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Chapter Text

     The wind blew something fierce that day. Leaves of all different shades of brown and gold swirled about her feet while she walked, as if they were trying to usher her towards her destination. The redheaded woman smiled to herself. It was a beautiful, blustery fall day in the Rift. The trees were changing from their deep green hues of summer to the warm palette of autumn all around her, a stark contrast to the evergreens that encroached from the Falkreath border. Rose Windsong hurried down the well-trodden dirt path towards her little cottage, pulled her key out of her coat pocket and unlocked the sun-bleached wooden door. Silence greeted her, and she let out a sigh. 

     She had been in Skyrim for a little over three years and was finally starting to re-adapt to its much colder climate. While Rose had spent most of her life living on a small island to the north, she had been born in the rocky hills of the Reach to the west. From what she could remember of her birthplace, she didn’t miss it. To her, home was Solstheim, with its ashen plains and half-frozen woodland. Home was her mentor’s enormous mushroom tower and the surrounding town of Raven Rock. Home was where she could practice forgotten and forbidden magicks without fear of persecution by close-minded authorities. Yet as homesick as she got, Rose had no burning desire to return to the ashland’s monochrome monotony. 

     These were the kind of days where Rose preferred to busy herself in her work. Even though she moved to Skyrim to focus on her practical experiments and Master Wizard thesis, she still had to make a living. Not long after she had settled in at her cottage, she had ventured to Helgen, the closest city, to peddle her potions and salves. Being the only local alchemist, business boomed and soon she had a reliable client base and a steady flow of orders to fill. 

     The house’s cozy interior was accompanied by the smell of drying herbs and fresh sunlight streaming through the windows. She plopped a basket of juniper berries and canis root on the table, then moved to bring a bundle of dried elves ear down from the rafters. Rose’s movements were practiced and methodical, showing her many years of training as an alchemist. A quick flick of her wrist summoned a flame that she directed towards the hearth where a ceramic kettle sat ready to boil fresh water for the day’s potionmaking. As she ground the herbs with her mortar, something shook the house down to its foundations. 

     A shadow had swooped overhead, low enough to rattle the window panes. She couldn’t make out any discernible features in that brief moment. A heartbeat passed, then two - and then a low roar sounded in the distance. The sound was something she’d never heard before; it was almost a guttural screech. The world around her fell silent. Not a single bird sang outside. No flies buzzed. Even the wind had taken a hiatus from its incessant billowing. Another moment passed and the silence was once again broken by the same roar, further away now. Something in her bones rumbled as if the marrow itself was alive.

     Rose stepped onto her front porch and felt her heart drop to her stomach. Down the mountain, columns of dark gray smoke rose from where the city of Helgen stood. A black and spiky figure raced through the skies away from the now-ruined settlement. Panic swelled in her chest as she rushed back inside and began packing a satchel full of healing salves and potions. However plentiful her magicka reserves were, she didn’t trust herself to be able to heal every survivor on her own. If there are any survivors , Rose thought bitterly to herself. She discarded her heavy skirt in favor of a pair of thick leggings and a woolen cloak, then ran out the door again. It was about a thirty minute walk to the city. She took off at a brisk pace and prayed to her Lady of Twilight that everything was okay.

     Upon arriving at the scene of the attack, she realized that everything was not, in fact, okay. The central guard barracks tower had collapsed, the gates swung off their hinges, and what remained of the thatch roofing around town was slowly smoldering to ashes. Helgen would soon become a literal ghost town - there were burnt and bloody corpses strewn about, not a single survivor in sight. One of the burnt bodies by her feet suddenly coughed and clutched her ankle.

     “Please,” it rasped. “Find them. Went to the keep. Escape tunnel.”

     Another breath rattled from its ashen lungs before the body stilled. Shivers ran up Rose’s spine as she pried her leg away from the now-deceased person and headed for the keep. Upon further inspection, some of the bodies around her were clad in both Imperial and Stormcloak garb. She wondered if it had been the aftermath of a battle that she’d seen from her perch on the mountain, but the thought was squandered when she realized that she recognized several of the corpses that donned civilian clothes. Tears welled in her eyes as she knelt by the mangled bodies of her friends Matlara and Torolf. She wondered what became of their young son Haming. Rose swallowed the bile rising in her throat and pushed on in search of survivors. 

     The keep was littered with debris and gore ranging from intact bodies with their throats slashed and puddles of what Rose assumed to be blood pooling from fallen stone pillars. She picked her way across the stone-strewn floor towards the staircase that led to the lower levels. She couldn’t hear anything below. She crept cautiously until she reached the torture chamber, where she found more Stormcloak and Imperial corpses. She checked for signs of life - the bodies were still warm, but no heartbeat could be found. A similar scene greeted her in the next chamber. Eventually she came to what appeared to be the opening to a cave. The drawbridge had been crushed by the collapse of the keep, but Rose carefully found a pathway over the fallen stones.

     Further into the cave, she discovered two new bodies, one Imperial and one Stormcloak. They lay slumped against each other next to the remains of a large bear. Her pace quickened when she realized that they both still drew breath. The Stormcloak soldier was unconscious, but the Imperial was groaning in pain as he clutched his side. Rose shrugged off her satchel and fished out several healing and cure disease potions.

     “Who… who are you?” Asked the Imperial soldier, the confusion evident in his voice. He seemed too weak to do anything but tip his head back and drink the liquid that Rose fed him. She held up her hands, a healing spell twinkling between them. The man nodded, consenting to magical healing in addition to the apothecarial.

     “My name is Rose. I saw the smoke from up on the mountain. I got here as fast as I could,” She answered. Rose saw his brow raise at the faint brogue that graced her voice and his eyes flicked to the slightly-pointed tips of her ears. She brushed it off. “What’s your name, soldier?”

     “Hadvar, ma’am,” he choked out. It seemed that the potion was doing what it should, but she handed him another just in case. “Ralof… is he…?”

     “Dead? Not quite, but he will be soon if I can’t get him up and moving. Would he be uncomfortable if I used healing spells on him?”

     “He’s never liked magic. Always said it made him itchy.”

     The Breton woman moved Ralof’s body into a sitting position. Upon further inspection, she noticed a gash on the side of his skull. Rose gently probed the wound with her fingers. She felt no give, and her fingers didn’t come away stained with fresh blood. That was good. Mushy head wounds meant severe brain damage and she wasn’t sure if she could get him to the Temple of Kynareth in time. He would have a concussion to be sure, but she hoped that the potions she had would be enough to mitigate any lingering trauma. She silently cursed the Nords and their aversion to the magical arts. She tilted Ralof’s head back and parted his lips with her thumb, then uncorked a healing potion and poured the red liquid slowly into his mouth.

     “What happened here, Hadvar?” Rose asked. She had a feeling it was more than a political scuffle.

     Hadvar appeared to be regaining his strength. His eyes were clear, and his voice was steady when he next spoke. “You won’t believe me.”

     “Try me.”

     “Well,” he sighed. “To make a long story short, a big black dragon swooped in just as we were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak and destroyed the town. I was evacuating a prisoner to the keep when the dragon knocked over a tower. It… it crushed the poor girl. I made it into the keep, killed a handful of rebels on the way down, and then I ran into Ralof.”

     “You knew him?”

     “We grew up together in Riverwood. When the war started, he left to join the Stormcloaks and I enlisted in the Imperial Army. I hadn’t seen him again until we ambushed Ulfric Stormcloak on the road to Darkwater Crossing.”

     “And so you knocked him out?” She inquired with a raised eyebrow.

     “No, no. We decided it would be better to escape together. Live to fight another day, you know?” Hadvar explained. “We made it into this cavern. We thought we were home free, but then the bear blindsided us and knocked him onto the rocks. I managed to kill it, but not before it got a good hit in. I thought I was a goner for sure until you showed up.”

     A groan escaped Ralof’s throat. “That explains why my head hurts so damn bad.”

     Rose put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Woah, now. Take it easy. The dragon’s gone. You’re safe.”

     “She’s a friend, Ralof. It’s okay. Can you stand?” Asked Hadvar.

     “Yeah, give me a hand, will you? Gods, Hadvar, Ulfric will have my head for letting you go. If he’s still alive,” The blonde Nord grimaced as Hadvar pulled him to his feet. Ralof turned and held out his hand for Rose to shake. “I appreciate the help….”

     “Rose,” she supplied with a polite smile. “Glad to see you on your feet, soldier. Do you both have family in Riverwood, still? I’d be happy to accompany you there.”

     “Yes, we do. My uncle’s the blacksmith there, and Ralof’s sister runs the mill,” Hadvar stated.

     “Well, let’s get a move on. It’s still morning, but I’m sure you both would like to rest and eat something hot.”

†———————†

    They strode into town as the sun reached its highest point in the sky. Hadvar and Ralof went to find their respective families. On the way to town, they had agreed to reconvene at the inn. Rose headed inside to claim a table. It wasn’t long before Hadvar and Ralof came to join her at the table, with Gerdur and Alvor in tow. Luckily, the tavern was empty apart from its staff. Alvor cleared his throat.

     “Thank you for saving my nephew. I’m in your debt,” Alvor, the local blacksmith, began.

     “Aye, and you have my thanks for bringing my brother back to me,” Gerdur chimed in. Whatever political differences the two families may have had, they were smart enough to put them to the side for the moment, for which Rose was grateful.

     “I did what anyone should have done,” Rose replied with a placating smile. “I believe their stories. But if there’s a dragon loose in his hold, then Jarl Balgruuf needs to know. I doubt that he would believe a secondhand retelling of events, though. I hate to ask this so soon after you’ve both returned to safety, but would you be willing to testify before the jarl?”

     The soldiers thought for a moment before Ralof nodded. “Absolutely. Riverwood is defenseless; we need to appeal for reinforcements to the guard.”

     “And word needs to spread of the danger,” Hadvar added. “I’ll go as well.”

     “Thank you both. I know you’re tired,” Rose sympathized. “Let’s spend some time with your families and we’ll discuss next steps once you both have something to eat.”

     Lunch was a simple affair of vegetable soup and a hearty loaf of bread that Rose was happy to pay for. As the five of them ate, they planned out their next moves. Hadvar and Ralof would accompany her to Whiterun, and once the Jarl was thoroughly convinced of the threat, they would depart for their respective military headquarters. Rose would fulfill anything else the Jarl required. She also debated seeking work with the city’s alchemist, seeing as her primary business location was now burnt to ash. After Rose had a brief conversation with the publican about local bounties and the men said their heartfelt goodbyes to their families, the trio was off to Whiterun.

†———————†

     The guards at the gates of the city were reluctant to let the three of them in until Hadvar mentioned Helgen. The first guard’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates under his helmet and he hurriedly opened the gate for them. Rose had been to Whiterun a handful of times. It was much busier and louder than she was used to. A man in heavy steel Legion armor was arguing with the blacksmith, a dog was barking in the market square, and a group of kids were running around playing tag. She thought of Raven Rock and how its sleepy, ash-strewn market unanimously closed around dusk when merchant and patron alike ambled over to the Retching Netch for the evening’s gossip and a round or three of whatever Geldis’ latest recipe happened to be. She thought of being seventeen and sneaking away from Tel Mithryn with her fellow apprentice to go to the New Life festival, and the way the lanterns seemed to dance with them to the music. 

     The Jarl’s keep was a grand building that sat atop what Rose felt to be an unnecessary amount of stairs. According to legend, the massive structure once housed the dragon Numinex. Rose couldn’t imagine the beast staying there willingly, though. They opened the tall wooden doors of Dragonsreach and stepped into the main hall and were quickly greeted by an imposing Dunmer woman whose sword was drawn and ready to dispatch any threat. The woman’s intense red eyes bore into Rose’s startled green ones. They may have stood eye to eye, but the Dunmer easily outmatched her in terms of strength.

     “What’s the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors,” the woman growled. The tip of her sword never wavered from its position at Rose’s throat.

     “Hold, muthsera. We have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack,” Rose replied calmly. The Dunmer raised an eyebrow and sheathed her sword.

     “You know about Helgen? Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Very well, you may approach. But I’ve got my eye on you.” The Dunmer woman’s gaze had steeled upon the Dunmeris leaving Rose’s lips.

     Rose led the two soldiers behind her up the stairs and stopped a step below the Jarl’s platform. Jarl Balgruuf fixed them with a level stare. “So, you were at Helgen. Did you see this dragon with your own eyes?”

     “Yes, sir,” Rose replied. “I live near Falkreath. I saw the black dragon fly away from Helgen, and last I saw, it was heading this way.”

     “Ralof and I were there during the attack, sir,” Hadvar continued. “There isn’t much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive.We’re lucky that we did.”

     Jarl Balgruuf nodded sagely. He chose to ignore the fact that the two soldiers were wearing the uniforms of the primary warring factions in the province. “By Ysmir, Irileth was right. What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”

     “My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once…” Irileth started.

     Rose exchanged glances with Ralof and Hadvar as the Dunmer and Imperial man bickered about what the best course of action would be. Irileth advocated for bolstering Riverwood’s troops while Proventus Avenicci, the jarl’s steward, argued for a more measured response in fear of potentially provoking Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath. Rose could see the creases forming between the jarl’s brow from a distance away. Finally, he snapped.

     “Enough! I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once,” he directed. Irileth turned without hesitation and made her way out of the keep. Proventus dismissed himself in a huff. The Jarl turned his gaze to the three before him. “Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it. There is one last thing you all could do for me.”

     Rose shifted her weight to partially break the line of sight between the jarl and the soldiers. “Apologies, my lord, but Hadvar and Ralof are needed elsewhere. I would be happy to fulfill any other requests you might have.”

     “Very well. Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard.”

     Rose said a brief goodbye to the two men before they departed and then moved to follow the Jarl towards a side room containing various magical artifacts and tools, such as an enchanting table and a plethora of soul gems. The Jarl ushered her into the room and made introductions.

     “Farengar, I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Fill her in with all the details.”

     Farengar was a pretentious Nord man with unnecessarily large sideburns protruding from under his hood and a cloud of magical energy emanating from his hands as he crafted an enchantment onto a necklace. He didn’t even bother turning around to address her.

     “So the Jarl thinks you could be of use to me? I doubt that, but I could use someone to fetch something for me. Not that you’d understand its significance, but I need you to go to Bleak Falls Barrow and retrieve an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there,” Farengar said. Rose clenched her jaw and bit back a sharp retort. 

     “What exactly does this have to do with dragons?” She replied tersely. Farengar did turn around then, and eyed up the slight red-haired woman in front of him. Rose felt her skin crawl under his gaze as a smirk crept onto the man’s face.

     “Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar?” he mused. “When rumors of dragons began to circulate, while most people dismissed them as fantasies, I began to search for information; where did they go, and where were they coming from?

     “I… learned … of a certain tablet, the Dragonstone, said to be housed in the Barrow. It’s said to contain a map of dragon burial mounds. Therefore, you go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find the tablet which is most likely in the main chamber, and return it to me. Simplicity itself, even for you,” the Nord man sneered. Rose allowed one of her eyebrows to raise. “Now, off to the Barrow with you. The Jarl is not a patient man, and neither am I, come to think of it. Oh, and one more thing - take these frost salts to Arcadia, since you’re already heading that way.”

     Farengar had turned back to the enchanting table and resumed his work of stitching an enchantment into a silver locket. Rose could not believe the disrespect she was receiving, especially from a fellow mage. She was aware that she did not outwardly advertise her magical talents, but she was disappointed that a Court Wizard did not recognize the master enchantments woven into her cloak alone.

     “I am familiar with the Barrow,” Rose seethed quietly as she picked up the bag of salts that the wizard gestured lazily to. “I will be back as soon as I am able.”

     Rose turned to leave, still fuming, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A mischievous grin graced her lips and she readied a telekinesis spell so small that it was almost imperceptible. She feigned innocence and asked, “Sir, isn’t it dangerous to leave filled soul gems near an unwarded pentacle?”

     “What?” The wizard responded. “I would never-”

     A slight tug from one fingertip scooched the soul gem that Rose had connected to off of a shelf and onto the enchanting table below it. She stifled a laugh as a crackling sound and a puff of smoke engulfed the conceited man. She set out for Bleak Falls Barrow, still smiling to herself.

Chapter Text

     Rose had not been lying when she told Farengar that she was already familiar with Bleak Falls Barrow. She had gone there a handful of times to gather ingredients and to conduct her own studies. The large population of draugr and frostbite spiders made for great target practice. However, it had been several moons since she had made the trip to the barrow, and hostile vagabonds had more than likely made themselves at home there. She decided to stop at the Sleeping Giant for the night and recuperate, then start out again at dawn. As she neared Riverwood again, she began to wonder if she should recruit some help. Unfortunately, her thoughts on the matter were interrupted by two drunken idiots.

     “Oi, oi, look at this fine lass!” The first drunkard leaning on the stone wall across from the inn chortled to his friend. Both men had turned to face Rose with dull-eyed leers on their faces. The one with the bear-head hood kept talking, despite her obvious lack of attention. “My, but she’s looking a bit parched. Why, I may offer to buy her a pint of brew.”

     “Not if I get to her before you do!” Slurred the other fur-clad man. Rose sighed. It wasn’t even dusk yet, and the two men were so far gone that they had spilled from the tavern into the street. 

     Rose shook her head and brushed past them, ignoring their catcalls. She made her way up the stairs and made eye contact with a tall, spiky-haired Nord man who was leaning against the doorframe. His golden eyes were impossible to read. After a moment, Rose snapped back to her senses and moved to enter the inn. 

     “Long time no see, Windsong,” Orgnar, the innkeep, greeted Rose as she approached the bar. “What’ll it be?”

     “Hello, Orgnar. I need a room for the night, and some supper. What’ve you got that’s hot?”

     “I can get you some roasted rabbit and grill up some leeks,” the gruff man offered.

     “Perfect. I’ll take that, and two of whatever cider you have this month.”

     “Alright. Just got a new shipment in, should be right up your alley. That’ll be twenty-two septims.”

     She handed Orgnar the money and he passed her the bottles in return. Rose thanked him and quickly found a table out of the way. She popped a cork on one of the bottles and drank down the deep purplish-black liquid. Rose was never a huge fan of beers and ales, much preferring a crisp cider or sweet mead, or the harsh burn of Dunmer liquors - she sorely missed her and her fellow apprentice’s favored concoction of sujamma and the Ashfire mead they’d barter for at the only Mead Hall on the island. Apparently Orgnar had struck a deal with someone in the Reach, because the so-called ‘Ghost’s Kiss’ cider tasted just like the juniper-and-wildberry cider her mother used to drink when she was very young.

     Rose looked around the tavern. There was only one other patron inside aside from the barkeep and the tavern owner, and no bard in sight. Sven was currently out harassing Camilla Valerius, so Rose didn’t have to compete for the floor. While many Nords were wary of magic, if not downright against it, she knew that Orgnar and Delphine didn’t mind her spells so long as they weren’t destructive. Rose slipped off her gloves and wiggled her fingers. The illusion woven into the tattoo that snaked around her left arm glowed faintly in response. She readied a conjuration spell in her left hand, taking a moment to let it dance along her fingertips, and summoned a lute. The ghostly pale instrument was both solid and incorporeal in her hands. The redhead had just formed a chord with her left hand and was about to start strumming when someone behind her cleared their throat.

     “So, are you so used to those kinds of comments that you turn up your nose at all of them like some damned noble?” Said the looming presence at her back. Rose didn’t answer, and hoped that if she ignored him, he’d go away. She began to play, fingers plucking out a tune that made her long for nights dancing around the fire with her mother.

     It turns out that Sai wasn’t around to do her any favors. A heartbeat passed before the man spoke again, clearly agitated by her silence. “Hey. I’m talking to you, ladyship.”

     Rose sighed and turned to face him. “You could at least sit down, you know. I don’t bite, but you look like you do.”

     The short-haired brunette man from the porch stood in front of her with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He begrudgingly sat across from her. He raised an eyebrow at her, and Rose did the same to him. “So? Are you gonna answer my question?

     “Is it a bad thing to ignore drunken idiots in the street who’re trying to shag you and run? I’m no noble, but I do have standards,” Rose replied, continuing to play a soft song on her summoned lute.

     “Well, you’re right about them being idiots. They’ve been harassing every pair of legs that’s crossed their path for days. Yesterday they got so drunk they even wolf-whistled the blacksmith. You’re the first they’ve been right to admire, though,” he mused. “Anyways, just give ‘em a wide berth.”

     “Days, eh? And what’re you, Orgnar’s new porch decoration? You stand outside lookin’ pretty to attract business?” Rose joked. The grumpy man scowled.

     “If you must know, I was tracking my wolf, Karnwyr. We got separated while hunting a week ago. I’ve been hearing rumors of bandits holding pitfights somewhere this side of Skyrim. He’s all I’ve got, and that’s the only lead, so I’m off to shut them down before something happens to him.”

     There was an unspoken question in his voice and in his eyes - would she join him? Rose ceased her strumming to take a sip of her drink and quietly offered the second, unopened bottle to her tablemate. He took it after a brief moment of hesitation. Orgnar made a brief interruption to drop off her plate of food. She thanked him and turned back to the golden-eyed man. 

     “I know of a few pit fighting rings in the province. You’re most likely headed for Cragslane Cavern, in the Velothi Mountains. Last I checked, though, it was also a skooma den,” Rose mumbled through a mouthful of rabbit. She dispelled her magic lute with a wave of her hand and pulled out her map from her knapsack. “Right here. If they’re running a pit, you’ll have to account for the patrons as well. They’re just assorted drunken louts, but numbers can overwhelm.”

     He raised an eyebrow, the seemingly permanent scowl on his face betraying nothing. “You know your way around, I see.”

     “Lived here for a couple years now,” Rose shrugged.

     He watched her in silence for a few moments as she finished her meal and daintily dabbed the corner of her mouth with her shirtsleeve. The ranger took stock of the woman before him - slight build, pale skin, red hair entrapped by a braided crown. She didn’t seem like she could hold her own against a bunny rabbit, let alone a gang of skooma dealers. He could see what appeared to be a tattoo of a trailing vine spiraling down her left arm. He also couldn't place her accent - it was foreign, but almost an amalgamation of several different dialects. Against his better judgment, he allowed himself to grow curious. He must have been distracted for longer than he thought, because when he snapped into focus, her muddy green eyes were peering into his own golden brown ones. He shook his head.

     “Sorry,” he mumbled. “So, what’s the plan?”

     It was Rose’s turn to raise her eyebrow at him. “Plan? You haven’t asked for help. You haven’t even introduced yourself, sir.”

     “Apologies, ladyship.” The man snarked with a roll of his eyes. “The name’s Bishop.”

     “Pleasure to meet you, Bishop. My name is Rosiah, but you can call me Rose. Now that we’re the best of friends, I’d be happy to accompany you. I have a few things to do first, but after that I’m all yours. You’re welcome to come along, of course.”

     “That depends on where you’re headed, ladyship,” Bishop replied.

     “Oh, nowhere special. Just a quick jaunt to Bleak Falls Barrow to fetch a stone tablet for the court wizard. I’ll be headed out at sunrise if you feel inclined to join.”

†———————†

     The morning came faster than Rose anticipated or wanted. She woke up as dawn approached the horizon and groggily rolled out of her rented bed. The tavern was silent and still, no signs of life present. Rose had spent about twenty minutes crawling into the set of convoluted studded leather armor she had purchased from Adrienne Avenicci. She vowed that once she had the resources, she would craft her own and weave her enchantments throughout it. She fastened her dagger sheath to her belt and slipped the ebony blade inside. The blade briefly made her miss her home and its ashen horizons. 

     Looking around the room once more, Rosiah reassured herself that she had gathered all of her belongings. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and nearly ran face-first into Bishop’s chest. The taller man looked down at her with a raised eyebrow and held out half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. Breakfast, Rose supposed. She took it with a small nod and decided she would eat and walk. The two of them traveled in near silence towards Bleak Falls Barrow. They had walked for about half an hour before Bishop opened his mouth. 

     “So, Ladyship,” he started. “What got you involved with the court wizard?”

     “Who, Farengar? The s’wit,” Rose cursed. Bishop cocked an eyebrow at the Dunmeri curse. “The Jarl recommended me to him and he decided I’d make a great errand girl. He wants me to find a slab of rock with the secrets to the universe, or whatever. Said it had to do with the dragons coming back.”

     “The what -” 

     Bishop’s question was cut off by Rose yanking him backwards behind a rock. She held a finger to her lips and jerked her head towards the crumbling tower ahead of them. Peering through the snow flurries, Bishop saw what had alerted her - a trio of bandits lingered outside of the ruin. He spotted two archers and a mace-wielding orc but was unsure if there were more inside. The ranger knocked a steel-tipped arrow and drew back his bow as Rose slowly crept forward, using the incoming blizzard as cover. He clocked the swirl of green magic writhing in both palms as he loosed his arrow into the first archer’s eye socket. A moment later, a spew of bubbling green liquid enveloped the second archer and splashed onto the orc. The orc screamed in agony as his flesh melted from the bones of his arm. There was nothing left of the second archer.

     The orc flew into a rage and roared in fury, charging straight for Bishop. The ranger unsheathed his dagger and prepared to dodge the incoming three-hundred pound berserker. Suddenly the orc seized, dropping to the ground as snakes of blue and white lightning charred his body to dust. Rose stood behind where he had been with her palm outstretched. Bishop felt his stomach clench at the sight, and for the first time since he laid eyes on her, she didn’t seem so helpless. He frowned. He could defend himself from arrow and blade, but magic? Lightning beats dagger, especially at her caliber. We have a common goal, Bishop reminded himself. She doesn’t seem like the type to backstab… wish I could say the same for myself. 

     “Hell of a spell there, Ladyship,” Bishop remarked. “Never seen anything like that first one.”

     Rose shrugged, tugging the hood of her cloak down against the wind. “Viperbolt. Poison. Old magic, fell out of favor after the Red Year.”

     “Oh yeah?” He said. “How’d you learn it, then?”

     Rose gave him a wide grin, revealing ever-so-slightly pointed canines. For a moment, she looked wild. Bishop could have sworn her eyes weren’t normal, either.

     “It helps to have a teacher who was there when it was made.”

Chapter Text

     Bleak Falls Barrow lived up to its name - it was a truly bleak ruin atop a snowy mountainside, and the landscape was gray enough to remind Rosiah of the ash wastes back home. The duo slipped up the ruined stairs outside of the barrow, sticking to the shadows to silence the guards posted out front. While stealth was unimportant to her, she could appreciate Bishop’s knack for silently scuttling about the snowbanks, sniping several bandits before they ever knew they were in danger. 

     About four hours later, the duo made their way into the final chamber of the ruin. Rose had found an ornate golden artifact in the shape of a dragon’s claw on a bandit’s corpse. When they came to a seemingly unopenable door dotted with stone carvings of owls, bears, and moths, it only took her a moment to flip the claw over and find the matching carvings on the bottom of what she now realized was the key to the ancient puzzle lock. She moved the rings until they lined up correctly - bear, moth, owl. The cavern rumbled as the door slowly sank into the floor. Bishop decided to ignore his curiosity about the engineering skills of the ancient Nords and pressed on. 

     At the end of the chamber stood an enormous wall of curved stone that had been worn down over time. There were strange carvings, patterns of dots and slashes that almost looked like a lost language. A large black sarcophagus rested off to the side next to a big chest. Bishop circled the wall and discovered a smaller chest off to the side before coming to a stop beside Rose. 

     The redhead stood in front of the wall, seemingly entranced. She took a step forward. White tendrils of pure magicka began to seep out of one of the clusters of carvings and made their way towards her. Rose took another step. The tendrils grew, hungrily reaching for her, and she could have sworn she heard a faint chanting. She felt a tugging in her abdomen pulling her closer to the wall until she was directly in front of it. Rose reached up to rest her palm against the glowing carving - word? It feels like a word. Why does it feel familiar?

     The magic had fully surrounded her and she felt a rush of wind. The chanting grew louder and louder until she felt her whole body relax. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

     “ Force ,” Rose whispered. 

     Before Bishop had a chance to ask what she meant, the lid of the black sarcophagus exploded off and clanged to a halt halfway across the cavern. A massive draugr now towered over them, its frostbitten battleaxe bearing down on their heads. Bishop quickly sank his dagger into its chest and it dropped to one knee. Rose launched what seemed to be a bolt of pure sunlight at the undead ancient Nord, making Bishop have to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. The eerie blue light faded from the creature’s eyes as it stilled.

     “Well,” Rose sighed. “I hope the damn rock is here after all of that.”

     Bishop nodded in agreement, studying a gash in his leather armor. “Couldn’t agree more, Ladyship. What happened with the wall?”

     “I honestly don’t know. It was odd, like I could almost read what it said. Like for a moment, I was seeing through different eyes.” Rose frowned. “I really don’t want to have to ask Farengar about it. That fetcher wouldn’t know a chicken from a kwama.”

     Bishop mentally added that to the list of questions he was gathering to ask her - where the hell was she from? She said she was a Breton, but she looked much more elven than other Bretons and frequently used what he recognized as Dunmeri slang when she spoke. He had also heard her mumble in another more guttural and wild-sounding language. He was sure he had overheard her say something like “ go hlfreann leat ” to a bandit as she lobbed her spells at him. He decided that as soon as they made it out of the barrow, he would press her for answers.

     Rose managed to find what she assumed was the Dragonstone in the black sarcophagus. It was square once, but now a large chunk of one corner was broken and worn down. Gilded lines ran throughout its smooth surface. If she squinted, Rose could almost see a map. Shrugging, she stowed it in her knapsack and started for the stairs.

     Outside, the sun had just begun its descent across the sky, leading morning into early afternoon. They emerged from a hole in the cliff face. From their vantage, they could see clear across Lake Ilinalta and into Falkreath proper. The two of them carefully picked their way down to the ground and started towards the road. As they walked, Bishop began his micro-interrogation.

     “So, Ladyship, got a question for you,” he started. Rose raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. “Where are you from? Because I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

     The fair-skinned woman laughed. “I can imagine it might be confusing. I came to Skyrim from Solstheim three years ago to study with an associate at the College of Winterhold.”

     “Solstheim? Huh,” Bishop mused. “Were you born there?”

     “Mm, nope,” she sighed. “I’m not sure why you want your business partner’s life story, but if you’re worried about the magic, I assure you I’m well-trained. I studied under Master Neloth for close to seventeen years. The man has all but mastered every school of magic. He’s had the last five-hundred and twenty-seven years to do it.”

     Bishop’s eyebrows shot up and he nearly tripped on a loose stone along the road. That would explain why she sounds like a noble sometimes. An old Master Wizard like that has to be some level of stuck-up. “No shit? Must be interesting to learn from someone who was there for no less than five world-altering events.”

     “Oh, much more than five,” Rose chuckled, thinking of her crotchety old mentor and his many rants about Jagar Tharn and the Tribunal. “Interesting is a good word to describe him. Any other fun facts you’d like to know about me?”

     “You’re not just a Breton, are you?”

     “Correct again, ma stór . My grandfather was a Bosmer. Grandmother was a Breton. I inherited his magicka reserves and a few physical features.” Rose gestured to her pointed ears, noticeably sharper than average canines, and slightly angled eyes. Bishop noticed that her irises had deep green streaks around her pupils, making them look almost like stars. He remembered his encounter with one of the nomadic Bosmeri tribes down in Valenwood, the ones who still followed the Green Pact and utilized their sharper teeth in their purely carnivorous diet. That settled that. Bishop nodded his head and moved to continue their journey. Rose cleared her throat. 

     “I’m sorry, I thought this was a two-way information exchange,” Rose declared, her foreign brogue tugging on her eh ’s. Bishop chuckled dryly. 

     “I’ve been from High Rock to Hammerfell. Born in Skyrim, but the family wandered around. Did more of my own wandering when I became a ranger. Satisfied, Princess?”

     “Hmm,” she mused. “Satisfied. For now.”

     “Good. Let’s go take that stupid rock to Farengar so we can go find my damn wolf.”

†———————†

     Farengar wasn’t even the tiniest bit appreciative upon receiving the Dragonstone. Instead, he immediately turned to his hooded companion and began waxing poetic about the significance of the stone. The hooded figure clad in plain leather armor seemed oddly familiar. Rose didn’t have a chance to think any harder on it, because the jarl’s housecarl came jogging up to them as a guard went sprinting up the stairs to the war table. 

     “Farengar!” The Dunmer woman called. “Farengar! You need to come at once - a dragon’s been sighted nearby.”

     Irileth then turned to Rose, briefly glancing at Bishop before returning her focus to the Breton. “Master Telvanni, you should come too.”

     Rose grimaced. Irileth must have had someone gather intelligence on her over the two days she had been gone. She noticed no animosity in the other woman’s expression. Not House Hlaalu, then. Rose noticed Farengar’s jaw slightly agape as he appeared to be seeing her for the first time. Bishop smirked. He hadn't encountered the poncy mage many times, but every interaction had left him with a low-simmering rage. It was satisfying to see him put in his place.

     “Let’s move, then,” Rose sighed. She and Bishop followed behind the other two. Farengar was noticeably nervous.

     The jarl’s war room was more like an open-concept office in the middle of the second floor foyer. Jarl Balgruuf leaned over a sturdy wooden table, tapping his finger against a map. He moved from behind the desk to stand in front of the newly-formed group. Bishop noticed the jarl’s eyes scanning across the impromptu council. He addressed the guard whose chest was still heaving for air.

     “So, Irileth tells me you came from the Western Watchtower?”

     “Um, that’s right,” the yellow-clad guard stammered. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast - faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”

     “What was it doing? Was it attacking the watchtower?”

     “No, m’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.”

     “Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

     "I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate,” Irileth confirmed. Her red eyes affixed themselves on Rose and the ranger, expression unreadable. “If I may, Jarl, I would ask that the stone-bearer and her… companion accompany my unit. We could use the assistance of a Master Wizard.”

     “Just Wizard, sera. I have a little more to master before I earn that title,” Rose corrected gently. She turned to Farengar with a smile that did not reach her eyes and bowed her head, both of her fists held evenly together at the knuckles. “Apologies, Wizard Secret-Fire, for not introducing myself sooner. Wizard Rosiah Windsong of Tel Mithryn, at your service.”

     Irileth spoke overtop of Farengar as he struggled to word his reply. “My Jarl, any objections?”

     Jarl Balgruuf gave the nod and the three of them made their way down the many sets of stairs towards the grand stronghold doors. There was a flat silence over the small group. Bishop noticed tension between the two women - where Irileth seemed more curious than aggressive, Rose’s body language was that of a guilty hound. Finally, Irileth broke the ice as they passed the Gildergreen tree in the Wind District square.

     “How fares Raven Rock?” 

     “All is well, last I heard,” Rose replied smoothly. Bishop noticed her air of nobility grow stronger. “Councilor Morvayn still holds his position, partially thanks to Second Councilor Arano. The mine is productive again.”

     “That is good news. Ancestors willing, it will continue to stay out of this dragon mess.”

     Bishop and Rosiah stood to the side while Irileth addressed her squadron. He leaned against one of the posts holding up the awning over the smithy Warmaiden’s and angled his head down to speak quietly into the redheaded mage’s ear. 

     “Telvanni, huh? As in, one of the Great Houses of Morrowind? That explains a lot.”

     “I told you that I studied under Master Neloth. I simply neglected to mention that he was a Master Wizard of a major House. If you’ve got a problem with it, find a new partner,” Rose shrugged. “That’s your prerogative. I just want to go home and go back to my research.”

     “Wow, Ladyship. Harsh,” Bishop laughed quietly. “I meant your wide array of Third Era spells, and the way you talk like you grew up in Vvardenfell. We’ll handle this dragon, go get Karnwyr, you can go back to your little magic books or whatever, and I move on. Deal?”

     Rose considered it for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

     They shook on it, then joined the unit of guards in pursuit of a dragon.

Chapter Text

     There was something unnervingly familiar about the dragon that was rapidly approaching their position at the ruined watchtower. The beast was greenish-gray, its enormous head covered in boney spikes. Rose could see a hole or two in its wings as it got closer. The group of fighters braced themselves for impact. Rose sheltered herself in the doorway of the ruined tower while Bishop had taken position on the roof to give his arrows better vantage against the flying monstrosity. The dragon swooped down, a guard narrowly avoiding its claws. It came to a halt in front of Rose, wings beating, and seemed to be studying her.

     “Krif voth akriin, Dovahkiin. Zu’u fen koraav hin dinok,” the dragon growled in a deep, guttural language that Rose’s blood recognized in a way that her mind did not.

     The assault began. Bishop and a pair of guards launched volleys of arrows, aiming for assumed weak points such as the wings. Irileth and Rose combined their magic. The Dunmer kept a constant stream of electricity aimed at the beast when it came within range, while the Breton launched powerful shockballs. After what felt like ages, the dragon finally became too weak to remain airborne. Bishop watched its death unfold from his perch at the top of the tower.

     An ancient and evil-looking blade appeared in his partner’s hand. She ran towards the creature, deftly avoiding fallen debris. Bishop’s gut clenched as she grabbed hold of one of the bony spikes on the dragon’s head and hauled herself on top of its skull. Rose drove her blade into the dragon’s neck with a feral war cry. Bishop let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Once the dragon went limp, he made his way down the stairs to join the crowd gathering around the dragon’s corpse.

     The moment he rounded the doorway into the open field, a bright light surrounded his companion. It was similar to the way the carved wall in Bleak Falls Barrow had reacted to Rose’s touch but seemed much stronger. The greedy tendrils of light rushed into and through the woman, and seemed to lift her slightly off the ground. It was over as soon as it began. He pushed his way through the throng of guards to find Rose still holding dazedly onto the dragon’s skull. Her eyes had glazed over, and she muttered to herself.

     “Mirmulnir,” Rose murmured. “Wo kriaan wo?”

     “Hey, Ladyship. Snap out of it,” Bishop demanded. He snapped his fingers in front of her face a few times. “Damnit woman, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

     blinked at him. She shook her head. “Sorry. That was… disorienting. Is it dead?”

     “See for yourself.”

     Sure enough, the dragon’s flesh had melted away and only its bones remained. She let go of the spike she had been holding onto. Her hands shook, and at the same time, she had never felt more powerful. She closed her eyes to clear her mind and missed the way Bishop subconsciously angled himself between her and the Whiterun guard running up to them. 

     “I can’t believe it. You’re… Dragonborn ,” he gasped reverently. 

     “W-What?” Rose stammered, confused, as her eyes fluttered open again. “No. You’re wrong. It’s been over two hundred years since anyone had the Dragon Blood, and six hundred since the Voice was used.”

     Please be wrong, Rose prayed silently.

     “Dragonborn? What are you talking about?” Another guard asked.

     “Like old Tiber Septim himself! The old tales tell of a Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one!”

     “Tiber Septim never killed a dragon!” Rose argued. The guard shook his head.

     “There’s only one way to find out. Try to Shout.”

     Bishop rolled his eyes. “Oh, what, she’s supposed to yell really loud and suddenly she’s a legendary hero? Ha! Hear that, Ladyship?”

     Rose was busy with her own thoughts. She remembered the pull of the wall in the barrow, the same icy clawing sensation as when the dragon’s soul rushed through her. The carved word that called out to her - it read as ‘force,’ but looking back now, it was also something else. Rose felt a pressure build in her chest as the word rolled off her lips.

     “Hey, Ladyship. I’m talking to yo-“

     “ Fus!”

     The pressure exploded outwards as Rose Shouted. It caught Bishop in the chest and he staggered backwards. One of the guards dropped his shield in surprise. Rose blinked. She and Bishop locked eyes.

     “...Oops?”

     Before anyone could speak, Irileth intervened. “Enough. Kena Windsong and the ranger will report back to Jarl Balgruuf. The rest of you will stay with me and help with damage control. If I hear so much as one of you slacking off and talking about this Dragonborn business, Commander Caius will be advised that you need extra drills to fill your ‘empty’ schedules.”

     The guards echoed a begrudging chorus of “yes, ma’am’s” and turned their attention to the ruined tower. Irileth sighed. She nodded in farewell to the two humans and joined the guards. Bishop and Rose exchanged glances and shrugged. They started back on the path towards Whiterun and maintained a slightly less-than-comfortable silence between them.

†———————†

     “What the hell just happened?” Rose asked, bewildered, as she and Bishop left Dragonsreach. The ranger chuckled dryly.

     “Well, Princess, looks like you’re nobility now,” he goaded. It didn’t sound as humorous as he’d meant it to. “You too important to hold up your end of the bargain?”

     “Oh please, don’t be childish. Of course I’m not,” Rose rolled her eyes. “However, it’s too late in the evening to head for Eastmarch now. I vote we go to the inn instead. We can leave before daybreak.” 

     “You’re bossy.”

     “You’re insufferable, now let’s go.”

     Rose started walking, not bothering to see if Bishop was following along. She made for the Bannered Mare, appreciating the way the sunlight danced through the branches of the Gildergreen. Dusk at the market was both lively and tame; the absence of customers left the shopkeepers packing up their stalls and chattering to each other. Rose quickly flitted up the small set of stone stairs and through the inn’s double doors. A jolly scene greeted her. At one table in the corner sat four of the Companions, drinking and regaling in the day’s hunt. The bard, Mikael, strummed a lighthearted tune by the firepit while a couple danced nearby. The innkeep approached with a smile. 

     “How can I help you?”

     “We need two rooms. Is the bath house available?” Came Bishop’s voice from behind her.

     “I only have one room available-” the man started to say, but was cut off by a pretty tavern maid. The woman pushed her way toward Bishop and rested her hand on his chest. Rose raised an eyebrow.

     “You can stay with me tonight,” she purred. Bishop gave her a disgusted glance and plucked her hand away from him.

     “You are depressingly unable to take ‘no’ for an answer, Neeshka,” the ranger growled. “Innkeep, are there no other options?”

     “W-well, there’s a small storage area in the bathing room that has a bed in it. Locks up tight.”

     “We’ll take it, with a discount for the inconvenience. How about that bath?” Bishop asked. Neeshka glanced over at Rose and scowled.

     “ I can wash your back for you,” Neeshka stated proudly. Rose snorted. She tried to hide a smirk at the sight of Bishop’s annoyed expression. 

     While Bishop failed to deter the other woman, Rose fished payment out of her satchel and handed it to the innkeeper. He nodded and led the two of them to their rooms, Neeshka still trailing behind. Rose felt her patience with the maid wearing thin. A sly smile spread across her face as she discreetly wove an illusion spell with her fingertips where they rested at her side. Magic flowed from her core, down her arm, and out in a nearly imperceptible flash. A moment later, Neeshka was batting at her ears as if a buzzing fly were circling her. She dismissed herself as the sound grew louder, grumbling about the summer weather bringing in pests. Bishop sent a curious look to Rose, who gave him an innocent smile and a wink.

     The party climbed the steps to the second-level rooms and stopped in front of an ornate wooden door. The innkeeper dismissed himself after handing them the keys. Bishop and Rose stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind them. Exhaustion hit Rose like a rockfall, and she dropped heavily onto the bed. She didn’t even bother unlacing her boots. Bishop sat a ways away in a small woven yellow chair. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

     “Doing okay over there, Ladyship?” 

     “What the hell even was today?” She groaned. Rose listed the day’s bullshit events on her fingers one by one, remembering the way the earth shook beneath her feet as they reentered Whiterun.      “Souls, dragons, and Greybeards. I'm Thane of Whiterun. I’m apparently a Nordic legend. I’m- I need a drink.”

     “...I’ll take that to mean you’re not okay, then,” Bishop replied, arching an eyebrow. 

     “What an astute observation. Bishop, what do you know of the dragons?”

     “Uh, not much, I guess? I know they all died a long time ago, and that the ancient Nords used to worship them.”

     “Exactly. They all died a long time ago. Mirmulnir back there didn’t look very dead to me.”

     “Mirmulnir?”

     “The dragon,” Rose explained. She ran her hands over her face. “When I absorbed its… soul… it was like I recognized it. Something in me remembered the dragon. And all of a sudden the things he had said before the attack made sense. ‘Fight bravely, Dovahkiin. I will see your death.’ Arrogant bastard. But… he called me Dragonborn. B’vehk. I do not want to climb seven thousand steps up a frigid, desolate, gods-forsaken mountain to talk to some stuffy old men.”

     Bishop sighed. He hated to admit it, but he was interested in how it would all play out. Besides, he could do worse for company. “Well, no use in losing your mind over it before you know what it means. Come on, let’s eat and try to rest. We’ll go get my wolf, and then we’ll see what the Greybeards want from you.”

     “We?” she asked as she sat up.

     “Never know what’s hiding up on that mountain of theirs. Might need somebody to watch your back.” Bishop’s flirtatious smirk and hooded gaze may have worked on others, but Rosiah met his gaze.

     “So you like to watch, is that it?”

     “Wha- Hmph,” Bishop snorted. He refused to acknowledge the effect the remark had on him. Recovering quickly, he quipped back. “All you have to do is ask nicely, Ladyship. Now come on, go take your bath and I’ll find us something to eat. It’s a long walk to Eastmarch in the morning.”

     He flashed the redhead a smirk and hauled himself to his feet. He clapped her on the shoulder as he passed by where she sat on the bed. Gold eyes met green in a heavy glance, a new hunger smoldering. Bishop sauntered through the door, and Rosiah watched him go. The tense moment was broken by the ranger’s voice cursing under his breath as he stumbled on the stairs. Chuckling to herself, Rose made her way - carefully - down the stairs in pursuit of a drink and the sweet relief of hot water on sore muscles.

Chapter Text

     “Remind me again why we decided to go through the Jeralls instead of following the White Road?” Bishop complained from ahead. Rose rolled her eyes and pulled her cloak tighter about her. The sun was slipping behind the horizon as they neared the ruins of Helgen, and a snowstorm threatened. 

     “To avoid paying for a room in Ivarstead while also resupplying for free at a safe location, ahuv ,” she replied. “It’s not much farther. Head left up here.”

     Rosiah’s cabin stood overlooking the valley where Helgen once stood. Flanked on one side by the Throat of the World, the sturdy wooden structure was also home to a small garden, apiary, and single-stalled stable that housed a wild-looking red roan stallion. The beast caught wind of her and darted forward, skidding to a halt in front of his rider. The horse wrapped his massive neck around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. Rose laughed and hugged her arms around his neck.

     “I missed you too, Spíosra,” she smiled. Bishop snorted as the stallion began to snuffle at her braid, tugging on it softly.

     “Didn’t take you for a Druid, Ladyship.”

     “I acknowledge Green-King Y’ffre, but no, I do not worship him. I’m surprised you know of the Druids, honestly - no offense.”

     “None taken, I think. I explored the Reach as a kid. The rocky canyons taught me to always check my footing. Every now and then we’d cross paths with some of the nomads and swap stories,” Bishop explained. A sly smile spread across his lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Princess.”

     “Nor do I want to, at the moment. Come on, let’s get inside. I’d like to actually sleep on my own bed tonight, since I don’t know when I’ll see it again.”

     Bishop watched curiously as Rosiah wove a complex spell in front of the door. The faded yellow paint glimmered with magical energy before an audible chime sounded and the door fluttered open without assistance. The interior of the cottage was clad in a cacophony of Dunmer decorations and Nordic architecture, with Ashland lanterns hanging from ceiling beams and carefully curated pots of herbs in ashen soil lined against the windows for optimal sunlight. It felt much larger on the inside than it seemed on the outside. An alchemy setup and kitchen took up half of the space, and a plant-strewn living area made up the other half. He spotted an intricate glass water pipe on a low table encircled by cushions and raised an eyebrow at his partner. She smiled innocently at him, and he rolled his eyes. 

     Rose headed for a ladder off to the side, and Bishop finally noticed a loft area above the kitchen. The redhead quickly ascended the ladder and disappeared behind the curtains haphazardly hung from the ceiling. 

     “I’ll be there in a moment! Make yourself comfortable,” she called down.

     The ranger shrugged and set his pack down in the living area. He looked around for kindling and logs to fill the hearth, but found none. Mages had no need for fire-starting tools when they could conjure flames in a heart’s breath, he supposed. Suddenly, in the safety of her home, his armor felt unbelievably heavy. He shrugged off his cuirass and was in the process of changing his trousers when Rose poked her head through the curtains. 

     “...Oh. You took that literally. Apologies,” she muttered, ducking back behind the curtains. Bishop swore quietly and quickly yanked his linen trousers up and tied them securely around his hips, holding his undershirt between his teeth. 

     “All clear, Ladyship,” Bishop chuckled. Rose reappeared and made her way down the ladder. “Sorry about that.”

     “Not my first time seeing a man in his skivvies,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “There’s a bathing chamber through the door on the left, if you’d like to use it while I start supper.”

     The ranger nodded and disappeared through the door that connected the bathing room to the living area. Rose sighed contentedly. She was finally back in her space. She heard the tub faucet squeak and the rush of water through the pipes that attached to the rainwater tower out back. To anyone not as attuned to magicka as she was, the house was silent. To her, there was a constant, low thrum of energy. She conjured a lute, guarskin drum, and reed flute, and commanded them to play an upbeat, bouncy tune . Rose flicked a flame into the kitchen fireplace, then ran a small pot under the sink faucet then hung it over the fire. She took a moment to appreciate everything Master Neloth taught her about Nchardak, the Dwemer city that relied on a system of various pipes to move water from room to room. With his teachings, several Dwemer scraps, and a lot of self-engineering, she had managed to rig her cottage with a decent plumbing system. While she waited for the pot to boil, she set about peeling a handful of potatoes.

     The monotony of making a meal had lulled Rose into a minor trance. Bishop had finished his bath and leaned against the doorway to the living area. He was content to watch her putter around the kitchen. She remained in her thick leather leggings and flowing green tunic, but had removed her boots. He noticed the way the setting sun lit up her hair like a fiery, frizzy halo. The smell of seared meat wafted to his nose, and his stomach growled. He was about to speak, but hesitated when his ears picked up the faint sound of her singing to herself as she cooked. The guarskin drum changed to a repetitive thump, tha-thump.

     “ Blue as the wings of a heron in the night, like the rising of the tides on the shores of Isle Skye, ” Rosiah quietly sang. Her voice was a well-ranged alto, warm like spiced wine and as piercing as a hawk’s cry. “ They gleam evergreen, winds a-whistling in the pines, like a castle-crawling vine, like the grass of Faolan’s Ire. ”

     The mage flipped the meat she was searing on the bent-wire rack and turned to the now-finished pot of boiled potatoes. She drained the water, sprinkled in some salt from the saltwell, and a heaping spoonful of what appeared to be fresh butter. She carefully smashed everything together in the pot with a wooden spoon, then set it aside and returned to the fire.

     “ And rich as the mud after rain upon the ground, they're a whiskey hue of brown, braided river running wild .”

     Rosiah removed the hunks of meat from the rack and divided them between two plates. She dolloped the mashed potatoes onto each plate. Bishop’s stomach growled so loudly he expected her to comment on it, but she still had not noticed him. She returned the butter to the cold-store next to the counter.

     “ I fell astray, but in you, I have found that I am ever bound to your hazel eyes…, ” Rosiah trailed off as she moved across the room to set both plates on top of the small table in the corner. She turned back around and locked eyes with the Nord man who still leaned against her doorway. The faintest hint of a scarlet blush crept to her cheeks and she quickly dispelled the conjured music. “Oh, hello. Supper’s ready, if you’d like.”

†———————†

     With both of them having cleaned their bodies and filled their bellies, the pair of adventurers were winding down for the night. Rosiah helped Bishop to create a makeshift bed out of several of her overstuffed floor cushions. The two of them sat across from each other, listening to the ambient crackling of the fireplace. Rose had positioned herself on top of a cushion with her legs folded in a way that reminded Bishop of a small, twisty pastry he’d seen in a Skingrad bakery as a boy. She reached over to the small side table and pulled the intricate water pipe over to her, then fished a sachet of dried leaves out of her pocket. She packed the small bowl with the herbs and lit it with a flaming fingertip. Rose waited a moment for it to heat before she took a long drag from the steel-tipped leather hose attached to the ornate basin at the bottom.

     Her eyes closed as a mellow feeling washed over her. The shisha she smoked was her old friend’s recipe, a relic of the Third Era. A mixture of dried tobacco from the farms of Narsis on the Mainland, wormwood from the Colovian Forests of northern Cyrodiil, and a smidge of hackle-lo leaves ground together to create a smokeable miasma of calm restoration. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bishop staring her down. She gestured to the pipe, inviting him to join her.

     “Skooma?” He questioned with heavy suspicion. She shook her head.

     “No. A Redoran specialty. Does wonders for the road-weary traveler.”

     “Well, if you’re so inclined to share, I won’t say no,” he grinned. He took a long pull from the hose. Rose watched with a raised eyebrow as he promptly hacked his lungs out. After his coughing fit, he choked out, “What in Oblivion is in that?!”

     “Nothing scary, I promise,” Rose laughed. “A friend of mine taught me his blend in exchange for a favor. Shisha kicks like a kagouti if you’re not used to it. There should be a case of ale in the cold-store if you need something to wash it down.”

     After retrieving his drink, Bishop settled back onto the cushions and eyed the pipe cautiously as she took another drag. He watched as she wagged her fingers and the smoke she exhaled took the form of a bird flying through the room. 

     “So, Ladyship, what’s the plan?”

     “The plan, my dear pup, is to journey through the Rift until we reach Cragslane Cavern. We’ll make it there by midafternoon if we take Spíosra. I do hope you know how to ride, ranger,” Rose replied with a mischievous grin. 

     “ ‘Hope you know how to ride,’ she says,” Bishop grumbled as he took a sip of his ale. “Great way to say that my ass will be sore for days. That horse looks almost feral. Where did you even find him?”

     “He’s not wild, he’s just… energetic. I found him in the Rift last Midyear when he was still a yearling. Some bandits were trying to round him up. I don’t know if they were going to break him or use him as food for their pit wolves, but either way, I wasn’t going to let them hurt him. I raised him, trained him, and he’s been with me ever since.”

     “What sort of name is Speers-reh, anyway?”

     “Ah, it means ‘spice cake.’ He’s the color of one, and his personality is certainly as sharp as winterspice, so I thought it fit.”

     Silence blanketed the pair for a moment before Rose broke it again. “Tell me about Karnwyr.”

     “Why do you want to know?” Bishop asked, side-eyeing her as he took a much smaller hit from the pipe. He could admit that he felt rejuvenated now that he wasn’t choking to death on the vapors.

     “You’re going through quite a lot to get him back. Beastie or not, he’s important to you,” Rose replied. 

     “If you must know, Ladyship, I found Karnwyr when he was just a cub barely old enough to be away from his mother. I was on a job clearing out a pit fighting den. He was shoved away in a tiny cage. He was so small and hungry. I couldn’t leave him to die. So, I took him with me.”

     “That’s why you expect him to be in the pit again,” she finished his thought. Bishop glowered at the floor and took another swig of his ale.

     “Yeah. That wolf and I have been together since I was seventeen. Nobody on Nirn knows me like he does. Even if he’s…” Bishop trailed off. The unspoken ‘dead’ hung in the air. He shook his head. “I owe it to him.”

     Having finished off the shisha, she set the pipe aside and rose to her feet. Rose rummaged through a basket off to the side of the fireplace and tossed Bishop a woven green blanket. It landed with a whumph on his chest. She headed for the ladder again and called over her shoulder, “Well, then we’d better get some sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us, and Karnwyr is going to need us at our best. I want to be off at first light.”

     Bishop sighed. “As soon as we get him back, I’m going to sleep for at least a full day and so help me Gods if you wake me, I’m going to overwater your ash yams until they die.”

     “Bishop!” Rosiah fake-gasped. “That is the worst thing you could ever say to me.”

     “Good, now go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

     “Hmph. As you wish. Good night, cúl tóna.”

     “Good night, Princess.”

Chapter Text

            The cold light of a mountain morning broke over the horizon, slowly waking up the world around it. The birds nesting in the stable’s rafters began to flutter about as the hulking stallion inside sleepily munched on a bucket of sweet feed. Inside the small cabin, Rosiah and Bishop were already awake and hustled to gather their things. Rose had repacked her road supplies the night before, opting for a larger pack filled with medicines, rations, and her heavier spare traveling clothes. She made a mental note to research a more magical solution to her storage woes. 

            “So, what’s the plan, Ladyship?” Bishop called from the kitchen. He had a soft honey-buttered hunk of bread hanging from his mouth as he purveyed Rosiah’s potion stock. He carefully stuffed a bushel of health potions, a few stamina potions, and a small vial labeled In Case of Emergency that he assumed was important into his rucksack.

            “That slightly depends on you. Are you comfortable riding with me until we can acquire a horse for you? Spíosra is strong enough to bear the both of us as well as our equipment without much issue.”

            “Not surprised. That horse looks like it could take on Ulfric’s army by itself. I hate to say it, but riding will get us to Karnwyr faster. Looks like we’re going to get pretty well acquainted on this trip, eh Princess?” Bishop replied with wriggling eyebrows. Rosiah shot the tiniest spark spell from her fingertip, grinning when Bishop yelped and rubbed his shoulder where the electricity had stung his skin through his leather jerkin. “Fine then, have it your way.”

            “Oh, I plan to,” Rose laughed. “I’ll go get him ready, then. And grab some extra provisions too. I have a hunk of dried salmon somewhere that Karnwyr would love. I’m sure he’s in need of a good meal.”

            The casual consideration of his wolf’s empty stomach caught Bishop off guard. He was expecting her to think of the job as just that - a job, without attachment or care. Instead, she considered Karnwyr as the living being he was. It was… nice? After a moment’s rummaging, he found a parcel of preserved fish and tucked it away into his pack.

            Outside, Rose had saddled Spíosra with a beautifully crafted set of tack. The dark leather bridle was ornamented across the noseband with mushroom motifs of gently worn gold stitching. The deep purple saddle blanket was a repurposed Telvanni banner that had been quilted and edged in gold. The ungodly large beast was snuffling hunks of ash yam out of Rosiah’s hand as she fiddled with the straps on the stirrups. It was clear to Bishop that the bond between horse and rider was as strong as the bond between himself and his wolf. He could respect that.

            It didn’t take long to affix their supplies to the saddle, and after one last inventory check, the mage indicated for the ranger to mount first. Spíosra fidgeted slightly at the weight of an unfamiliar rider in his back, but quickly quieted when Rosiah settled into the front of the saddle. The mountain dawn was resplendent, with ribbons of gold and crimson rippling behind the rising sun. It was cold enough that they could see their breath in front of them. The dirt pathway stretched on under the red stallion’s hooves as they made their way down to rejoin the rough-cobbled mountain road. 

           True to what he’d said the night before, Bishop’s ass was already sore by the time they arrived at Helgen’s ruined gates fifteen minutes later. Faint plumes of smoke still trailed from the wreckage. The sight of the once-bustling town cast a somber air over the pair. Bishop felt Rosiah’s shoulders slump slightly against him as she drew her horse to a halt. 

            “Everything alright, Ladyship?” He asked.

            “This is where it started,” Rose sighed. “I’ve seen a lot in my travels. Liches, Psijics, Dwarven legends. A humble Altmer. But never a dragon before then. And never such accidental destruction.”

            “Accidental?”

            “Look around you - had you not known about dragons, what would you expect to be responsible for this?” Rose gestured to the crumbling city wall and decimated buildings within. “An invading army with trebuchets and battlemages? An angry pack of giants with a gift for fire magic?”

            “Something like that,” Bishop nodded. Giants were a stretch, but he knew the point she was trying to make.

            “Dragons generally don’t revel in destroying their surroundings, they just can’t help it. Whatever that black dragon was after, it wasn’t trying to wipe out the town. It wanted something. I think… I think it wanted me ,” She shuddered. She gave Spiosra’s reins a gentle whap and urged her mount forward towards Haemar’s Pass. “No use lingering here. Karnwyr needs us.”

            The ranger didn’t object. He could sense her unease as the weight of what her Dragonborn status meant began to settle over her. It couldn’t be easy, suddenly becoming a prophetic hero with only one dead dragon under her belt. She was a mage though. She should be excited about the gain of new semi-magical power. Shouldn’t she? Whatever she felt, it wasn’t really his problem.

†———————†

            The moon was rising as they passed Darkwater Crossing and made their way through the sulfurous flats at the base of the Velothi Mountains. They had kept a steady pace, not quite a gallop, but quick enough to confidently blow through Ivarstead. They had taken their lunch atop their horse to cut down on travel time, with Bishop distributing the food while Rosiah kept their path eastwards. After another half hour of riding, they arrived at a small clearing in the mountain’s foothills. Rose left her horse untethered; the stallion was more than capable of fending off thieves and predators.

            The mage and the ranger crept slowly uphill towards where Rose knew the shadowed opening of Cragslane Cavern to be. The cloud-covered moon lent them extra coverage against being spotted by the lone guard sitting next to a campfire, who Bishop quickly dispatched with an arrow. The guard’s fruitless gurgles for breath alerted the two caged wolves next to the cave entrance and a chorus of growls ensued. Rose quickly snatched two hunks of meat that had been roasting by the fire and tossed one to each starved beast, silencing the alarm. 

            Inside the entrance was a single bouncer who was also swiftly eliminated by Bishop’s arrows. The archer took point, keeping an arrow nocked at all times. By some fortune of fate, Bishop spotted a cage with a familiar red wolf just inside the next room and rushed to free his best friend. Karnwyr was wary at first, then elated. High-pitched mewls of happiness mingled with Bishop’s frustrated growls as he failed to pick the lock. Rosiah shot a blast of cold at the lock until the metal was brittle enough to snap off with a single blow, which Bishop was happy to provide.

            The cage door exploded open. The wolf had pounced on his human, covering Bishop’s face with nibbles and grateful licks. For a moment, all Rose saw was a young boy and his faithful hound. It was the first time in the two weeks she’d known him that he looked truly happy. 

          “There you are, you mangy mutt!” Bishop laughed into Karnwyr’s scruff. “What were you thinking, getting trapped like that and making me track you to a place like this?”

          “As I recall, I’m the one who brought us here,” Rose chided. Before Bishop could respond, Karnwyr whirled around to face her. 

          “Karnwyr no, she’s a—” 

            Too late. 

            In a flash, Karnwyr had tackled Rosiah to the ground. Bishop winced. He definitely did not have enough septims in reserve to buy a diplomatic mage’s forgiveness. He didn't need to worry, though. After a moment, he realized that Rosiah was laughing instead of screaming. His wolf was greeting her much in the same way he did to his master, which was odd. Karnwyr was never one for strangers. Bishop studied the pair for a moment.

            Rosiah had propped herself up on an elbow and ruffled the space between Karnwyr’s black-tipped ears. Her wolfish grin matched his wolven smile, eyes twinkling the same wild gleam. Karnwyr worried at Rosiah’s sleeve with his teeth when she stopped scratching him.

            “What handsome company you keep, ranger,” Rosiah remarked as she rose to her feet and dusted herself off. “He’s far too civilized for this place. So, Bishop, what are we doing first - dinner, or revenge?”

            “Oh, revenge. Definitely revenge,” Bishop smirked. “What do you say, boy? I’ll take out the bastards’ knees, and you can rip their faces off!”

            Karnwyr barked happily as Bishop unshouldered his bow and nocked an arrow. The ranger crept down the tunnel, peeking around the corner to assess the situation. A throng of drunken gamblers surrounded a circle of shabby wooden fencing that contained two feral wolves actively tearing each other apart as the crowd watched. Towards the back was a bar being tended to by a mean-looking orc with a warpick on his hip. A few more patrons were seated on overturned crates on the other side of the bar. Rose tapped Bishop on the shoulder.

            “Stealth or surprise?” She whispered. Bishop thought about it for a second. On one hand, stealth would let them take out a few extra bandits before the whole cavern became aware of their presence. On the other hand, these lowlives had stolen his best friend. He grinned.

            “Fuck ‘em up, Ladyship.”

            “Cover your eyes. And Karnwyr’s.”

            Bishop slapped a hand over his wolf’s muzzle and shielded his own face with his other hand. Rosiah closed her eyes and let her magicka flow down to her fingers. She held it there until a sizeable pool of energy metamorphosized into lightning, and she released a wild shockbloom aimed at the group of gamblers around the pit. White-hot snakes of lightning engulfed the area, eliminating all life in a ten-foot radius. The lightshow went on for what felt like ages, even though Rose knew it was only a fraction of a second. When they opened their eyes, there was nothing left of the gamblers but ash. 

            Before the rest of the cavern clambered into motion, Bishop drew back his bowstring and loosed his arrow into the barkeep’s face. Unfortunately, it appeared to only enrage the orc, who was now rushing towards them with warpick held high. Bishop cursed and drew his daggers. He danced effortlessly around the berserker while Rosiah picked off the remaining patrons. She had just launched a poisonous bolt at the final bandit when Bishop jumped onto the orc’s back and sank his daggers into the sides of the orc’s neck. 

            The pair and the wolf moved quietly further into the back of the cavern. There, cages of wolves in varying states of duress lined the walls. At the very back of the room was a dunmer clad in traditional Nordic steel, similar to what Rosiah was used to seeing back on Solstheim. The elf stood with his back to them as he addressed the subject of the cage he stood in front of. Rosiah motioned for Bishop to stay still.

            “...don’t look so tough now, do you? Something so powerful, held back by a bit of silver,” the bandit leader was saying. Whatever was in the cage snarled back at him. For all his bravado, the elf still flinched. He shifted to the side, and Rosiah clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her gasp. Inside the silver-barred cage was a hulking black werewolf, blood dripping from its jaws. “The Silver Hand pays good enough money for werewolves. But I wonder what they’ll give me for a member of the Companions’ inner Circle?”

            Rose had heard enough. Her magicka bubbled in her hands as she sidled up behind the final boss. When she was close enough, she wrapped her hands around the dunmer’s throat. His spine went rigid as lightning moved down through his heart, and Rosiah poured her willpower into maintaining her stormhand spell until the elf stopped moving. She dropped the body and made eye contact with the werewolf. The beast’s wild orange eyes watcher her warily.

            “Ladyship, we should go,” Bishop urged, eyes locked on the enormous killing machine in front of them. Karnwyr whimpered.

            “Didn’t you hear the man? That’s one of the Companions of Whiterun. What kind of Thane would I be if I didn’t protect the citizens of my Hold?”

            “You just want to know who it is so you can ask them questions about being a werewolf because you’re a big fancy scholar.”

            “Eh, that too,” Rose shrugged. “Either way, I’m not leaving them to rot. Werewolves can’t touch silver, it’s like poisonous fire to them. At least, I assume it’s the same for werewolves as it is for werebears.”

            Bishop just shook his head as Rosiah investigated the charred corpse at her feet for a key to the cage. He didn’t even want to know how she’d encountered a werebear. After a minute of searching, she was able to fish a small silver key out of what used to be the elf’s belt pouch. Rose looked up at the werewolf to find it staring right back at her.

            “Now, I don’t know which Circle member you are and I don’t care. All I care about in this moment is that we all walk out of here, you included. If you can understand me, I need you to back up as far as you can without touching the bars. I don’t want them to burn you,” Rosiah ordered matter-of-factly. The werewolf huffed and shuffled backwards. “So you do understand. Good. I’m going to unlock this door and open it for you. Kindly do not eviscerate us.”

            The silver key fit into the silver lock with a soft click! and the mage pulled the door open. The beast stepped hesitantly out of the cage, eyes still locked onto Rose. Bishop kept his hands at the hilts of his daggers, waiting to see what happened next. All was still for a moment. Then the werewolf staggered and dropped to one knee, head hung low, as its bones seemed to crack and realign themselves. The thick black fur slowly receded, leaving behind a bare naked, pale-skinned Nord with black warpaint around his eyes. Rosiah affixed her eyes to the stony cavern ceiling and cleared her throat.

            “I don’t suppose there’s any spare armor laying around, is there?”