I, Draugr Chapter 34 (Patreon)

The Falmer were still throwing one hell of a tantrum within their temporary cage.

They had fully tore down the rock wall blocking them from swarming Winterhold, but now they were trapped behind my immense frozen wall that they tried and failed to break through.

By the estimate of some of the senior miners, they guessed that the Falmer would break through within a month's time due to how persistent they were.

But even then, the opening gained would be too small for them to lead a full-scale invasion of the city.

No matter what happens, the Falmer won't have any advantage in this attack unless the Dragon leading them takes action himself to blast open an immense opening in the mountain.

Kara theorized that Vulthuryol is testing the waters. The Dragon is a cunning yet cautious one, and won't take action unless it only sees a guaranteed victory.

The fact that it is being so careful very likely means it is unaware of Lah's and Kara's situations. It doesn't know that neither of them are around to protect Winterhold or stand against him.

The whole mining site was hollowed out within a day, all the gear and structures dismantled and dragged out so to allow the guards to set up a perimeter.

Walls, towers for archers and mages, spikes for traps and diving the possible waves of Falmers, and many other traps like burning oil and whatnot.

I've heard a lot of crazed giggling and pleased murmurs about 'fuckin' them pale bitches up', telling me how deep the hate for the Falmer goes.

So much so that the whole of Winterhold is awaiting for this battle and the chance to kill so many of them.

It is sad that the hollowed out mountain can't just be dropped on the army of Falmer, lest it does more damage to Winterhold- And also possibly closes the entrance to Blackreach.

While I've revealed its existence to Ancano and said that there are several entrances to it all across Skyrim, I do not wish to have him gain access to this one.

For I am sure that he'll contact plenty of his buddies – and while that will give me reason enough to just kill them all, it could cause a lot of annoying problems I do not wish to deal with.

Hence, by best options right now is to kill Ancano somewhere no one will notice. Make it so he just disappears out of nowhere, simple as that.

He has been amusing, but bullying him gets old quickly. All he does is just more posturing, more grumbling, more sneering, and more useless threats using his status that nobody gives a fuck about.

He is a decent mage, but nowhere near the likes of Krosis, and Hildr swiftly surpassed that Dragon Priest and is just growing stronger and stronger each passing day.

At least he generously gifted us a very wonderful room, so there's that. Once I get the chance, I'll get rid of him and clean away his filth from the College.

Though I could also use him as a guinea pig, now that I think about.

I have so many questions on magic that I wish to test out and find answers for. Like if it is possible to rip a limb off someone and then reattach it, but on another location on the body, and see if magic fuckery makes it work still.

And then make a new arm regrow. The same for fingers, or bones, or even eyes.

I've heard of Undead monstrosities with multiple limbs, after all, but I am curious to see if it can work on a living being too. I'm sure Ancano would look much better as some kind of circus attraction.

It would be amusing too, in my opinion. Turning the idiotic, arrogant man into some kind of walking Eldritch monstrosity with many arms, eyes, and-

"Leo?" I perk up with a hum, twirling the colorful pencil in my right hand almost absentmindedly as I turn towards Hildr, her form lazily lounging on my bed, with her long dark-red hair spilling everywhere. "Finally, I've been calling you for the past minute."

She huffs in amusement as she closes the notebook I gave her with all of Kara's teachings, with said woman having gone off to 'sleep'. Basically a type of stasis she puts herself in each day so to both not go insane from her lack of sleep and food, and to recover her Magicka.

Still… My thoughts come to a screeching halt, and I remain staring at Hildr. Not because of her striking beauty that always draws my gaze when I am distracted, but because I suddenly realize where my thoughts had ended up.

What in the actual fuck was I thinking about…?

I hear Hildr call for me again, the amused and lazy smile on her face disappearing in an instant as she sits up on my bed while I lean back on my chair.

Now that I think about it, I've really changed a lot. My joyful and weird way of speaking is gone, I resort to violence to amuse myself, I've taken lives without blinking or flinching or feeling much regret, just excusing it with a childish 'they are bad, I am good' mentality.

I am deteriorating, mentally wise. How many times did my thoughts stray towards needless violence and torture, towards things that would make Sheogorath smile and see fit to add to his insane realm.

Guess having a very active imagination is biting me in the ass now, huh?

"Sorry." I start with a deep sigh, wishing I could pinch the bridge of my nose and rub my eyes. Or even close them. "My thoughts had gone down a… very horrible route."

Hildr's lone eye narrows in worry at my words, "You've… Become more quiet, recently." She points out, making my shoulders sag. I was hoping certain changes about me wouldn't be noticeable, but… "I don't like this, Leo." Standing up, Hildr places a comforting hand on my shoulder, yet I can't feel that touch.

"Are you sure we can't go to Saarthal just yet?" I shake my head in the negative, making her sigh deeply.

"I'd love to say that I know what we can expect this time, but I do not." I wish I could rub my temples right now. How the fuck do I even have a headache? "Besides Undead Atmorans juiced up on Magicka, there might be other things we do not expect."

There are so many changes to this world that just force me to restrain myself and be careful.

It's not like in the game, where I can just stop time to scarf down a billion wheels of cheese and seven bottles of wine and Skooma so that then I can keep getting my shit ran by a Skeleton on Legendary Difficulty.

I do not wish to be passive and take one careful step at a time, but I am forced to do so at the moment.

"I'll keep being careful until there is no risk to your life." I sigh out, chuckling softly when Hildr huffs with a dark flush on her cheeks. Cute. "Plus, I'd rather we wait for Aurelia too. Her help will be invaluable."

A strange expression crosses over Hildr's face for about a second before it vanishes, making me unable to really guess what that meant as she turns to go back and sit on my bed.

"I still don't like having to wait so long to help you." I shrug at her words, earning me an adorable yet angry pout.

"And I do not want to put you in needless danger."

Hildr scoffs and crosses both her arms and her long legs, "First, it won't be needless, because it is for you." If I could smile, I'd have an ear-splitting grin right now, "Second, I am not a damsel that needs to be protected, you know?"

I shrug once more, "You are someone I care about-" She flushes darkly at that, "-So even if you were stronger than the World-Eater himself, I'd still try and protect you."

Hildr lowers her head and grumbles under her breath, knowing that she thoroughly lost. Still, I love that she worries about me so much.

"Then what are we going to do?"

I cross my own legs and arms with a hum, "For now, you keep training. Master the Original Runes of each of your Spells, and let's see how far we can push them."

"I'll get down the Original Rune of my own Spells, put them on Scrolls, and then have them delivered to Whiterun." A few dozen Terra Santa for Whiterun are a must.

I'll also write down a fun little plan for Farengar and the army. I will send a crap load of Anodyne scrolls for the plan to work, though.

If it even does work. But knowing how Nords are? It'll likely work, and then Whiterun will have an army of Saitama on their side.

"Right, we still got the Falmer issue." Hildr grumbles, then blinks when I shake my head.

"Winterhold will be able to handle that threat now that they are prepared. And we can easily tear that army apart with a single Spell." Which is what makes the whole thing weird for me.

The Dragon shouldn't know of the divide between the College and the people of Winterhold. The guards and the civilians won't ask help from the College now that this issue that is a threat to the city has risen.

If it is normal tasks like go and kill this Frost Troll or those idiots blocking the road, then yes, they will ask for help mainly out of laziness.

But when it comes to pride? When it comes to that, the Nord of the city will not ask help from the College and will want to deal with the whole Falmer army by themselves.

I'm sure I can worm my way in due to my friendship with Old Rob, but that would also be pushing things.

What exactly is this fucking Dragon trying to do?

I let my gaze drift towards the window behind my desk, which faces the direction of a certain island I've visited nearly every day for the past two months.

"I don't like it when you are quiet." Hildr states softly from my bed, and I chuckle lightly.

"I've just decided on something. That's all."

I'll get everything for Whiterun done within the week – I'll have to pay the Merchant Guild a visit for a massive load of paper – then, once my new gear arrives, I'll be ready.

"And what's that?"

If I could smile, I'd give Hildr the biggest grin I could.

"I'm going on the island, and do what I do best."

Hildr blanches, "What you do best is antagonizing people, though…?"

"Exactly."

Time to see what makes Deinmaar tick.

                                                                          ~~XXX~~

"But I don't wanna remain locked inside!" Gretel whines, stomping her food on the ground with as much strength she could muster, though it only ended up making her foot go numb than intimidate.

Aela stares down at her with a glare and hands on her hips, though Gretel did not flinch, for only her older sister could terrify her with a glare, "Young lady, this is serious."

"I'm not going to stab Ulfric, I promise!" The young red haired girl promises, two of her fingers crossed behind her back.

"Why are you crossing your fingers behind your back?" Farkas dumbly questions, and Gretel scowls and curses under her breath, having forgotten the giant man was behind her. "Why are you glaring at me now?"

Oh she was going to put a spider in his bed one of these nights. A giant Frost Spider, to be exact.

"It is not about that, Gretel." Aela sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, "I wouldn't give a damn if you stabbed Ulfric in the dick or whatever. Hell, the entire city would love you if you did it-"

"But the city already loves me." Gretel points out, remembering the many gifts – bribes and offerings of peace – that kept being left at the door of her home.

"-Anyway." Aela stresses, and Gretel slumps down with a pout, "Things could, and will, get dangerous."

Gretel's eyes narrow, being very smart despite her age, and easily reading through the lines, "You think Ulfric will try something?"

The Moot was around the corner, soon to be held in Dragonsreach, and some of the Jarls had already arrived, each with their own group of personal guards.

Aela sneers, "It's Ulfric, of course he'll try something." Her gaze strays away, moving from Gretel towards the distant and towering Dragonsreach, "Like hell he is going to let the chance of all enemy Jarls being before him go."

Gretel wondered what honor there would be in that. Attacking others during a formal meeting, instead of a duel.

But then again, she remembers how Ulfric broke the vow he had taken with the Greybeards to Shout apart High King Torygg. A man that breaks a vow in such a manner held no honor, and should be given none.

"Fine, I won't go out." Gretel finally sighs and admits defeat, knowing that this would also greatly worry her sister and the others.

Aela smiles and relaxes at that, "When things go bad…" Aela pauses for a second, mulling over her next words carefully, "And only if you are in danger… Then you can go Werewolf to protect yourself."

The near feral grin that spreads across Gretel's face spells ill for any that might try her during the chaos, and Aela doesn't even bother offering them a prayer.

With a pat on the head, Aela sends the girl away to her home, knowing that several Companions with a sweet spot for her would would keep an eye on her house. Them and quite a few guards.

Despite her antics, many had grown to love Gretel within Whiterun. Mainly because her antics were calculated, and they always targeted those bad apples within the city.

Someone had a nasty personality and never got along with everyone? A quick visit from Gretel would swiftly turn them into people that loved everyone but the little red-haired demon.

Hell, Aula had heard many rumors of many paying Gretel just to have her pay someone a visit that would change their lives.

What nightmares the girl unleashed upon these people, Aela never found out. No one dared mention such things, and the guards always drank away whatever they saw at the crime scene until they forget the whole week's events.

"What do we do?" Farkas questions, shoulders and muscular arms tense. Aela couldn't blame him.

The air just felt… different. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her nerves refused to relax.

"We stay on guard." Aela offers as she gazes towards Dragonsreach, bow and arrows made with Dragon Scales at the ready.

The loud roar of a horn rings across Whiterun, signaling the arrival of the final Jarl. Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

The bustling city falls into a quiet, and even the loud halls of Dragonsreach fall silent as they await the arrival of the final Jarl. The one the majority had been waiting for.

The middle of the large hall had been changed to house a massive circular table with a total of ten large chairs around it, each bearing a large flag of its respective Hold behind it and before it, laid upon the table.

The throne lay empty, covered by a long flag bearing the mark of Whiterun's Hold.

Eight of the nine seats already lay taken, and behind each Jarl stood their Housecarl and Court Mage, though some had a third follower. Be it a guard, or General Tullius himself for Elisif the Fair.

Taking in the tense hall, Jarl Balgruuf turns his gaze towards the Jarl of Solitude, a gentle gaze within his eyes. The widowed wife of Torygg lay with her back straight against her chair, a fiery determination within her gaze.

Balgruuf remembers meeting the woman many years ago, before the Civil War, and before Torygg's honorable yet unneeded death.

She was a bright, cheerful woman beloved by her court, and even more loved by her husband. The two had expressed a deep desire for a large family… A desire that now won't be granted due to the actions of another.

His gaze then moves Idgrod Ravencrone, supporter of the Imperials, but with little care for the Civil War as long as it has little effect on her Hold.

Then his gaze moves to Igmund, Jarl of Markarth, from where the whole Civil War started from.

Many blamed the man and his father for the war. For it was them that enlisted Ulfric's help to free the city from the now known Forsworn, granting Ulfric free worship of Talos should he succeed.

And he did through many horrid actions, from what Balgruuf heard a great many times.

The returning Imperial Legion then was refused entry to Markarth, and from there, the whole situation escalated and just kept growing worse and worse.

Moving his gaze away, Balgruuf gazes at someone who shouldn't be here. Dengeir of Stuhn, former Jarl of Falkreath.

Siddgeir was supposed to sit in that chair, yet somehow… The Jarl of Falkreath had changed within these past months, and no one had received word.

Dengeir was always a paranoid old man, and Balgruuf hoped his paranoia did not make the man turn on his own family just to support Ulfric.

His gaze then flies past Brina Merilis, new Jarl of Dawnstar, replacing Skald the Elder.

Then Laila Law-Giver, then finally Jarl Korir. A part of Balgruuf wanted to ask the man for any possible run-in with Leonidas just so he could relish on the man's suffering, but then he remembers how deeply Korir hates Mages and the College of Winterhold.

He had never understood why the whole Hold of Winterhold is not seen as 'Important' by many of his fellow Jarls. Balgruuf believes it might be because it was founded by an outsider far in the past, and to this day stands as one of the oldest Holds in Skyrim, if not the oldest.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm has arrived." A powerful voice announces from the main open doors to Dragonsreach, followed by a series of heavy steps as everyone around the table straightens and grows tense.

Balgruuf can see Jarl Elisif hide her trembling clenched hands below the table and above her knees, her stormy face falling back into an emotionless stare that hid the fury deep within her.

Soon, Ulfric's form comes into view as he rises from the steps leading to the hall and large table. His shoulders were raised high and tall, appearing wide and strong, and his steps were confident and calm.

His bearded face was unreadable, and his eyes barely sweep across the gathered Jarls as walks to his seat.

Balgruuf flicks his gaze towards his followers. Wuunferth the Court Mage and Galmar Stone-Fist the Housecarl… And a third man, a Stormcloak soldier.

One who met Balgruuf's gaze, sending a jolt down his spine. Skald, Balgruuf realizes.

Brina seems aware of his real identity too, so Balgruuf merely leans back and acts like he saw nothing, despite the fact he fears for a soon-to-happen assassination attempt.

And of course, that is when Ulfric opens his damn mouth, "You've aged, Elisif." The man comments, making the much younger woman draw in a sharp intake of air through her nostrils.

"And you still live, unfortunately." The widowed woman answers back, her voice as cold as the waters near her city, "How does it feel like, I wonder?" Elisif questions, making Ulfric raise a lone confused brow, "Living with the fact that you ran, while the countless innocent lives of Helgen were reaped by a Dragon when you could have done something."

Her voice brings chills down the spine of each person within the hall, her words sharper than any blade could ever hope to be, "You can use the power of the Voice to murder my husband, but fighting a Dragon to save the sons and daughters of Skyrim is too much for you, it seems."

Balgruuf could see Ulfric clench his jaw and start to grow irate, but Elifis only smiles coldly at the sight and keeps going, tilting her head to gaze at the General standing behind me, "Tell me, General… How many Imperials-" She stresses the word out by raising her voice, "-Died to try and fight off that beast?"

The General answered in a powerful and heavy voice, "More than three hundred, my Jarl." The veteran stresses out, "Of the army of five-hundred that I had left after ambushing and capturing Ulfric Stormcloak, less than one hundred remain. The same amount lay crippled and unable to battle due to the burns they suffered from the attack."

With a swift and decisive movement, the General flicks his armor open, moves the chest-plate to the side, then raises the thick clothing beneath to reveal the muscular chest below, and the massive nasty burn that took up more than half of his left side. "I nearly died myself, were it not for the sacrifice of many of my brother-in-arms, and proper Nords of Helgen."

His gaze, now hard and near furious, "One such Nord was a child, bawling his eyes out for his parents, as he dragged me out from beneath burning rubble."

Balgruuf sighs deeply, feeling the atmosphere within his throne room already grow tense and full of hostility. But he had expected this to happen.

So, he slams his palm down upon the table before him, "We all have grievances due to this useless and needless Civil War." Balgruuf states aloud, his palm smoothing over the flag of Whiterun's Hold before him, "But this Moot has been called to either call a ceasefire until the much bigger threat is handled, or put a stop to this war once and for all."

Ulfric shakes his head with a scoff, "This war is for the greater good of Skyrim and its future. It will not be put on hold."

Balgruuf slams his fist on the table with enough force to shake it whole, "The Dragons threaten to lay waste upon our homes and you care only about an empty fucking title?!" He bellows with enough force to make all within the hall flinch back, "What future is there for Skyrim when all our brothers and sisters lay dead, scorched and unrecognizable, or chewed up within the stomach of a Dragon!?"

"What future is there for Skyrim when one of its own children is destroying it from within because he just doesn't give a fuck!?"

"Answer me, Ulfric!" The wood beneath his fist cracks and splinters as Balgruuf flares his nostrils, "What fucking future are you dreaming about?"

Instead of answering, the Jarl of Windhelm merely scoffs, "So you have decided to stand against me now, Jarl Balgruuf?"

Balgruuf laughs. It is a cruel and derisive laugh. "You send me a declaration of war and expect me to stand by you when you threaten my people?" Balgruuf sneers, "I stood shoulder and shoulder with you during the Great War to kill the enemies of the Empire. I won't stand shoulder and shoulder with you to kill mine own brothers and sisters."

If it came down to it, Balgruuf won't hesitate to do what is right. He won't hesitate to send that letter.

He won't hesitate to ask Leonidas to kill Ulfric, like he offered.

He would hate to do so, but after Leonidas had told him of how Alduin gains strength, and that Ulfric's actions only make the damn beast stronger… Balgruuf would easily put the lives of many over the life of someone who is too blind to see the harm they are doing.

From his right, Elisif sneers, "This war is already as good as over." She proclaims, a cold, cunning smile spreading across her face, "How has that crown treated you so far, I wonder?"

Her voice is tinged with pure amusement, "Has it granted you mysterious and miraculous powers like legends say?" She laughs, wiggling her fingers in the air mockingly, "Or has it only drained your funds and left you begging on the streets for pocket change from your people?"

Ulfric flares his nostrils, and Elisif laughs, "It pleases me greatly to see such a look on your face, Ulfric." The woman states, baring her teeth in satisfaction and cruel pleasure, "I will make you bleed for murdering my dear Torygg. That I swear upon the Divines watching over us."

"Again with this 'murder'…" The Jarl of Windhelm groans, palming his face in exasperation, but to also hide his growing fury, "It was a duel. One he had agreed to-"

"It was murder!" Elisif screams, cutting the man off and making him flinch as her palms slam on the table before her, "My dear Torygg respected you! He would have blindly sided with you! Yet you challenge a man not even twenty winters old and Shout him apart!"

"He knew he was going to die against you, yet he faced his death proudly, his honor unstained- And yet I did not have a corpse to weep over! A corpse to bury! Because you could not fight like a man, but fought like a coward!"

This time it was Ulfric's turn to slam his fist down on the table, unable to restrain his anger any longer, "It was a duel like the Old Nord Ways and he knew it! And I did not Shout him apart, but on the ground, and finished him off with my sword!"

Elisif lets out a cruel, mocking laugh, "Yes, boast about how you felled a man that never held a sword in his life."

Ulfric sneers, "Killing Torygg proved my point. Skyrim has grown so weak that now it elects a boy for High-King, instead of a man that knows how to hold a sword!" Standing from his seat, Ulfric looks down upon all the gathered Jarls, "So what if I Shouted him apart? So what if I used the Voice against him? It is an honorable art of war-"

"'Before the Sky, thou shall vow silence.'" A powerful and heavy voice suddenly cuts in, echoing across the whole hall and coming from the open doors of Dragonsreach.

Ulfric's face blanches, and General Tullius stands straighter than before.

"'Before the Sky, thou shall vow not to kill with thine Voice.'" The steps grew louder. Heavier.

Four towering guards of Whiterun, clad in heavy, bulky and fearsome Draconplate Armor flanked an elder clad in bright golden armor with a long crimson cape bearing the near-glowing with Imperial symbol on it.

"'Thine vow is Eternal. Thine Voice a gift.'" The heavy gaze of the Emperor falls upon Ulfric, and the man's knees visibly buckle beneath the weight of the gaze alone.

Stepping forward, the Emperor moves to walk past Ulfric, "The vow has, by thine own hand, been broken." The aged Emperor's voice is quiet, almost feeble, yet still powerful enough to shake Ulfric to his core, "Do you know, Ulfric Stormcloak…"

Each of his steps was heavy, causing his heavy armor to rattle as the imposing Emperor walks around the table, arms crossed behind his back, head lowered to stare at the ground before his feet.

"Each time the Nords have used the Voice during a War… They never won." The Emperor points out, "The Battle of Red Mountain ended with a loss, despite Jurgen Windcaller himself leading the armies."

"After the loss, he became a pacifist, convinced that the Gods were disappointed with Nords using the Voice for War. He founded the Greybeards, and the Order still stands to this day."

Walking past Tullius, the Emperor smiles at his General and gives the man a pat on the shoulder that shakes the man on his feet. "Do you know who else tried to use the Voice for War and failed, Ulfric?"

Slowly, the Emperor's gaze moves back to gaze at the Jarl of Windhelm, "Emperor Tiber Septim himself."

A mocking smile spreads across the Emperor's aged face, "And he failed. Over and over." His armored shoulders shrug, "He created the Imperial College of the Voice in many places. Few still stand to this day. I believe the one in Markarth is also gone, yes?" The Jarl of Markarth gulps and nods, unable to bear the weight of the Emperor's mere glance.

"I believe that is proof enough, yes?" Shaking his head, the elderly Emperor sighs deeply, returning his hands to his back, "But lessons must be learned the hard way. And this foolish rebellion of yours is one, I guess. I just wish it was one of those lessons that didn't come at the cost of countless innocent lives."

Unable to remain silent and with a bent back, Ulfric straightens himself and gulps heavily before speaking up, "I truly believe that Skyrim's future will be brighter once it secedes from the Empire-"

"And then what?" The Emperor cuts Ulfric off, voice light yet stern, his eyes not even glancing towards the younger man as he keeps pacing slowly around the table, "The Thalmor will pounce upon Skyrim the very second you gain this 'Freedom', and you expect to fend them off?"

"You expect to succeed where the whole Empire failed?" The Emperor did not sneer, but his words were basically one.

The heavy steps started slowing, "You start a rebellion. You weaken the Empire and Skyrim. You give the Thalmor access to Skyrim through your own actions. You bring death and divide your own people." The Emperor comes to a stop before the throne of Whiterun, his head held high to stare at the Dragon Skull above the throne.

"Answer me this, Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm, son of Hoag Stormcloak, the Great Bear of Eastmarch…" The Emperor's hand gently strokes over the Whiterun flag laying upon the throne, his powerful voice shaking the hall.

Slowly, he turns around and walks to the table, where he stops and straightens his back to stare down at Ulfric with a gaze that could crush lesser man.

"Why should you leave this hall with your head still upon your shoulders?"

The thick silence that fell upon the hall only lasted but a few moments.

And was then horribly brought to an end by the powerful blaring of several horns all across Whiterun.

Balgruuf stands, eyes wide in horror as he recognizes the warning.

A Runner rushes above the steps, pale in the face, and pure horror within his young eyes, "My Jarl! Dragons! In the sky!" The boy nearly screams, collapsing on his knees as he breathes in and out harshly.

"Dozens of them!"

And soon, roars joined the chilling sound of the horns blaring across all of Whiterun.

                                                                              ~~XXX~~

The coin is flicked in the air, then falls back into my palm. Soon after, I smack it on the counter table.

"Ten heads in a row." Old Rob whistles when I draw my claw-like gauntlet-clad hand back, "Damn lucky son of a bitch, you are."

I chuckle at that and push the Septim towards him, "Guess the Gods want me to go through with it." Old Rob takes the coin with a rumbling hum.

He flicks it, it lands in his palm, then back on the table. Heads, again. "Seems like so." He muses before pulling back, his lone working eye flicking up towards me, "You sure you wanna do whatever it is that has left you hesitating so much?"

I shrug. All my previous confidence just evaporated when I left the College.

Kara had recently wake up again, and she stills that my plan is stupid, but worth taking a shot at.

Hildr doesn't want me to go through with it, too worried it might be too much.

So, when I started hesitating, I turned to the Gods. Ten heads in a row, and I'll go.

I did it. Five times in a row.

Honestly, this might just be Sheogorath bullying me because I have not offered him a wheel of cheese this past week. It is quite the rare delicacy here in Skyrim, after all.

"I must." I answer Old Rob's question, and he picks up a mug while another rumbling hum leaves him.

He wipes at the mug for a few quiet seconds before speaking up, "Want an old man's advice?" He speaks up, voice oddly gentle and void of the bark he always has.

I perk up and straighten my back before giving him a slow nod.

"Just do it." My shoulders sag, and he chuckles.

"Wow. My life has been changed." I flatly declare in utter 'awe', nearly getting a mug thrown at my masked face for my act.

Shaking his head with a smile, Old Rob lowers his gaze to the mug, "Many folks have a great many regrets in life." His voice is quiet, gentle, "Some resolve them before death. Some take them to the grave. Many die wondering on those possible 'What Ifs' and what could have been."

Slowly, he puts the polished mug down on the counter before me, "A great man once said 'I do it because it is the right thing to do, even if it costs me my life and honor. Even if I must carry this guilt for my whole lifetime, deep down I'll know that I've done the right thing.'"

His fingers grab the Septim coin off the counter top and flick it back in the air. He doesn't catch it.

"He then left." The coin falls inside the mug. It rattles around. "The war was won." It stops rattling.

"He never came back home." I look inside the mug.

Heads.

I look up at Old Rob. He knows.

I breathe in and pull back, "I'll bring him back home." I promise as I stand up, and Old Rob chuckles loudly.

"Tell him a barrel of the finest Nord Mead is waiting for him."

All the people in the tavern cheer, and I can't help but chuckle and shake my head as I leave.

Unbelievable. They all knew. They always have, and always did.

They just hid it. Kept it a secret from anyone and everyone outside of their descendants.

This loyalty… This cannot be faked. Loyalty so strong, so powerful, that it stands strong since the Merethic Era.

I couldn't help the chuckle that once more escapes me as I walk towards the exit of Winterhold. They've been testing me this whole time.

I find that to be… Nice. I like it. I love this loyalty. And I love this desire to help Deinmaar.

I still do not know what he has done, but whatever it is has them convinced that it won the war of the Merethic Era.

I feel like the answer is right before me, but it just keeps slipping between my fingers.

Doesn't matter. I'll find out soon enough.

It won't be peaceful. It won't be through talk. I'll need to punch some sense into the man, making him snap out of whatever depressive abyss he has locked himself into.

We'll come to blows, that is for sure. So I am glad that my gear made it here just in time. It gives me confidence, a great deal of it too.

It's an armored cloak with pants and boots, all forged out of Dragon Scales and bone plates.

The scales were fused together by using Stalhrim, the one I managed to buy through the Merchant Guild several months ago, before leaving Whiterun.

The hood was armored to protect the head, with bone plates and fangs shaped in a way to make it resemble a dragon's skull, the Stalhrim melted over it to give it all a brilliant near sky-blue look, standing out over the dark blue color of the robes, pants and boots.

The sleeves ended in thick, armored bone plate gauntlets resembling menacing claws that are quite sharp too, with the chest area also having quite a few bone plates to protect it, but having been left light so that it fits better as robes than thick and heavy armor.

The Stalhrim stands out, nearly glowing when attached to the robe, still not Enchanted because I haven't really learned much of it yet, and Kara obviously cannot waste Magicka to work on this.

And Farengar did not believe his skills were high enough to work on it either.

Still, it all is cool as fuck, and I love how it came out. I joked about never taking it off, but… Well, I really won't.

And finally, strapped to my back, is my sword. A sword without a blade.

I was very confused for a second when I first held it, until I saw the Stalhrim crystal lodged in the middle of the guard. With Frost Magic channeled through it, a blade will take shape, massively enhanced and strengthened by the Stalhrim crystal.

All in all, perfect gear for me that will further boost my already bullshit Frost Magic.

My thoughts come to a halt the moment my feet touch the ground of the cratered island, the temple entrance laying far ahead of me.

I release the claw of my Werevulture and send it back before breathing in and slowly walking towards the massive doors I've opened a great many times these past months.

I've spent many nights here, just reading books to Deinmaar, or telling him history, or telling him about my home, or about the people I care about.

I've probably talked his ear off. He probably enjoyed the company after all this time.

My hands rise and rest on the doors, and I mimic another deep breath before pushing them open enough for me to walk in.

Once done, I shut them close with a deep rumble, then turn towards Deinmaar's bound form, his head lowered like always.

My steps echo within the statue filled hallway as I approach, staring at his form illuminated by the light coming in from the circular hole in the ceiling.

Slowly, I come to a stop at the end of the hallway, quite a bit of a distance away from him.

Seconds flow by, and when after a minute passes in deep silence, Deinmaar finally lifts his head, the glowing golden chains stabbed into Reality itself rattling from his movement.

His bright red eyes meet my masked face, faint confusion within them. My shoulders sag lightly at the sight.

"An old man in Windhelm said that a barrel of fine mead is waiting for you." I state with a light chuckle, earning me a small tilt of the head from him, "And I promised him that I'd bring you home. Be it kicking or screaming."

His eyes slowly narrow, then close as a deep sigh flows out of him, the most noise I've heard him make so far.

"So… I apologize." I start, and Deinmaar… He nods. "But I am going to walk past you, and towards those stairs, unless you stand up and stop me."

His hands clench into trembling fists. The chain rattle and audibly strain against his flexing arms.

Then, after many months, Deinmaar finally speaks, "Must you force me?" His voice is deep. Powerful.

But kind. Warm. Gentle. Yet strained, filled with pain and sadness.

I lower my head, "I'm sorry."

He sighs deeply, "I know you are." His knees bend, and slowly, the towering Atmoran stands, a fortress of muscles and thick Dragonbone armor.

Now that he is standing tall, I can easily tell that he nearly reaches the three meters in height, and one of his arms alone is nearly the width of my body.

What did they feed this guy?

His hands clench around the golden chains, "I am sorry too." He states gently, before yanking- The chains snap and shatter with a near deafening roar, leaving them to fade into golden motes of light that drift away. "For what I must do."

Rolling his shoulders and making his bones snap and crack, then towering Atmoran then rolls his neck and reaches over to grab his immense greatsword stabbed into the ground.

It crackles with lightning as it is slowly yanked out of the ground, showing that even his weapon is nearly as big as me. And he is holding it with one hand.

"Whatever happens… No hard feelings." For the first time since I met the man, I hear Deinmaar chuckle softly.

"No hard feelings."

Well, now that he has said that-

A deafening crack rips through the air as Draconian Howl bursts out of my hand, a lone finger having snapped up to point at Deinmaar to send the blinding projectile fly-

His massive arm swings through the air and swats the Draconian Howl to the side, sending it ripping and shredding through the side of the temple, then smash into the distant wall of the crater-like island.

…

Huh.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

Yet, despite the sight of my strongest Spell that never failed me before being swatted to the side like its nothing… I'm actually feeling excited by this.

"That Spell…" Deinmaar speaks up, his head turned to stare at the destruction left behind by my Draconian Howl, "It is… Familiar."

I tilt my head at that.

"Konahrik used it too."

Okay… What?

A.N. Worked until the sun rose to deliver this chapter to y'all.

Things. Are. Heating. The. Fuck. Up.

The following next chapters are gonna be action packed, lore packed, and Deinmaar packed because I wanna write lots about him.

Y'all won't know the shit that is about to go down.

Am gonna try to write peak chapter after peak chapter.

Honestly, the rest of this Arc might not even match these series of chapters…

Hope y'all enjoy!

Toodles!