff usually, but I might see if he has any scroll spells.” Michael chewed a bite of rabbit thoughtfully. “They can come in handy in a pinch. Especially if, I dunno, a whole room of draugr comes back to life at once.”

“Ugh.” Kyron made a face. “Never seen the undead before. They’re half the reason I don’t trust mages.” He broke off, seeming to catch himself. “Uh. Present company excluded, of course.”

Michael couldn’t stop a burst of laughter. “Don’t worry about it. Half the time even I don’t trust mages. Necromancy is a nasty business, that’s for sure.”

Elijah was smiling at them both. “Sometimes the undead are less vile than their masters.”

“Maybe their manners are. But not their smell. Ugh.” Michael groaned and buried his face in his mug to chase the thought from his head. “Anyways, draugr are disgusting, but most of the time they’re no more difficult to put down than your average ruffian.”

“Speaking of which,” Elijah cut in dryly, “It’s very likely there will be a pack of bandits sheltering in the most accessible areas of the barrow. Most crypts have at least some brigands hiding out within their walls.”

“Yeah,” Michael said when he caught Kyron’s raised eyebrow. “You get past the bandits, then you get to fight the draugr. Then if you’re lucky enough to make it to the end of the crypt, you get to fight whatever master was buried at the bottom. Usually a draugr lord of some kind. At least, if the tales of adventurers are anything to go by.”

“I see.” Kyron took a big bite out of his roasted rabbit haunch. “Anything we might be happy to stumble upon down there, or do these crypts just draw in a bunch of masochists who love the stink of corpse juice?”

“Gold, mostly. Ancient crypts are stuffed with it. Old tradition used to say that if you buried someone with their riches then they’d take it with them into the next life. So it’s a real tempting target for someone hurting for coin. But also, some just do it for battle-glory.”

“So we’ll be in the noble company of bandits and glory hounds down there.” Kyron grinned in a way that managed to be both wry and earnest. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Michael returned his grin. “I bet between the three of us, we can plow our way through them.”

Supper ended with a series of jokes about the best way to clear a crypt, including luring the draugr over pit traps and banging pots and pans together to scare bandits out of the tunnels. When they were finished eating, Elijah got up to clean away the dishes and Michael set about putting away the leftover bread.

They tucked into bed even before the sun had fully disappeared over the horizon, hoping to get as early of a start as possible the next morning. Michael woke to the scent of woodsmoke as Elijah started a morning’s fire in the hearth, and they ate a breakfast with Kyron of bread and butter and some strips of jerky.

Riverwood was close enough that once they set out on the road, they could see the columns of smoke rising from the Sleeping Giant inn and the local lumber mill. The air was crisp and bright on their walk and Michael tried to enjoy it as much as he could, since he knew before too long, they’d be sleeping in a stuffy old barrow underground.

The town was getting a slow start it seemed; that was something Michael honestly liked about Riverwood, it was often a sleepy little place. A few guards in Whiterun garb were milling about the town’s gates, and the blacksmith was on his porch stoking the fire in his forge.

“They’re not open yet, lads.” One of the guards said to the three of them when they approached the door of the Riverwood trader, and Michael could guess she was waiting for the chance to sneak a bottle of mead before her shift started. They gave her a nod and waited on the stoop; Elijah carved up a green apple and passed slices to Michael and Kyron while they watched the chickens peck along the cobbled road. 

Finally, Lucan unlocked the door and laughed to find them waiting there expectantly, waved them inside, and traded with Elijah until they had the supplies they needed. The shopkeeper muttered for a bit about a decorative gold ornament he’d had that had been stolen recently, in the shape of a dragon’s claw, then went to dig in the back for the bottle of pitch that Elijah requested.

Within the hour, the three of them had left town, made their way across the bridge, and stopped at the base of the nearby rise up to the barrow. Elijah walked ahead for a minute or two, peering up the slope, then came back and said, “The cobblestone falls into disrepair about halfway up the mountainside. We’ll have to watch our step. I also see something that looks like an abandoned tower on the way, which might also house bandits.”

“That’d make sense.” Kyron touched the hilts of his daggers. “Do we want to confront them? Or would it be wiser to skirt around?”

“When we get closer to the abandoned tower, I might move ahead and see if I can get a clear shot with my bow.” Elijah said. “We could likely pick off any hostiles at the lower level and move past before any additional bandits from the higher floors notice.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me. I’ll come with you, and while you shoot, I can hide myself just off the path. That way, if any come running out to attack you, I can jump ‘em.”

“Seems a reasonable strategy.” Elijah agreed, and turned to lead the way up the crumbling road.

Michael hung back when they reached the tower, keeping watch as Elijah crouched behind an outcrop of snow-laden stone and notched an arrow. Kyron crept a little further up the path until he was out of sight behind a couple of pines, then there was a beat of absolute stillness.

Elijah let two arrows fly in quick succession, and two bodies crumpled to the ground without a whisper. He beckoned over his shoulder to Michael, and the three of them hustled past as quickly and quietly as they could. 

When they reached Bleak Falls, Kyron and Elijah huddled close and whispered, swiftly deciding the same approach would work well for the additional bandits hiding out around the barrow’s enormous stone pillars. Elijah picked off the first ruffian from an impressive distance, but this time, rather than soft snow, the body collapsed onto hard stone. The clang of iron armor meeting rock rang out like a bell.

Even from afar, Michael could hear the cries of the two remaining bandits as they laid eyes on their fallen companion. His heart surged into his throat as they began to rush down the steps, weapons drawn, towards the rock outcropping where Elijah had taken cover. The landscape was more open up here than it had been back by the tower, without many features that could hide someone as fucking enormous as Elijah. Combine that with the advantage of higher ground, and he was sure the bandits had spotted his friend.

But then Kyron leapt out from behind a snowdrift, daggers whirling, and one of the bandits fell  in a spray of blood. As the other ground to a stop and whirled around to brandish his battleaxe, Elijah loosed another arrow. It hit the man with such force that his body went skidding across the snow.

As soon as the coast was clear, Michael rushed from his hiding place and caught Elijah by the arm with a relieved laugh. “That was great teamwork. Not a scratch on either of you. Hopefully that’ll last.”

“I very much doubt that. Luck was on our side.” Elijah glanced at Kyron with a smile. “Well, that and a skilled Alik'r.”

Kyron grinned as he wiped the blood from his blades. “Don’t think I would’ve come away completely unscathed if it hadn’t been for that well-placed arrow.”

Elijah gave a pleased chuckle before growing serious again and turning towards the barrow’s huge stone doors. “I would hazard a guess that there will be more bandits camped out inside the entry. We can do our best to sneak in quietly, but depending on where they are relative to the door, we might have to quickly launch into battle.”

“Mmm. Makes sense. Those big old doors look hard to open without drawing attention.” Kyron looked thoughtful. “If they’re not right by the entrance, and if they look distracted enough, what do you say we try for a repeat of that last tactic? We could try to stay unseen long enough for me to sneak up and kill one before they’ve noticed we’re there. You could use that moment of confusion to shoot down the others. If we’re lucky, we might avoid a melee altogether.”

“If we can, I think it would be wise.” Elijah nodded, then took a deep breath and gripped the handle of the ancient door. With a muffled grunt of effort, he pulled, muscles bulging from his frame, and with a shuddering sound, the barrow opened to them.

Chapter Text

Elijah didn’t pull the door wider than the amount of space needed for them to slip in single-file. It closed heavily behind them and left them blinking in the darkness for a moment before their eyes adjusted to the orange glow of firelight ahead. A few beams of sunlight also drifted down through cracks in the crypt’s roof, illuminating a floor strewn with skeever corpses and a human body clad in furs. Michael bit back a shiver. He could guess how the man had met his end, and it didn’t look pretty.

The bandits had built a small camp at the far end of the crypt’s entrance hall, right up next to the yawning arch that led deeper into the earth. It was several hundred paces away, far enough into the gloom that Michael could just barely make out two figures standing by the light of the fire. Traces of their voices floated on the musty air. They didn’t seem to have noticed anything was amiss.

Elijah glanced at Kyron, who nodded and dropped into a crouch. He began to pick his way carefully through the mounds of broken stonework and overgrown weeds, forging a path that kept to the shadows. Once he was safely behind the cover of the large pillar in the room’s center, he turned and beckoned to Elijah, presumably so he could move forward to get a better aim.

Elijah did so silently, glancing once over his shoulder as Michael fell into step behind him. They stopped at a low cover of stone close enough to watch Kyron’s movements but far enough back that they’d be unlikely to be spotted by the bandits a short distance ahead.

Once they were in place, Kyron drew his daggers and continued his approach. It was pretty impressive how quickly he could move over such uneven ground, especially when it was strewn with broken stones and fragments of bones. Michael lost sight of him as he vanished into the shadows on the left side of the bandit’s camp. The next time he appeared, it was as a blur of violent motion as he stepped into the campsite, wrapped one arm around a bandit’s chest, and drew a dagger across his throat.

The second bandit cried out in terror. She reached for her sword, but there was the twang of a bowstring and the whoosh of an arrow, and she was dead before she could touch its hilt.

Michael peered out from behind the stone pillar with a grin before picking his way to where the other two were congregating at the far end of the hall. He thought better of giving another cheer, since now that they were in the crypt, he might alert other nearby bandits or even draugr, and instead clasped Kyron on the shoulder and Elijah on the arm.

“That was incredible. You two work together like a well-oiled machine.” Michael chuckled quietly and hiked his pack’s straps further over his shoulders. “Do we want to keep going?”

Kyron kicked a small chest next to the campfire with the side of his boot. “Might be something nice in here. Anyone got a lockpick?”

Elijah dug in one pocket, then another. “Somewhere.” He murmured, then leaned over and pulled one from his boot a moment later. He placed it in Kyron’s open hand.

Kyron knelt in front of the chest and got to work. “Oh, this is a real cheap lock,” he said, and a moment later it popped open.

“Looks like some gold, and a standard healing vial.” Michael peered over Kyron’s shoulder. “Ooh - what’s that?”

Kyron held up a necklace. He rubbed his thumb over the lustrous golden pendant, a look of awe on his face. “It’s… warm to the touch?”

“Probably enchanted.” Elijah said, then brushed a finger over its surface curiously when Kyron passed it to him. “Hmm. I don’t know how to tell what kind of enchantment is on it, though.” He placed it back in Kyron’s hands. “You should keep it.”

Kyron opened his mouth as if to protest, so Michael patted him on the back. “El’s right. You’ve barely got a septim to your name after those imperial bastards robbed you. You gotta start stocking back up on your valuables.”

“That’s kind of you both.” Kyron pocketed the necklace with a faint smile. “I’ll keep this one, but we should split most of the loot three ways once we get out of here.”

“If the bandits haven’t gotten to it first, we will.” Michael grinned back.

He watched as Elijah scooped the small pile of septims out of the bottom of the chest and slipped them into an empty pouch to be divided later, before turning and stepping carefully over towards the archway to get a better look.

“Does it look like there’s any draugr past that door?”

Elijah squinted into the gloom, and shook his head. “No, but let’s be careful. There’s usually little warning when they come back to life. I have heard stories of draugr cracking open their own coffin lids.”

Kyron shuddered. “Ugh. Don’t like that. I bet they have creepy little hands…”

The three of them moved as quietly as possible down the hallway, stepping over old, broken pieces of pottery and nervously eyeing the gravestone symbols carved into the walls. Michael was just preparing to pick his way down a set of worn stone steps when he felt Elijah’s hand on his shoulder and turned to look at his best friend. Elijah was holding a finger to his lips as a gesture for silence, then pointed down at the open room below.

Another bandit had made it down in front of them and was standing, oblivious, with his back to them. He was holding a torch over a lever in the floor, one hand on his hip and his head cocked as if contemplating the meaning of life itself. Before Elijah could even get his bow unsheathed, the brigand had leaned down, foolishly yanked the lever up, then fell with a gurgling cry as a volley of arrows pelted out from the very stones all around him.

Michael winced and hissed under his breath even as his two companions ran into the room as soon as the spray of arrows had ceased. “Ugh. Damn. Why are bandits always so stupid?” When he realized Elijah had bent to inspect the lever, he rushed to catch up. “Fuck, El, do not touch that.”

“I’m not.” Elijah protested with a brief frown. “Not yet, at least. But we do need to figure out what the proper release is if we want to be able to keep going. A big iron gate like this one won’t be something we can lift on our own.”

Michael gingerly picked up one of the arrows that had embedded in the dirt instead of the nearby dead man’s body, and gave the arrowhead a hesitant sniff. “These are poisoned. Nobody step on one, okay? Watch where you’re putting your feet.”

Neither of the other two answered him, so he rolled his eyes and turned to figure out what had caught their attention. There were two grand symbols carved into the stonework above their heads, and a crumbling section of wall had displaced a third, which had fallen in a heap of rubble to the floor.

Elijah was still craning his head to look at them when Kyron turned and ran over to the side of the room. “Hey, look over here!”

There were three stone pillars off to the side with identical symbols on their faces, albeit in a different order. Elijah joined him and placed a hand atop one, then blinked as if just having realized something. With a short grunt of effort, he grasped the stonework with both hands and twisted, and the stone pillar groaned with age before rotating slowly and revealing a different symbol on another face.

“A puzzle, huh?” Kyron looked amused. “I guess the Ancient Nords got bored in the middle of constructing their crypt and decided to have a little fun?”

“Well…” Elijah rubbed the back of his neck. “That is one way to look at it. Some of these ancient symbols held a great deal of meaning, often religious I suppose, to many of the Nords from ages past, even the ones like the draugr buried here who would have betrayed their people to serve the dragons. There is likely some mysticism meaning to the arrangement of stones that has been lost to the sands of time.”

“Okay, so the point is to turn the pillars to display the same symbols as these ones on the ceiling?” Michael mused aloud, glancing down at the carving on the floor before raising his eyes again. “I’d guess the pattern should be snake, snake, whale. Judging from this, at least.” He waved a hand at the broken symbol. “It clearly fell from the middle up there.”

“What’s a whale?” Kyron squinted up at the rightmost symbol. “Looks like some kind of weird sword?”

“A whale is an enormous animal that lives in the sea.” Elijah answered. “They look like fish, but they breathe air, and have to come up to the surface every so often. They are very hard to see because they are too large to swim very close to the shoreline.”

“You ever seen a whale, El?” Michael wondered suddenly, and Elijah shook his head. “Not even when you’ve gone sailing?”

“No, but I have read a few books about them, and heard the sailors in Dawnstar mention them before.”

“You wanna move these pillars into the right pattern?” Kyron asked, tapping Elijah’s arm. “I think you’re the only one strong enough.”

Elijah smiled at that, and nodded agreeably. He gave the same pillar he’d already turned another twist, until the visage of the coiled snake came into view. He made sure to scatter the poisoned arrows away from the base of the next before bracing his feet and hefting the next symbol into place, clearly struggling a little more with the weight of it. He huffed in satisfaction once the second serpent’s glistening silver scales were shining under the torchlight, then moved on to the last pillar. The whale seemed to put up the least amount of resistance, and finally Elijah stepped back, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow and smiling when Michael reached up to pat him on the arm.

“Okay--” Michael frowned and eyed the lever. “In theory, this should be perfectly safe now, but I dunno that I want anyone to take too dumb a risk. I think there were a couple shields back up the stairs by that tiny camp. How about two of us hold one up on either side of the lever, and the last one of us pulls it?”

“Good idea.” Kyron went over to inspect the walls. “Let me see if I can find the chutes from which the arrows came. That way, we’ll know how to angle them.”

Elijah volunteered to return to the entryway and fetch the shields. By the time he returned, Michael and Kyron had found the tiny arrow holes, carefully hidden in the carved stonework of the crypt’s walls and placed roughly at head height. Kyron volunteered to handle the lever, pointing out that he was the shortest, and so Michael and Elijah got into position on either side of him, shields up.

There was a moment of tension as the lever creaked in its ancient track. The three of them let out a simultaneous sigh of relief when no arrows came flying, and instead the iron door grated upwards.

The path beyond sloped down, leading deeper into crypt. Michael breathed a little easier now that they were past a point beyond which they knew no bandit had gotten. There was still draugr to worry about, of course, but in Michael’s experience, the undead were a lot more flammable than the living, which made them perfectly suited to his skills. Besides, it was a lot easier mentally to take out a mindless husk than a living human, even a wicked one.

Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when a very human voice came echoing down the hallway.

“Hello? Is… is someone there?”

He looked wildly to Elijah and Kyron, who stared back with equally bewildered expressions.

“I know you’ve probably come to kill me,” the voice continued. It was faint but clear, coming from somewhere up ahead. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised any of you made it past the puzzle, but in the end I’m glad you did. I suppose it’s too much to expect you might cut me down and let me go?”

Elijah slowly reached for his hammer. He bent down a little so he could whisper as close to Kyron’s and Michael’s ears as possible. “Let’s keep going, quietly. But with weapons at the ready, just in case.”

As they continued, so did the voice. “Look, I get it if you have to kill me. That’s just what you folks do, right? Still, I think we can help each other. You want the golden claw, and I want a nice quick death. That’s a fair trade, don’t you think?”

The tunnel opened up into a huge room, and as they took the first few steps over the threshold, the floor suddenly felt soft underfoot. Michael glanced down and noticed with some horror that the stone was covered in a thick blanket of cobwebs. In fact, the entire room was covered with them -- glistening white sheets pockmarked with enormous bulging egg sacs and web-wrapped shapes that looked disturbingly humanoid.

“Oh!” the voice cried out, and Michael glanced across the room to see a man suspended in the webbing, about five feet off the ground. He was completely wrapped except for his face, which was wearing an expression of mixed confusion and fear. His eyes darted from the little group to the ceiling and back, and he shouted, “Look up!”

Michael’s gaze snapped upward, and he felt a wave of revulsion just in time to lift his hands above his head and send a blast of magical fire into the skittering legs of a giant frostbite spider. The enormous, vile thing shuddered at the force of his spell but merely changed direction, scrambling over the webbed walls and launching at them from the side rather than from above. Michael felt a sharp tug on his well of magicka again, as he tried to force the creature back with another burst of scorching heat.

Elijah came charging with his warhammer clutched between both hands. He swung hard and heavy at the creature’s face, and blinded at least three of those horrible eyes in a spray of black blood. A crunching sound came from Michael’s right, and he turned his head to see Kyron hacking at one of the creature’s legs, as big around as a small tree, with both daggers, severing it at the middle joint and sending the spider stumbling off-balance.

The beast put up an impressive fight, even managing to pin Elijah against the wall at one point, although it paid for it when he gave a fearsome cry and used a small dagger he whipped from his belt to rip one of its slavering mandibles clean off. Michael blew a neat hole directly through the spider’s thorax after Kyron provided the convenient distraction of chopping off another leg, and finally, the spider collapsed into a disgusting, smoking heap.

Michael wanted to immediately run over and check if Elijah needed antivenin, but though his best friend looked a little battered, he wasn’t keeling over yet, and Michael knew they couldn’t let their guard down with the stranger in the web still watching. So grimly, he gripped the hilt of his war axe, and turned towards where the man was still hanging in the open doorway.

The man grinned nervously at them as they approached. “Im-Impressive,” he stammered. “I -- I have no idea who any of you are, but I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I don’t suppose you could get me down?”

Frankly, Michael wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to trust this stranger so quickly -- although he didn’t want to just leave the poor man for the next spider to come along -- but before he could speak one way or the other, Kyron had pushed past him.

“Not so fast,” he growled, brandishing a dagger. “Who in Oblivion are you? Some bandit?”

“No! Not at all.” The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of the blade. “I -- um, I’m just a mage. A researcher. Of old Nordic tombs. It’s a -- a hobby of mine, you could say.” He glanced from Kyron’s stony face to the dagger and back. “Um -- please don’t kill me.”

“We’re not going to kill you.” Elijah stepped in, his tone serious but calm. “Not unless we have to act in self-defense. I would be willing to cut you down, but be warned that even some of the most powerful spells will not kill me in a single blow. And if you attack me, my friends here will respond swiftly.”

“I don’t doubt they will.” The man flashed another weak smile. “I have no quarrel with you.”

“Alright, then. Hold still.” Elijah drew the dagger from his belt again, but this time, he kept his movements slow and careful. He cut away some of the thickest webs from the man’s torso first, then reached up and hooked a hand under one of his arms. He held him up so he could slice away the strands that were keeping him suspended, before lowering him almost gently to the uneven stones below.

The man let out a soft gasp as he tried to take his own weight only to have his knees buckle under him. As Elijah caught and steadied him, Michael noticed that the stranger was rather worse for the wear. Dried blood was crusted onto one side of his face, smeared all the way from his temple to his beard. He was shivering pretty badly, and Michael recognized the effects of frostbite venom.

“We need to find a quiet place to rest for a minute.” Michael looked at Elijah, but his best friend was still supporting their unexpected guest with one broad hand behind his back, and it didn’t look like the mage was going to be able to stand alone. So Michael turned to Kyron instead. “Don’t go too far, but if you could look ahead in the next room or two, and see if there’s anywhere we could sit down…”

“On it,” Kyron said, slipping past the tatters of sticky web and out of sight.

Michael took his pack from his shoulders and knelt to dig through it until his fingers closed over a vial of antidote and he stood back up. “Here, take this.” Michael pressed the potion into the other mage’s hand, noticing his skin felt concerningly cool to the touch. “It’ll take away some of the poison’s continuing effects.”

The mage hummed gratefully and uncorked the vial with shaking fingers. He gulped down the swallow of liquid inside.

“Alright, now--” Michael took the empty vial back, then a rustling sound in the corridor made him look up just as Kyron trotted back through the door.

“There’s an empty space up ahead with stone dias where we could sit,” he reported. “No baddies. There are even some torches so you can see what you’re doing.”

“Great, let’s go.” Michael looked at Elijah, who nodded once, then carefully helped steer the mage in the crook of his arm through the door. Michael followed behind them with Kyron, and they pushed through the remnants of webbing into the musty hallway beyond.

It wasn’t a long walk before they were ducking into a softly lit room with a smoother stone floor and an arched ceiling that echoed softly with their hushed voices. Michael grabbed a couple of the thick furs they’d packed for bedding and spread them down in a corner, then took the other mage by the hand and helped him sink onto them. Elijah touched Kyron’s shoulder, then strode away towards the far exit and peered carefully into the hallway beyond. He waited for a moment, disappeared through the doorway, then reappeared a moment later, looking grim.

“We must be very quiet while we are resting here.” He said as he came to sit on the edge of the pile of furs. “The room beyond this one is a burial room, and there are several draugr. Any of them might animate if disturbed.”

“Okay. Whispers only.” Michael forced a wry smile, then shrugged off his pack again. He pulled out a clean cloth and a small bottle of spirits he carried as an antiseptic. 

“What’s your name?” Michael asked as he dampened the cloth and motioned to the mage to turn his head. With a professional touch, he cleaned the dried blood away from the man’s face and found the thankfully small cut underneath, which he closed with a strong healing spell. “What in Oblivion are you doing down here? This is a pretty fucking dangerous ‘hobby’ if you ask me.”

The mage chuckled weakly. “Well -- I didn’t mean to get in quite so deep.” He paused to accept the waterskin Elijah was offering and take a deep, thirsty drink. His voice sounded much clearer when he continued. “My name is Gyre. I live in Falkreath, and I have a historical interest in old Nordic ruins. I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to Bleak Falls Barrow for quite some time. Of course, I just so happened to pick the worst time to get around to it.”

There was a beat as Michael tried to parse that -- rapidly considering everything from the time of year to the recent dragon attack on Helgen -- but he quickly decided he had no idea what Gyre was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“The bandit group that was hiding out here -- surely you must’ve met them on your way in?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly properly introduced,” Elijah said dryly, and Michael tried to disguise his snort of amusement as a cough. “We killed most of them upon encountering them and watched the last member meet his unfortunate end in the room with the pillar combination lock.”

“Can’t say I’ll mourn them overmuch.” Gyre smiled thinly. “It just so happened that days before I came to the area, one of their number had stolen a valuable artifact from a local shopkeeper. The brutes knew that this artifact would allow them access to the depths of the barrow and the treasures within, but they had no idea how to use it. Lucky for them -- and unlucky for me -- one of them caught me taking charcoal rubbings of a carving on the stonework near the entrance and decided that anyone who might do such a thing might also know how to unlock the barrow’s secrets.”

Elijah quirked a brow. “This artifact -- I don’t suppose it might be a golden ornament in the shape of a dragon’s claw?”

“Oh, um -- yes. You’ve heard of it?”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “I live between Riverwood and Whiterun, so I often treat locals for common ailments. I know the shopkeeper pretty well and he ranted a little to us about the claw when we stopped in Riverwood for supplies. Seems really upset about it being missing. Huh -- if it really is some kind of weird key from here I wonder how Lucan got the damn thing in the first place.”

Elijah rubbed a hand over his face and sighed deeply. “We might end up having to retrace our steps and search each of the bodies for the claw. If it’s the only way to get into the depths of the crypt.”

“If it was valuable, could be that the bandits stashed it somewhere.” Kyron’s voice was an irritated growl. “If we wind up having to check every damn crevice in this place, I’ll go back and kill them all again.”

Michael ran a hand through his curls. “Actually, come to think of it, are we sure the tablet would be in the very bottom of the barrow? Maybe we should be doing more searching in these rooms as we pass them. It’d suck if we got all the way down there and it didn’t turn up.”

“Sorry, did you -- did you mention a tablet?” Gyre cast Michael a wide-eyed glance. “You’re not aimless treasure hunters, then? You’re seeking something specific?”

Oops. Michael sheepishly glanced at Elijah and Kyron, but thankfully they didn’t look too upset. The two of them exchanged a long look, then Kyron sighed reluctantly and nodded, and Elijah turned back. “Go ahead, Michael.”

“We’re not treasure hunters.” He told Gyre. “I mean, don’t think any of us are gonna complain if we find treasure, but we’re here at the request of the Jarl in Whiterun. I’ll assume you heard about the recent dragon attack on Helgen?”

Gyre nodded. “Almost postponed my trip because of it, but in the end I decided that here was as safe as anywhere else.”

“Elijah and Kyron were in Helgen when it was destroyed, so they took the news of the siege to the Jarl, and while they were there, a second dragon attacked Whiterun’s outer defenses. The Jarl is trying to get to the bottom of this, so he had his court wizard start looking into the matter, and the wizard located a map of dragon burial sites with his research that’s supposed to be resting somewhere in this damn barrow. Jarl Balgruuf offered Elijah and Kyron the opportunity to help look for it since they’ve already been so far wrapped up in this.”

Michael carefully avoided the Dragonborn subject without outright lying to the mage. He wasn’t sure if that would be safe to share, and he also somewhat expected that Elijah was still uncomfortable with the idea. A glance at the relief on his best friend’s face told him it was the right way to handle it.

Judging by the sudden eagerness in Gyre’s expression, he wasn’t feeling shortchanged on information at all. “Well, now, that’s very interesting,” he said brightly. “Because the reason I slipped away from those blasted bandits and locked myself in the depths of a crypt was to keep this from falling into the wrong hands.” And with that, he reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a small golden statue in the shape of a claw.

Michael almost exclaimed in astonishment, but managed to restrain himself to a small gasp just in time -- it really wouldn’t do to wake up the draugr in the middle of a strategy discussion. Elijah looked equally shocked, but within a moment, his expression morphed to one of mixed respect and suspicion. Kyron was still blinking in surprise.

“When you say ‘wrong hands,’” Michael tilted his head and eyed Gyre curiously. “What do you mean exactly?”

“The inner sanctums of Nordic tombs often hold items of great power,” Gyre explained. “Books and scrolls of forbidden knowledge, enchanted objects the likes of which no one alive has ever seen -- sometimes a malevolent spirit or two, sealed away in centuries past. All of which could do untold damage in the hands of the stupid or greedy.” He raised the claw slightly. “I know what this is and how it works, but I was going to keep to myself out of concern that you might not be trustworthy. But if you’ve come here searching for a specific artifact, by the order of the Jarl no less -- well, perhaps I can help you.”

“We would be glad for your assistance.” Elijah spoke up. “I know a little of what to expect in a crypt, but I’m not well-educated on the subject, and only know what I do from various travels that have brought me into close proximity to them. I think you made the right decision in keeping the claw away from the bandits, but unfortunately yes, it’s likely we will have to open the final hall in order to retrieve the stone tablet the Jarl’s mage is seeking. We will plan of course to eliminate any draugr that we inevitably awaken, as we would want to avoid unleashing harm upon the residents of Riverwood.”

“A responsible approach.” Gyre nodded approvingly. “I would be happy to continue through the tomb with you. You can even take this, if you’d like, as a sign of my goodwill.”

“You can keep ahold of it for now if you don’t mind.” Michael chuckled when Gyre started to hold the claw out towards them. “The rest of us have packs to carry. We were thinking we might end up having to camp at some point if the barrow goes on long enough.”

“Speaking of which,” Elijah put away the waterskin he’d unpacked. “We should probably not linger for too long. If you are able to walk,” he said to Gyre, not unkindly, “We should continue on, but we will likely face a fight in the next room if any of the draugr are disturbed by our presence.”

Gyre stood with a soft grunt and began stretching out his joints. “Right. I’m ready.”

Michael leaned down to retrieve the furs and tuck them away again. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Elijah grimaced faintly. “Draugr don’t respond much to vital areas like the chest or head being attacked, the way a living person would. I believe it’s old magic that keeps them animated, and the best way to put them down is to damage their bodies drastically enough that the magic can no longer flow through them. Fire works exceptionally well. Slashing and cutting sufficiently with a blade can also do the trick.”

“So do you just want me to roast any coffin I see?”

Elijah shook his head. “Unfortunately, I think it will be wisest to walk down into the burial room and allow any draugr that are going to rise to do so of their own accord. We can strike as soon as we see movement, but as far as I know, it’s not uncommon for even dormant draugr to wake and fight back if directly attacked.”

Kyron grunted. “Nasty.”

Michael chuckled quietly. “At least we’re all in agreement about that.” He looked at Gyre. “You sure you’re gonna be able to stay upright?”

“Yes, yes. That antidote has worked wonders.”

“Alright.” Elijah looked at Kyron. “Are we ready?”

Kyron unsheathed one dagger and twirled it between his fingers. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

The shriveled bodies lay neatly in their slots on the wall, arms folded over their chests, weapons tucked at their sides. They would have looked almost peaceful, if Kyron hadn’t known that at any moment, those desiccated limbs might twitch back to life.

Kyron wasn’t afraid of dead things, but he was deeply suspicious of dead things that did not stay dead. Magic and corpses were a combination that was just damn wrong. That was one of the reasons why Kyron had taken up a position at the rear of the group. Elijah had gone at the front, with Michael following close behind him, and Kyron had no intention of leaving their backs open to this strange mage they had plucked from that giant spider’s clutches.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gyre, exactly. The man’s story made sense. He sure seemed like the kind of person who would get so caught up in old rocks that he might not notice an approaching bandit, and so far, he’d been pretty harmless. But it was gonna take more than a few minutes for Kyron to have full faith in a mage who, by his own admission, liked to hang around in crypts.

“Wait!” Gyre’s hissed whisper cut through the stillness. He hurried over to Elijah and Michael, who had frozen in place, and pointed to a section of floor marked with a strange, swirling symbol. “Don’t step here. The Ancient Nords used these runes to mark the triggers for their booby traps. See this?” He gestured to a large spiked metal grate that was tucked back against a shadowy section of wall. “Anyone who steps on the trigger would likely find themselves impaled on these spikes a moment later.”

“Oh.” Elijah sounded faintly rattled when his gaze found the deadly grate. “Thank you.” He recovered quickly and carefully stepped around the trap’s plate, followed closely by Michael who also gave Gyre a relieved and grateful nod.

Gyre didn’t immediately follow, instead going over to inspect the metal grate. “Fascinating,” he murmured to himself. “This hinge mechanism is more advanced than anything I would’ve expected in a crypt of this age….”

Divines, no wonder the man had gotten jumped. Kyron had just opened his mouth to tell Gyre they should keep moving when he heard a soft growl behind him.

He whirled around to see a corpse towering over him, blue light glowing in its empty eye sockets, one withered arm holding a rusted war axe aloft and the other bearing a rotting shield. Somehow, it had managed to get out of its resting place in complete silence.

The sight of its puckered skin and stringy hair sent a little pulse of nausea through Kyron. He shrugged it off and drew his daggers, dropping into a defensive position. The draugr was mid-swing; Kyron ducked around the path of the axe, and as the monster drew its arm back to try again, he swiped at its wrist with one blade. The creepy little hand came clean off, falling to the ground with a soft thud and sending the axe clattering away. Ugh.

The draugr stumbled to one side, then hefted its shield, clearly intending to bash. Kyron had planted his feet and was bracing himself for impact when a gout of flame erupted in front of him.

He leapt away so quickly that his feet lost track of the floor. Hard stone cracked against his shoulder as he fell into the side of the crypt, and he felt his knees give way. He sank into a half-crouch, back flat against the wall, and looked up to see the smoldering remains of the draugr lying on the ground. Gyre stood near the opposite wall, his hands raised, with what looked like tiny portals to a raging inferno flickering on his palms.

“Hey, watch it!” Kyron hissed at the mage. His breath was catching in his throat, and he could feel his eyes watering. “What in the name of Oblivion was that?!”

Gyre just looked at him, a little nonplussed. “...Flames?” he said, lowering his hands. The orange light on his palms faded away as he did. “Quite a basic destruction spell. I’m -- I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Kyron struggled to keep his voice even. “Yeah, I think most people would be startled by a big burst of magic suddenly exploding in their face. And -- and I can get a little jumpy around fire, alright? Maybe you noticed the fucking burn scars?”

“Oh -- yes. Right. I’m so sorry.” To Gyre’s credit, he did look genuinely abashed. “I usually favor shock spells, but draugr are just so delightfully flammable.” He walked towards Kyron and offered him a hand. “Are you alright?”

Kyron stared at his hand for a moment, but he couldn’t quite erase the image of flames flickering between those fingers. He stood up on his own. “I’m fine. I get that you have to use fire spells, alright, just -- maybe don’t fling them over my shoulder? Or -- or yell a warning? I don’t know.”

Gyre looked at Kyron for what felt like one moment too many. “Noted,” he said finally, his voice soft. “It won’t happen again. Shall we--?”

He broke off as the sounds of clanging steel and thudding feet echoed down the corridor. The two of them glanced at each other before breaking into a run, pausing only long enough for Gyre to grab Kyron’s shoulder and hiss, “Watch the trap!” Kyron nodded and jumped over the runed stone, not bothering to sheath his daggers as he hurried to help his friends.

He needn’t have worried, though. When he and Gyre rounded the bend, it was to find Elijah and Michael standing in a circle of downed draugr, some of them mangled by powerful blunt blows and others charred and blackened.

“Gross.” Michael clapped a hand over his nose. “Gods, that smoke stinks. Ugh- “ He broke off into a slight gag, and Elijah reached over to pat him on the back and move him away from the twice-dead draugr.

A repetitive whooshing sound caught Kyron’s ear, and he spun towards it, daggers still drawn. “What’s that noise?”

Elijah met his gaze grimly and gestured towards the next hallway. “There appears to be another trap. Axes swinging back and forth into hidden slits within the walls. I looked for a trigger, but I didn’t find any that Michael or I could have presumably stumbled into.”

“Some Nordic traps are active by default,” Gyre volunteered. “The swinging axe trap is a classic example. There’s usually a small lever that will halt the axes -- but unfortunately, these are invariably located on the far side of the trap, which means that at least one of us is going to have to get past it the hard way to deactivate it.” He started off in the direction of the whooshing sound.  “Shall we take a look and see if anyone gets a bright idea?”

The trap looked simple but deadly to Kyron’s eyes. Three double-edged blades swept across the hallway in rhythmic unison, ready to slice through anyone in their path. “Well, that’s gonna be a pain to get through.”

“Well, Elijah’s not gonna let me try it.” Michael said, almost glumly, and Elijah clasped his shoulders and squeezed softly.

“Correct.” He murmured, then looked at Gyre. “I would also suggest that you not attempt it either. As you are not wearing armor, you would have no protection if you happened to miscalculate a run.”

“Running is not a particular talent of mine anyway.” Gyre stepped back with a small smile.

Elijah’s gaze turned to Kyron. “I would be willing to go. Out of all of us, I’m the least likely to be killed if caught by the trap.”

“Yeah, but we sure don’t want you to get a gaping axe wound either,” Kyron protested, gripping Elijah’s arm. “Especially because you might end up incapacitated out of the reach of Michael’s healing spells. I should go. I’m small enough that I could stop in the space between the blades after each swing, rather than having to run the whole length at once.”

Elijah hesitated for a long moment, seeming to weigh Kyron’s words carefully. Finally, he nodded. “Be careful.”

“Alright.” Kyron sheathed his daggers and unshouldered his pack, letting it drop to the ground so he’d be as light on his feet as possible. He approached the trap until he could feel the air buffeted by the axes against his cheeks. Then he took a deep breath.

A blade swept past, and he stepped forward. The space between the slits on the wall was narrow, but he could feel the boundaries of his body and knew he was inside the small pocket of safety. A current of air rippled past his face as the axes swung again, and he took another step, feeling confident.

A little too confident, this time. The forward axe swept too close, and he felt a tug as it shaved a tiny strip of leather off the chestpiece of his armor. He shuffled a hair backwards, taking a long breath, and waited for three passes of the axe this time, until the rhythm of the swings felt stronger than the beating of his heart. Then he leapt forward into the safety beyond.

Triumph filled his body like warm sunlight. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the feeling before turning to look for the lever Gyre had mentioned. It was easy to find, and as soon as he’d pulled it, the axes vanished once more into their slits before falling silent and still.

“Yes!” Michael hissed with a grin, running forward and clapping Kyron on the shoulder. “You did it! That was incredible.” He kept his voice low but there was a clear note of victory in his tone. He scooted on past to make room for Gyre, and then Elijah brought up the rear, scooping up Kyron’s bag as he did.

The two mages walked a few paces ahead, and Elijah paused, holding out the straps of the pack so Kyron could shrug it back over his shoulders more easily. Once it was settled, he folded Kyron into a brief but very warm hug.

“Well done.” Elijah murmured, his voice strong with admiration. He squeezed once before letting go, then drew his bow as his gaze fell on where Michael and Gyre had flattened themselves against the walls of the crypt.

“Draugr up ahead,” Gyre whispered, nodding to the bend in the passageway. “We heard it clanking around in there. Perhaps you could take it out with an arrow before it notices us?”

“Perhaps.” Elijah whispered back, notching an arrow and craning his head to see around the bend. He drew the bowstring back to his shoulder, then grunted in frustration. “Difficult angle.” Two seconds more passed, then he let the arrow fly. A harsh snarl cut off mid-breath and there was a crumpling sound.

“I thought you had to damage their bodies more than just once?” Michael whispered to his friend.

Elijah’s lips quirked slightly. “Lesser draugr are very… brittle. Sometimes you can sever a limb with the right shot. Or… the neck.”

Sure enough, when they peered around the corner, the corpse on the floor in front of them had effectively been decapitated. The eye sockets were still glowing faintly blue, the draugr’s expression twisted in a snarl, but as Kyron watched, that faint light died away and the severed head sighed grotesquely one final time.

They crept round the next bend to find another passageway, this one lit by a large lantern hanging from a chain on the ceiling. Another draugr stood silhouetted in its glow, and beneath its moldering boots, Kyron could make out the shimmer of what looked like oil. Apparently, the lamp had been leaking.

“Perhaps we should hold our fire,” he heard Gyre whisper to Michael. “We wouldn’t want to cause an explosion.”

“Good point.” Michael murmured back. “Unfortunately I’m not well-educated in destruction magic. That’s ‘bout the only one I got. So I might have to sit this one out unless it gets close enough I can take a swing at it.” The healer tapped the hilt of the axe at his hip.

Gyre turned to Elijah. “How about those arrows of yours? That seemed extraordinarily effective on the last one.”

Elijah moved into position silently and considered the draugr ahead with a slight frown on his face. “I could try.” He whispered finally, sounding doubtful. “This one is better armored than a few of the others, however. I’m not certain I could get a clear shot.”

“Hmm.” Gyre pushed up the sleeves of his robes. “I could try an ice spike, perhaps.”

“That’d probably be our best bet.” Michael encouraged. “That wouldn’t ignite the oil.”

Gyre nodded and took a few steps forward. He raised his hands, and a moment later, a pointed shard of ice went flying across the chamber like a javelin. It struck the draugr directly in the head, burying itself into its skull.

The draugr stumbled, and for a moment it looked like the blow might’ve downed it. But then it regained its balance and staggered around to face the group, letting out a dry, rattling growl as it lumbered forward.

Kyron had just reached for the hilts of his daggers when he saw the tip of the draugr’s greatsword scrape the bottom of the lantern. It swung on its chain, and the ancient metal broke like brittle twigs.

There was no place to jump out of the way. The hall was too narrow. Kyron felt frozen in place as he saw the lantern descend and smash into pieces on the floor. The puddle of oil ignited in a white-hot flash of light, and tongues of orange flame billowed out towards him--

Then suddenly, the world went dark and soft. He bit back a choked cry and was grateful for it a moment later, when he realized that the sudden pressure around his waist were arms, big strong ones that could only belong to one person. A wave of heat brushed over him, but it was muffled through the thick furs in which he was bundled.

Elijah held him for a couple long seconds, his hand rubbing down Kyron’s back once, before he released him and let the fur cloak fall away.

“Well,” Elijah murmured in a voice that was incredibly calm and steady. “That takes care of that.”

Kyron glanced from the now-charred draugr remains to Michael and Gyre, who had each thrown up a magical ward in front of themselves. He took a quick breath, hoping that nobody could see how shaken he was, before turning to Elijah and punching him lightly on the arm. “Thanks for that.”

Elijah smiled at him, and hummed warmly in reply before stepping forward, giving Kyron’s hair a good-natured ruffle as he passed.

“Are there any more in this hallway?” Michael poked his nose around the corner of the wall. “I guess that should have been loud enough to draw them all in if there were.”

“That may be all for now,” Elijah agreed, dusting some stray pottery shards from his fur-clad shoulders. “But we should stay on our guard.”

“Hey Gyre,” Michael gave a wry smirk, “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea how deep this crypt goes, would you?”

“Not a clue,” said Gyre brightly. “What an adventure!” When he saw the look on Michael’s face, he continued more seriously, “I imagine there’s still a decent way to go. Barrows tend to be divided into two or three individual chambers separated by heavy doors. We’re still in the outermost chamber, and the tablet you seek will be in the inner sanctum.”

“Well, that’s great.” Michael laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out, cracking a few joints. “I wonder what time it is. Hard to tell without any damn sunlight.”

“Are you getting tired, Michael?” Elijah’s warm, amused voice floated over before he wrapped both arms around the healer from behind, squeezing him and earning a faint squawk. “Or hungry, perhaps?”

“I’m fine.” Michael grumped. “Don’t try to tell me it’s not worth thinking about. We’ve all gotten knocked around today and dammit if we haven’t cut down at least a dozen draugr already.”

“I’m sure we can start looking for places that would seem safe to set up camp for the night.” Elijah said. “But I doubt that will be for a while yet.”

Kyron was about to agree when a low growling sound suddenly echoed off the walls. He tensed, thinking for a moment that a draugr had snuck up on them, before feeling a slight cramp in his middle and realizing that the sound was his stomach. Abruptly, he realized how long ago those chunks of bread at Michael’s cabin had been.

“See! I’m not the only one.” Michael crossed his arms triumphantly, somewhat hampered by the fact that Elijah was still holding him around the waist. 

“I wouldn’t mind stopping for a bite to eat either,” Gyre piped up. “If you all think you might have a little extra to spare.”

“We’re not gonna let you starve.” Kyron glanced at him, amused, before looking to Elijah and Michael. “Unless anyone’s ready to drop, let’s keep moving. This is no place to stop. But like Elijah said, we can make camp as soon as we find a suitable spot.”

Elijah patted Michael a couple of times, then made his way to the end of the corridor, resting a hand against the stone doorway and peering out into the gloom beyond. He inhaled slowly, his brow knitting in confusion.

Kyron walked up to him. “What’s the matter?”

“I smell fresh air. There’s a draft -- and it’s damp. The way the wind feels after a fresh snow.” Elijah pulled his bow from its sheath and exchanged a look with Kyron before pressing on, his shoulders tense and alert.

The four of them walked for a short distance and emerged into a larger room; more of a cavern, Kyron thought after a moment. The floor had crumbled away into dirt and gravel, and the hall had opened up, the smooth stone replaced by rough, cragged rock. The sound of crashing water echoed around them from the small but lively waterfall that streamed down one side of the cave wall and fed a small creek winding through the broken earth underfoot.

Elijah held out a hand, stopping the group from moving forward. He grumbled faintly under his breath, and when Kyron looked at him, he nodded towards a set of two slate coffins propped up against the far wall. “I suspect that one or both of those is going to open when we get close.”

“Perhaps Michael and I can toast them before they get the jump on us,” Gyre suggested. He glanced at the other mage for confirmation, but Kyron couldn’t help noticing that Gyre’s eyes lingered for a moment on him, too.

Before Michael could respond, there was a soft crack , and the lid of one coffin burst open with a puff of dust and fell to the ground. The shape within had barely begun to stir when Gyre stepped forward and sent a gout of fire across the room. A moment later, Michael added a second jet. Together, they were extremely effective, and the draugr went down within seconds.

Kyron let out the breath he realized he’d been holding. It wasn’t so bad, when he knew it was coming, but still. Who knew crypt diving was gonna involve so much fire?

He felt Elijah’s eyes on him, and suddenly self-conscious, he strode across the room to investigate the old chest that lay near the coffins. “Hey, think there could be something nice in here?”

“Probably.” There was a smile in Elijah’s eyes. “Unlikely to be worth the trouble of locking up a stack of firewood.”

Kyron snorted. “Fair point.”

Elijah reached for a pocket of his armor, and withdrew another lockpick. “I knew I had more of these with me. I usually keep them on my belt, but I moved them to keep them from making noise as we crept around.” He handed the tool to Kyron and continued as he worked, “Admittedly, I don’t carry a great deal of them. If we are going to be looking into more crypts in the future, we may wish to build up a stock of them.”

“Didn’t you all claim not to be treasure hunters?” Gyre’s voice held an edge of humor.

Michael scoffed under his breath. “Who isn’t a treasure hunter when you’re standing in front of a treasure chest?”

“I’m not sure that that’s—oh, wow!” As Kyron pried open the lid of the chest, Gyre immediately swooped in and scooped something out of it. He held up a helmet, which looked completely ordinary except for the strange way that the sheen of the leather seemed brighter than it should be in such dim light. “It’s enchanted! Let me see if I can find the runes and work out the effects…”

Both Elijah and Michael looked surprised, and Michael’s expression quickly took on a note of interest. “You’re an enchanter?”

“Yes.” Gyre beamed at them. “That’s how I make my living.”

“That’s amazing. I feel like the only enchanters I’ve ever met are court wizards.” Michael grinned. “I used to think about learning it myself, but it’s hard if you don’t have a teacher or at least a bunch of things to experiment with.” He laughed. “And it’s a lot harder to find soul gems to experiment with than flowers and mushrooms.”

“It certainly can be a resource-intensive art,” Gyre said. “But if you’re interested, perhaps I could show you some simple techniques sometime. And you could show me how to brew a potion that doesn’t come out smelling like burnt herbs.” He lifted the helmet so everyone could see the line of runes etched into its interior. “See these? It would appear that this helmet fortifies the skills of an archer.”

Kyron glanced to Elijah. “Sounds perfect for you.”

Elijah hesitated. “Um… when you say ‘fortifies a skill’ do you… hmm. If I wear it, it’s not going to cast a spell on me, is it?”

“Oh -- no, no, enchantments are quite different from spells.” Gyre paused thoughtfully, as though trying to think of a way to explain it. “You can think of an enchantment more like… a resonance. When you wear an enchanted item, the enchantment resonates with an existing skill or quality you possess and strengthens it. So this archery enchantment would likely make it feel easier for you to aim your bow and draw back the string. Or I, for example, have an enchantment on my robes that helps my magicka regenerate more quickly. But these effects are quite distinct from spells, in that you can negate them at any time simply by taking the item off.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “All this is true for clothing enchantments, at least. Enchantments designed for weaponry work a little differently, but that’s a ramble for another time.”

Elijah took the helmet in hand and rubbed a thumb over a corner of the enchanted leather. “I’m certain I can put it to good use. Thank you.”

“What else is in there?” Michael peered over Kyron’s shoulder. “More gold. El, hand me that pouch we’re putting all the stuff in we want to divide out later. Thanks.” Michael picked up a couple of handfuls of coin and stashed them in the satchel. “Hey! There’s two amethysts in here.”

Michael held his palm up, letting the facets of the carefully-cut jewels catch the light. “I know they’re not as expensive as they look but they sure are pretty.”

Elijah hummed in agreement. “Gems are always an exciting find, even the ones the nobles don’t appreciate much.”

“Can I have a look?” Kyron asked, and Michael tipped the faceted stones into his outstretched hand. Their deep, purple color seemed even richer under the amber glow of the torches. “Wow, they’re beautiful.”

“We should probably press on,” Elijah said, as Kyron and Michael returned the amethysts to the satchel. “I do think it’s getting quite late in the day.”

“Well,” Michael stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Where exactly is it that we go? It kinda looks like this old hallway collapsed in on itself decades ago.”

Sure enough, the archway that looked like it might have once led to a continuation of the barrow was little more than a pile of broken stone, and when Elijah made his way over to press a hand against the rocky outcrop, it became very clear that the path was closed to them, maybe closed forever.

“I guess we could always go back and tell the Jarl he needs to send an excavation team.” Michael muttered dryly, scratching his head.

Elijah turned away from the stone wall and walked over towards the stream that cut through the floor. “We may not have to.” He looked up, and when Kyron followed his gaze, he spotted a rusty iron grate embedded in the wall, affixed with an old pull chain.

“We have to go through that? ” Michael protested even as he followed Elijah over. “That’s probably just drainage though, right?”

Elijah was frowning in thought. Carefully, he reached out and gave the chain a tug, and with an absolutely dreadful creaking sound, the ancient metal rolled up into the wall above. The doorway left behind was clearly not intended for a person; they’d all have to duck and turn sideways to go through. 

“I suppose it may be. But if it drains to the outside, that may save us from journeying all the way back to the beginning of the barrow from where we started. And if it does not, well, we may be able to find another way forward from there.”

Michael sighed deeply and glanced once more around the room before shrugging his pack off and holding it out in front of himself as he slipped through the narrow passageway. “I guess maybe so.”

Elijah had paused with one hand next to the entrance, so Kyron prompted him gently. “Are you going next?”

Elijah looked dubious and took a step back. “I suspect I had better go last.”

Kyron glanced from him to the passageway and back again. It dawned on him that the ragged gap between the stones looked narrower than Elijah was, even if he were to turn sideways.

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe Gyre should go next and I’ll come behind you. If that passage turns out to be too small, it’ll be better if there’s someone on either side to help you.”

“Ah.” Elijah said, and watched Gyre duck and squeeze through the gap. His big shoulders drew inwards a little and he looked acutely bashful. “That makes sense.”

There was a short pause, then Michael bent down to look through the passageway. “C’mon El. You can do it.”

Elijah sighed deeply, then took off his pack and passed it through the open grate to Michael, who set it down on a patch of dry stone. Then, he even took off his outer fur cloak, which slimmed down his frame a tiny bit more, but left him shivering slightly in the damp, cold air.

Finally he bent, inspecting the opening doubtfully. Then he ducked his head, put one shoulder through, and moved to step forward, stopping with a sharp grunt as the jagged stone on either side of him pressed tightly against his broad chest. 

“Damn it.” A muffled curse made it to Kyron’s ears, and he saw Elijah twist in an attempt to free himself. He didn’t go much of anywhere.

“Just a little too tight a squeeze, huh?” Kyron chuckled softly as he stepped up and put a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. “I’m gonna give you a push, okay? “And maybe you could try exhaling as hard as you can? Get yourself as narrow as possible.”

Elijah made a muffled sound of agreement. He grunted softly as Kyron threw his weight against his shoulder, clearly straining against the grip of the rock. Kyron felt Elijah slide forward just a little bit under his hands. 

Suddenly Elijah was free, stumbling forwards into the mercifully wider section of passageway beyond. He looked rattled but unhurt, and spent a moment brushing dirt off his clothes before ruffling the head of Michael, who had thrown his arms around him.

Kyron adjusted his pack to fit and stepped through the narrow crevice to join them. “You alright?” he asked, patting Elijah on the arm.

Poor Elijah was red-faced and half-avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

“Let’s get your cloak back on.” Michael urged, bending to pick it up. “You’re still shivering.”

While Kyron helped Michael wrap Elijah back up in his furs, Gyre turned to peer down the passage ahead. “There’s certainly a stronger current of fresh air coming from down here,” he said. “It must lead somewhere.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Kyron said, and he led the way as they splashed and crunched over the rocky streambed.

It was not a very pleasant walk. The air was damp and freezing, and water seeped into their boots. Kyron soon found himself shivering and dreaming of the warm fire and hot food they would enjoy as soon as they found somewhere to camp.

Eventually, weak daylight glowed up ahead. The creek tumbled away into a wide chasm, which seemed to be open to a pale, snowy sky several hundred feet above them. Kyron thought for a moment that they’d hit a dead end; then he noticed a smaller tunnel curving away to the right and beckoned his friends down that way.

“What time d’you suppose it is?” Michael wondered aloud, blinking up at the sliver of sky they could see. “I guess it’s not quite dark yet.”

“Mid-evening.” Elijah agreed. He paused and took out a small knife, and began cutting scraps of a glowing fungus from the cavern wall and stashing them in a pouch on his belt. “Perhaps a bit earlier than we thought. But it has been a very long day. I doubt turning in a bit early will do any harm.”

When Kyron looked around, he realized the mushrooms’ gleam was illuminating some of the darkest corners of their path. Elijah seemed to finish collecting what he wanted, then put away his knife and continued downhill. He chuckled when Kyron looked at him sideways.

“A lot of unusual plants have unique alchemical properties.” He explained. “Michael ensured that I was aware of which ingredients have effects that he or I could make use of, so that I would remember to harvest a sample if I came across them. This fungus has a property which can temporarily boost someone’s affinity for smithing work.”

“Oh!” Gyre, who had begun to flag a little in the cold and damp, suddenly sprang back to life like a weary dog that had been offered a bone. “I’ve heard of that, of plants with inherent magical properties that augment certain skills -- like natural enchantments, of a sort!” He looked at Michael excitedly. “I would love to hear more about how you make use of them, and what kinds of” --he broke off, suddenly seeming to remember where they were and that they were supposed to be keeping quiet-- “um, experiments you do with them, although perhaps another time.”

Michael grinned and gave a nod. “I’d love to honestly; I hardly ever get the chance to discuss magical technique with other mages.”

Kyron’s footsteps, which had been quiet over the sandy cave floor, abruptly began to crunch softly, and he glanced down to see a layer of freshly-fallen snow. At almost the same moment, Elijah gasped softly and grabbed his weapon, and Kyron looked back up to see the ground in front of them fall away into a very narrow bridge. A draugr stood at the other side of the ravine.

There was a long, extremely tense moment, during which it became obvious that the draugr, with its back to them, had not yet realized they were there. Elijah turned, and raised his hand in a single motion, which Kyron instinctively understood meant they should all step back. He had the look of a man with a plan, and so Kyron obliged, edging back into the shadows with Michael and Gyre close behind him.

As soon as the rest of them were clear of the bridge, Elijah pulled a knife from his belt and began to walk out slowly over the ravine. He reached the center of the bridge and then slammed the hilt of the knife against the hilt of his warhammer, and the draugr spun around with a bellow and began to charge. 

When the creature was barely an arms-length away, Elijah planted his feet and let out a battle cry that shook the walls of the cavern. Bits of snow crumbled away from the edges of the path and fell into the depths below. The draugr ground to a halt, half-stunned, and Elijah gripped his weapon with both hands and shoved, forcing the undead warrior careening over the edge of the bridge until it crunched with a sickening sound onto the rocks far beneath them. It did not get up.

“What an attack!” Gyre said appreciatively as the rest of the group walked up to join Elijah on the bridge. “Both impressive and effective! I like your style, friend.”

“You were the picture of a Nord warrior,” Kyron agreed. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Elijah was smiling with pride, with just a hint of shyness in his eyes. “I didn’t think it wise for more than one of us to try to fight on such a narrow ledge; then I realized that could potentially be an advantage.”

“Yeah, let’s not stick around and wait for this thing to give out under us.” Michael made a shooing motion and herded the group along to the other side. Elijah sheathed his knife and hammer and the four of them kept as quiet as possible as the snowy ravine around them shifted back into the stony walls of Bleak Falls barrow.

“Looks like we’re back on track again,” Gyre murmured. Then he froze in his tracks, holding out a hand for the rest of the group to stop. “Did you hear something?”

Kyron listened carefully. Over the now-distant sound of rushing water, he could indeed hear the sound of iron clanking against stone. “Probably a draugr up there,” he whispered, gesturing to the trio of archways ahead that opened into another dim chamber. “Kinda sounds like this one’s either heavily armed or heavily armored, or both. Let’s get closer, see how we can best take it out.”

They crept closer, as slowly and quietly as they could, until they were in the shadows of the stone arches. Kyron poked his head out and saw a particularly hulking draugr, dressed in rusted iron armor and carrying a cruel-looking sword. It prowled around a room full of rubble and broken columns, and beyond it, he could see a heavy iron door.

“Yeah, it’s a big one,” he whispered to the others as he retreated back into the safety of the shadows. “It’s so well-armored that an arrow might not cut it down in one shot, and the ground’s so uneven, I don’t think I could sneak up on it with my daggers. Our best chance to avoid a melee might be to let these two roast it.”

“I think you may be right.” Elijah nodded. “Let me see if I can get one shot in first -- I’m certain that will make it charge. Once it’s close enough, Michael and Gyre can use their fire magic.”

Kyron nodded. “Makes sense. If we’re really quiet, maybe we can--”

As he spoke, he felt a slight pinch in his midsection. He thought nothing of it, until his stomach growled a moment later, so loudly that he swore it echoed off the walls.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled. Then he heard the draugr let out a suspicious snarl.

A brief moment of silence hung in the air, during which Kyron had the chance to hope that maybe the draugr’s misgivings would fade, but alas, it did not seem luck was on their side. The draugr began to shuffle towards the front of the room at a lumbering run, and Elijah had just enough time to tug on his new enchanted helmet and lodge an arrow directly into its ribcage before it barreled into the hallway where they were crouched and scattered them with a swing of its sword.

As Kyron gripped his daggers, he saw Elijah unsheathe his warhammer, block another swing from the draugr’s weapon, and bash the top of its helmet so hard that several rotten teeth fell out of its grimy face.

The draugr staggered, and Kyron dodged around to its back, found a gap where the chainmail of its ancient armor had rusted away, and buried his daggers on either side of its spine. The creature howled angrily; he had just enough time to yank his blades free before it rounded on him. He stepped back, eyeing its sword arm -- but to his surprise, it raised its free hand, as though it were reaching out to grasp him.

The next thing Kyron knew, a blast of cold air like the bitterest winter wind hit him square in the chest. He sputtered in surprise, raising one arm to protect his face, and tried to recoil -- but he was so cold he could scarcely move. It was as though all his muscles had seized at once.

Then the draugr was suddenly encased in a soft bluish glow. The freezing blast stopped, and the monster slowly lowered its withered arm. It looked almost dazed. Kyron caught sight of Michael retreating from the draugr’s back, one hand glowing with that same bluish light. An instant later, an arc of lightning suddenly split the air in front of him. Electricity crackled over the draugr’s body, and it fell, hitting the ground with a thud.

“Divines! That was a little too close for comfort, wasn’t it?” Gyre came over to the twice-dead draugr, examining it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

Elijah was moving in Kyron’s direction. “Are you alright? I could feel that blast of cold air all the way back there.”

“Fine, yeah.” Kyron wiped the coating of frost from his chest-piece with one bracer, and felt Elijah’s hand settle at his back and rub some warmth back into his muscles. “My armor caught the worst of it. I didn’t know the damn things could do that.”

“The undead have a particular affinity for frost magic,” Gyre said, as though this were an interesting fact instead of an unpleasant reality. “This individual seemed a little stronger than the ones we’d seen previously. I wonder if that’s caused by the nature of the soul that once inhabited this body, or the flow of the magic that re-animated it.”

Both Elijah and Michael wore identical expressions of mild distaste. Michael crossed his arms with a shudder. “Dunno if I really care to think too hard about what kinda souls these things had.”

“As long as we can still kill them, I’m happy.” Kyron winced and crossed his arms over his front. “Ugh. Damn. I may need to stop and eat before we move on, or my stomach’s gonna keep throwing a fit, apparently. Sorry for blowing our cover, by the way.”

At that, Michael laughed. “It’s not your fault. Could’ve been any of us, honestly. As a humble alchemist, I’m really not used to the usual kinds of adventuring I’m sure the rest of you get up to, and I almost never miss lunch.”

“I too am largely in favor of lunch,” Gyre piped up. “And not terribly used to tramping around all day. Stopping for food would be a nice chance to rest our feet, too.”

Elijah returned his weapon to the holster on his back and ducked beneath one of the three arches that led back into the main chamber. He looked around, eyeing the high ceiling and spacious, if uneven floor. “Hmm. This chamber is actually quite sound. There don’t appear to be any coffins or burial berths that might house sleeping draugr. The corridor behind us is empty for quite some distance, and this door looks quite heavy--” He looked over his shoulder at Gyre, “Would you say this is a likely transition point from the outer to inner sanctum?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“The ground gets smoother here.” Elijah pointed to an unbroken patch of flooring around the door’s threshold. “As long as no one has objections, I think this might be an ideal place to camp for the night.”

“No objections here.” Gyre perched himself on the edge of a broken stone column, sighing with relief once he was off his feet. “It’ll be best to tackle the inner sanctum when we’re fresh.”

Kyron simply unshouldered his pack by way of agreement. He felt another pinch in his stomach as he did and rubbed a hand over it ruefully.

He was going to have to start eating bigger breakfasts on adventuring days, apparently.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, it seemed Elijah’s first order of business as he also shrugged out of his pack was to get food heated up for all of them. With practiced hands, he built a fire, using some kindling he’d brought with him as well as a few broken tree roots he scavenged from around the chamber. He soaked the ends of the wood in pitch, and before long a warm, cozy fire was crackling in the center of the stone floor. He spread a couple of handfuls of sand around it to keep the sparks contained, then he pulled out four rations of food; they’d packed six at Michael’s cottage, but if they’d be clearing the inner sanctum at some point the next day, it made sense for everyone to eat their fill.

The rations consisted of dried and smoked salmon filets, one red apple each, one waterskin’s worth of clean water, and two bottles of ale. After washing his hands with a splash of ale and a clean cloth, Elijah also pulled out a small dish of what looked like flour, which he added a few pinches of white grains to, then a trickle of water, then kneaded thoroughly and set out as close to the fire as he could get it. Within a few minutes the dough had risen and began to turn golden-brown. Elijah used a glove to tug it away from the hot coals, then he tipped the small loaf out into his palm and sliced it into four pieces, which he passed around the fire to the rest of them.

Kyron bit into his piece curiously. It was delightfully warm and airy, and while the taste was mild, he was so hungry that it exploded over his tongue like the best thing he’d ever eaten. “Mmm, this is really nice. I’ve never seen anyone make something like this before.”

Elijah smiled at him across the flickering of the campfire and swallowed a big bite of smoked salmon. “I find a simple biscuit is always a good addition to meals. The ingredients weigh almost nothing to carry, but it can round out a set of rations and make it easier to eat to satisfaction.”

“An ingenious trick,” Gyre remarked, looking curiously at Elijah. “You must travel often, then?”

“He hardly ever settles.” Michael chuckled and Elijah gave a light shrug of his massive shoulders.

“I’m a tradesman, so I suppose my livelihood is based on travel. I have a few regions I typically stick to. When I’m in need or want of something more like the comforts of a home, I stay with Michael for a couple weeks at a time.”

“We kinda work together in a way.” Michael added, setting down his half-demolished apple in favor of taking a swig of ale. “Elijah gathers things like furs, meats, and ores, but he also collects any alchemical ingredients that he can find and brings them back to me. Some of them are for our personal use but the rest I mix up and either sell as medicines or to the cauldron shop in Whiterun. The coin we make from that keeps us both comfortable.”

There was something warm in Gyre’s voice as he said, “That sounds like such a lovely little life.” He cracked open the second bottle of ale and took a deep drink before adding, “So neither of you are actually career adventurers or sellswords or anything like that? You’ve just gotten swept up in something big and responded to duty’s call?”

Michael and Elijah exchanged an uncertain look, and Elijah sighed faintly. “Well, I don’t know if I can take quite so much credit. The Jarl more or less gave me direct orders at first, and I only followed up of my own accord in the interest of Michael’s safety.”

“ I responded to the call of duty though.” Michael grinned, and Elijah chuckled in amusement.

“Kyron is a sellsword.” Elijah nodded amiably at Kyron. “He had only just traveled to Skyrim with plans to join the ranks of the Companions when the dragon hit Helgen.”

“Aspiring sellsword is probably more accurate,” Kyron said wryly. “I haven’t actually done any selling of my sword yet, because I keep just volunteering for these crazy missions. I suppose the Jarl does give us gold though, which is nice of him.”

“He gave you those bracers too, didn’t he?” Michael pointed out between bites of fish.

Elijah nodded and unstrapped his, turning them in the glow of the firelight appreciatively. “It’s not gold, but I don’t know that I’ve ever had a nicer piece of armor before.”

“From what I hear, enchanting makes some good coin, right?” Michael grinned at Gyre good-naturedly. “Do you enchant for anyone fancy? Or is it more like you take commissions?”

“A little of both, but more of the latter.” Gyre paused to gnaw the last of the fruit from his apple and toss the core aside. “The nobles all have access to the court wizard of their hold, and anyone else with the coin for it sends off to Winterhold to have a master mage at the college enchant their things. I mostly do pieces for ordinary folks -- farmers who want an axe that will never dull, merchants who want to present their child with a special sword as they reach adulthood, husbands and wives looking for a gift to mark a major anniversary. That kind of thing. Business is rather slow, but it’s enough to keep me going. I’ve thought more than once about moving to Solitude -- I could likely find enough customers there to open a proper shop -- but I like living in this area. It’s got nice mild weather and plenty of old barrows to explore.”

Michael snorted with gentle humor. “I hope you take a few more precautions on your usual barrow outings - as long as you’re not chased by bandits right into a spider’s web.”

Gyre rubbed a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile. “I do try, yes. My trips normally don’t end quite so stickily as this one.”

Elijah finished up his bread and fish and sat back with his apple contentedly. “I have a question about the claw.”

Gyre noticeably perked up at the topic. “Go ahead.”

“You mentioned it works like a key to open the deepest part of the barrow, correct?” Elijah sipped from his water. “Once we use it, will it be affixed to the door, or could we theoretically take it back out with us?”

“Oh, we can take it with us. Once the door is unsealed, its purpose will have been served.” Gyre paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Michael mentioned this earlier, but the shopkeeper in Riverwood was very disappointed that it had gone missing. Once we’ve gotten the tablet we’re looking for, I think it would be worth it to return the claw to him and his sister. If we left it here it would likely just collect dust, and I don’t see the point in that since the two of them would really appreciate having it back.”

Gyre nodded. “That seems appropriate. I would hate to see such a valuable artifact pawned off or left to someone who might melt it down for the precious metal, but it sounds like these people will treasure it.”

Michael nodded. “They sure will. Lucan’s a bit of an eccentric, but after he and his sister moved here from Cyrodiil, he really worked hard to establish his shop, and he’s proud of every inch of it. He considers that claw to be a little local attraction.”

Elijah looked thoughtful. “Admittedly it’s incredible, that such ancient history lies slumbering all around us, sealed away -- and only unique artifacts and keys can unlock it.” Then he sighed deeply. “But such unspeakable strife marked that era of history. I had thought in Helgen that maybe somehow a single dragon had survived the ages, but now that we’ve seen two -- I can only hope this doesn’t mean a large-scale return. The Empire and the Stormcloaks will be the least of our worries if the dragons come to power again. It’s not often that I have so many questions and absolutely no one who has answers.”

There was a somber moment around the campfire. Michael offered a small smile. “Well, I mean, hey, we’re not even out of the crypt yet. We get that tablet and take it back to Farengar and I’m sure he’ll be able to do something with it. It’s hard to have your head as far up your ass as that man does unless you have something else going for you, and supposedly his thing is intelligence.”

Kyron snorted. “Guess your brain grows big and strong when it’s got a warm place to incubate.”

“But anyways,” Michael gulped down the last of his ale. “He’ll get those old burial sites figured out and the Jarl will send out investigations. More of those adventuring types will turn up more artifacts, and they’ll find something that explains what’s going on, and then we can face it head-on.”

Elijah seemed heartened by that, especially when his friend scooted closer and hugged his side. Then Gyre grabbed the half-full bottle of ale and declared, “To this Farengar character and his magnificent ass-brain! May it bring glory to ass-brains everywhere by saving the world!” and chuckles roses around the campfire as the bottle was passed around.

It came to Kyron last, and he swallowed what remained before leaning back against the chunk of stone behind him with a sigh. He felt much better now that his belly was full and his fingers and toes were warm.

When they were finished eating, Elijah got up and began unfolding their bundles of bedding. They’d packed relatively lightly, but they each had a bedroll and one extra fur to either lay over the top for a second layer of warmth or fold beneath their head for a slightly comfier pillow. He spread the bedding out after using his knife to cut away tree roots that criss-crossed the ground and would have made it impossible to get comfortable.

Finally, he turned to stoke the campfire one last time, and looked around the group. “I think it would be prudent to set watches. Even though this part of the barrow is quiet enough for sleep, I don’t think it’s worth risking being caught completely unaware.” He then turned to Gyre. “I think the three of us will handle the watches. I believe in your good intent, but I would like to take every precaution for now. And to be honest, I think you might need the most rest out of all of us, regardless.”

“He’s right.” Michael piped up. “Frostbite venom is nasty even if you don’t get a fatal dose of it, and antidotes can only do so much. In my professional opinion I think it’d do you a lot of good to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

Gyre smiled wanly. “I certainly won’t complain about that.”

“So what order should the watches go in?” Michael looked at Elijah and Kyron with a slightly bashful grin. “I’ll admit I’m not the easiest person to wake up in the middle of the night. I could take either the first or the last watch.”

“Mmm. I’m sleepy.” Elijah rubbed his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind taking the second watch. I don’t feel particularly alert at the moment.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” Kyron volunteered. “If that works for everyone.”

Both Elijah and Michael nodded, and so Kyron picked himself up and found a nice piece of broken stone to sit on, near the edge of the pool of light from their fire. Behind him, he heard the quiet murmurs and shuffles of his friend bedding down for the night slowly fade into silence.

Kyron was grateful to have the first watch. He was still feeling too alert to sleep. A couple hours of quiet time would help settle his thoughts, so that hopefully, once his turn came, he’d be able to get some proper rest.

His dreams had been vivid the past couple nights, so vivid that they had stuck with him throughout the days. Back at the Bannered Mare, he’d dreamt of being big -- of seeing Skyrim spread out below him like a map, of feeling as though he could soar from one corner of the land to the other as easily as he could cross a market square. All along the road from Whiterun, questions of destiny and duty had floated in his head. 

Then, last night back at Michael’s place, he had dreamt of being small. In the dream, he’d been naked, his clothes falling off him in charred tatters. He’d been bound hand and foot, his face pressing into the dirt, and somewhere above him an unseen headsman swung a burning blade and missed every time. Again and again, the flaming sword swept downwards, so close that the heat stung Kyron’s cheeks and he could smell his own hair burning. Each time he flinched, the headsman laughed -- a piercing laugh that sounded awfully like a dragon spitting fire.

Kyron had woken up in tears and pressed the fur covers over his face until his breathing had slowed. He’d tried to push the dream from his mind, but clearly, it had not quite left. 

He sighed. It was not worth dwelling upon. The jumpiness would fade. Or it wouldn’t, and he’d probably have to find something to do besides being a mercenary. Either way, thinking about it wouldn’t help him sleep. He drew one dagger, intending to take his mind off things by whittling some wood. His father had taught him when he was a boy, and he’d always found it relaxing.

He reached into his pocket, searching for the chunk of wood he’d stashed there. Instead, his hand found a metal chain, alive with an unnatural warmth, and he withdrew the enchanted golden necklace that he’d found that morning and which he’d completely forgotten about.

Curiously, he glanced over to where his companions lay by the campfire. Elijah and Michael were both clearly asleep. Their chests rose and fell in the slow rhythm of slumber, and Michael was snoring softly, tucked deep into Elijah’s arms. On Elijah’s other side, closest to where Kyron had positioned himself, Gyre was lying flat on his back. As Kyron watched, the mage lifted a hand and rubbed the side of his nose, then readjusted his covers as he tucked the hand back inside. Clearly not asleep, then.

Kyron cleared his throat and murmured, “Hey Gyre?”

Gyre opened one eye. “Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something before you go to sleep?”

“I suppose so.” He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “What is it?”

“Can you tell me what the enchantment on this necklace is?”

“Oh! I’m sure I can.” Gyre took the necklace eagerly, his interest clearly piqued. He rubbed a finger over the runes inscribed around its edges. Then his eyebrows lifted slightly, and he cracked the tiniest of smiles.

“What?” Kyron asked. “Is it something strange?”

“No. Quite a common enchantment, actually.” Gyre held the golden pendant back out to Kyron. “Resist fire. It helps protect the wearer from burns.”

Kyron was speechless. He felt the necklace drop into his hand, its weight warm and reassuring against his palm.

“I hope that satisfied your curiosity.” Gyre stifled a yawn and settled back down in his bedroll. “See you in the morning.”

“...Yeah. Goodnight. And thanks.” Kyron turned away. For a moment, he simply sat, staring off into the dark. Then he whispered a quick prayer of gratitude to Kynareth and slipped the chain over his neck. 

As the weight of the pendant settled against his collarbone, Kyron felt a different weight lift. He knew he’d sleep well that night.

Sure enough, as time passed and the fire burned low, fatigue slowly began to creep over him. There was no way to tell how much time had passed in this place, so Kyron simply kept watch until his vision began to swim, after what he estimated to be two or three hours. Then he woke Elijah, who took his place with a faint smile. Kyron dragged himself over to his bedroll, and as soon as his head touched the furs, he was out.

He awoke feeling incredibly comfortable. There was a soft, solid pressure on all sides of him, as though he’d been bundled into a warm bed of sand. He yawned and tried to roll over, only to find that he was being held in place, and that the grip around him only tightened as he tried to move.

Kyron blinked his eyes open to see a pair of large fur-clad arms crossed over his chest. As he lifted a hand to touch one, there was a soft, contented sound in his ear, and he felt himself being pulled more firmly against the solid warmth at his back.

He heard a soft chuckle. Michael, on watch nearby, had noticed that Kyron was awake and was watching him with amusement. “He’s clearly feeling cuddly this morning. You might’ve laid down just a bit too close to his bedroll. Made yourself easy prey.”

Kyron laughed, squirming a little in Elijah’s hold. “D’you think he thinks that I’m you?”

Michael giggled and shook his head. “No chance. There’s no curls on you. He knows exactly who he’s got.”

“Awww.” Kyron patted the back of Elijah’s hand with a fond chuckle. “Didn’t expect I’d be good cuddling material. I’m all bony, you know?”

“There’s not a lot of things that can get in his way if he really wants to cuddle someone.” Michael grinned. “You could be soaking wet and smelling like a troll and that would not hold him back.”

Kyron opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment he felt Elijah grunt softly and begin to stir. His eyes blinked open, still hazy with sleep, and long strands of his dark hair had fallen over his face. He peered past them at Kyron and hummed softly in greeting, then one of his big hands began rubbing comfortably over Kyron’s shoulders. Everything Kyron had wanted to say dissolved in his head as warm fingers pressed into muscles that were tense from a day of bearing a pack and a night of sleeping on stone.

A low chuckle rumbled in Elijah’s chest, and he moved his hand to massage even more thoroughly, until Kyron was completely slack in his arms and on his way to going back to sleep. That’s when he heard Michael get to his feet just before a warm weight plopped down next to them, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay you two, don’t drift off again. El, you can keep rubbing him if you want, but at least sit up first.”

“Hrmph….” Every fiber of Kyron’s being wanted to shrug Michael’s hand away and keep drowsing. But he knew that he was right, and that it was time to get up, so with great reluctance he hauled himself into a sitting position. “Damn,” he said, rolling his newly-relaxed shoulders. “That felt really nice.”

“Mmmm…” Elijah hummed in response, sounding pleased. He laid unmoving for one moment more until Michael reached over and thumped his belly, earning an indignant snort. But finally, Elijah too sat up, rubbing his eyes, pushing his hair back from his face, and covering an enormous yawn. Once he’d been upright for a heartbeat or two, blinking and looking around the dim chamber, he turned, spotted where Gyre was still laying sprawled out among the bedrolls, and reached out to give the mage’s shoulder a firm but gentle shake.

“Mmm?” One of Gyre’s eyes slowly drifted open. Then he blinked and sat bolt upright, any vestiges of drowsiness instantly gone. “Oh -- good morning! If it is morning, that is.”

“We’re so far underground, who the fuck even knows.” Michael laughed once and shrugged. “But I think we’ve all slept well enough. Might be a good idea not to stay longer than we have to.”

Elijah hummed in agreement and began to stir into action. He gave Kyron’s shoulder another pat before getting up and adding a few more twigs to the fire, which was crackling with renewed heat a few minutes later. He cooked another biscuit and heated another four strips of fish, and made sure to pass the waterskin around so everyone could have a drink. 

While they sat eating and rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Kyron glanced around at the group. “Alright, boys. What’s the plan?”

“Well-- mmm…” Michael flopped back into Elijah’s broad chest when his friend started rubbing his shoulders the same way he’d done for Kyron. “I guess we gotta go through the inner sanctum. Whatever the hell that means.”

“Honestly, it’ll probably be more of the same.” Gyre laid his strip of fish on top of the biscuit and took a bite. “People of higher stations were often interred in the inner sanctum, but that’s the only meaningful difference I’m aware of. We’ll fight some draugr, find some treasure, and then reach the Hall of Stories.”

“Hall of what now?” The image Kyron’s brain had immediately conjured up was that of a library, although he couldn’t fathom what such a place would be doing so far underground.

“A Hall of Stories is a large chamber, usually located just before the innermost crypt. I’ve never actually been deep enough into a barrow to see one.” Gyre’s eyes were practically glowing. “The walls will be decorated with carvings depicting Nordic legends of old. And it’s here that we’ll find the sealed door that opens with the claw.”

Michael swallowed a bite of biscuit. “What uh… what will be behind the door?”

“Hard to say for sure. That stone tablet you’re looking for, I’d wager. Sometimes the innermost chambers of barrows are simply treasure rooms. Other times, they’re burial chambers for particularly powerful old figureheads. So, you know… we’ll want to keep our guard up.”

“Ugh. Can’t wait to fight the Jarl of Draugrs.” Michael crossed his arms and Elijah ruffled his curls before standing up.

“Where do you think this tablet is likely to be?” Kyron asked. “Are we going to have to search for it? Or is it going to be smack in the center of the room on some kind of pedestal, bathed in light?” As he spoke, he felt Elijah settle down again behind his back, but this time instead of reaching for his shoulders, he felt his friend take a lock of his hair, and calmly begin to braid it between practiced fingers.

“Again, hard to say.” Gyre looked thoughtful. “I’ve read historical accounts of precious artifacts that certainly had a pedestal situation going on. Others have been found simply stored in chests. We’ll want to be prepared for the possibility that it may be protected by some kind of undead guardian. In that case, I imagine we might find it at the bottom of a coffin.”

“Disgusting.” Elijah said.

Gyre shrugged one shoulder. “Exploring crypts is certainly not known for its glamor.” He popped the last bite of his biscuit into his mouth. “Shall we get going?”

“Yeah, probably should.” Michael nodded and shuffled to his feet, carefully kicking sand over the remaining embers of the fire to douse them. He bent to get something out of his pack, then handed it to Elijah, who hummed in gratitude, and brought it to the braid he’d woven in Kyron’s hair. When his hands came away, the end of the braid was fastened with a little golden string.

Kyron reached up and touched the braid with a laugh. “You prettying me up before we meet the Jarl of Draugrs?”

Elijah beamed at him. “Well, if we are going to be conducting the business of heroes, I don’t see why not.”

The business of heroes started rather unglamorously, with a good chunk of time spent rolling up their bedding and reassembling their packs. But at last, they got underway. The door to the inner sanctum creaked on its hinges as though nobody had touched it in a thousand years, and the sound went straight to Kyron’s bones.

Beyond, the passage sloped ever deeper into the earth. They encountered another swinging axe trap, which was just as easy to disable as the first. Beyond lay a chamber infested with draugr, which they were all so used to at this point that they barely caused them any trouble. Elijah dispatched the ones wandering on a distant platform with his arrows, while Michael and Gyre quickly roasted a corpse that crawled out of its coffin right next to them. Kyron noted with some satisfaction that he barely felt a flicker of nervousness as they passed under some hanging lanterns full of flame, even though they were dripping oil onto the floor. The enchanted pendant was warm against his neck, and he felt safe.

They climbed up some wooden ramps and crossed a high stone bridge. The corridor beyond opened into a wide but low-ceilinged space. On the distant wall, Kyron could just make out some kind of door marked with concentric circles.

“This is it!” Gyre’s awed murmur echoed in the stillness of the room. “The Hall of Stories.”

Both Michael and Elijah seemed stunned a little speechless. Elijah took a torch from the corner of the room and walked along the wall, holding the light up to see the ancient carvings wrapped around the stone. With one hand, he brushed some dirt off of a few symbols and contemplated them quietly. 

Michael turned and looked towards the far end of the hall. “That’s the door? It looks amazing but… I don’t see a handle or anything. How is it supposed to open?”

“That’s where this comes in!” Gyre reached into his robes and withdrew the golden claw. “The claw works like a key; its talons will fit into holes in the door. But usually there’s a puzzle that must be solved first. It’ll all become clear once we get a little closer.”

He led the way down the long, echoing chamber. As Kyron drew closer to the door, he could see that the concentric circles on its surface were stone rings, divided into thirds and fitted into grooves. On each segment of the rings were symbols -- an owl, a bear, or a moth.

“Reminds me of that room with the turning stones,” he muttered.

Gyre grinned at him. “Yes! It’s the same principle. We need to arrange the rings into the proper pattern to unlock the door. And the solution should be….” He turned the claw over in his hands, until he found a trio of symbols adorning what would be the pad of the dragon’s foot. “Right here.”

Elijah came up on their other side and held the torch up so the symbols on the claw would catch the light. The topmost symbol was a bear, the middle symbol a moth, and the final symbol was the owl. He looked from the claw to the strangely shaped keyhole on the door, then up to the rings above.

“Obviously we are not going to test this out,” Elijah smiled faintly, and reached up with his other hand for the highest circle on the lock. His fingers brushed over the old carving, and then he turned it around, pulling until the symbol of the bear appeared. “But I am curious. What would happen, in theory, if we activated the keyhole before the right combination was in place?”

“Oh, probably some good old poisoned arrows.”

“Hmm. I’m certainly glad we have your assistance.” Elijah replied, then dropped his hand and turned the middle circle. The stone rumbled into place, and the symbol of the moth gleamed under the torchlight.

“Can I try?” Kyron reached up and touched the innermost circle. He was prepared to have to use some force, but the stone moved smoothly and easily under his fingers. It clicked into place as the owl symbol rotated into view.

“Looks good.” Gyre stepped forward and aligned the claw’s talons with the tiny holes in the center of the door. “We shouldn’t have any trouble, but perhaps it’s worth stepping back, just in case….”

He pressed the claw into place and gave it a slight turn. There was a loud clicking sound, followed by the low rumble of ancient machinery. The rings suddenly rotated all at once, and a moment later, the door began to slide down into the floor.

Kyron tightened his fingers around the hilts of his daggers, expecting a horde of draugr or perhaps some terrible undead beast to come charging at them. But as the door thudded into place, all traces of sound and movement faded away, except for the distant sound of running water. All that lay ahead were stone steps, leading upwards.

“We should be careful,” Gyre murmured. He needn’t have said anything. It was clear from the grim silence that had descended over the group that everyone had already been planning on it.

Elijah and Kyron took the joint lead as they crept up the steps, apparently in unspoken agreement that whatever might lurk in this crypt should not be allowed to charge straight at either of their unarmored mages. So Kyron heard Elijah’s soft gasp when they reached the end of the short hallway and caught sight of the chamber beyond.

It appeared to be an enormous cavern, strewn with the remains of ancient architecture. A trio of magnificent waterfalls graced its far wall, and at their base, Kyron could just make out some kind of raised structure. It was too distant for him to make out any details.

“Bet the tablet’s up there,” he whispered to Elijah, who nodded silently.

All was still except for their own soft footsteps as they continued their approach. There were a handful of coffins up near the walls, which Kyron kept a close eye on. But even as they walked past, no draugr emerged. The only movement came in a sudden flurry from a startled flock of bats; it nearly sent him jumping out of his skin, but was ultimately harmless.

As they stepped onto a slippery stone bridge that crossed the water churning away from the falls, a sound reached Kyron’s ears. It sounded like… voices.

“Hey, Gyre?” he said. “What in Oblivion is that chanting?”

“Chanting?” Gyre sounded perplexed. “I don’t hear any chanting.”

There was a pause, and then beside Kyron, Elijah spoke up, his words folded into a tense whisper, “I hear it too.”

He lifted his chin slightly, and Kyron looked up to see the structure ahead was a crescent-shaped wall, curled towards them like a grasping hand. Its sloping surface was engraved with a language that Kyron’s eyes didn’t recognize, but as they drew closer, the rhythm of chanting felt as if it began to beat in time with his heart. And with every pulse, with every breath, the words on the wall began to drift beyond his sight, and touched something deeper inside of him, something slumbering within. One word stood out from the rest -- and as he focused on the rigid strokes of the letters -- it began to glow.

Elijah took a deep breath with Kyron. Together, they moved towards the wall.

Behind him, Gyre was still speaking. “Michael, does frostbite venom happen to have any chronic effects on the ears? Because I don’t hear a single damn thing except ourselves.”

“I don’t hear anything either.” Michael sounded deeply unnerved. 

“Perhaps we’re not close enough? But I don’t think that -- alright, what in the world are the two of you doing? I’m interested in that wall too, but it’s quite eerie the way you’re both….”

Gyre kept talking, but Kyron was no longer listening. A rushing sound was building in his head, and the chanting was now so loud that he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. The glowing carving was burning itself into the backs of his eyes. Something about it was holding him transfixed -- it was as though he couldn’t look away, and his vision began to blur around it until the only thing he could see were the word’s stark lines, outlined in piercing blue light.

And suddenly, he understood.

He was mighty. The world spread out beneath him like a neverending valley, there was vigor in his wings, in his voice. The sun of Nirn was bright upon his scales and the angry shouts of the mortals below him were little more than the cries of birds cast upon the wind. He was stronger than anyone who would stand against him could ever hope to be. He was power incarnate and he spoke it into being, carved it into the bones of the earth.

Mirmulnir .

Kyron came back into himself with that name on the back of his tongue and looked up into Elijah’s gaze. He could see everything in his friend’s eyes that he now remembered -- the ecstasy of power and the disbelief and terror of defeat -- the everlasting, immortal cry of the dragon they had slain before the Western Watchtower.

“Mirmulnir.” Elijah whispered, and gazed deeply into Kyron. There was something else. Something that, at least for a moment, had brought Mirmulnir back to life on the currents of their souls. There was… a word. Fus.

Then the two of them were brought out of their reverie by a terrifying, catastrophic crack.

Chapter Text

Kyron whirled around as reality came rushing back. He was not soaring over Skyrim with the full might of the heavens beneath his powerful wings. He was deep underground in the middle of a crypt with nothing but two sharp bits of steel to protect his frail mortal body. He caught sight of Michael and Gyre, saw the utter shock on their faces turning to horror. Then he saw the large coffin, barely a dozen paces away. Its stone lid was flying through the air as though it weighed nothing, and as it crashed to the ground, an enormous withered arm reached up and gripped the side of its tomb.

Elijah turned and looked at Kyron; another moment of wordless understanding passed between them. The draugr’s head -- adorned with a spiked helmet, its withered face twisted in a snarl -- appeared over the edge of the coffin, and then its shoulders; broad, bulging with visibly decaying sinew.

The two of them, as one, braced their feet, and Shouted.

“ FUS! ”

The word came from deep in Kyron’s chest. He could feel it swelling from his own lungs, his own throat, and as the physical sensation of the Shout rippled through his body, he knew with a sudden certainty that the enormous presence he’d felt on the day they’d killed Mirmulnir had not been the dragon -- it had been himself.

Twin waves of force shot across the stone floor like blasts from a cannon, ancient dust rippling in their wake. They hit the draugr squarely, and it stumbled with one leg in the coffin and one leg out.

Elijah grabbed his bow from his back, notched two arrows with a finger between them, and fired them point-blank into the draugr’s neck, which as far as Kyron could tell, was the only place on its body uncovered by armor. The creature barely flinched. Elijah swiftly fired again, this time hitting the draugr’s shoulder, but it did nothing to slow the creature’s clumsy climb from its coffin. As it straightened to its full towering height, it seemed to regard Elijah with something like annoyance as another arrow pinged off its helmet. Then its body went rigid as it let out a terrible scream.

The sound was so powerful that Kyron could see it rippling through the air. Elijah was physically knocked back; he stumbled and dropped to one knee. Apparently satisfied that he was dealt with, the draugr lumbered around to face Michael and Gyre, who raised their hands in alarm as it drew its battleaxe and began to charge them. Waves of fire and lightning rose to meet it, but it barely slowed.

Kyron had been edging into the shadows, hoping to escape the draugr’s notice so that he could slip under its guard and get at it with his daggers. As he saw the monster racing towards the unarmored mages, he knew he had to act fast. 

Daggers out, he ran and leapt at the draugr’s back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that shuddered through him from the residual lightning crackling around its flesh. He wrapped his left arm around its neck, hauling himself high enough to slash deep into its exposed throat. The draugr growled and shook him off. He landed lightly and ran back a few paces, ready to meet it as it turned from the mages and fixed its blazing blue eyes on him.

The thing about a draugr wielding a battleaxe was that it was a slow and clumsy weapon in slow and clumsy hands. Kyron easily dodged its blows, but the length of its blade meant that he couldn’t get in close enough for his own daggers to reach. He was going to have to do something unconventional, take it by surprise.

So when the draugr drew its arms back, raising its axe behind its head, he ran forward instead of back. If he could get another hit in where he’d gashed its throat, perhaps he could knock the head clean off.

The draugr froze mid-swing and looked at him, its puckered mouth stretching wide. Kyron realized what was about to happen a moment before it did -- the monster was going to stagger him like it had done to Elijah, and while he was still reeling, it would bring the axe down on his head.

There was no time to get out of the way. So instead he jumped, burying his daggers into the unprotected flesh just above the draugr’s collarbones. As he neared the top of his leap, he pressed his weight into the hilts, boosting himself just a little higher so that he could release the daggers and grab the twin horns that protruded from the draugr’s helm.

He had intended to pull the draugr’s head down, forcing its scream to hit harmlessly against the stone. Instead, the helmet came clean off in his hands. The world flipped around as Kyron fell backwards -- much further backwards than he ought to have, as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet -- as the draugr’s unearthly shriek pierced the air somewhere above him. Then he felt a dull pain and the sensation of cold water running over him as he crashed onto his side upon smooth, rounded rocks.

It took him a moment to realize that he’d toppled backwards off the raised platform and into the creek below. Shaking off the sting of the impact, he jumped back to his feet and began to climb the old rock. He was unarmed now, which was a problem, but there was no way he was going to simply wait out the fight.

When he reached the top of the platform, it was to find Elijah bearing down on the draugr, striking absolutely devastating blows with his warhammer. He was driving it back, bit by tiny bit, as he threw all of his strength and size into swinging the cumbersome weapon as fast as he could. And that, combined with the sheer bludgeoning force of the warhammer’s head, was beginning to beat the draugr’s rotting body apart.

So fast and heavy did his blows come that the draugr couldn’t seem to raise its battleaxe. As it staggered closer to the platform’s edge, its movements became more desperate, until finally it let out another ear-splitting scream.

Elijah was closer to the draugr this time than he had been before. The noise sent him reeling backwards, his hammer crashing helplessly to the stone. As he struggled to regain his footing and heft his hammer back up, Kyron saw the arc of the draugr’s battleaxe and knew exactly where it would land.

There was no time to do anything else. He clutched at that core of power inside him and shouted, “ Fus! ”

It felt good, the way the shockwave felt as though it had been unleashed from his own lungs. It felt better still when the draugr was knocked off-balance, its blow missing by a mile. Elijah recovered within that split second of time, and his hammer came up, and he slammed it into the draugr’s head so hard that its skull burst on impact like an overripe melon. The aftershock of the blow rippled down through the draugr’s body and it fell apart, collapsing under its own weight as its ancient limbs crumpled beneath it.

There was a moment of absolute stillness in the cavern. The sounds of their own labored breathing seemed to come back into focus first, and then the sounds of the rushing waterfall. 

Finally Elijah, still awash in adrenaline with small tremors running through him, turned and looked at Kyron, and a feeling of immense triumph passed between them. But then, his eyes darted back to the engraved wall behind them, and his expression grew troubled. He swallowed hard.

“This is real… isn’t it?” Elijah murmured, his gaze holding Kyron’s again, his face drawn with the kind of apprehension a man standing on the edge of a precipice might feel.

Kyron knew what he meant instantly. “Yeah. I… I think it is.”

Elijah’s expression cracked. He shuddered once as if his heart had broken on the spot, and then he turned slightly away, his shoulders hunching forward in the manner of one bowing under the weight of the world. 

Before Kyron could ask if he was okay, they were interrupted by the sound of two mages approaching with questions leaking out of their ears.

“So! Lads!” Gyre clapped one hand onto Kyron’s shoulder and the other onto Elijah’s lower back. “Nice work with that horrible fellow, but, um -- what in every last cursed plane of Oblivion happened when you went up to that wall?”

“You glowed! ” Michael jumped in before either Kyron or Elijah could open their mouths. “And we never heard any damn chanting from where we were standing -- this whole cavern was silent while you two walked up there and then all of the sudden you both were just wrapped in light. Then that fucking thing--” Michael jabbed a finger at what used to be the draugr, “--busted out.”

“Yeah -- uh….” Kyron hesitated, wondering whether to launch right into an explanation or backtrack so that Gyre would have the full story.

But Elijah found his voice first, and turned to Gyre seriously. “When we told you about our encounter with the dragon at the Western Watchtower, we left out some key details. We hadn’t discussed it beforehand, but I think we all thought it best not to involve you in this too deeply, for both your sake as well as ours. Trying to maintain secrecy now would be pointless, however.” Elijah took a deep breath. “We were among the Jarl’s soldiers when the dragon was slain. As it died, both Kyron and I absorbed some kind of power from it. After this happened, the Greybeards Shouted from High Hrothgar, and the guards of Whiterun and the Jarl himself believe this means that the two of us are Dragonborn.”

“Oh.” Gyre’s eyes went wide. “But -- two Dragonborn? That’s -- well--”

“Crazy, we know,” Kyron broke in. “We didn’t believe it either. Needed some time to think. So we volunteered to come down here and find that damn tablet for the Jarl in the meantime.”

Elijah nodded, then also glanced at Michael as he continued, “I believe this wall is carved with the ancient language of the dragons. It’s… difficult to explain. But something -- some essence -- reached out to a place inside me that I’ve never felt before. I couldn’t tell you what the wall says in the common tongue, but… for a moment I felt like I was hearing a single word repeated over and over. The letters were glowing, then in my mind I heard the name of the dragon we brought down, and I understood… I realized I could Speak the word aloud.”

Kyron nodded emphatically. “I felt the very same thing.”

“Well…” Michael looked at them both with wide eyes, and his voice was weighted fatefully. “This… this proves it then, doesn’t it? In an instant, you both learned a Word of Power… and you knew instinctively how to Shout it, right?”

“It would seem so.” Kyron drew a deep breath. The words felt heavy; he knew that saying them would make all of this real. “I felt it, when I Shouted. I can only speak for myself, but -- I do think that I must be Dragonborn.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Elijah, and he sighed after a moment and closed his eyes. “I don’t see much point in trying to deny it. The evidence is overwhelming. I suppose the two of us should begin to make plans for a journey to High Hrothgar, once we’ve delivered the dragonstone to Whiterun.”

Kyron could sense Elijah’s discomfort with everyone staring at him, and quickly said, “Where is the damn thing, anyway? Has anyone checked the coffin?”

Michael broke away from the group and stepped up to the side of the coffin. He peered over the edge and frowned in confusion. “Uh… it’s empty, boys.”

“It’s got to be around here somewhere.” Kyron approached the coffin himself. There was a chest nearby, and he cracked open its lid and began to rummage inside. “Oh, there are some nice pieces of gear in here! We should take ‘em with us. Don’t see the stone, though.”

“Ah -- this must be it!” Gyre called triumphantly. He was crouching next to the draugr corpse -- Kyron turned around just in time to witness the mage grasp a large chunk of stone on the back of the draugr’s cuirass with both hands and wrench it away with a horrible crack. He raised the tablet above his head, grinning. 

Elijah looked like he was doing his best not to grimace. “...Good eye.”

Michael had no such qualms about the arrangement of his face. He shuddered and crossed his arms. “I expected to do a lot of things while delving into a crypt, but honestly, ripping things off the undead was not one of them. At least it wasn’t all for nothing, though.”

“Oh, and here are your daggers, Kyron.” Setting the tablet aside, Gyre yanked the blades out of the body with a pair of unpleasant squelching sounds. 

“...Thanks.” Kyron went over to take them, but not before grabbing a piece of crumbling linen cloth from a nearby shelf to clean them with.

Elijah knelt by the chest and picked up the items that Kyron had wanted, shrugging off his pack and bundling them together to carry them out of the cave. Michael looked towards an ascending staircase to the right of the ancient wall. “I’ll bet anything that’s our way out of here.”

Kyron nodded. “Let’s go. I don’t want to spend another second more than we have to down here.”

“Just give me one moment.” Gyre hurried over to the small table next to the coffin and scooped a couple small purple crystal-looking things into the pouch at his belt. Then he returned to the draugr’s corpse and grabbed its fallen battleaxe. It seemed to take all his strength to heft the heavy weapon and sling it over his shoulder, but he managed.

Kyron raised an eyebrow. “You feeling inspired to hang up your robes and become a warrior or something? Or do you just really love taking stuff off the undead?”

“This weapon is enchanted, ” Gyre explained. “With something I haven’t seen before. I want to study it.”

Michael chuckled and shook his head. “If you want to haul it all the way down the mountain, more power to you I guess. I think we’d all better wash off when we get down to the river, we’re a sight. You can probably give it a rinse when we stop and it’ll be easier to carry.”

“Ah!” Gyre closed his eyes as though savoring the mental image. “A good wash sounds like absolute bliss.”

They made their way up the staircase Michael had pointed out. It led to a passageway that wound through the damp stone. They passed through a hidden door and clambered down a short drop, and just when Kyron had begun to wonder whether they would ever get out of this damn cave, they spotted rays of weak sunlight peeking through a cleft in the rock.

They emerged onto the open mountainside. It was a beautiful sunny day, and a spectacular view of the White River churning through its narrow valley was spread out below them, but nobody seemed much in the mood to appreciate it. It wasn’t until Kyron had shed his pack, stripped off his armor, and waded into the river’s cool shallows that he began to feel like himself again.

The water felt incredible running over his bare skin. He sank down into it and gave himself a good scrub, savoring the feeling of sweat and grime washing away. Then he leaned forward and plunged his hair into the current, running his hands through it until it felt clean.

By the time he emerged from the water and flopped down on a flat rock to dry, Michael was also sitting out in the sun, ruffling his own damp curls repeatedly to shake the heavier drops from them. Elijah was still washing, sitting in water up to his chest, with his head bowed low enough that he could scoop up handfuls from the river’s current and pour it over his long hair. When his dark locks were clean and glossy, he dipped his face down with a splash and scrubbed at his beard. 

Even after Gyre had bathed both himself and his unwieldy prize axe from the barrow and lugged it back onto the riverbank, Elijah still seemed to be enjoying the river, sitting against a broad rock with the current washing over his knees. His eyes were closed and there was something of a peaceful smile on his face, and the river’s frothy white waters coursed around him.

“El!” Michael finally pulled on his robes again and waded into the sandy shallows to call his friend. “Come on. Let’s get back to the house before it gets too late. Also if you sit there too long, a mudcrab is gonna come take a bite outta you.”

Elijah opened one dubious eye at him. A beat passed, then he sighed, and stood, water streaming off him. He splashed his way back to the bank and pulled a couple of clean rags from his pack, one of which he used to dry his hair, and the other he used to dry the rest of him, before beginning to tug his armor back into place, mopping each piece off with the damp cloths as he went.

“I swear, if I never have to remove another strand of spider silk from my person again, it’ll be too soon.” Gyre, who had swished his robes around in the river before putting them back on and now looked rather damp but very content, sat down on a rock and began to rearrange his hair with his fingers. Kyron noticed that Gyre’s hair, which he had previously thought to be some kind of dirty grayish-brown, was actually a dark silver color. He was really rather handsome with all the blood and grime and sticky spider residue washed away, very much the image of a well-groomed magical scholar rather than the grubby little crypt delver he’d seemed to be.

“I guess you might be wanting to head home?” Kyron asked him as he finally willed himself to stop sunbathing and sit up. “We could make sure you’re safely back on the road to Falkreath.”

“Mmm… I don’t know.” Gyre shrugged, smiling faintly. “This entire Dragonborn business is rather interesting. I think, if you all wouldn’t mind, I would like to accompany you to Whiterun to deliver the dragonstone. I’m very interested to hear more about its contents.”

“Suit yourself. I don’t think your company would be unwelcome, unless Michael only has so much room in his house.” Kyron glanced over to where the healer was putting on his boots. “What do you say, Michael? Are we staying overnight at your place before pushing on to Whiterun, or should we try to get to city gates before nightfall? And if we’re spending time at your house, what do you say to Gyre coming with us?”

“Definitely staying a night at my place first.” Michael was quick to say. “I have a lot of things I gotta… anyways. Yeah, you’re fine to come along Gyre. There’s technically only two beds in the house but there’s a big one that El and I are able to share, and I have a spare straw mattress we can drag out of storage and make up to be pretty comfortable. So as long as you two don’t mind fighting for the rights to the bed, I’d say it’s no trouble.”

“I can take the floor,” Kyron volunteered. “Won’t bother me any. Honestly I could fall asleep right here on this rock.”

Michael laughed lightly. “Okay, but maybe don’t do that. And maybe put your clothes back on soon, unless you want to turn heads on the road. We should probably get going when we can.”

“Hrghh,” Kyron grumbled, but he obligingly reached for his armor and began to strap it back on.

They set out along the riverbank. There was no path at first, but it was easy terrain, with only the occasional mudcrab to scare off. Soon, they joined up with the paved road that led to Whiterun and followed it until they reached the bridge into Riverwood. At Michael’s insistence, they made a quick stop at the small town’s general store to return the golden claw to its owners. The shopkeeper and his sister were so overjoyed to have their heirloom back that their little party left the shop with both warmer hearts and heavier pockets.

They left Riverwood and began to climb the path that led up the mountain. Michael took the lead, clearly eager to get home. Gyre, who was keeping a much better pace ever since he’d accepted Elijah’s offer to trade the battleaxe for some lighter pieces of gear, walked next to him, peppering him with eager questions about his research and his work. As they wound deeper into the peaceful stillness of the trees, Kyron saw his chance. He slowed down, falling back to walk at Elijah’s side.

Elijah glanced at Kyron as he fell into step beside him, and Kyron flashed a weak smile. “Hey,” he said quietly, “I just wanted to ask if you’re okay? You know, with what happened back there… it’s a lot to take in.”

Elijah mustered up a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

Kyron paused, then lowered his voice even further before continuing, “I just want you to know that you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, okay? I’m right here in the thick of it with you, and I understand, you know, if you’re finding it all really hard to accept.”

It took Elijah a little longer to answer the second time. His gaze rose, following the curve of the horizon up to the towering peak of the Throat of the World in the distance.

“I don’t think I have much choice.” He said faintly.

There was a certain quality to his voice that Kyron recognized; it was the sound of someone straining to put words to something they’d really rather not talk about. He hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether it was worth trying to probe these feelings here and now. Then he closed his mouth and reached out to take Elijah’s hand.

Elijah’s eyes went soft and wide, and Kyron heard his breath catch slightly. His huge fingers curled around Kyron’s hand and squeezed softly, and Kyron could feel both a warmth and a tremor in them. As they continued to walk and it became obvious that Kyron was not going to drop his hand after a few moments, a weight of tension seemed to seep out of Elijah’s shoulders. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Kyron’s knuckles.

It was clear, after a few minutes had passed, that Elijah was feeling better. But Kyron kept hold of his hand all the way back to Michael’s house. They were going to have a long road to walk, he thought. Best to make it clear that neither of them would have to walk it alone.