A Warning

• Posted by Golden Fool December 15, 2016 - Filed in TSC: Short Story - #Sir Fluffles and Darling  - 1,962 views

  The sun had almost completely disappeared below the horizon, signalling that it was almost time for the gate guards to bar the gate for the night. As though to confirm this the stream of people seeking entrance to the city had dwindled to no more than a few old farmhands looking forward to a night spent drinking at the local inn, and the odd traveller in search of a paying job or their next adventure. These stragglers were greeted by the sight of two heavily armoured women, who stood waiting before the door of one the many houses that doted the main street of Whiterun.

   

  One of the women, a dark-haired Nord was leaning against the side of the house, watching her companion pace up and down the short path that led from the street itself to the structure’s main door. With each lap of the path her companion grew increasingly agitated, as evidenced by a steady stream of mumbled curses that could be heard by the Nord and anyone passing by. To those who had spent any length of time within the city’s walls this was nothing out of the ordinary, and as such was offered only a sidelong glance. To those that were new to the city however, the spectacle of a very angry, very heavily armoured woman was only made stranger by the fact that she was an Orc. One of a few, if not the only Orc within Whiterun hold. As the Orcs were rarely seen outside of their strongholds on the edges of the province, it was especially strange to see one in Skyrim’s central most city.

   

  Seeming to have finally had enough, the Orc turned to her companion and spoke in the rough voice that her kind was known for. ‘For Tusk’s Sake! Lydia, if he isn’t out that door within the next five minutes I’m going to go in there and drag him out by his big dopey ears.’ As if to emphasis her point, she grasped at the air before her and gave it a sharp tug.

   

  Lydia, her expression as stern as always watched this display with what appeared to be disinterest. Once she was sure that her companion was finished she spoke up, ‘I was sent here by my Thane to make sure that you two arrived on time. So, if that’s what it takes for it to happen then so be it.’ Pausing, Lydia looked down towards the main gate were the guards appeared to be readying the gate to be shut. ‘I would also like to remind you that at this rate we won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning, unless you or your…’ She hesitated as if unsure of what word to use.

   

  The Orc realising what Lydia was wondering and spoke, ‘We’re not married; he said something about it changing my personality too much, so just use his name.’

   

  With a nod, Lydia continued from where she had left off, ‘Unless you or Cyre know another way to leave the city.’

   

  Just as she finished talking the door swung open and a dark skinned High Elf stepped out. He was clad in a red and black striped tunic and matching pants, which could only be described as fool’s clothing and he wore a wolfish grin across his face. Having heard the end of the conversation he started talking before either woman could react to his appearance.

   

  ‘I do actually, but that’s a tale for another time.’ With a glance towards the gate he added, ‘We should probably get going or it might become something for us to discuss today.’

   

  Before he could take even a couple of steps down the path to the street, the Orc barred his path and grabbed the collar of his tunic with her steel-clad fist. ‘What took you so long? And by Shor’s Balls if it had anything to do with that chest full of cheese, I’ll throw the damn thing off the cliff behind Dragonsreach.’

   

  Without a moment’s hesitation Cyre started to object, ‘Now what’s wrong with a little cheese. I remember a great man once said cheese for everyone…’ The moment he had opened his mouth, her grip on his tunic had started tightening and it was only when his collar began to dig into his throat that he stopped talking.

   

  After a few seconds of silence her grip loosened and she motioned for him to start talking. Recognising that she was not in the mood for his frivolity, Cyre decided it would be safer to get straight to the point. ‘I was telling the kids about the time I stole you away from the stronghold you grew up in.’ Not being able to help himself, he turned his head towards Lydia and said, ‘At the time I never would have believed that Miss Borgakh Steel-Heart would be so kind hearted as to insist that we take in the first orphans we met. You should have seen her when…’

   

  For her part, Lydia stared back at Cyre with the same stern expression she’d been wearing since the start.

   

  With a snort Borgakh cut him off, ‘Stole? For tusk’s sake Cyre, if I remember correctly you tried to sweet talk me into leaving without telling the Chief and when that didn’t work you payed my dowry so they’d have no reason to object. Now I’m not complaining…’ As she said the words Borgakh knew she had only given Cyre another opportunity and she was half right as he had started staring at her with what she thought was one of the most genuine smiles she had even seen him with.

   

  ‘Mara’s Tits, would you stop looking at me like that.’

   

  Releasing her hold on his tunic Borgakh turned away from him and started walking towards the gates. From behind her she heard Lydia say, ‘You have him well trained, don’t you?’

   

  Without turning around, she answered the question. If only to get back at Cyre, ‘Considering that he’s more dog then mer at times it only makes sense.’

   

  This comment was immediately followed by a deep growl that sounded almost bestial from Cyre followed by his voice, ‘We’re sometimes more wolf then mer. Please don’t provoke him.’

   

  The end of this exchange was punctuated by a solitary note of laughter, that caused both Cyre and Borgakh to stop in the middle of the street and look around for its source before turning to Lydia, who was doing her best to hide a smile that had crept across her face. The two stood in stunned silence as they watched her take a deep breath and then settle her face back into its customary stern expression. Avoiding eye contact with the two, she then brushed past them and continued towards the gate at a greater pace then was necessary.

   

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day. I did see that right? Lydia did just laugh and then walk off in embarrassment? Balgruuf and Kjald need to hear about this.’ Cyre had turned to Borgakh as he spoke, a massive grin spreading from ear to ear as he pictured the fun he could have.

   

  Borgakh having only just recovered, took in the sight of Cyre grinning madly and Lydia, having reached the gate, asking the guards to let them pass before closing them. Realising that they were wasting time, she grabbed Cyre by the arm and started dragging him down the street.

   

  As she dragged him along she answered his previous question, despite there being no real need to.

   

  ‘Yes… yes she did. Don’t waste your time telling those two about it, neither of them will believe you. Especially since it’s you and you’re just as likely to make something up as to tell the truth.’

   

  Cyre reacted to her words as though she had punched him. Looking physically pained he refuted her claim, ‘I tell the truth at least most of the time, it’s just that none of you want to believe me. But if that’s what you want to think then fine, I’ll stop talking to you all together.’

   

  The moment he stopped talking he started to pout and to anyone that didn’t know him it would have looked like he was truly upset. Borgakh however; having turned to look at him as he spoke, noticed that his eyes were almost sparkling in joy. This only led to her thinking ‘why him?’, but as she remembered the various schemes of his that she’d been dragged into since meeting him her lips started to curve up around her tusks in spite of herself.

   

  As the three of them passed under the final arch which marked the very edge of the city, they heard the thud of the gates being closed and bared behind them. Other than that and the sound of their boots against the stones that made up the road, they walked in silence until they were out of earshot of the guards on the city’s walls.

   

  Lydia was the first to speak, breaking the silence. ‘I’ve been wondering. Why did you insist on traveling through the night and not when I first arrived or tomorrow morning?’

   

  Turning to face her Cyre spoke, ‘Kjald has told you about Darling, right?’

   

  At the mention of the beast living within Cyre, Lydia visibly stiffened and almost reached for her sword. Taking this as confirmation he continued, ‘It’s been a while since the two of us last got to have some fun. You know, the usual things like hunting bandits, running from any guards or vigilants that see us and pissing on the occasional tree or wall. Now, if one of you would be so kind as to carry my pack, I shall meet up with you later. Oh, and if any of my cheese is missing, I’ll be very upset.’

   

  With that he placed his pack on the ground and fur started to spring up across his body. Just before he took off, Borgakh cried out, ‘So you were wasting time with that damn cheese…’ but he was gone before she could finish what she was going to say.

   

  With a sigh, she resigned herself to having to wait to give Cyre an earful and picked up his pack before slinging it over her shoulder. Sure enough a strong aroma of cheese could be smelt from it.

   

  Turning to Lydia she noticed that the Nord was noticeably paler then she had been before Cyre transformed. It was to be expected, as it was her first time witnessing it. Letting out a second sigh, Borgakh started walking away from the city with the slightly stunned Nord in tow.

   

  ~~~~~~

   

  Borgakh and Lydia had been walking in almost complete silence for several hours and Borgakh was starting to wonder when Cyre would re-join them. If only for there to be someone with which she could hold a conversation, no matter how annoying that conversation might be. Ever since she first met Lydia in the months following her departure from her stronghold, Borgakh had known that she was not one for idle chatter. In fact, at times it was so bad that it was hard to get anything out of her that didn’t relate to her duties as the Dragonborn’s Housecarl.

   

  As they had been walking, she had occasionally caught glimpses of a man-sized wolf sprinting past in the distance. It hadn’t been long until she realised that Cyre and the Beast were clearing the areas they were travelling through of any potential threats. There had been a couple of times when they had come across the remains of these threats and the mess the two had left had caused Lydia to gag. While Borgakh had seen similar scenes before, she had had no desire to inspect them too closely and so they had moved on from each scene as quickly as possible.

   

  She was snapped from her thoughts by the sound of rustling coming from a group of trees beside the road, and that of metal scraping against leather as Lydia drew her sword. Before either of them could do anything else a voice emanated from the trees, followed by a figure which revealed itself to be Cyre as he stepped into the circle of light cast by their torches.

   

  ‘Is that any way to greet a friend?’

   

  Recovering quickly from the surprise, Borgakh tossed Cyre’s pack at his chest and resumed walking. Once he and Lydia had caught up, Borgakh started talking, ‘As I was trying to say before you ran off. The real reason you took so long to get ready, was because of that damn cheese chest, wasn’t it?’

   

  Cyre smiled before answering, ‘And as I was trying to say, a great man once said, cheese for everyone!’

   

  It took a moment for Borgakh to fight back her irritation at his response. In that time Cyre had turned his attention to Lydia and was asking her what she thought of the beast after seeing him for the first time. To her credit, Lydia was a lot calmer about this then Borgakh was expecting, although she was still refusing to answer his questions.

   

  Deciding to save Lydia from Cyre, Borgakh grabbed his attention with a question of her own. ‘So, was that great man you or someone else?’

   

  This actually caused Cyre to grow silent in thought. Just as she was about to repeat her question, a grin spread across his face.

   

  ‘Sort of, a bit of both perhaps? You see it was originally said by… No, actually never mind. It’s maddening to explain and is also more amusing to leave it up to your imagination.’ He said this with a wink, and then moved out of Borgakh’s reach to lead the trio to their destination.

   

  ~~~~~~

   

  Before them loomed the tallest mountain in Tamriel. The Throat of the World.

   

  Their path had taken them past the ruins of Helgen and along the mountain’s southern edge, before bringing them to the town of Ivarstead just as the sun had begun to rise. Taking the chance, the three of them had spent some time in the local inn; a place called Vilemyr Inn, to rest and eat before making the climb to the peak.

   

  Borgakh and Lydia stood at the mountain’s base, having just crossed the bridge which spaned the river that separated it and the town. Cyre on the other hand had yet to cross and instead was busy talking to a couple of the locals. The easy way in which they spoke made it seem that they, at the very least new each other and it was making Borgakh curious as to just who these two were. She knew that Cyre had been travelling around Skyrim long before she had met him, but he rarely spoke about his past.

   

  Having finished talking to the two, Cyre made his way across the bridge. As he approached, Borgakh gave him a quizzical look and started to ask him who they had been, but he beat her to it.

   

  ‘That was Klimmek and Gwilin. Kjald and I did a favour for Klimmek back before Alduin decided to shit in the stew, by... well… being himself.’ Cyre grinned at his own joke and started up the steps that would lead them to the top of the mountain. After Borgakh and Lydia had begun following him, he continued, ‘Speaking of which, Klimmek mentioned that he headed up here yesterday evening. Kjald, that is not Akatosh’s ill-mannered spawn. So, we shouldn’t have to worry all that much about running into wolves or anything along the steps.’

   

  There was a moment of silence as the reality of what the Dragonborn was trying to do sunk in. This was followed by a question from Lydia, ‘Did he say anything about having seen either the General or Ulfric?’

   

  ‘If they were already here, we’d know it. Ivarstead would have been full of young idiots playing soldier and glaring at each other menacingly.’ Noticing Lydia’s concerned look, Cyre added, ‘Of course, they’ll turn up eventually. It’s still quite early and Tullius at least, has to come quite a distance. They’re both afraid of the Dragons and while they may not be smart enough to accept that Alduin has returned, it’s not every day that the Dragonborn and the Greybeard’s request your presence for peace talks.’

   

  Lydia nodded in acknowledgment of his words, but she still looked concerned in spite of what he’d said.

   

  Cyre, probably getting bored of being serious for once in his life, started up a conversation with the beast. ‘So, Darling, how long do you think it will take for Elenwen to threaten my life? Perhaps we can set a personal record.’

   

  His words were followed by a pause, which his companions could only assume meant the Beast was answering the question.

   

  ‘Darling you do know that not everything can be solved by the tearing out of throats, plus I don’t think she’d taste all that nice. Much too full of herself.’ Dispite that, Cyre did stop talking for a moment as though to think about the possibility of killing the Thalmor’s First Emissary, ‘Although I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy being rid of her.’

   

  Having heard Cyre mention the leader of the local Thalmor, Borgakh couldn’t help but question him. ‘Do you really think that she’ll turn up? I thought the Dragonborn had only requested that General Tullius and Ulfric be here for the talks.’

   

  ‘Well naturally. She thinks too much of herself to be left out of the most important meeting that will have occurred during this war. She’ll also need to make sure the treaty with the Empire is being upheld. They can’t have a mere human be more important than themselves, can they?’

   

  In the following silence, Lydia spoke up, ‘Do the Thalmor want you dead like they do my Thane? I would have thought they wouldn’t have a problem with one of their own.’

   

  The moment she finished talking, Cyre burst out laughing, the sound of which could probably be heard back in Ivarstead. It was several minutes and hundreds of steps later, when he finally managed to recover from his fit of laughter. Wiping a tear from his eye Cyre turned to Lydia to finally answer her question, ‘Do you really think I’m the same as those self-important fool’s in the Summerset Isles? Just because I’m an Altmer? First of all, not all of us agree with them, and those of us that are still alive no longer live in the Isles. Although the reason she might have it out for me in particular might be due to that time I snuck into the embassy and hung all her underwear from the main gate. Or maybe it was the time I surrounded her bed with pie when she was sleeping so she’d step in it when she got up.’

   

  While he was talking Lydia’s expression quickly changed from one of curiosity to that of shock. Borgakh on the other hand remained unfazed, having heard of and having been forced to participate in countless of his pranks.

   

  A silence settled around the trio as Lydia seemed too shocked to say anything more and Borgakh doing her best to forget some of the things Cyre and by association she, had done. Realising he wasn’t going to get anything more from the two, Cyre went back to chatting with the Beast and it wasn’t long until they were deep in conversation about how best to annoy Elenwen when she eventually turned up.

   

  The remainder of the climb was spent in almost complete silence, the only noise being Cyre’s half of the conversation.

   

  By the time, they reached High Hrothgar and stepped into the relative warmth that being inside a stone building on the side of a mountain provided, they were all quite glad to be sheltered from the freezing winds that buffeted the building year-round. Once they had finished praising their respective gods; and Cyre himself for some reason, they continued deeper inside.

   

  They were greeted by a pair of Nords; one of which looked old enough that he could easily have been grandfather to any of them and whose body was draped in a large grey robe that was tattered at the hem. The other looked more like he was only just old enough to be considered an adult, that is if it wasn’t for his incredible height. Even for a Nord he was tall, only being about an inch shorter then Cyre who himself was tall for a High Elf. Looking at him it was clear that he was a capable warrior, as his lean body was covered in muscle and he was wearing armour made from the bones of dragons over the top of a chain mail shirt. His hair was a fiery red and he had eyes that were the blue of ice, which would have been unsettling if it hadn’t been for the warm smile that he wore upon seeing them.

   

  With a stride that allowed him to cross the hall they were in with only a couple of steps, he hurried over to Cyre and gave him a massive bearhug. A small exclamation of pain could be heard from Cyre as the Nord’s armour dug into his chest, but he did his best to prevent it from showing on his face. When the Nord finally released him and in doing so stepped back, Cyre spoke, ‘Shor’s milky teats Kjald, I’m still not used to you being this tall. Oh, and you have to hear this. We actually saw Lydia laugh and not only that but she was so embarrassed she stormed off.’

   

  At Cyre’s words Kjald’s mouth dropped open and he started staring at his Housecarl, who was doing her best to inspect the carvings that lined the walls. After visibly having to regain his composure he responded, ‘There’s just no way Cyre. Miss “I’m here to carry your burdens” actually laughed, there’s just no way…’ seeming to be lost for words he took another look at Lydia, who was even more intently looking at the carvings. Turning back to Cyre a smile that looked out of place on him, but would have been perfectly at home on the High Elf, spread across his face.

   

  ‘You know what this means? Don’t you Cyre? Under all that talk about duty and burdens, there’s actually a real-life person, with a sense of humour and everything else that makes up a person. Oh, we can have so much fun with…’

   

  Before he could finish talking, Borgakh was on the move. Coming up beside Cyre, she punched him in the side and the combination of her steel plate gauntlet and Orcish strength caused him to cry out in pain and start clutching his side. She then turned to Kjald and he seemed to revert back into a child being scolded by his mother.

   

  ‘I expect his sort of thing from him, but not from you. But then I suppose I can’t really blame you, having been trained by him, it only makes sense that you would pick up some of his habits. Hopefully the kids don’t pick it up as well.’ Her tirade continued on for short time, and all throughout it the mighty Dragonborn stood meekly before the Orc woman. Once she was done, Borgakh stepped forward and gave him a hug, startling him and then stepped back, ‘But by Malacath’s third tusk, Cyre’s right, you have gotten tall.’

   

  They were all brought out of their little bubble, by the sound of a cough which echoed far more than it should have. The elderly Nord was now standing only a short distance away and was staring at them expectantly.

   

  Realising that he had yet to introduce the old Nord, Kjald seemed to straighten before giving the introductions. ‘Sorry. Everyone this is Arngeir, oldest and strongest of the Greybeards. As he is the only one that can talk without unleashing the thu’um, he will be acting as the mediator during the talks. And Arngeir, this is Cyre the man who trained me, his partner Borgakh the Steel-Heart and my Housecarl Lydia.’ As he spoke he motioned to each of them in turn.

   

  Arngeir bowed slightly to the three of them and then took the chance to say a few words of his own. ‘It is a pleasure to meet the three of you. Especially you Cyre, for without your training we would not have such a fine hero in our time of need.’ The way in which he said the word hero, seemed to imply that he didn’t care much for the idea, but he didn’t give them very long to think about it before he continued talking. ‘I don’t know what the Dragonborn has told you, but if he believes that having you here will help then I am obliged to thank you for accepting his request.’

   

  Cyre, taking a moment to bow himself; a much more formal and less showy bow then he usually displayed, returned Arngeir’s greeting. ‘The pleasure is all ours, for it is not often that one gets the opportunity to meet one of the Greybeards. Masters of the way of the voice. I am here at Kjald’s request to provide advice during the talks should he require it. I believe it would be best if I didn’t sit in on the talks directly as there will most likely be multiple people who will not be happy with my presence.’

   

  Arngeir’s eye’s widened slightly at Cyre’s words, but he quickly recovered and then nodded to himself before responding. ‘Very well. If you and your companion would like we could arrange a place for you to sit from which you could listen in on the talks but not be a part of them.’ He paused and when Cyre nodded in agreement he then turned to Lydia, ‘I believe that you will want to stay with the Dragonborn and stand guard alongside your fellow Housecarl?’

   

  As he had posed it as a question, Arngeir stood awaiting a response which did not take long.

   

  ‘Yes, that would be preferable. Where is Jordis now? I’d like to discuss some things with her.’

   

  Nodding Arngeir motioned for Lydia to follow him and then turned to the Dragonborn, ‘I’ll show Miss Lydia to the room we shall be using for the talks, then ask one of the others to set up some chairs for your other guests before I return.’ With that he walked off with Lydia in tow, his pace was much faster than his appearance had led the others to believe was possible.

   

  The moment he and Lydia had disappeared around a corner, Kjald led Cyre and Borgakh to the side of the room, so that they were no longer standing in the entrance. Turning to Cyre with a nervous expression he started hurriedly talking, ‘Cyre, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do once everyone is actually here. I need you in there with me otherwise…’

   

  Cyre held up his hand signalling for Kjald to stop talking and then let out a sigh. Taking a moment to think, he kept his hand raised and when he was finally ready to talk he lowered it.

   

  ‘First of all, it is highly likely that Elenwen will arrive alongside Tullius. Ulfric will probably object to this but no matter what he says you mustn’t make her leave. Nobody will want her here but Tullius will have less strife to deal with if you let her stay. If you must favour one side then let it be the Empire, despite everything that has happened they are still more likely to repel the Dominion then Ulfric’s band of rebels, so you will want to be on good terms with them. It’s a fact that humans reproduce faster than my fellow elves do, so they’re going to be ready to wage war sooner than the Thalmor would like and certainly sooner then they will be able to. It’s the reason the Isles lost to Tiber Septim and it will be the reason they’ll lose the next war with the Empire, that is if it is whole.’

   

  To Borgakh it was strange seeing Cyre being completely serious. In the time that she had known him it had only happened a handful of times and it still struck her as being odd. Unable to shake the feeling she just watched on from beside him, taking in what he said just as much as Kjald was. However, when Kjald asked Cyre what it was the Beast thought he should do, the spell was broken.

   

  ‘Hmm, Darling? He thinks you should pin them to the ground until they concede your dominance or if that doesn’t work tear their throats out and take command of their packs yourself.’ The viscous nature of the Beast’s advice caused Cyre to start smirking and it carried over into his voice as he continued, ‘While that would be amusing to watch, I wouldn’t recommend it. Well maybe as a last resort.’

   

  Cyre’s return to his usual nature seemed to cause Kjald to relax and the confidence that he had apparently been faking before was now a reality as he stood before them. At the sound of the doors opening, he smiled and went to greet the whoever it was that had just arrived.

   

  Borgakh watched with the faintest of smiles as Kjald and Arngeir, who had returned shortly after they had finished talking, greeted each guest and directed them to where the talks would take place. Cyre on the other hand was leaning against the wall, his face hidden by shadow as he watched. When Elenwen appeared alongside Tullius; just as he had predicted, a grim look flashed across his face only to be replaced by a smile. He motioned for Borgakh to go ahead of him and she gave him a concerned look before going to find the seats that had been prepared for them.

   

  Before Elenwen could leave the room, Cyre stepped forward grabbing her attention. As she realised who he was she made to leave, but by now everyone else had continued deeper into High Hrothgar’s halls, so Cyre was easily able to prevent her from moving on just yet.

   

  She took one look at him standing before her and turned her nose up at him before speaking, ‘And why are you wasting my time. If the Dragonborn has asked you to prevent me from taking part in the talks then I’ll be having a word with Tullius.’

   

  With a smirk, Cyre moved faster than she could react and grabbed her hand before moving to kiss it. This was followed by a sound of disgust and Elenwen attempting to yank her hand out of his grip but she was unable to so much as move it.

   

  ‘If you don’t let go of me this instant, you’ll have the full might of the Thalmor to deal with.’

   

  Having gotten the desired response, Cyre released her hand and then started talking. ‘To answer your second question. No, the Dragonborn did not ask me to stop you, this is something I’ve done myself. I just wished to give you my greetings and a warning. As such, welcome to Kjald’s attempt to bring peace to this land even for a short time. Something I’m sure you are dreading.’

   

  Sounding as indignant as she possibly could, Elenwen rejected his claim, ‘You can keep your greetings as I have no use for them, now what is this warning? And it better not be another one of your pranks.’

   

  ‘Certainly not. My warning is this. Do not underestimate Kjald, he may be young but he is more powerful than your Thalmor. I also have a second warning. If you so much as attempt to harm him, you will have to deal with me…’

   

  Before he could finish, Elenwen interrupted him with a scoff, ‘And what will you do? Surround my bed with honey this time? We can deal with you easily enough. Now let me past.’

   

  Cyre let out a sigh and this time when he started talking, his voice resonated with more power than Elenwen could believe. ‘Do you really think those pranks are all I can do? Maybe I should just tear out your intestines and strangle you with them.’

   

  The colour drained from Elenwen’s face as he spoke, and she even took a couple of steps back before regaining control of herself. As she watched Cyre took a deep breath and then looked at her without his trademark smile.

   

  ‘Ahem, sorry about that. Another me started to slip through.’

   

  Cyre then turned and left the room, leaving Elenwen to wonder about what had just occurred.

   

  ~~~~~~

   

  It was almost evening by the time the talks were over and Cyre and Borgakh were once again standing in the first room after the entrance to High Hrothgar. This time however they were watching people leave. So far Ulfric and his retainers had left looking as though they would soon regret what they had agreed to. Tullius on the other hand looked quite pleased and had left with Elenwen, who had flinched as they had passed Cyre. This was something which everyone seemed to have noticed as they had each stared at him with questioning looks.

   

  So far only Balgruuf and Elisif had come up to talk to him. Apparently, they would be travelling to Whiterun with Kjald and his Housecarls, where he and Balgruuf would set about getting things ready for the next step in the plan to hunt down Alduin. Which was supposedly to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach. He and Borgakh had asked that they pass on a request to Kjald to make sure either Jordis or Lydia was with their adopted children should they not make it back before the dragon was lured into the city.

   

  When he had asked what Elisif would be doing once they reached Whiterun, he had been told that Balgruuf would be sending his guards to accompany her and her own guards on the way to Solitude. The two had already left for Ivarstead to ready the those guards they’d left behind for departure and where now most likely awaiting Kjald in the warmth of the Vilemyr Inn.

   

  Those who were yet to make the decent, were busy watching a middle-aged Breton woman arguing with the Greybeards over the use of Kjald’s power. Which was understandable as she was the current leader of the shell they were calling the Blades, and they had always seen the Dragonborn as a weapon more than anything else, which was the exact opposite of what the Greybeards believed the thu’um should be used as. It was also fitting that her departure be marred by arguing as her arrival had been as well.

   

  Unlike the Breton her even older companion was looking directly at Cyre, when he noticed Cyre staring back at him, he walked over to where he and Borgakh stood.

   

  ‘Excuse me, but I was wondering. Did I hear correctly earlier? Is your name Cyre?’ After a pause the man seemed to remember that he hadn’t introduced himself, ‘Oh yes, my name is Esbern by the way. I was the chronicler for the Blades before… well before.’

   

  With a wolfish grin, Cyre took this piece of information in and his grin seemed to grow smaller. ‘Yes, one of them anyway.’

   

  Esbern started talking once more, his voice now sounding excited. ‘Hmm. Back before I fled Cloud Ruler Temple I remember seeing that name in the records of past Blades. If I remember correctly he was an Altmer who was instrumental in stopping the Oblivion Crisis. I know your kind have long lives, so could you be that very same Cyre?’

   

  Having expected this the moment the man introduced himself as the chronicler, Cyre had an answer ready immediately. ‘Did the records say anything about him being incredibly handsome?’ When he didn’t get a response from the old man, his grin shifted into a frown, ‘Yes. In another life, but yes that was I.

   

  Esbern now visibly excited, words started to burst from him and he almost bit his tongue from how fast he was talking. ‘I have so many questions about your fight against the Mythic Dawn. We lost so many records and even those we had before the fall were incomplete.’ He seemed to realise that he was talking too fast and took a moment to calm himself before continuing. ‘I’m sorry, I got a little carried away. If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you joined us at Sky Haven? You’re clearly on good terms with the Dragonborn, so why not help to protect him as one of his Blades?’

   

  Letting out a long sigh, Cyre took a while to respond to Esbern’s many questions. ‘Did those records say nothing of why I left? Nothing at all?’ When Esbern looked confused Cyre explained. ‘The reason I haven’t re-joined the Blades is because I failed. Martin was my friend. He was and will forever be my Emperor. I swore my life to him and I failed. I let him die…’ His anger at himself almost overcame him and he raised his fist as though to hit something, but lowered it again not long after. Borgakh who had been listening to their conversation from her position beside Cyre grasped his hand in an attempt to comfort him and when he finally started talking again she released her grip.

   

  ‘Did your records show that I visited the Temple of the One every year on that day for decades? As for protecting that boy you and the gods have placed the burden of being the hero on. I’ve done everything in my power to protect him. I taught him how to fight. He knows every dirty trick I’ve ever used or encountered. So honestly, he doesn’t need our protection.’

   

  Having decided that he’d had enough of Esbern’s questions to last his life time, Cyre caught Kjald’s attention and waved his goodbye to him. Seeing the concern on Borgakh’s face, Kjald nodded and waved back before turning back to what was happening in front of him.

   

  ‘I’m afraid that question time with Cyre is up. Esbern I bid you farewell, now Borgakh and I must be going.’ Having said all he wanted to, Cyre then walked towards the door and stepped outside, with Borgakh right behind him.

   

  Once they were outside, he took a couple of deep breaths and then turned to her, ‘What do you think of swinging by Riften on our way back. We could drop in and give Maven a visit. We could even take a carriage from there to Whiterun. What do you think?’

   

  Borgakh looked at him for a moment before answering, ‘She’d hate that.’

   

  ‘Perfect’

   

  A Table of Cyre