A.D.W.D. Chapter 25: The Dragonborn Comes

• Posted by Exuro May 19, 2016 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - #Exuro  #A.D.W.D.  - 1,344 views

   

   

  The silence of the throne room was tense as everyone waited for the Windcaller to reach the upper palace balcony. The return of the dragons had woken a passion among the youth to learn the old ways. An ancient power was released upon the world the day Helga fell and almost brought about the End of Times. Now pupils began ascending the 7,000 steps to the Greybeards’ monastery atop the Throat of the World and the monks began to teach control over the Voice once more in hopes of reaching peace with the Dovah. 

   

  With the new generation began a new tradition, the Windcallers: monks trained in the Way of the Voice to act as advisors to Jarls much like the Court Wizards. Except where the wizards provided the bridge between arcane and mundane, the Windcallers bridged the world of the Dovah with that of man.

   

  Solitude had received the first graduate and as of yet, their youth made the role of advisor more of a formality, but they served another role as well: communication. The power of their Thu’um could carry great distances and once every hold had a Windcaller, the entire country would be able to respond as one in times of need.

   

  Today would be the first day a Windcaller was ever used.

   

   

   

  “DOV AH KIIN!!!”

   

   

   

  The sky split with the sound of thunder as the Dragonborn was summoned. The court jumped at the sound, walls shook, a vase shattered. The echoes died away and there was a moment of pure silence stretched before another voice answered. The original Greybeards in unison:

   

   

   

  DOV AH KIIN!!!

   

  SO LI TUDE!!!

   

   

   

  From atop the tallest peak in the world, the Greybeards’ Voice swept across all of Skyrim, dwarfing that of the Windcaller’s. All eyes were on Windcaller Jorunn when he returned, but it was the housecarl, Bolgeir, who spoke first.

   

  “Now what?”

   

  “Now we wait,” Jorunn’s whisper rumbled. The young Windcaller tried to maintain his solitary composure, but couldn’t fully hide his giddy excitement. He spoke –successfully– the first Words of a Windcaller outside of High Hrothgar! Not only that; he would be personally meeting The Legendary Dragonborn! Natural master of the Thu’um!

   

  Trebonde and Amari were speechless. Their relationship with the Dovahkiin evoked far different emotions.

   

  Elisif clapped her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “We will take recess now and reconvene at the Dragonborn’s arrival.”

   

  The envoys she’d been ignoring grumbled and stalked out of the throne room with complaints of how many days that could be; if he did at all. Trebonde and Amari tried to sneak out with them, but Elisif called them back.

   

  “Valus, Kaera, would you stay within the palace? I believe the Dragonborn will wish to speak with the messengers.”

   

  The two were forced to assent. Satisfied, the Jarl nodded at the guard that walked them in. “Please show them to the guest quarters and assure their needs are met.”

   

  ***

   

  “Well, shit,” Trebonde said as the guard closed the door to their room. He went to tell Amari to help case the room, but found her already checking the locks on the windows.

   

  “They’re open!” she exclaimed, then stuck her head out. “For a reason…”

   

  The palace resided on a small peninsula—an island almost —only connected to the main city of Solitude via an arching land-bridge. Their room was at the cliff’s edge and dropped a few hundred yards into the rough seas below. Trebonde stuck his head out too and noted there were no window ledges to walk across. If he had two hands he could use the irregularities and gaps in the stonework to climb out, but even then he knew Amari wouldn’t make such a route.

   

  Casing the rest of the room didn’t take long, but neither did they find a route out. They were standing in the center of the room and puzzling over their situation when a swarm of servants burst into their room. A fare of fruit, bread, cheese and wine were laid out on the guest room’s table the servants bustled out before the two could even react or thank them.

   

  “This is by far the most gilded cell I’ve ever been held in,” Trebonde noted.

   

  They sat down and devoured the food, hoping a full stomach would bring inspiration. One thing was for sure: neither wanted to be at the palace when the Dragonborn arrived.

   

  “You know,” he started once they had filled themselves. “We’re not technically prisoners; maybe they’ll let us walk out.”

   

  Amari cast an unbelieving look at him.

   

  “What? Don’t disregard the easiest solutions right away.”

   

  The guards didn’t seem to mind them leaving the room, but politely blocked the exits when they drew near. They were diverted away and Trebonde came to a stop before a door blocked with a velvet rope and a notice.

   

  “Pelagius Wing. Closed for renovation,” he read aloud, then inspected the lock. “Quite the lock barring this. I’m not sure I could pick it even if the guards weren’t watching. Speaking of which! We should get you a set of picks soon too.”

   

  “Me?” The dress, the promised armor, all the sites of the palace, and now this. It was all too much after over a year of hiding in the shadows with everything stolen from her. She threw her arms around him and whispered, “Thank you.”

   

  He returned the hug and awkwardly mumbled, “You're welcome? They’re only bits of steel scrap.”

   

  As they continued their circuit around the great hall, they saw a guard leave his station by a stairway leading to the upper level of the hall. Trebonde pulled them out of sight behind a column as the guard passed.

   

  “Looks like a shift change.” Wheels began churning in his devious mind and he grinned. “Let’s go see what’s up there. One of the rooms should have a courtyard facing window too.”

   

  Amari grinned back and they snuck around the passing guard. They hurried in a crouch along the upper level towards the palace entrance, checking if the doors were locked as they passed and poking their heads inside if they weren’t. Near the end of the balcony hallway, they stopped at a door that was ajar with red light seeping out. Trebonde carefully pressed his ear to the door and peaked through the crack.

   

  “No one inside, but I hear a guard coming.”

   

  Amari strained her ears. Steel boots rang on the steps of a stairway one more room down the hall. The trespassers slipped inside as quiet as mice and softly shut the door. As they waited for the echo of steel footsteps fade, they took in their new surroundings.

   

  “This room is… unnerving; must be the court wizard’s. Mages are so creepy.”

   

  “Mages aren’t creepy Trebo-!” Trebonde elbowed her in the side.

   

  “Valus, remember? No offence Kaera, but that includes you too,” he teased her.

   

  “I’m not creepy,” she muttered fiddling with the sack of animal bones hanging from her neck.

   

  “Of course not,” he assured her with a pat on the head. “Now don’t move or touch anything until I finish checking for traps.”

   

  He gestured at a circle of runes engraved on the inside face of the door. “See these? Destruction runes. Luckily, it looks like she left in a hurry and they weren’t powered, or we would have been blasted away by-” he squinted at the shapes, “-lightning as soon as the door moved.”

   

  Amari had seen similar runes before; her mother had always cast a few around their camp sites. She had also drawn sentry ones further out. Trebonde knelt and pointed to a chalk line hidden between the floor tiles.

   

  “Ah, she is a clever one; she even used chalk the same color as the tile grout. No telling if this is some sort of alarm or a primer to something nastier. The deadly traps, like those runes on the door, need to store a lot of energy and leave obvious signatures, but a simple ping from crossing a chalk line can be almost undetectable.  Now whether this one would warn the wizard or wake a trap…”

   

  “I can use my sight to follow the energy lines,” Amari offered knowing full well how much her body would protest.

   

  “A great talent, but no, I couldn’t ask that of you again so soon. I’m sorry about that night, but…”

   

  “We’re alive,” Amari interrupted. “I can handle it, Valus.”

   

  Trebonde looked up at the determined tone. Her eyes burned with a forceful will; no, he didn’t doubt she could, but they didn’t need to.

   

  “You have other senses Kaera; remember to hone those as well.” The thief carefully ran the back of his hand before the chalk line and felt the hairs on his knuckles lightly twitch with static charge. He followed the sensation up and down the length and noted that the chalk continued along the perimeter deeper into the room as well.

   

  “It looks like the circle surrounds the entire room. One this large will probably have a soulgem powering it somewhere… inside the circle.”

   

  “Maybe we should just go.” Amari hesitated. “There’s something off about the court wizard. Her aura feels like it’s hiding something, like the Nameless One.”

   

  “Nameless One?”

   

  “He said he didn’t have a name, so I started calling him that, but he did have a name. Well he used to, the Forsworn kept calling him Dùghall…” Amari started rambling until Trebonde cut her off.

   

  “The vampire at the House? That’s a surprise. Maybe that’s why she was in such a hurry; I can’t imagine the Dragonborn liking them either…“

   

  “I might be wrong; I only got a glimpse.”

   

  “Well, now we have to know for sure!”  

   

  Amari gripped Scuttle’s bones in a white-knuckled fist. Was Molag Bal everywhere? She wasn’t ready to face Him again!

   

  “But we can’t go any further without alerting her!”

   

  “You think this is the first mage I’ve crossed? There is always a way.” The rogue grinned devilishly.

   

  He drew his silver sword and unhooked his scabbard, which also had a strip of silver running along its edge, then he placed them in a ‘V’ around him with the ends near the chalk line. He motioned for Amari to join him in the ‘V’.

   

  “Now place your hand by the chalk like I was earlier.” She did and felt her hairs rise too. “Now do the same with the sword.”

   

  “Alright…?” She did and predictably felt nothing.

   

  Trebonde touched the ends on the ‘V’ to the chalk and then broke the circle between the ends with the leather wrapped handle of one of his lock picks.

   

  “What did you do that for?! Now she knows we’re here!”

   

  He just smiled at her and said, “Repeat the exercise again.”

   

  She reluctantly did and her eyebrows soon shot up in surprise. The blade and scabbard were now charged, but the chalk between the ends was dead.

   

  Trebonde laughed. “Old guild trick; these circles work by looping magicka and when something crosses it, that loop is broken and the energy is released as a spell. The silver channels magical energies very well—it’s one of the reasons it’s so effective against spirits and the supernatural—so the magicka looping through the circle is rerouted along the metal and the circle is never broken. This chalk probably contains silver powder in it too.”

   

   The rogue stepped past the circle and carefully felt and sniffed the air of Sybille’s quarters. Amari followed after in a state of awe of his skill. The red light was emanating from an enchanting table and Trebonde stopped a few paces before it, but it wasn’t the table that caught his eye. A stick of incense had been left burning and he followed the trail of smoke with his eyes as it drifted towards the rune covered table.

   

  “Watch the smoke and tell me what you see,” he directed Amari.

   

  It just smoke! Amari thought, but he obviously asked for a reason, so she studied it closer. After a while she noticed that most the smoke avoided the enchanting table as if a breeze was blowing it away.

   

  “The smoke is drifting around the table and-” She leaned a step closer-“I hear a faint buzzing.”

   

  “Two for one!” he congratulated her. “All enchanting tables do that.”

   

  She had never noticed that before. Wonder if she still remembered how to use one?

   

  “But, so do some traps,” Trebonde added, stopping her in her tracks.

   

  They gave the table clear birth and continued exploring. The room was very red away from the enchanting station as well. Red sheets on a four-poster bed, red cushions on a sofa, red rugs, and red paintings of sunsets.

   

  Amari passed a bust of a partial excavated Dwemer helm and stopped next to Trebonde who was stroking his beard pretentiously before a canvas.

   

  “The strokes are rough and amateurish, but the artist’s soul really sings the beauty of the falling Magnus.”

   

  Amari giggled. “But the red hues are overbearing; wouldn’t you say?”

   

  He laughed out. “The red I get, but the sun is an odd thing for a vampire to fixate on. Also, how does she attend court in the daylight without burning? Maybe she’s hiding something else.”

   

  They moved on. Trebonde knelt by a chest and Amari examined an open book on display. Unfortunately it was written in a foreign language.

   

  “Damnit!” Trebonde cursed at the locked chest. “I’ll need a full safe cracking kit for this; it’s rigged to blow.”

   

  He saw her eyeing the book, “Valuable, but too obvious. If we’re going to do a sweep, I want to come back and get whatever is in this chest too.” 

   

  “Oh, no it’s just that some spell books could really help.”

   

  Trebonde crossed the room, carefully stepping around a rug concealing another rune trap, and inspected a wall of book cabinets.

   

  “No enchantments. Apparently she’s not too afraid of mule-headed Nords stealing books.” He wedged a torque wrench into his gauntlet, then quickly picked the lock and flung the doors wide. “There; all the books you could ever want! Have at.”

   

  Trebonde left Amari to peruse the shelves while he rummaged through the court wizard’s writing desk. He used her quill and ink to start jotting notes on a piece of scrap paper, placing her documents back exactly as they were as he went.

   

  “Find any dirt?” Amari asked over her shoulder.

   

  “She keeps clean books. I’m recording her clients’ names; might dig up something following up on them. Apparently she is called in as an expert witness for the odder crimes. A lot of convicted guilties…”

   

  He stopped midsentence and stuffed the notes under his armor. “We have to go now. We’ve lingered too long.”

   

  “What? Why? How?” Amari blurted, swiveling her head about the room.

   

  “Gut feeling and my gut is rarely wrong. No windows in this room; we’ll have to keep searching. All in all, her room is fairly ordinary for a wizard.”

   

  Amari hurried to fill a sack with random books. Her perusing had been pointless; she didn’t know what she was looking for or what she’d been reading. Then the strangest noise interrupted them, a cluck followed by a light tapping. With hearts pumping, preparing for fight or flight, they followed the noise to a corner hidden by Sybille’s bed only to find a chicken, pecking at the floor from within a cage.

   

  “Is that ordinary too?” Amari asked.

   

  “No… but it does give me an idea.” He grinned mischievously. “Want to play a trick on some superstitious Nords?”

   

  ***

   

  The two crouched in the shadows of the balcony above the entrance and two palace guards.

   

  “You want to do the honors?” Trebonde whispered to Amari. 

   

  She nodded enthusiastically and Trebonde passed a sleeping bundle over. She carefully took it, then tossed it off the rail. The chicken woke mid-flight with an alarmed ‘Buwhock!’ and unfurled the mage’s robe with its flapping its wings.

   

  The burly first guard looked up to see the ghostly apparition descending on him from above. His face lost all blood and he shrieked like a little girl. The woman on watch with him turned to laugh at him, but drew her sword instead at the sight. Soon the palace was in an uproar as the screaming Nord flailed with the fluttering and squawking robes.

   

  Trebonde used the distraction to drop down from the upper level with barely contained mirth. He landed softly in the shadows and Amari tossed the sack of books down to him. Then it was her turn to jump, but her hands refused to let go the rail. The ground looked so far away from this angle!

   

  “Keep your legs loose and put your hands out like this,” Trebonde hissed up at her and mimed tucking his head in and putting his hands in a diamond shape before him. “You’ll be fine.”

   

  Sure she would, but he did it… Amari took a deep breath and jumped.

   

  By Sheor! I’m going to smash my face! she thought as the ground rushed to meet her. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her hands before like Trebonde showed her.  The impact jarred her legs, sending her bones a sharp reminded of the old arrow wound. A split second later, she felt her hands hit, the world spun, and then she was sitting on her ass in the shadows next to Trebonde.

   

  “See? Completely fine.” Trebonde smiled at her.

   

  She did it! Amari stiffly rose into a crouch, rubbing a sore back and hip, and joined Trebonde behind a plant vase.

   

  “Although, your form is terrible,” the rogue added and she stuck her tongue out at him.

   

  They peered through the plant stems to see how their distraction was coming along. The chicken had broken free of the mage robes and was now surrounded by a circle of guards hiding behind they’re shields. The guards were all shouting among themselves and running away whenever the chicken charged their direction with its wings erratically beating.

   

  “Don’t harm the chicken; it’s a foul crime!”

   

  “Those are Sybille’s robes! Who angered her?”

   

  “Maybe it IS her!”

   

  “Stay back! She might hex you too!”

   

  Amari and Trebonde couldn’t hold their snickering any longer and they breathlessly slipped through the now unwatched entryway. However, the courtyard was not free of commotion either. A captain was mobilizing units of guards and the heavy twang of ballistae firing from the ramparts echoed across the yard.

   

  “This seems excessive even for a wizard chicken,” Trebonde noted warily.

   

  A metallic roar split the sky, a sound so terrifying it cut directly to the soul’s primal fears.

   

  “Dragons!” Amari whispered.

   

  “FIRE!” the captain bellowed and volley of black feathers rushed to meet the threat.

   

  “FUS!” the threat bellowed back and landed among them, heralded by the return of the same arrows.

   

  The guards scattered before the beast with their shields raised against the raining arrows and the great red dragon released a thunderous eruption from deep with its belly at the sight —a laugh?

   

  “Fools! One cannot strike the Snow Hunter from the skies!”

   

  The guards stared dumbly at the beast. Was it mocking them? In their own tongue? Then a barefoot figure in a simple cloak leapt from the neck of the beast.

   

  “Stand down!” the man commanded in a voice that carried the same power as the Dovah he rode.

   

  The guards dropped to a knee and exclaimed with the awe of worship, “Dragonborn!?”

   

  Then the captain hesitantly approached the two dragon souls, “Shor’s bloody stones! We were shooting at— I can’t believe—We apologize.”

   

  “Never mind that. The call; what is it?” the Dragonborn interrupted, towering over the captain.

   

  “Jarl Elisif is waiting inside.”

   

  The Dragonborn nodded, then called over his shoulder in the dragon’s tongue:

   

  “Odahviing, sarran dii daal.” He gestured with his head towards a nearby mountain top, dismissing the dragon.

   

  “Zu’u sarran fah Nid. Dovah uv Dovahkiin,” the crimson beast defied the slayer of Alduin in a low rumble.

   

  The Dovahkiin stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.

   

  “Fos?”  he growled.

   

  “Zu’u ni zaam!” The courtyard rang in the silence following the dragon’s Voice and it locked gazes with the Dragonborn. It was a symbol of freedom, of power; the Dovah would not be dismissed by another’s whim.

   

  The mortals cleared the area around the battling wills as the air crackled with an overbearing tension.

   

  “Shit shit,” Trebonde cursed at the dragon souls blocking their way, then cursed again as more guards poured out to fill the palace entryway behind them. He snatched Amari’s bag of books and threw it into the bushes.

   

  “Hey!” she exclaimed.

   

  “We’re not getting out of this. Damn, knew we lingered too long…” he explained and Amari gulped.

   

  “Zu’u yah ni zaamme!” the cloaked Nord defended.

   

  “Kun.” The dragon seemed pleased with the response, but snaked its neck out until snout and nose nearly touched.

   

   “Dahmaan miiraad.”

   

  “Hi jur zu’u?” the champion growled back without giving a step. Instead, he leaned forward and met the Dovah’s gaze.

   

  “Nid. Prodah.”

   

  For a long moment the two stared each other down, neither willing to break the challenge first. A crowd had gathered—at a safe distance—by that point and everyone held their breath in anticipation. Then, as if by an unspoken signal, both the Dovah and the Dovahkiin broke eye contact simultaneously and the tension evaporated from the air. They parted in separate directions, the dragon towards the city and the Dragonborn towards the Blue Palace.

   

  The captain trotted to the Dragonborn’s side. “What of the dragon? It’s approaching the city!”

   

  “Leave him be.”

   

  The captain’s mouth gabbed soundlessly in disbelief.

   

  “The city has no prey worthy enough for him to hunt. That said; send a detail to ensure no one provokes him,” the Dragonborn elaborated.

   

  The captain ran off, shouting orders, while the dragon took a leisurely stroll through the terrified city. 

   

  The Dragonborn didn’t notice Amari and Trebonde in the crowd, but one of the palace guards spotted them and graciously offered to escort them back to court. Trebonde thought about bolting, but the courtyard was a hive of activity; they wouldn’t make it more than a few steps. So instead, their steps lead them back towards the throne room, each weighing heavier than the last.

   

  The Dragonborn, or Sul as they’d learned in Karthwasten, was already far ahead of them.  He hunched and cast glances towards the ceiling as if even the great spanning hall and high arched ceilings felt too confining. The guards had trapped the chicken in a corner behind a barricade of shields and Sul diverted his course to investigate. Amari and Trebonde couldn’t hear the guards from the distance, but the Dragonborn’s rough voice easily carried down the hall.

   

  “What?! You must be joking.

   

  … No, it’s only a chicken.

   

  … Seriously? Laas!

   

  See? …Yes. Not a mage.” 

   

  The pranksters couldn’t help an outburst of laughter, but quickly disguised it as a coughing fit at the stern looks of their escort. By time they reached the mighty chicken wranglers, an officer had descended upon them and was grilling them out for making the Guard look like fools before the legendary figure. Trebonde cringed; it was fun and all, but those guards would probably be running laps around the city instead of having dinner tonight.

   

  The throne room was a cacophony of noise, each noble attempting to shout over the next, save for the Dragonborn. He stood calmly before the throne at a stark contrast to the gathered court. In place of fineries, he only wore a leather cloak, linen trousers, and the outlawed Amulet of Talos. The amulet wasn’t so much in defiance to the White-Gold Concordat as he just didn’t care.   

   

  Elisif the Fair’s voice pierced over the overs and took the helm.

   

  “You did what?!” she demanded of the Dragonborn. “You released a dragon inside my city?!”

   

  “So? It’ll be fine. Now why was I summoned!”  he demanded back, then clucked soothingly to the startled chicken he was holding.

   

  Bolgeir Bearclaw, the housecarl, came to his lady’s defense. “You will not speak so to our Jarl!”

   

  Dragonborn spun to the warrior like a raptor honing in on its prey. The control of his aura slipped and it rushed to fill the room with a suffocating pressure. He took one step towards the man with eyes burning like molten gold and the proud Nord’s resolve broke. Bolgeir stumbled backwards and knocked over a silver vase. Elisif winced at the clattering noise and spilled flowers. Then the moment passed. The pressure withdrew back inside him and his eyes returned to the piercing ice blue common among the Nord’s once more. In the silence of the vacuum, the Dragonborn handed the housecarl the chicken without a word. Not knowing what to do, Bolgeir accepted the hen and started stroking it with a still jittering gauntlet.

   

  Elisif went to nervously bite her fingernails; this was already not going as planned. She felt small and alone, like when she first had the crown thrust upon her and everyone walked over her, using her mourning to gain their ends. Now, her whole world was falling apart again.

   

  She snapped her jaw shut; she was not that naïve girl anymore. Years of war and political treachery had hardened her. She was the Jarl and once that murderous traitor’s rebellion was crushed, she would claim her title as The High Queen of Skyrim! Her people were in danger and not even the Dragonborn could cow her!

   

  “SO?!” Elisif rose from her throne. “You. Left. A. DRAGON! To rampage in my city! There will be no further discussion until you vanquish that beast, Sul!”

   

  “Vanquish?” Sul asked, nonplussed by the fuming lady.

   

  Elisif faced off with him and looked about to tear into him again when a courier burst into the room.

   

  “Mi’ Jarl,” he addressed Elisif between heavy breaths, “the dragon has left the city!”

   

  The Dragonborn crossed his arms smugly while Elisif bit her tongue.

   

  “Was anyone hurt? What were the damages?”

   

  “No one was hurt. The dragon seemed content to… tour the city. Property was damaged, mostly the roads,” the courier reported.

   

  “You can expect the bill in your mail. Um, where is your address?” Falk Firebeard asked the Dragonborn, looking skeptically at the tough leather of his bare feet.

   

  Sul waved a dismissive hand, completely blanking the steward and addressed Elisif, “To the emergency. What prompted you to use Windcaller Jorunn.”

   

  The young advisor nearly fainted that the Dragonborn still remembered his name from when he first swore his vows.

   

  “Markarth has fallen,” Elisif stated flatly.

   

  Sul turned his back on her in distaste. “I have already told you, just as I told Ulfric: I will not take part in your war!”

   

  He started walking out of the court without being dismissed and Elisif shouted after him, “And look how many have died for it! For six years this country has bled! For six years brother has slain brother; mothers have filled mass graves with thousands of their children—“

   

  “And what?!” Sul stopped at the head of the stairs. “I could have ended it in a year? Maybe less? Do think I do not know this?!”

   

  He voice thundered, shaking the very walls. Then he began stalking back towards the throne room. His aura started escaping again and with each step the wrath of over a score of dragon souls lashed around him.

   

  “I have long meditated on this. I have seen time as the dragons do and followed the endless sands— Vennesetiid— along that Path. You believe I could save lives by ending your war?”

   

  He laughed and spoke in growing fervor:

   

  “There is always another war, a new threat. Do I end those as well? We live in a world of eternal conflict; trapped in a cycle, forever repeating its sins. Yes, this Path leads only to more bloodshed. A sea of blood and fire would flood forth from the Fatherland and wash the lands with the screams of the dying. Then from the ashes, all would bow to my tyranny!”

   

  Elisif fell back into her throne as he drew close. Draconic voices whispered at the edge of hearing and seemed to be urging him from the shadows to follow such a fate.  

   

  “But another has already done this,” he whispered, regaining control. “And I will not follow in his footsteps!”

   

  He tore the amulet from his neck and clenched it in his hand. The spear and axe head symbols joined into a cross dug into his flesh, drawing blood.

   

  “Zu’u Fen ni-Kos Talos! I will not be the next Talos… So, please do not ask again, for I may lack the strength to refuse.”

   

  Elisif looked upon the deflated Dragonborn, now that his anger was spent, he looked so very vulnerable. She felt cruel for playing her next card, but it had to be done for her people.

   

  “There… There is more to it. It was not that usurper that sacked the city, but the Daedra.”

   

  Sul’s head shot up. “The Daedra?! Which ones? How did they slip enough forces past the Dragonfires?”

   

  Falk handed him the bloodstained message and let him read for himself.

   

  “Servants and Illusion magic,” Sul said aloud after finishing. “This could only be Forsworn tricks. Where’s the courier?”

   

  Elisif answered, “Sadly he passed carrying out his duties. Valus and Kaera finished his service.”

   

  The Dragonborn noticed them for the first time. “Those two?”

   

  He moved before Trebonde to study him closely and Trebonde glared defiantly back. “I know this one. He’s a thief.”

   

   

   

   

   

  Dragon Speech Translations:

   

  Notes:

   

  1. Bolded words are ones shouted with power. Words said like this become truth.
  2. A few words (what/challenge) are based of the Legacy Dovahzul Dictionary, which is not cannon, but greatly expanded the vocabulary.

  “Odviing, sarran dii daal.” [Odahviing, await my return]

   

  “Zu’u sarran fah Nid. Dovah uv Dovahkiin.” [I wait for none. Dovah; or Dovahkiin.]

   

  “Fos?” [What?].

   

  Zu’u ni zaam! [I (am) no slave! Specifically one without free will.]

   

  “Zu’u yah ni zaamme!” [I seek no slaves!]

   

  “Kun.” [Good/ Literal light, or as a metaphor for right cause or purpose.]

   

   “Dahmaan miiraad.”[Remember (the) path.]

   

  “Hi jur zu’u?”[(Are) you challeng(ing) me?]

   

  “Nid. Prodah.”[No. (A) warning.]

   

   

  

   

   

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