Chasing Aetherius: Chapter 9 - It Doesn't Always Go As Planned

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    “Damn that scheming elf! Damn him! He steals my notes, my discovery, and publishes it under his name! Twenty years of my life spent digging through those ruins, and what do I get? A dedication? 'Friend and colleague' my arse. He's just mocking me!”

     

    Well, I'll have the last laugh. Taron may have my theory, but he doesn't have any proof, not yet. If I can find the Forge first, I can show the world this is my discovery. Mine, not his!

     

    5th of Morning Star 4E, 203

     

     

    Archer groaned and Kahleron laughed, slapping the Bosmer on the back playfully while the smaller Elf vomited, the breeze from the rotating Dwemer blade traps still perceivable, but waning as they retreated back towards the center of the stairs. Jo’Naar wrinkled his snout in response and turned his head to bury it within the folds of Kahleron’s cloak, shuddering at the smell.  Kahleron wasn’t going to lie, he smelled it too. He peered over Archer’s shoulder to confirm his suspicions. Aye, the milky white liquid mixed with remnants of their morning’s roast venison. That was definitely Jagga. Ah, Bosmers, I did not know you still indulged, you old shit. Another groan from the tracker as he finished his retching.

     

    “My apologies, my Lord, for my lack of self-control,” Archer sighed, beginning to straighten up and Kahleron smirked at the pasty cast to Archer’s normally robust weathered tan, “but I really hate that spell. I would not have drunk if I knew you were going to use it.”

     

    Kahleron laughed again, gesturing broadly with his hand. The charge was still in the air, he could feel it. He loved that spell, mastered just before leaving for Skyrim. “I did not know I was going to use it myself! Would you have preferred to walk through that blade trap?”

     

    “Y’ffre’s bones! No, my Lord. My fate is to serve you.” Archer coughed, covering his mouth politely, lest any spittle fall upon Kahleron.

     

    Kahleron gave Jo’Naar a nudge and an amber eye could be seen peeking through the folds of fox fur. See, Kitty, now that is dedicated service. Would you vomit for me? I’m not so sure yet.   “My poor Archer,” Kahleron soothed. “I know that spell is rough on those with weak constitutions, or on those who perhaps indulge in too much Jagga. I didn’t know you still drank the stuff.” Kahleron raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You are nearly my age!”

     

    Archer gave a small nod and Kahleron saw the flicker of Wild Hunt in the wiry old tracker. “I have a few years of Jagga left in me yet, my Lord.”

     

    Kahleron returned the nod, giving the Bosmer another pat on the shoulder. “I am counting on that.” He closed his eyes as the pair of rotating Dwemer blades passed close by them again, feeling the breeze cool his beading forehead. A twin set of four blades, positioned at the ankle, hip, chest, and neck. When the Dwemer did not want one to pass, they meant it, Kahleron thought, releasing a gust of air. The spell had taken effort to cast, but with it, he, Archer, and Kitty—Kahleron grinned inwardly, that name was sticking, poor little beastie—could ride a current of lighting, surging upwards, out of harm’s way. Literally it was riding a bolt of lightning. The nausea was a side-effect, a trifle when dealing with such skill. According to Ancano, no mage in Winterhold could cast such magicks. It only attested to the weakness of the College.

     

    And the mongrel certainly couldn’t cast them.

     

    No, he couldn’t cast that spell, but judging by the deactivated constructs littering their path as they made their way through the ruin, the bastard knew other magicks. Rarer magicks and Kahleron could feel his nostrils flare in envy. Why Auri-El had blessed that beast with such magicks was beyond him. So many more were far more worthy, yet knew less.

     

    Kahleron opened his eyes and studied the blades, their rotating motion almost hypnotic against the grey-white stone of the staircase, letting the whipping sound calm him down to some extent. He assumed that the Dwemer did not even trigger them, but the mongrel triggered them. Had age made him this oafish? No, Kahleron quickly answered in his mind. The action was deliberate. So you left the traps running, you old mongrel.  Very clever. And you don’t have the spell I have to get through. How did he do it? What tricks were up that fox’s sleeve? I can ride bolts of lightning, and you, old mongrel, you cannot even heat your tea. Kahleron touched his goatee with the tip of his finger, pensive. I will best you. I am a lord of a noble house and you are the son of a Falmer whore and a crippled piece of trash little better than a goblin, dog. He chuckled suddenly, making Kitty start, and turned away from the now-waning breeze of the blade trap.  It was time for them to close in on the elusive dog. They were not far ahead.

     

    “You are ready, Archer?” He asked, fingering the jeweled hilt of his thin saber. The blade of House Gaebinder. His blade, received upon the death of his father. The blade that would finally end the life of the Dusken Dog. The blade that would scalp that hair while the beast still breathed.  That is, if Archer had brought what he was supposed to bring. He was so preoccupied with Dreth that he had not time to supervise Archer’s preparations. He had to trust the Bosmer. He did, but it was always better when he supervised such things. It was the proper dynamic.

     

    “I am ready, my Lord, again with much apologies.” replied Archer, stifling a small belch.

     

    “Then let us proceed.” 

     

    More sounds greeted them when they entered the next chamber, the steam heavy in the air. Noises of busted pipes, gears turning, and the steady gout of a flame. Kahleron’s eyes followed the flames, noticing the pressure plate directly below them. Next to it was an extended cylindrical device that, from listening to a certain eccentric Dwemer-mad Mer ramble on ad nauseum during his patrols, seemed to be designed to push an unsuspecting fool onto the pressure plate and into the path of the fire. A fool, because a real Elf would not fall for such nonsense. Several heavy pieces of Dwemer metal were placed on the pressure plate and the mechanism, Kahleron narrowed his eyes to study it, was jammed; a slender piece of Dwemer metal wedged tightly into a seam, preventing it from retracting back into its original position. The cylinder was shaking and groaning in protest in a recurring pattern that spanned several seconds, miniscule stress cracks already appearing in the metal. Your pattern, your way of existence is being disrupted, isn’t it?  Kahleron let a frown creep over his features. He tends to do that to all things. Disrupt.  It was jammed so they could not cross without climbing the cylinder. Doable, but it would slow them down.

     

    “We will have to climb the mechanism, my Lord.” observed Archer, knocking on the metal with a leather-gloved hand. Kitty had already leapt from Kahleron’s shoulders, his lithe, tubular body nimbly slinking under the pipe and towards a second set of stairs that lay just beyond. To scout ahead. Kahleron rolled his eyes. Stop calling him Kitty. Oh, you know you won’t stop, just don’t do it in front of the beastie. Archer laid his hands on top of the Dwemer cylinder and then used them to push himself up, landing in a squat on top. His head then turned rapidly when all three heard a noise. Bastard had rigged it! The piece of scrap metal snapped and the cylinder suddenly retracted, forcing Archer to dodge forward towards the ground to prevent himself from falling into the fire trap. He landed with a careful roll and was on his feet again in seconds.

     

    “Oh, I have no time for the mongrel’s games.” Kahleron snarled, casting a ward towards the fire before the cylinder could resume its eons-old pattern and extend again. It allowed him to walk across, though he did feel beads of sweat form on his forehead when his ward faltered briefly. You were never strong with wards. He paused at another set of steps while he watched Archer move forward, scouting ahead, following Jo’Naar. The Bosmer then stopped, pressing his cheek against a part of the wall and took a deep breath.

     

    “They went this way, my Lord, the area reeks of Nord.” Archer explained. “He is sweating profusely, unaccustomed to the heat. The dog passed by as well. Something bothers me though.”

     

    “What is it Archer?” Kahleron asked, approaching the top of the flight of stairs. He noticed that several rooms, separated by grilling in Dwemer metal, had their doors open, two broken lockpicks on the floor. Did the dog pick these locks?

     

    “There is an undead among them.”

     

    Kahleron froze at Archer’s words. Always so perceptive.  “An undead?” He clarified, his eyebrow going up again. His face betrayed nothing though.

     

    “Yes, it cannot be anything else. It is light, but I do smell it, someone lacking life passed through here. Some of them can disguise their appearance; appear like a member of their original race before they…” Archer didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. “Perhaps that was what Greenskin was referring to?” The Bosmer continued, making a sour face and then shuddering. “She is his ‘weakness?” Asked Archer, pulling away from the wall. He hesitated before speaking again, not sure, it seemed to Kahleron, what words to pick. “But he is a priest! The beast… Is it possible that the beast,  that he—“

     

    “Lies with it?” Kahleron completed Archer’s question, the look on his face and the acid of his tone silencing the Bosmer. “Remember, Archer, he is little better than an animal, a goblin. Descended from those vile creatures that dwell underground, a failed race. He probably would not know a horse from a vampire.” It was Kahleron’s turn to shudder, but he also clenched his jaw. “That he was once promised to a queen disturbs me to no end. The folly of our people. Fortunately, we have risen above such things.” He grabbed the hilt of his saber and straightened his back. Archer was delving into territory that he was not classified to know and he would have to divert the subject soon. He was only a servant, a loyal one, but still a servant. It was common knowledge among Kahleron’s close circle that the mongrel traveled with a vampire and that he fornicated with it. He was prepared, however, and barely suppressed a chuckle when Dreth handed him that piddly silver dagger. You think that little needle will stop a Daughter of Coldharbour, Dreth? The beast’s whore? I have fire and other things, you piece of Dunmer shit. He let the images flood his mind, old memories; the screams, their teeth bared, the flashes of red, and then flashes of purest Aetherius from a black gauntleted hand... He had worn black that day.

     

    He had worn black when a city by the sea was purged.

     

    He had worn black when green fire showered Sentinel.

     

    You think you’ve felt pain, mongrel? Your suffering under me will be beyond comprehension. I can almost feel your hair in my hands, my blade cutting...

     

    “My lord?” Kahleron blinked and regarded Archer. The Bosmer’s grey brows were furrowed with concern, the lips pursed. How many decades, Archer, Kahleron asked with his eyes, feeling his face redden with anger. How long has that mongrel eluded us? I don’t want to fail again. I can’t fail again. He was within my reach! A shadow, the subtle shifting of a black cloak against a backdrop of stone, wisps of snow-white hair. You knew he was there, you felt it in your gut, and you did nothing…  “Are you alright?” Kahleron let his features soften at Archer's words, only realizing then that his jaw ached from clenching it so hard and that he was trembling with rage.

     

    “That obvious?” He sighed, suddenly feeling very old when he let his body relax.

     

    “We will find him, my Lord.” Archer reassured. “He will answer for his crimes. His crimes against your honor. We will kill him.”

     

    “No.”

     

    “My Lord?”

     

    “I want him to suffer, Archer. Did you bring it?” The Bosmer flashed a look of surprise, but Kahleron dismissed it with a wave of his hand, and both Mer found their old humor returning, the understanding that comes with decades of service. “Oh, come now, I know full well why you were cooking the entire time we were traveling with those imbeciles.” The Bosmer looked away demurely, and Kahleron could see the faintest smirk form on his lips. “How long do they have?” he pressed.

     

    “A few days, perhaps less, my Lord.” Archer answered, scratching his head in thought. “The Nord may have less, he ate more. However, I did not have access to my usual measuring equipment and had to improvise. The doses may be slightly off.”

     

    “Good. They were a nuisance anyway. And back to my first question. Did you bring it? I don’t want him dead, Archer, not yet. I want him to suffer first. I want him to see me shear his hair. Unable to move, unable to fight back…” Kahleron let his voice trail off, his eyes catching two little lights dance in the black void of the corridor ahead. 

     

    “My Lord, look.” Kahleron’s eyes drifted towards his faithful servant, watching him draw an arrow. Different from the rest of his golden quiver. A black arrow with scarlet fletching. “Already prepared, my Lord. If this strikes his chest, he will live before he dies. A black arrow for a black heart.”

     

    “He doesn’t have a heart.” Kahleron mumbled before turning to see the pair of lights from the corridor morph into Jo’Naar as the Alfiq slinked back towards them, his black and grey tabby nearly invisible against the shadows cast by the Dwemer grillwork. Only his amber eyes betrayed him, glinting hard in the fluorescence of the Dwemer lamps. Little pockets of Aetherial light in the darkness.

     

    “What have you to report, Jo’Naar? Archer, your pack.” Kahleron asked, quickly assuming his collected demeanor again while Archer put away the arrow to begin rummaging through his pack for a piece of paper. A paper with the Tamrielic alphabet. A way to speak with the little beasties.

     

    Another trick of the mongrel’s.  

     

     

     

    Erik heard Äelberon hum the pitches again as he leaned towards the lock of the sealed alcove and both he and Serana rolled their eyes, sharing knowing smirks.

     

    When it was Dwemer, you just sort of had to leave the Harbinger alone to his devices and the two Nords allowed themselves to grin at the eccentric Altmer who was now singing to Dwemer locks. Serana had taken to leaning against a side of the opposite doorway, near a series of small, carved Dwemer pedestals, each topped with a glowing blue button.

     

    The Harbinger’s next puzzle.

     

    A set of imposing Dwemer metal bars were blocking their way to the next chamber. She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head when the infernal tune escaped the Harbinger’s lips again, but her tired eyes weren’t angry. It was similar to the tender look Greir sometimes gave Farkas when she caught him doing something silly and she didn’t care. A funny look from a vampire and Erik didn’t expect it, at least based on the way Vilkas rambled on about them. Truth be told, the Harbinger did look silly. Lost in his own world again. He was kneeling, his face pressed right up against the lock, almost squashed. Hood down, to expose a pointed ear, eyes narrow in concentration, hair frizzing a little in the high humidity. If anybody in their group looked like a crazy mage, it was him. Erik was relaxing his aching muscles against the entryway to the left of the Elf, away from the path of the small metal spouts they saw mounted on the walls at regular intervals. Spouts they knew would release fire if a mistake was made.

     

    They were taking a risk, but it was a beautiful shield and Erik didn’t have one. The charred remains from the Dark Brotherhood attack yielded nothing usable, burned and damaged. But the Dwemer shield tempting them from inside that locked alcove was too good to pass up. The Harbinger said it glowed with a powerful enchantment. Erik didn’t see it glowing, but he took them at their word. Something that—

     

    The Harbinger hummed the tune again and Serana pricked her ears when she saw the Old Mer smile. It must have clicked. Damn, he was fast. There was only one lockpick on the floor. He opened the door and then scooted back awkwardly, still on his knees.

     

    “Wiping the floor with your knees, Old Mer?” Serana smirked, shaking her head.

     

    “Huh?” He grunted.

     

    “You normally shorter than me?” She quipped.

     

    The Harbinger grinned “Oh, well then, I should probably stand up.”

     

    Probably?” Serana chuckled and the Old Elf winked at her, making Erik think that he was funning her the whole time with his absent-minded behavior. He did that a lot. A couple of grunts and audible cracks from his bones and the Harbinger rose to his feet facing Erik, the pride showing on his face. Old Mer loved being smart. More than being a warrior. 

     

    “Well, lad, claim your prize.”

     

    Erik stepped away from the wall and towards the gilded alcove that contained the shield while the Harbinger made his way to Serana.

     

    Erik touched it and breath escaped his lips as he trembled in excitement. Never in all his days had he owned something so fine. Sure, he had seen many grand weapons. Decimus’ Goldpact sword, the Harbinger’s own ebony, the mighty Okriim, and then there was the bow used at the battle of Castle Volkihar. That had belonged to a very god, raining sun fire upon the battlefield when fired at the sky. When you see shit like that, even Gru’s jaw had dropped, speechless.  And then there was the Razor.  Daedra had weapons too, though that was in pieces in Dawnstar with a big “fuck you” to Mehrunes Dagon from the both of them and a very relieved Silus Vesuius. Erik smiled at the memory. We sure pissed in that Prince’s eye, eh Gru? He sighed, they had some good times. But this, this was totally his. A Dwemer shield. Older than any of them. It was beautiful, no dents, no scratches, the rich golden Dwemer metal smooth and carved in the combination of circles and rectangles typical of Dwemer design.

     

    “You alright?” He heard his Harbinger whisper, making Erik glance backwards from admiring the shield. The Altmer was propping his left shoulder against the same doorway where Serana was, his hand massaging her shoulder. She didn’t look so good to Erik, pasty, her forehead damp from whatever she sweated. It was a weird liquid, like mixed with old blood. “Do you need to rest, Serana?” The Harbinger’s voice was lower now, his smile replaced with a concerned expression.

     

    “Yeah and no, I’m fine.” she replied, closing her eyes. “It’s just hotter than the damn Ashlands here and…” She opened her eyes, locking them with the Harbinger, “you are bloody fat, Old Mer.”

     

    He raised his eyebrows, “Fat?”

     

    “Aye, fat.” She eyed him. “You may have lost a little when I was gone, but you have.” she poked his gut, making him squirm. “More than made up for it. Bal’s Balls, Windhelm better check its food stores. He eats like a pig.” She noticed Erik. “Am I right?” she asked.

     

    Erik opened his mouth to speak only to stop when his Harbinger gave him a hard look. “You like that shield, eh boy?” The eyes were twinkling, though and Erik laughed.

     

    “Gonna go Goldpact on this and say it’s none of my business.” Erik replied. 

     

    “HA! That’s my boy!”

     

    She punched the Altmer’s stomach, making him grunt. “The next blade trap we see, Erik, you get to carry his Fatness across.” she warned, closing her eyes again, resting.

     

    Erik’s eyes wandered back to the shield, leaving the two to their funning. He suspected he’d be on first watch again once they hit Blackreach. He was curious, he wanted to know what enchantment was on the shield, but he couldn’t see anything. No glow, nothing.  “What kind?” he blurted out, lifting the shield and turning to show them. Serana opened her eyes and left her position with a final shoulder squeeze from the Harbinger.  “Go, cast your fancy magicks, woman.” he smiled, watching her take the shield from Erik.  The look on his face similar to the one Farkas often had for Greir. The “I am so lucky” look.

     

    Ysmir’s beard, she was strong, lifting the hunk of Dwemer metal with just one slender hand, turning it into position and propping the shield edge against her hip in one fluid motion to get a better look at it.  She was tall, but thinner than Aela, more willowy, but he saw a whole new side of her earlier in the ruin when a malfunctioning construct triggered a blade trap. A series of four rotating blades, deadly, and the Harbinger wanted to keep the trap activated for whatever he still thought would follow them. After some deliberation, it was decided that Serana would change into something that Erik had not seen since the battle for Castle Volkihar. It was a large bat-like creature with powerful wings, looking a bit like her, but at the same time not. In that form, she carried Erik safely over the traps and then proceeded to carry the Harbinger over. And then… Erik chuckled, feeling his face turn as red as a tomato. 

     

    “Bal’s Balls you still thinking about that?” Griped Serana, giving the Harbinger a look. He had already started looking at the four pedestals when he turned, returning her glare with a silly half-smirk.

     

    It was the smack. She had to remove her armor to shift, or she would be doing the ruin naked as a baby. The Harbinger formed a barrier while she removed them, the display of modesty from her another thing that Erik hadn’t expected, considering what Vilkas usually called her under his breath.  Flying through the air was exhilarating and Erik almost forgot that he was being carried by a vampire demon. Gru would not have liked that, he was scared of heights and Erik remembered the Orc’s shrill screams from the roof of the Temple of Dibella after one crazy night in Markarth—stop thinking about Gru. He’s fine. He’s with Decimus. Just focus on this. Questing with your Harbinger. On an adventure when only a few days ago, you thought that part of your life was over. When she changed back, the Altmer shielded her nudity again and then Erik heard the playful smack of a behind and the vampire squealed. She squealed, a proud Nordic vampire of the clan Volkihar, as powerful as her lover, squealed like a young maid.

     

    “You squealed. I had never heard you squeal before.” Erik replied, facing her.

     

    “Fair enough.” She grinned, “Just watch your arse, though.”

     

    “Believe me. My arse has suffered under him enough already.”

     

    The vampire released a laugh, covering her mouth to hide her fangs. “I’m beginning to wonder about you two.”

     

    “Younglings...” The Old Elf muttered gruffly. “Do not swing that way. You would think she would know that by now the way she and I go at it. Hmm, let me see, four buttons, buttons, buttons...” He grumbled to himself. “Must be connected to a word, yes, a password.” He made a gesture like Galar, a flick of the wrist in their general direction. “Go, you better cast that spell and tell the boy what he’s got or I’ll be in Blackreach before you. This one is not hard. Read about this one in the old Tower...” 

     

    “Not hard, he says.” She said, raising her other hand to cast magicks.

     

    “I know.” Erik smirked.

     

    “I am within earshot.” The Altmer called out as he mumbled. Sometimes, he was like a nice Galar.

     

    “What are you going to do?” Erik asked, shifting his attention back to Serana.

     

    Serana broke her study of the shield to regard Erik. “It’s called a ‘Scrying’ spell. I can learn the enchantment of an item, like a piece of jewelry, or a weapon, or the shield. Very useful. Galar has an amulet for it around his neck.” She smiled, put down her hand, and handed Erik back the shield. “A good one, resist magic, very potent too. An excellent find.” Serana then gestured with her head back towards the Altmer who was still grumbling words to himself. Sounded like Reson, resonation, resonator, resonance, like he was trying to decide something, “You know, dumbarse over there, for all his Tower smarts, doesn’t know an enchantment to save his fat arse?”

     

    “They come in colors. That is all one needs knowing…” The Harbinger interjected. He then made a sour face. “And gah, why they made fortify destruction and flamebane nearly the same color is beyond me. Almost burned my hand off at Bleak Falls Barrow. It is a wee bit darker orange, the one for flamebane, but really, enchanters should work on that. Like bloody alchemy, confounded labeling...”

     

    “See, he can see the bloody colors. Without casting too. I have to cast, but he just bloody sees it. It’s pretty impressive, shows he’s very attuned to magical forces. But…”

     

    “Hmm, resonator or resonance. Resonator is too easy, that would be the last button and, I just do not think that is right...”

     

    Those two talked an awful lot. Like Gru and Dec, but about different things. Mage things, word play, about the things they read, the adventures they’ve had. Probably would’ve driven Decimus crazy and he struggled sometimes to make sense of what they were saying. The intrinsic properties of soul gem consumption of what-not and the effect on the soul’s ectoplasmic—he  guessed—energy and some word that started with an “Au” and ended with an “is”. And that was what those two talked about while eating. He didn’t want to think about what they talked about when—Thank Talos, Serana’s words brought Erik back before his face became red again. “He never bothered to learn what the colors meant. If he had had the inclination to learn, he’d probably be a better enchanter than Galar.” Serana smirked. “That would’ve driven that Telvanni up the wall. But, he never did, spent his days fishing instead.”

     

    “And that is why I have you, my honey nut treat.” With that, the Old Elf quickly pressed the third button on the left. “Resonance!” He exclaimed. “Take that, Dwemer! This one’s not so dull!” For a second Erik held his breath, thinking all Oblivion was going to break loose when a metallic groan resonated in the chamber, but then all three saw the vertical bars retract into the recesses of the ceiling, letting them through.

     

    The jokes were suddenly gone too, Erik could tell from his Harbinger’s face. They had been relatively protected, sandwiched between the still-running blade traps and the now-lowered bars. There was no such protection now. The Harbinger gave him a nod and Erik took a few moments to retrieve some rope from his pack to strap the shield to his back. Another quick nod from the Harbinger as he stooped to pick up his bow, slinging it over his shoulder. 

     

    “Aye, boy, I will rig it for your hand when we get to Blackreach.” He turned to Serana and gave her a once-over. “You sure you are alright?” he asked, unsheathing his silver bastard and charging a spell with his left hand and Erik found himself staring at the spell, remembering being covered by magicks earlier today. A protection spell, his Harbinger had said before they started the ruin, against poison, and he let a ‘Witch Elf’ touch him again. Galmar’s words, Ulfric’s words, but not his. Erik understood the value of magicks now, and the Harbinger was certainly no witch. He was a priest, a healer. They had used the Harbinger’s magicks a great deal, to protect from the chaurus’ poison and for the constructs. Erik wished he had been there for Arkngthamz. When the spell he used struck a construct, it was like they just stopped, smoke coming from their cores. Like something in his magicks made them overload. Perhaps it would’ve been different in other ways too. The Harbinger just seemed to calm everybody down. 

     

    “I’m fine.” She shrugged, checking her blade. “It’s just hot. Feeling it more this time than I did in Alftand.” Their eyes locked for a moment and Erik furrowed his brow when he saw their faces. It made him worried. 

     

    “Let us continue and finish this.” The Altmer rumbled, his eyes focused on the corridor.

     


     

     

    Serana left them behind to scout ahead. Her footsteps were silent and she was careful to not interact with her environment. Noises of grinding gears, and metal against metal, the unsteady sputtering of steam. The clicking sounds of chaurus. The low hisses of Falmer. The air was heavy with humidity and the acid mix of resin, mold, and insect blood assailed her nostrils, followed by traces of smoke from a campfire.  Their blood, their life was making her head pound, her heart quicken and she licked her lips in anticipation. The change had made her hungry, heightening her senses. She peered through the second set of grilled Dwemer doors, studying the location carefully, her vision clear in the dim lighting.  The chamber was huge, much larger than the narrow, pipe-laden corridor they came from, lit by several waning Dwemer lamps. Beron and Erik would have enough light to see by, but the room had many dark shadows and she didn’t like that.

     

    At the center was a large platform jutting into a Dwemer-made body of water, over Beron’s height deep. Upon the platform was a single pedestal with a glowing button. She made out the shape of a drawn bridge across the water and behind it, the tiny gusts of steam blowing at various joints gave its presence away, its features highlighted from behind by a lamp, like a silver lining around a cloud, but far more ominous.

     

    A Centurion. At rest. Until, I bet, you push the bloody button, she smirked. Bet you block the way out too, you hunk of metal. Something seemed off, however, the room overly noisy. You’re going to have to go in to figure this out.

     

    Around the water, the white stone walls of the ruin were gradually being overwhelmed by the resin-based construction of the Falmer with several tunnels placed in strategic locations. To her, it looked like a place where they harvested and bred their chaurus. Eggs sacs were scattered everywhere, their bioluminescence pale pockets of an eerie teal with heavier concentrations near the water. Did they need water to breed? Several Falmer were stationed, actively patrolling the area. Appointed to guard the breeding pair of chaurus that were being kept in a makeshift cage to her left. Probably a storeroom for Aetherium when Raldbthar belonged to the Dwemer. She did a quick count. Four Falmer; two archers, two with sword and shield, and then she smelled it to her left, behind the chaurus cage, out of her line of sight.  The faint charge of shock magicks. A mage. Shit. She hoped shock was all it knew.

     

    The last one, encountered at a bridge connecting two large sections of the ruin, cast balls of fire from a staff.  Serana was forced to retreat when it discovered her, running and climbing at full speed to avoid being burned alive. The smoke was terrible, the heat, and Beron had been too far to cast a ward to protect her, stationed at the other side to lower the bridge when the coast was clear. The look on his face watching her dodge them, almost failing in the heat of the ruin.  It had resisted the powder, refusing to sleep like the others did, refusing Beron’s orders to stop in Falmeris.  It took them all by surprise, screeching loudly to awaken its sleeping brethren. And he got angry when he heard her cry of pain as flickers of flame overtook her, ending it with an arrow, sending it crashing to the stone below. He chewed his lip for a while after that encounter, feeling guilty, the tension on his face while he healed her burns.  It was the first of “The Betrayed” he had killed since the Forgotten Vale, their tragic plight moving him to pity a once-proud race. It was part of the reason why she had lightened the mood when they continued. Among other things.

     

    Beron and Erik had stayed behind, working fast to rig the ballista, while she investigated the chamber ahead. Both she and Beron were hearing noises from the piping since that bridge some distance back, and it wasn’t Falmer or chaurus. No, it was light footfalls, four of them, like a small animal and at first, they thought skeever, which was logical in a ruin like this. Until they noticed a pattern to the footfalls. It followed and then it would turn back, only to return later. They were being followed and both were worried, both of them now keeping things light to not frighten Erik. He was a brave lad, but there was now the unknown, he was so young and Beron felt responsible for his Shield-Brother. Whomever was following got through the Blade trap!  With four blades! This was no fool!  Dreth himself, perhaps? So Beron, knowing full-well that this was going to be bad, decided to rig the ballista. A last-ditch effort to keep their pursuers at bay.

     

    “...put the plan in motion, and may it bring us what it brings us.”

     

    His words from the mill, her brow furrowed, when home was still an option. It isn’t an option now, she frowned. You are watching him walk. He is covering it up, straightening his back on purpose, projecting a facade of strength, but he’s stiff and tired. His bones are cracking. It wasn’t Erik that needed to go home, it was Beron. Damn the dragon, damn all dragons to Coldharbour!

     

    The plan was to remove several tiles, including the pressure plate, using the edge of his sword and some Dwemer scrap metal. Then, and it was a big then, because he could very well set the ballista off himself if he wasn’t careful with the triggers—don’t think about that, not now—hewas going to place the exposed triggers under the other tiles and leave the pressure plate inactive, so they would have a route for escape. Their “shadow” would naturally avoid the pressure plate. Instead, they would trigger the ballista by stepping on an adjacent tile. It was brilliant, delicate work. His type of work. It was a good plan.

     

    Things, however, do not always go as planned.

     

    The blade trap was also a clever plan and they were still being followed. How? It had to be a mage and that realization plagued Serana as she carefully opened the grilled door. She crouched low while the Invisibility spell lost its effect. It didn’t matter, she was shrouded in darkness, finding a shadow nearby, her element. She didn’t need light in this room and neither did her quarry.

     

    Her target was the mage, inching slowly towards it. A female. No guilt, you don’t care. She will kill him. If he didn’t have his ward up, she would kill him and the last mage had resisted the powder. Very similar to the elemental pouches Beron used to talk about from the Tower, except these were filled with a sleeping powder. Attached to an arrow and shot to the desired location from a safe distance. Upon impact, the pouch exploded, covering its intended victims in dust. Making them sleep. She had some with her, for close encounters. His solution for a race he could no longer bring himself to attack.

     

    Sometimes they were lucky and they could walk among them, watching them reel and beat their heads in confusion when he spoke their ancient tongue or even sang one of his lenya’s ancient songs. It unlocked something in them deep down and perhaps they remembered a better time when they rode horses into battle, carrying spears in the sunlight. A time when their eyes were a crystal blue, like the Skyrim sky in Winter. Children of Skyrim too.  But he had killed one today, defending her.

     

    It shifted and Serana froze, watching the Falmer adjust her position on her bedroll. A staff was by her side, the head of it resting on her bare thigh. The Falmer was, Serana furrowed her brow, grinding dried insects and fish in a bowl, her face ahead, unaware of the intruder stalking her. Serana was so close, she was able to recognize the ingredients, orange dartwing, river betty, and something with a pale stem. The Falmer was making a powder first, mixing the ingredients, before she would mix it with water to heat.  Ah, it was Imp stool. She inched closer, using the grinding sounds from the Falmer’s mortar and pestle to her advantage. It hypnotizes you, the rhythm of the grinding and she could tell the Falmer was focused on the sound, possibly using it to ease tension. Beron would relax to its sound sometimes, while she worked on potions in the field. I bet he’d sleep now.

     

    The Falmer suddenly rose making Serana stop in her tracks, but she quickly calmed down. She’s going to fetch water. You’re an alchemist too. You need water, then you heat the ingredients and then you distill, pouring the contents through a filter. Serana inched forward. Hmm, the Falmer being by the water would not be good. She needed the alchemist in the corner, muffled by the rockwork and the gate. The Falmer turned around, facing her tent and set the bowl upon the ground. Forgot something? It then squatted over the bowl and Serana dropped her jaw when the familiar yellow-tinged liquid left its body.

     

    That explains a lot about Falmer poison. She blinked a few times, still not believing. She’d have to tell Grulmar, the Orc would laugh like an idiot. Stop staring at the Falmer pissing and attack, her back is to you, you fool. She started, trembling. Now! Serana lunged forward quickly, grabbing the Falmer by the throat, pinching her windpipe before she could scream. She felt the Falmer struggle against her body and she squeezed tighter, her fingers going through the pasty white flesh of the throat, into tissue. There was blood and she drank her fill, watching the other Falmer do nothing, still at their posts. The smell of piss too strong to counter the smell of shed blood. There were a few more frantic twitches before the life left its body, giving it to her.  Sated, Serana let the Falmer drop silently and picked up its staff, feeling the rapid flush of heat to her skin. It was suddenly far cooler in the ruin, her own body temperature now rising to surpass it. The mage was out of the way, his safety ensured. It was time to see what was making all that noise.

     

    She crouched low and cast Invisibility again. Serana then walked past another Falmer, fingering a pouch of sleeping powder. She’d use it if she needed to, but she trusted her silence. The creature didn’t even feel the breeze of her wake. She followed the sounds of gears grinding. The stress of metal against metal, struggling to move in a way it was designed for, impeded by something. It was similar to what Beron had done to one of the other traps at Raldbthar. Her eyes narrowed when she reached the end of the chamber.

     

    A piece of Dwemer metal had been wedged crudely between two heavy gears. Why did they do that? She glanced back at the Falmer. Why would they do that? It created more noise overall in the chamber. Hmm, perhaps use it to their advantage in fighting? Muffle their steps? Had they heard them this whole time in the prior chamber and were simply readying themselves? Stationing the mage behind the entrance suddenly made sense to Serana. They were ready this whole time. When she returned to report, they’d have to plan their strategy. Who knew what would emerge from the tunnels? She eyed the metal again and smirked. Perhaps it was time to give them a little scare. You didn’t hear me kill your mage, but you’ll definitely hear this. She was confident that she could become invisible and silent again before they registered her presence. Her scent light in the air.  Besides, it was quite clear that the gears were connected to the button and ultimately the bridge. They needed a way out. Something was coming for them.  

     

    Incapacitate the Falmer, release the bridge, deactivate the centurion, head for Blackreach. That would be his plan.

     

    Or, sneak past the Falmer, activate the Centurion, and let the scrawny bastards deal with it while they dove safely into the water and climbed the wall into the next chamber to head to Blackreach. That’s what you would do. She rolled her eyes Who are you fooling? He would not go for that idea. His bloody honor, his empathy. The hard way, the right way. Damn it.  That being said, they had yet to see the telltale stairwell leading to the cavern and that made her a little nervous. Her hand reached for the piece of metal to yank it out, freeing the gears, when she heard a sound that brought a sick feeling to the pit of her stomach.

     

    The ballista fired, the vibration upon its impact felt by the remaining Falmer. They readied their weapons.

     

    Beron?

     

    A Falmer then screamed and she heard chitin strike chitin, accompanied by more savage hissing and snapping. Chitin? Serana whirled rapidly, not sure what to make of the sounds. Her eyes widened. They were attacking each other violently, oblivious to her. She glanced to her left, another pair of Falmer were also engaged in combat, one of them dragging its comrade towards the pool to drown it. The tunnels then seemed to vomit Falmer, snarling and ready for battle. Her eyes tried to count them, but they were moving too fast.

     

    A huge blast of lightning and Serana’s throat caught when it didn’t deter the Falmer’s fighting. Quickly running steps, Nord battle cries.

     

    Erik. Erik was doing battle. Her eyes found the Falmer again, watching them kill each other and then she felt it, smelled it in their sweat, felt their heat all around her, heard their hammering hearts, saw the red behind the webbed membrane of skin that grew over their sightless eyes. The anger, the fury. This was not normal behavior. What they had done before, that was normal. But this… she felt it, the tickling flavour around the Falmer, like sharp needles being pushed into their minds, driving them into a frenzy like a pack of wolves tearing into a carcass. The Magicka...

     

    By the Blood…it was a mage following them. A powerful one.

     

    No. She remembered his words to her their last night in Windhelm. They, they knew such magicks. The only thing that ever made Beron run. Vingalmo had known such magicks.  She knew them too, but not like this. Anger dwelled in this caster and he had channeled it into one Oblivion of a spell. Anger like Vingalmo’s.

     

    Beron suddenly backed into the chaos of the chamber. Why was he going backwards? You fool, all around you are fighting Falmer. If they see you! He turned his head briefly, responding to the noise of the Falmer and she saw the blood coming from the corner of his lip. The red-orange eyes widened in surprise when he saw the small army of Falmer and then narrowed in determination, his head turning back to face a large form emerging from the doors. Beron raised his weapon to block a blow and Serana saw a flash of black ebony strike his silver bastard, sending sparks into the air. 

     

    Rage was written all over Erik’s face.

     

    She pulled the metal from the gears and turned rapidly to point the staff at a group of Falmer. A spectral troll emerged, making them scatter, diverting their attention. She charged her ice magicks and began to battle her way to Beron.

     

     

    They killed him! Killed him! Erik screamed in his mind, growls of anger mixed with grief escaping his lips as he swung his sword towards his enemy. Bastard had been following them. Thalmor. They had always wanted him and now? He faced the smirking Thalmor, felt his blood boil while the Elf dared wield his Harbinger’s weapon, the blade still wet with the old Mer’s blood. Now they had him. He was dead. Their Harbinger, their Dragonborn. And now you will die, you bastard.

     

    The Thalmor easily blocked his blow and took another step back. Erik swung the ebony sword of his Harbinger and the Justiciar blocked again, still grinning, not even bothering to strike back, which was making Erik even more infuriated, throwing him into a true Nordic rage.

     

    A single scene was constantly replaying in his mind. They had just finished rigging the ballista, joking that they couldn’t let Serana have all the fun. The Harbinger, with his usual smile, had just opened a gate made of Dwemer metal. The moment the gate opened, Erik saw a red light flash out of the corner of his eye and then there was a big Altmer, almost as big and strong as Äelberon, standing over the Harbinger’s lifeless body.  He smiled at Erik, holding that sword.

     

    How? How is this possible?! Erik wailed in his mind, the tears freely flowing. He aimed his blade at the Altmer´s neck, which was easily blocked. Undaunted, Erik continued with the attack, retracting the blade a little bit to pass his opponent´s crossguard and stabbed at his chest. The silver sword went down in a very energy-saving block, but Erik moved closer, shoving against the Altmer with his shoulder. It was probably the rage that gave him enough strength to move the Altmer, who took a few stumbling steps back towards the bridge.

     

    Erik knew he probably shouldn’t ever try a move like that, not with their blades so close, but the rage was feeding him. The anger. Frenzy. The Thalmor had to die. But the Justiciar was just defending himself, not attacking.

     

    “Fight back!” Erik roared into the Altmer´s face, spitting on it, and the Thalmor shouted something back in his Altmeri gibberish which made the Nord even angrier. Erik released another set of wide and powerful swings, his whole arm hurting from the blows. He saw how the ebony sword was cutting into the silver sword of his opponent, the weaker weapon not being able to withstand the aggressive attacks much longer.

     

    “Erik!” the Altmer shouted, in Äelberon’s voice, and Erik´s vision became blurry for a second. He squinted when he swore he saw his Harbinger standing in front of him briefly.

     

    Thalmor magicks! Illusions! They were very well known for it and he growled and continued with his attacks. Witch Elf magicks won’t bring my guard down. He prepared a mighty swing. The Altmer then raised his hand and a warm violet light flashed out from it, blinding Erik momentarily, leaving him swinging his sword violently. He blinked several times and then he saw Äelberon standing in front of him.

     

    “Erik!” the Altmer shouted. “Snap out of it!”

     

    “Harbinger?” the Nord murmured and blinked a few more times. It was as if a heavy fog was being lifted from his eyes and mind and he was suddenly able to see clearly again. They were near a bridge leading over water, with Falmer fighting all around them, and Erik didn´t understand how it was possible he didn't notice them before. It was chaos in this room. Wait? Where was Serana? Erik’s eyes scanned the massive chamber.

     

    There was Serana, on the other side of the...water cistern? Is that a water cistern?  She was engaging a group of Falmer, cutting them down as if they were just flies. The Harbinger had seen her too, his eyes going back and forth between Serana and studying the room, while Erik still fought the effects of… he couldn’t place it. Like he was suddenly sick to his stomach. The Harbinger’s eyes were narrow, like he was noticing something and Erik was trying to follow what he was seeing with his own eyes, but he couldn’t see anything. Then the red-orange eyes darted in a different direction.

     

    A group of Falmer suddenly broke off from one side and headed their way.

     

    Äelberon yelled something in a strange language and they quickly stopped, confused, maybe even looking little afraid and Erik blinked several times. Then they resumed fighting each other. It was the language he had tried against the mage in the other room and Erik knew. It was Äelberon, the real Äelberon. He was sure. “What happened to me?” Erik asked, his eyes looking everywhere, trying to process..

     

    “Illusion,” Äelberon growled, quickly going up the steps towards some kind of Dwemer device, very similar to the buttons they encountered before they entered this big room. “We need to move, Erik, be ready. Gaiaoth, A nesianni...” Erik held his sword in front of him, watching for any kind of trouble. The Harbinger was looking at one particular spot still, eyeing it like a wolf stalking prey, but Erik saw nothing. His eyes momentarily wandered towards his maimed arm. Did I really fight my Harbinger with only one hand? He didn´t fight back. It all makes sense now.

     

    The Falmer slowly made short work of themselves, shrieks and snarls were loudly ringing in Erik´s ears, almost hurting him. Not by the sheer sound, but the pain in it. He looked at those creatures and he couldn´t help but pity them and it was breaking his heart. They didn’t deserve to die like this, maybe the Harbinger could cast his magicks, the magic he had used on him? 

     

    He was about to open his mouth, say something when there was the sound of clapping, making Erik frown. Clapping? Here? Suddenly, a tall, wiry Altmer materialized, stepping into the light, right where the Harbinger had been eyeing. He was dressed in colourful clothes, leather sleeves decoratively slashed to reveal puffed scarlet silk underneath, looking like some exotic mercenary from a distant land. Bald with light green eyes, filled with malice. As he was nearing them, he continued clapping, and then some sort of cat appeared at his side. A cat with leather bracers on its legs and golden earrings that matched the hoops on the Elf’s left ear.

     

    “Oh, what a show,” the Altmer purred. “What fun. Watching these mindless beasts kill each other. Beasts?” He pretended to look ashamed. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, forgive me, dear Knight-Paladin. I should not be so disrespectful towards your um, family? Eh, old friend?” he continued with his amused voice, but his eyes were like ice and staring directly at Äelberon. His Harbinger stared back and Erik saw the square jaw clench slightly. “But where are my manners? Greenskin sends his regards.”

     

    “What?” Erik cried. He had done it. He didn’t want to think that Gru could, but deep down he knew. All the way back at Windhelm when he saw him talk to Stenvar. He knew Gru had something cooking. It was them. How much was my Harbinger worth, you fucking bastard? “How?” It was Erik’s turn to growl again, tightening the grip on his blade.

     

    “Erik.” Äelberon warned. “Do not listen to him.” He stepped forward, attempting to put himself between Erik and the Elf. “He lies.” Did Äelberon recognize him? Erik’s eyes moved between the two Mer. They looked to be of similar ages.

     

    “You certainly don´t remember my name, am I right, old friend?”

     

    “A arktan sou huroon.” The Harbinger bristled in his own tongue.

     

    “That you do, eh rume alda. Well, since not everybody here speaks Altmeris, you may call me—“  the Altmer bowed mockingly and Erik heard the spite in his voice “—Kahleron.”

     

    “You dare dishonor—“ Äelberon whispered in a voice that made Erik uneasy.

     

    “Such a common name, isn´t it? But it rolls nicely over one´s tongue,” Kahleron chuckled and suddenly found Serana, who was slowly sneaking to his side. He clicked his tongue and the cat immediately responded, jumping forward. Sparks flew in the air where it landed and then from it emerged a wall of fire so large, it pushed Serana back in retreat.

     

    “Äelberon, shout! Use your fire. End him!” She cried out, wincing when the flames nearly licked her face. She growled and attempted to circle around. Erik saw the Harbinger tense at her words, hesitating.

     

    “But I´m not here to talk,” Kahleron suddenly said with a grim voice, his light green eyes never leaving Äelberon. “I´m here for your head. I suppose you won´t just give it up to me, right?” He then shrugged. “Well...I hope not, because it will be much more fun this way!” The Harbinger opened his mouth, but the Elf’s hands went up too fast, crackling and hissing with a blue light. The light barreled towards them.

     

    Erik felt Äelberon’s arm on his chest, pushing him back and he tripped over the stairs, falling on his back. He saw his Harbinger raise a ward to protect them both from the incoming spell. It collided with the ward, creating a sound like shattering glass and the other Altmer cried out in frustration. Erik instinctively tried to put his hand under him, only to realize he was using the wrong hand. He heard something crack and pain shot up his wrist while he dropped to the floor again. He growled in pain and tried to get back on his feet, to help Äelberon, but the other Altmer, Kahleron, had already drawn a thin saber and was on the attack. Erik doubled his efforts. He needed to get up.

     

    “Oh, no, you stay right where you are.”

     

    “Erik!” The Harbinger shouted in warning.

     

    He started to roll to get up, but Kahleron’s hand flashed with a green light.  Erik suddenly found he couldn´t move a muscle.

     

    “Shante as angua, Betoth!”

     

    And his Harbinger answered with a roar. “As Duskion!”

     

    From his position, Erik heard shouts from the other side of the room, the heat of fire coming from there was very strong and then he heard a loud splash. Someone fell into the water? Or something…

     

    Erik could see the Altmer clash their swords, the more agile Kahleron dodging most of the attacks from Äelberon’s heavier weapon, slashing forward each time he saw an opening, but the Harbinger always covered his weak spots just in time. He just blocked an attack at his neck and swung his sword down on Kahleron´s head. The other Altmer swung with his saber, using its curve to redirect Äelberon’s blow away from his body and with a swing over his head he aimed for Äelberon’s neck again. His Harbinger blocked the thin blade with his wrist guard and then hit the other Elf’s face with a quick jab of his fist.

     

    Kahleron´s head snapped back from the blow, blood pouring from his nose and he snarled. He recovered quickly, magicks gathering around his hands like a purple storm and then he shot streams of lightning towards the Harbinger. Äelberon raised a ward at the last second, and Erik saw how it shimmered against the storm. Erik couldn´t hear much over the crackling lightning, but he heard it perfectly when Äelberon turned to him and raised his voice. “Boy, close your eyes!”

     

    While the Harbinger continued to block the lightning with his ward, Erik suddenly saw light appear in the hand that held his sword. Wait, he could cast spells while he was holding a weapon? He did not dwell on it, however, and shut his eyes tight. Even through closed eyelids, he saw a bright burning flash of sunlight and he heard a surprised scream of agony. He opened his eyes and saw Kahleron holding his eyes and then Äelberon leaning towards the button to press it. 

     

    “Now! NOW!” the other Elf screamed, still holding his eyes.

     

    The moment the Harbinger pressed the button, a sliver of ebony and scarlet emerged from the darkness, traveling faster than anybody could react. Erik only realized it was an arrow when it struck Äelberon in the shoulder, penetrating his armor and embedding into his flesh. He growled and stumbled back from the force of the blow towards Erik.  The Harbinger’s eyes looked up briefly and then he snapped the shaft of the arrow leaving about two pertans of it sticking out, throwing the remaining shaft to the floor savagely. The eyes looked up again. “Shit.” Erik heard him curse before the big Altmer dropped to his knees, grabbed Erik by the collar and then rolled over the edge of the bridge down into the water. Erik heard the clang of metal strike the bridge just where they were and the other Altmer’s angry screams.

     

    Everything was drowned in wetness and darkness and Erik could feel himself slowly panicking. He couldn´t move, he couldn’t breathe. That same warm violet light then appeared and he was transfixed by it, opening his mouth in surprise. The light touched him and then he had control over his body again.  

     

    Someone violently pushed him up and Erik broke the water’s surface with a sputtering gasp, coughing up water, replacing it with air. Through blurring eyes, he saw that the bridge was now down, the massive Centurion that had been guarding it stepping heavily towards Kahleron. Erik saw sparks of lighting and gusts of steam.

     

    “Hey. Are you alright?” asked Serana, who was floating next to him and he nodded. How long had she been under? She pointed towards the door on the other side of the bridge. “We need to get there.”

     

    “But Äelberon—“ he started, worrying about his Harbinger. Where was he? His head moved about frantically until the Dusken broke the surface close by.

     

    “Forgot I could swim, boy?” He smiled, pointing towards the door. “Keep moving.” Erik nodded. They swam as close as they could, but the bridge was too high for them to reach it. He was surprised he managed to hold on to his sword the entire time and he sheathed it behind his belt.

     

    “How are we going to get up?”

     

    “I´ll get you up,” Serana said. “Once you´re there, you´ll help Äelberon.” She then went under the water and Erik frowned.

     

    “But how—“ he wondered.  He got his answer when he felt her under the water, grabbing his legs. Erik felt himself surge from the water’s surface as if he was thrown from a catapult. He grabbed the edge of the bridge with one hand and then tried to grab it with the other, but his crippled fingers weren't able to take hold. His wrist was hurting like Oblivion itself, but he noticed it was less stiff than before. He growled in frustration, just hanging there, his feet slightly above the water, and released another growl when Serana again pushed against his feet. I don´t want help. But I need it. The second push allowed him to get his forearm with the crippled hand over the edge. It was enough that he could pull himself up and over with some effort. 

     

    Using the same method, Serana pushed Äelberon up and Erik hissed under the weight of that massive Altmer. She was right, he had gained weight. What, pushing at least 17,000 angaids now?  How can he keep himself floating with all that armor? It took them a few seconds to get the Harbinger over the edge, for it seemed that the strength was leaving the Elf’s hands. Serana then went under the water and burst out of it herself, grabbing the edge of the bridge too easily as she pulled herself up. She stopped when she caught the Harbinger leaning against the doorway, the color beginning to leave his face.

     

    “Poison,” Äelberon slurred, catching his breath. “Damn... poison. Hurry. We do not have much time.”

     

    “Inside, quickly,” Serana growled, supporting the Harbinger as they made way towards the door. Erik couldn’t help it and looked back one last time, seeing the Altmer, the cat, and a small archer now fighting with the Centurion.  A Bosmer? The archer noticed him, releasing a golden arrow in Erik´s direction. Erik ducked and quickly headed for the door. The one that struck the Harbinger had been black.

     

     

     

    Serana’s eyes briefly lingered on the large Dwemer chest before resuming their intense gaze ahead. Normally the chest would be a time to stop and smile while he sang, unlocking Dwemer secrets with his baritone. But now was not the time. Instead, they sprinted to the door, hearing the sounds of metal spider legs striking the stone, of gears turning to propel something else forward just beyond them. More constructs. Beron hesitated at the door to their left, pressing his bad shoulder against it, readying himself to push it open. Fresh blood oozed from the arrow wound in response. The left arm was useless, twitching sometimes, but it was not the first time Beron had fought without the use of an arm, fought under the influence of terrible pain. His right hand was already compensating, grasping his bastard with almost a white-knuckled determination. His jaw was clenched tightly to control the muscle spasms, gritting his teeth, but she could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, his skin now devoid of any color. Whatever was in his body, he was fighting it very hard, but it was only a matter of time.

     

    “Wait.” He hissed impatiently, pushing her back with his sword hand when she attempted to rush forward. She growled in response, but he ignored her, his eyes boring into the door, his head tilted a little to the side as if listening.

     

    Behind them, the sounds of battle raged on. Flashes of lightning shimmered against the stone of the corridor. The narrow hall beyond the Centurion’s gantry rumbled with every strike of its hammer.  The smell of smoke and electrical charge was heavy in the air.

     

    “Harbinger?” Erik asked, gesturing with his head before instinctively looking back towards the sounds. “The door?”

     

    “Wait.” Beron repeated. He blinked hard and sucked in air.  

     

    The sounds of revolving gears were coming closer, approaching the door and then Beron slammed against it with all his strength, flinging it open. He cried out in pain, but the door struck the sphere just behind it hard, making it reel backwards, while Serana and Erik entered the next chamber. Two spiders came to greet them and to her right, in another room, she heard the sounds of… more fighting? Who else was here? She felt her brow furrow until she caught site of the familiar stone platform topped by a series of metallic circles that decreased in size to a slot on top. A slot that fit an Attunement Sphere… The Dwemer entrance into Blackreach! Serana felt a wave of relief. Beron had the sphere in his pack. They would need to get the shard and then… It was going to work! His plan. She heard his battle cry and whirled, realizing only now that Beron had not stopped.

     

    The Old Mer took advantage of the construct’s unsteadiness and continued to push the door. It resisted, putting its rotating gears in full motion in an attempt to free itself from the new barrier, but with a snarl, Beron pushed harder, corralling the construct between the door and the wall. He then dropped his sword and placed his right hand on the door’s edge, pulling the door towards him, using the strength of both hands, willing his left hand to move. The Sphere responded, attempting to change direction and striking the door with its bladed arm. Beron groaned at the vibration of metal against his arm and then pushed back rapidly. The sphere hit the wall and Serana could tell that the blow had caused damage. You’re beating a construct with a door? And she almost laughed aloud while she continued to engage the spider before her. Constructs were fast, but she had just fed and was faster. It lunged at her with a leg and she dodged, jumping over the automation to land behind it. It swiveled its head to locate her, but it was too late and the last thing it sensed was her plunging her blade into its core. The construct fell at her feet. Her eyes shifted at the sound of more slamming. Aye, Beron, you are beating the thing with a door. Her smirk turned into a frown when she saw how uncoordinated he was. His normal economy of motion and easy grace on the battlefield were gone. His hands were fumbling, struggling to grasp the edge of the door. Beating it with a door is all he can do. And he slammed the door again and again, killing his arm in the process, until she saw the shock flicker briefly from behind the door and the construct’s arm fall. Their eyes locked when the Sphere collapsed in a heap of broken metal..

     

    “New use for door.” He slurred, managing a smile. A lop-sided one, for the left side of his face was feeling the effects of the poison, the muscles twitching uncontrollably. His bloodshot eyes then found the platform. “Black…reach…” He stammered. He was losing control of his body and she realized what they had used.

     

    Paralysis. The bastards had used paralysis. They had wanted him alive. Alive to do Gods only knew what to him before they finally killed him. They wanted him to feel pain.

     

    He stooped to retrieve his weapon, almost falling over in the process and then clumsily removed his pack to toss it to Serana. Erik, in the meantime, had backed up towards them, sheathing his weapon, his spider already vanquished.  All three couldn’t help chuckles when the scratched-up leather pack landed with a thud two steps shy of her and well to the right.

     

    “Don’t go using your bow, Old Mer. Oblivion only knows what you’ll hit in your current state.” She quipped, bending to pick up the pack.

     

    “Ha, ha, ha, very funny, woman. Watch me laughing.” He grumbled sarcastically. 

     

    “To the left is a lift, Harbinger. I think the shard is to the right. Did you hear the fighting?”

     

    “Aye, I heard.” Beron teetered a little, swallowed, and regarded the chamber to the right. “I get shard. Open door, woman. Boy, be ready for whatever is below and for what comes through the corridor.” He wiped the pronounced drool from the corner of his mouth and frowned at their stares. “What?”

     

    “Harbinger, you’re in no shape—“

     

    The silver brows plunged, hooding his eyes. Erik, don’t ever tell Beron that he can’t.

     

    “Boy, stay and guard. I canna wield a blade, but I other things, tricks. Serana open door. Now!” He snapped, stumbling towards the chamber, sheathing his weapon as he muttered. “I g…got tricks still… can still f.. f…fight…”

     

    “You heard him. Be ready, Erik, while I get this door open.” Serana reassured.  She removed the Attunement Sphere from Beron’s pack. He was right, she hated it, but he was right. He’d maybe be able to grab the shard at this point and make it back to them, maybe, but he was in no shape to engage whatever emerged from the corridor. Erik watched her place the Sphere into its slot. Another flash of lightning made both look up. The walls shook from the Centurion. And then voices from the room to their right, making Serana charge her magicks in one hand while she worked the Sphere into its slot with the other. Damn Dwemer shit, had to fit just so or it didn’t work.

     

    “K…K…Katria, m…moooove!”

     

    “You got something planned, Äelberon?” A woman’s voice hollered from the chamber. “’Cause this spider here…” It was Katria. Erik and Serana exchanged surprised looks.

     

    “Aye! I seeee… shhhhard! It… here! Hurry Seraaaanaa. Oooopennnn.”

     

    “Yes, it’s here! Was wondering when you’d get here, and, Äelberon, why in Malacath’s Armpit are you talking like you’ve had a fifth of Colovian Bran—shit—“

     

    FUS RO!” She heard Beron bellow into the chamber. Metal struck stone with great force. Erik released a gust of air when they both heard fragments of metal scatter everywhere.

     

    “Shit.” Erik gasped.

     

    Serana nodded. “Aye, now you know why he doesn’t like anybody around when he does that.” She gave the sphere a turn and then touched Erik’s forearm, motioning him back. “Time to back up, now. The Dwemer like to give a good show when their contraptions open up.”

     

    “That nearly blew my ears out, Äelberon, but thanks.” Serana heard Katria complain.

     

    “You have no bloody ears. You dead…” Beron was quick to point out. Serana heard his heavy, plodding footsteps in the other room walking away from the central chamber. Then she heard him erupt in a frenzy of excited, inarticulate mumbling. Aye, the shard was definitely there. The words he uttered were slurred beyond recognition and accompanied by Katria’s questions and a “what’s wrong with you?” that made her stomach sink.  Gods, he was in worse shape than he was at the mill. She’d have to pull the arrow out. He didn’t have the strength to do it anymore. Having it in his body wasn’t helping. Later, when we are safe in Blackreach. Safe in Blackreach, that was a notion, Serana thought rolling her eyes, while she and Erik watched the floor below the platform give, collapsing to reveal a spiral stone stairwell. Erik coughed from the wake of dust and small pebbles.

     

    “We did it.” The Nord smiled, sniffing to clear his nose. They could already feel the change in the air. The increased humidity, the earthy dampness.  She faced him and cursed in her mind again. All of them were still soaked to the bone from the water. Erik’s red hair clung to his forehead and neck and she could already see how the wet metal of his armor was chafing the skin of his arms. Beron would be better off, the boiled leather of his armor forming a barrier between his skin and the metal in the lattice work. But Blackreach was warmer and the mortals would need to watch for potential blisters.

     

    “Aye, we did.” Serana nodded, putting her hand on the Nord’s shoulder and giving him a squeeze, not letting him see the apprehension in her eyes. Here you are talking about them taking the time to dry off and Blackreach wasn’t any safer for that either, but at least that place didn’t have Altmer assholes who wanted Beron dead. Her eyes found the corridor again, taking comfort that the sounds of battle still echoed, but she didn’t want to see any more flashes of lightning. Flashes of lightning meant that either that Son of a Bitch or his Alfiq were still alive. Drain them dry of magicka, you big hunk of metal.  

     

    Erik seemed worried too, watching the corridor uneasily. “What if they follow?” He then scowled, facing her. “And, Gru, the bastard said Greenskin… did this. He did this.” The boy was getting angry; she could feel the heat on his face and now was the time for focus, not anger. Gods, you’re thinking like Beron.

     

    “We’ll seal the door again. You just have to remove the sphere.” Serana explained. “And we can’t worry about Grulmar now.” She narrowed her eyes and Erik understood the intent behind them. Believe me, boy, I heard that bastard too. “We’ll take care of him later.” Erik nodded in agreement and resumed his watch of the corridor while Serana glanced towards the chamber to the right. Her brow furrowed. Silence, no footsteps, nothing. He wasn’t coming back yet and that worried her. No, they were not fine. This was going to be bad; she could feel it in her bones. “Stay here.” She ordered Erik, trying her best to mask her growing concern. “Watch the corridor.” Serana turned and began walking when she saw Katria emerge from the room.

     

    “Hurry! He grabbed the shard, turned, and then just sank to the floor. Just stopped and he’s not moving, just twitching, spasms. Clutching the shard so hard, it’s cutting into his hand. You need to come.” The ghost explained hurriedly, pointing to the room.

     

    Erik started to move, his face contorting in worry, but Serana put her hand up to stop the lad in his tracks. “No, stay, you need to watch that corridor and the entrance.”

     

    “But—“

     

    She snarled at the boy, exposing her fangs. “Do as I say, dammit!” He retreated back to his position, grasping his weapon, but the face was unsure.

     

    “Hurry, the shard.” Katria pleaded as they walked. “We need that shard, Dreth can’t get it. He can’t ruin my work—“

     

    “FUCK the shard!” Serana suddenly roared, making the ghost flicker red for an instant, but the look on Serana’s face made Katria stop and go blue again. Don’t, just don’t, Serana warned with her eyes. He never wanted this. You put him in this position, Katria, and I hate you for it. “There is only one thing in that room that matters and it isn’t the shard, you bitch.” She hissed, her walk turning into a run.

     

     

    Erik hated waiting. There was a terrible anxiety to waiting. A helplessness. He would rather be in the thick of things. To do something and he fought hard the instinct to run towards the other room. To help. And what can you do, Erik?  You’re no healer, you can’t help your Harbinger.

     

    The light from shock magicks still illuminated the corridor that he was poised to watch. Every once in a while, he heard the crash of a hammer, but it was becoming less frequent. His hands and body were slick from the water mixed with nervous sweat. He could feel his heart hammer in his chest. The mage meant nothing to him; it was what he did that frightened Erik to his very core.

     

    He manipulated me. He made me nearly kill my Harbinger. What if he does it again? What if the red light returns? Am I that weak-willed?

     

    “Hurry, Serana.” Erik whispered into the empty room. Think about something else.

     

    Blackreach. Erik closed his eyes briefly and let out a gust of air. He had heard stories from his Harbinger about it. Told from the warm fireside of Jorrvaskr. The Harbinger, reclined like a wise Dovah, the lazy swirls of pipe smoke finding the ceiling as he spun his tales. A great black fantasy world filled with forests of giant mushrooms that glowed in shades of purple, green, and blue. Unnirnly colors that shouldn’t exist in anything but that crazy Mer’s vivid imagination. A place where Nirnroot was crimson and Falmer, once enslaved, now had their own slaves in Dwemer ruins under the glow of a massive golden orb. Because the Dwemer actually thought they could replace the very sun. He listened to these stories and Erik couldn’t lie to himself, his eyes were nearly as wide as the children that sometimes visited Jorrvaskr to hear Snow Bear’s stories. When he wasn’t a Dovah, he was a bear. Old Snow Bear, smoking his pipe, a laughing youngling seated at his knee.  He let children into Jorrvaskr and told stories. “One day, Erik, you will have your own stories...” The Harbinger once told him with a smile.  Another streak of lightning flickered out of the corner of his eye and he heard the gust of the Centurion’s steam.

     

    Would be nice to survive long enough to tell stories, Erik thought. He set his jaw and gripped the hilt of Sos Kiin tighter. You’ll have stories, Erik the Slayer—no, Erik Talon-Hand. There was a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and Erik whirled, expecting the worst.

     

    “Erik, start going, move! Move!” It was Katria, her ethereal form gliding past him towards the steps leading into Blackreach. He didn’t react right away and then saw what he didn’t want to see emerge from the room. Serana was walking briskly, her face twisted in concentration and effort, and the Harbinger was balanced on her slender shoulders, slung over them like how he’d carry a sack of potatoes for Tilma. His body was wracked with spasms and he clenched the shard in his right hand. Frothy spit was clustered around his mouth, which seemed to be biting down on a piece of leather. Were the spasms that bad? 

     

    “Erik.”

     

    Erik felt something touch his side, but didn’t pay attention. He couldn’t tear his eyes off his Harbinger. The Hawk’s nose was dripping and a steady stream of tears flowed through the still open bloodshot eyes, as if his body was trying to expel the poison. The eyes were attempting to move, to understand what was happening, but spasms in his face would force them to close. There was also the faint odor of, Erik wrinkled his nose, urine and shit. The Harbinger had pissed himself. He found himself hating that mage all the more. The Harbinger was a Mer who prided himself on his sense of control. A Mer who, even after a dragon tore at his soul, still had the strength of will to heal a Shield-Brother. And now? A Witch Elf’s poison made him helpless.

     

    “ERIK!” The thing touched his side harder and as if released from a spell, Erik looked down. It was the Harbinger’s bow and his pack. “Take them, quick, we don’t have time!” Erik looked up and saw Serana, her face now angry. “Take them!” She repeated.

     

    “Come on!” whined Katria, almost halfway down the steps. “There’s another door.”

     

    Erik grabbed Okriim and the worn leather pack, shaking his head in rage. “I’m going to kill that bastard.” He snarled, Nordic instinct driving him towards the corridor. Revenge for a fallen Shield-Brother. He was going to snap that clapping Elf’s head off his body.

     

    Serana shoved him hard towards the steps with her body and he felt himself growl, resisting her. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.” She hissed, baring her fangs.

     

    “Leave me…” The Harbinger mumbled through the clenched leather. “Serana, no, no…the boy…”

     

    She glanced briefly at the Harbinger. “Shut up. Not this time, Old Mer. Erik, move, now. We will have our day, I promise.” She squeezed the Harbinger with her hand as she balanced him. “He’ll have his day, but no, not now, no honor now. Only running. Now go! Fight another day.”

     

    “No…” The Harbinger protested and then his face began to twitch in another flurry of spasms.

     

    “Shut up, dammit.” She snapped again, but Erik heard the flicker of pain in her voice as they rushed down the stone stairwell. It was dark, so he relied on Katria’s ethereal glow to light the way. The Centurion’s hammer struck again and Erik swore he saw another flicker of lightning, closer this time. Closer… Serana, not bothered by the darkness, continued as they neared a second set of doors. “The shard is in his hand, we’ll have to pry it out, then pull the arrow out, and then…” She let her voice trail off and Erik heard the break of building fatigue in the last words.

     

    “And then?” Erik asked, testing the door with his left shoulder, it gave. He started to push more, but was stopped by the vampire.

     

    “Careful.” Serana warned, before turning to the ghost. “Katria, go ahead, check for Falmer.”

     

    The ghost huffed but obeyed, passing through the door. More waiting. Agonizing waiting that was making Erik crazy. “And then?” Erik repeated, unable to control the apprehension—no, it was fucking fear—in his voice.

     

    “I need to go back and seal the door.”

     

    Serana’s words hit like a warhammer. She had to go back up? Why?

     

    “Huh? What? Go back?” Erik cried.

     

    “You didn’t hear me the first time? I told you when I was opening the door that we had to seal it again. You want that bastard accessing Blackreach? You want that?” Serana replied.

     

    A rough groan from the Harbinger. “No, leave…me... I seal it.” He managed, struggling now to escape her hold. Erik saw her hands apply pressure where she held the Harbinger and the Mer wheezed in response.  She was hurting him, her eyes on the door, like stone, and the Harbinger ceased his struggling, sagging against her.

     

    “No. That is not an option.” Her vampire eyes were focused with a weight that Erik only ever saw in somebody very old. She usually looked a maid of eighteen winters to Erik, but today, she looked as old as the Harbinger. Erik started when Katria’s blue form materialized through the door. Ysmir’s Beard, he was really beginning to hate any flash of light, especially when seen from his peripheral.

     

    “Falmer are up ahead on a small ruin, but if we’re quiet, we can sneak past them.” The ghost then glanced at the Harbinger’s shoulder. “Though they may smell his blood. We should consider, I don’t know, taking the shard and just leav—“ 

     

    “Another word from your stupid mouth and you will die a second time.” The vampire spoke, her words like ice, sending chills up Erik’s spine. “You just don’t understand, do you? The shard means nothing to me.”

     

    Katria’s mouth opened to argue, but all three turned to the top of the stairwell when they faintly heard the Centurion’s hammer. Serana took a deep breath and found Katria’s glare again. “We’ll take the risk. Erik, open the door.” The Harbinger groaned, closing his eyes as Erik pushed the Dwemer metal.

     

    It took a few seconds to adjust to the blackness. There was no light and initially he panicked, until gradually eerie glows of purples, greens, and blues began to provide enough light that he could faintly make out the outline of the ground beneath his feet. The outline of the building behind them. The cavern ahead. It improved as time passed and he couldn’t suppress a gasp of awe. 

     

    It was beautiful. Unlike any world he had ever seen. A dream-world encased in darkness, yet glowing with colors his eyes had never taken in before. Skyrim was not this. Skyrim was a world of pine trees and snow, of golden tundra, and dense forests. He looked up and thought he saw stars in the sky, only they weren’t stars, but little green… He narrowed his eyes. By Talos! Mushrooms. Little green ones. A distance away, to what he thought may have been north—how do you navigate here with no stars, no sun?—he saw a faint glow of an orange orb high in the cavern. Was that the Dwemer sun his Harbinger spoke of? It was so far away and Erik’s dread renewed. Where were they supposed to go?

     

    “Erik, here.” Serana called quietly, bending on one knee a short distance away, near a wall, near where they had emerged. “Check his pack for torches and starter flint. I need to put him down.” Erik wedged the bow under his left arm and hung the pack by its straps over his left forearm, allowing his right hand to search. It was hard to see by, but his hand felt the shape of the stone and he took it, sticking it in his belt. The torch was strapped under the pack. He walked to the wall and was about to strike the flint. “No, don’t do that yet. They’ll smell it.” She gently propped the Harbinger’s back against the wall and shrugged off her own pack so she could better attend to the Mer. Then she lifted his right hand and tried to pry the shard from it. She cursed when it didn’t budge and she saw fresh blood, the spasm in his hand making his hold on the shard tight. Serana gave up after a few seconds, wiped the Harbinger’s blood on her leg and glared at Katria. “Dammit, they are closer than I thought. By the blood, I’m sure they already smell it in the air…”

     

    “I think they are a safe enough distance.” The ghost retorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she scanned the area impatiently.

     

    “Safe enough for this?” Serana protested, pointing to the Harbinger’s bleeding shoulder. The arrow still protruded from the flesh. “I’ve got to pull this out. If he cries out. They’ll come. If he bleeds more, they’ll come.” She snapped quietly, chiding the ghost. “If I leave the arrow, Oblivion knows how it will end for him. It can’t stay there. He needs to heal. He’s in terrible pain.” Her hand found the Harbinger’s forehead, pushing away tendrils of wet hair, and Erik heard the Mer moan when her hand passed over the damp skin. “He’s burning up.” She pressed her hand against his forehead. “I know that feels good.” She soothed. “You still awake or is it nap time for old farts now?” Erik could tell the weak attempt at humor was just as much to comfort herself as it was to comfort a Mer who Erik guessed had never known what it was to be helpless. It was how he felt a few days ago.

     

    The Harbinger’s eyes fluttered open and darted around frantically, straining in the void. The leather he was biting into had slipped from his mouth onto his chest. The poison was affecting every part of his body now. Seemed like the only thing he could do was breathe and maybe that arrow was designed to destroy that ability eventually too. Erik bit his lip and felt his eyes water. Was this how it was going to end for the Harbinger?  “Find my eyes, Star-Knight.” She said calmly, guiding him. Their eyes locked and the Harbinger’s gaze seemed to stabilize, his features relaxing.

     

    “Is he going to die?” Erik asked, blinking away that stupid, stupid sting in his eyes as he started to kneel next to her.  You’re a Nord, Nords don’t cry like old women, unless, gods well, they are actually old women. Erik! You dumbarse!

     

    She appeared to sense his fear, his worry. Gods, did she smell the salt of his tears because her mood seemed to change suddenly, losing her aggression. “I won’t let him die, Erik.” She whispered, her voice low with building emotion, turning to him. “But I need your help.”

     

    “Hurry!” The ghost hissed, going red for an instant, making Erik look in her direction, his hairs standing on end. Gods, lights like that made him jittery now. Fucking spell. I don’t ever want to be like that again, ever. A hand on his forearm brought him back and he faced two glowing eyes in the darkness.

     

    “Ignore her. I need you to hold him. Can you do that?” She asked. Erik nodded. “Hold him a bit forward, maybe, I don’t know. Perhaps so that his face is muffled a little by your chest? If he cries out, it should dampen the sound a little? I’m not sure…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “This isn’t what I do. I can’t. I can’t bear him like this. The Soul Cairn, the Soul Cairn…” She kept babbling on, agitated and upset, making Erik’s terror escalate. She didn’t know what to do? I don’t know either!  “He didn’t wake, they beat him practically to death… and after all that death, all my rage, all I could do afterwards was carry him, carry him out of that place and wait for him to wake up. Helpless and so ashamed, so lost. I didn’t know if he was dead or al—“

     

    “Ana…” She blinked in surprise when she heard him speak that name and turned to the Mer propped against wall. In the faint light, Erik could see the shine of sweat and dirt-crusted spittle, but he knew the Harbinger was in a bad, bad way. Losing the fight over control of his body.

     

    “What, Old Mer?” Her voice cracked and Erik’s chest tightened.

     

    The Harbinger tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, the voice now paralyzed into silence. The eyes shut for an instant and then opened again, holding hers in their intensity. The Mer let out a small gust of air and furrowed his twitching brow, like he was making a great effort. And then Erik saw it. The left hand, which had been resting on his leg move a little. Beckoning, the eyes cast with a tenderness that made Erik look away briefly, not wanting to intrude. The vampire understood immediately and took the hand, squeezing it. The Harbinger, then, with all his strength, squeezed back and Erik saw the glisten of moisture appear on her cheeks; she was crying. Permission, he was giving permission for her to do what she needed to do. He was yielding to her judgement; to what she thought was best. By Talos! He trusted her completely. Serana nodded, sniffed, and turned to Erik, the strength returning to her voice. “Hold him.”

     

    Erik set the weapons and pack down and moved to the Harbinger’s right side and brought the Mer up by his good shoulder, supporting him against Erik’s left side, while the Nord braced the shoulder with his good hand.  He could feel the pulse a bit. It was slow, far too slow. The poison was designed to kill slowly, Erik garnered, to let him suffer first, to let them do unspeakable things to him while he watched helplessly, feeling the pain. Who were these Mer? Did they work for the Thalmor?  She let go of the Harbinger’s hand with a final caress and then braced his body with one hand while the fingers of her other wrapped securely around the arrow shaft. She made to pull, but then felt resistance, and stopped when the Harbinger tensed up in pain. “Fucking barbed arrow. Dammit, fucking dammit.” She cursed, letting out a gust of air and leaning against the Harbinger, as if drawing from him the nerve to do what she was about to do. “We should be removing his armor, but we need to cut into it and he needs his armor and dammit, there’s no better way. I’m not a healer, I don’t heal.  I destroy, Erik. He heals, he healed…” The last words were croaked and Erik saw the flash of grief in the Harbinger’s eyes. Erik imagined that he hated that he was powerless to help her. 

     

    “Can you push it through?” Erik volunteered. The red-orange eyes found Erik and he could have sworn he saw the Harbinger make a tiny nod of approval. “Send the arrow the rest of the way?”

     

    “Aye, I’m strong enough, but it’s going to hurt him.”

     

    “It’ll damage more if we pull and we need that Shield-arm.” Erik then remembered when he saw she was about to pull again. “Wait!”

     

    “What?”

     

    “He told a story once, Serana. About a Stormcloak camp he met up with while he was getting Tilma’s thimble.  You know the pretty silver one with the amethyst crown.  The one she never uses, but keeps around her neck on a silver chain. He made that chain for her—“

     

    “Erik…” Serana began.

     

    “Oh, sorry, I tend to talk a lot when—“ When you’re scared out of your mind. When you don’t want red magicks to hit you again. When your Harbinger is helpless and the only two people who can help him are a vampire and an idiot. This is why he wants people to learn healing spells at Jorrvaskr or take up Alchemy, but they don’t want to learn Alchemy from a vampire or an Orc, or magicks from a Witch Elf…

     

    “Erik.” She whispered, her voice desperate. Katria was now flickering red.

     

    “Something’s happening…” The ghost interrupted, moving towards the stairwell, her spectral bow drawn.

     

    “Well, the leader had a barbed arrow in his thigh. He pushed it out, Serana. I remember. The Stormcloak survived. Said he whacked at the shaft with a hammer and a dagger hilt. But, you’re strong enough to just push, I think.”

     

    Her eyes bore into the Harbinger. “This what we do? One for ‘yes’, two for ‘no’.”

     

    One slow blink. Gods, his face was like white wax to Erik, no color, save the dark shadows under his eyes, the shadows defining the hollows of his cheeks and prominent Elven brow bone.  And the eyes, their dragon fire dulling from the effects of the poison.

     

    “It’s what we do then. Get ready, Erik.” She took a deep breath and pressed her forehead against the Harbinger’s, speaking against his cheek. “Count of three and I push, Old Mer.” The Harbinger blinked in understanding. She gave him a quick kiss to the cheek and cleared her throat. “Another kiss if you don’t cry out.” The red-orange eyes looked down towards his chest and Serana noticed the piece of leather. “Ah, want to increase your odds, eh? Alright.” She smiled, picking up the piece of leather and forcing his mouth open with it. He bit the leather and the lines around the Harbinger’s eyes wrinkled a tiny bit, the way they always wrinkled when he’s laughing. “Bastard will do anything for a kiss.” Serana quipped, smirking at Erik.

     

    Erik managed a smile, remembering their trudge to the mill. “Yeah, horny Mer.”

     

    Serana’s hand resumed its place against the Old Mer’s chest, holding him fast, while the other hand adjusted her grip on the shaft, her fingers now grabbing the tip of the shaft, ready to push with all her might. Erik saw their foreheads touch again and she murmured something that he couldn’t understand against the Harbinger’s clammy cheek. Something private, because the Mer closed his eyes again, groaning softly, and she sighed. It was then that Erik noticed that Serana’s hand on the shaft was trembling. She was scared. She is a vampire from the clan Volkihar, a princess among them, powerful in a way you can’t comprehend, and she was scared.

     

    “One…” she counted; her voice barely audible. They all heard a powerful crash from the stairwell. The sound of a heavy hunk of metal striking a stone floor in a strong impact that made the very walls shake.

     

    The Centurion fell and Erik could just make out their shuffling footsteps from beyond the black, their hisses and screeches. They had heard too.

     

    “No time.” Serana gasped. “Two… three.” She said very quickly, pushing the shaft through with a powerful thrust of her hand. The Harbinger’s eyes flew wide open, glazing over from the agony of the arrowhead and shaft passing through his wounded flesh, breaking through the armor and clearing his body. The teeth clamped upon the leather like he was holding on for dear life, but he suffered in silence, his last gift to Erik and Serana before shuddering violently and going limp, the great eyes closing. He didn’t cry out and betray them to the Falmer. Erik’s throat began to swell when the piece of leather slid from the now slack mouth, when the hand finally released the shimmering blue shard. No, no, no, no…Erik’s brain kept repeating. Serana, unable to control her nerves, closed her eyes and pressed her ear to his chest, listening for what, to Erik, seemed like an eternity.

     

    “Gods dammit, they’re on their way! I can hear them! The shard, the shard! Make sure you get it! Keep it safe!” Katria cried out. Erik wanted to take the Harbinger’s silver bastard and slay her then and there. The Mer had been so quiet, and she was going to ruin it!

     

    “Shut up! Gods, just shut up!” Serana moaned into the Harbinger’s chest as loudly as she dared. “The bitch will attract every Falmer in Blackreach with her racket!” Her eyes opened and found Erik’s, the voice now washed with relief. “He’s breathing, the heart is still beating. Thank whomever is watching over the Old Bastard.” She lifted the Mer’s head slightly from the wall and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. “Well-earned, my brave Star-Knight. Now sleep and dream of your Winter Moon. She waits for you among the showers of pink blossoms…” She blinked hard as she murmured her words, resting his head against the wall again. To Erik, it seemed like she was handling the most fragile of crystals. Her fingers lingered on his scarred cheek briefly and then she stood up straight, charging her shock magicks. “Stay here. With him.”

     

    The command in her voice left no room for protest. “Alright.” Erik nodded, still kneeling at the Harbinger’s side.

     

    “Katria, with me.” Ordered the vampire.

     

    “Good.” The ghost replied, nocking a spectral arrow. “Remember, the shard, Erik. Guard the shard.” She made her way up the steps back towards Raldbthar. Erik’s eyes found the two lights of the vampire’s stare. She looked like a statue to Erik, a marble statue and her sudden seriousness made him very uneasy.

     

    “Remember who he is, Erik.” The vampire said softly. “Please, remember.”

     

    “I’ll watch, him, don’t you worry.” He then grinned and winked at her, trying to break the tension. “So, I’ll be taking first watch again, right?”

     

    Serana then chuckled, understanding his joke, and Erik could see how the Harbinger thought her—what was the word he used—enchanting, he thought her enchanting. “Aye, Erik, you take first watch.”  With those words, she disappeared up the stairs.

     

    “You hear that, Old Mer? I have to take first watch!”  Erik whispered as he took his place beside the unconscious Mer, leaning his back against the wall. He gathered the packs near them and watched the blackness. The noises from the Falmer began to die in the cavern, their steps calming down. He leaned towards the Mer. “Wish you’d take first watch once in a while.” He chuckled to himself, absently regarding Sos Kiin in the feeble light. “Ha!  Maybe when I see Lareyne again, you’ll take the bloody first watch, eh, Old Mer?”

     

    Lareyne. He had thought about her quite a bit since Windhelm. Her beautiful smile and red hair in his mind. Well, other things were too, Erik thought, feeling the heat creep to his face.  At first, the thoughts were filled with pity for himself that she wouldn’t see him that way anymore, but the Harbinger gave him hope. If he could survive a Dwemer ruin? He could take care of her, so she could just be a mage. There would be a “later” and he could look her in the eye and not be ashamed of his hand. “Aye, you’ll be taking that first watch sooner than you think, old Mer.” Erik whispered again in the Harbinger’s ear. “I’ll give you one more first watch when Serana comes back. Well, after you wake and mend up, but then? It’ll be your turn—“

     

    The explosion of fire made Erik bolt upright, almost knocking the Harbinger to his side in the process. Smoke poured from the stairwell and Erik’s eyes widened in horror, his heart pounding in his throat. The Falmer began screeching in earnest in the darkness, their steps nearing the ruins of Raldbthar. How many? The clicks of chaurus legs…

     

    “Serana?” Erik stammered while he secured the Harbinger again, making sure he didn’t fall. Instinct made him turn to the Mer. “Harbinger?” He whispered, trying to shake him awake. The Mer was gone, out colder than Pale ice and Erik began to panic, breaking out into a cold sweat. There were several flashes of lightning and another powerful fireball and all he could do was stare at the stairwell. Get up! Move, move, move!  But he was frozen, frozen to his seat, his heart louder than anything he had ever heard. Why didn’t he feel this way with the dragon? Why? Because he was with you. Because Decimus was with you. Erik then felt shame, shame at his cowardice.

     

    “Remember who he is…”

     

    Who is he? Who is he? Erik wracked his brain, who is he? He looked at the Harbinger. He’s my Harbinger! My Shield-Brother! The Mer who is training me to be better with one hand than I was with two. Who is he? And then he stopped and stared at the unconscious Mer, his eyes narrowing, finally thinking clearly enough to understand what Serana had meant all this time.

     

    He is the Dragonborn. Destined to slay Alduin. And he can’t die. You can’t let him die. Erik set his jaw and reached for Sos kiin and got up as quietly as he dared, only to give up being quiet when the stairwell began to collapse. He mouthed ‘no’ over and over again while he ran, but nothing came out except strangled noises. The Falmer in the darkness reacted to the noise and he heard their footsteps closing in. It was then that he saw it, rolling from the just-closing stairwell. Dwemer and round, whole and unbroken.

     

    The attunement sphere.

     

    She was locked out and they were locked in. He shook his head, not wanting to think what he was thinking. There was so much smoke from those fireballs and she was a vampire. Where was Katria? His mind was running faster and he felt sick to his stomach when he glanced back at the Mer propped up against the wall, oblivious to everything. How do I tell him when he wakes up? He needed to think, choose the right words—A terrible screech loud behind him, hurting his ears, and Erik whirled rapidly, swinging the blade with a fierce cry, his instinct for survival taking over. He felt the warm wetness of blood splatter across his face, heard the screech abruptly stop, the sound of a weapon hitting the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blue magicks charge, frost. I am a Nord, you fuckers, and I will not let you kill him. More steps, more screeches.  And he swung into the darkness again and again.  

     

    I remember who he is, Serana.

     


     

     

    7th of Morning Star, 203

     

    It smelled, Erik stuck his face over the boiling meat and inhaled again. It smelled not, uh bad? He wasn’t sure. It was certainly a pungent meat, this chaurus. And it didn’t kill him the first time he tried it either. Erik furrowed his brow in concentration, using his clawed hand to scratch at his growing beard. He couldn’t move the fingers, so he had to move his elbow up and down. Got the job done. So when did he first try chaurus? He shook his head and sighed. That’s right, you don’t know ‘cause you can’t tell if it’s day or night in this giant cave you’re standing in. There were times where he felt like he had been in Blackreach for only a few hours and other times where it felt like bloody weeks. The state of his growing beard suggested maybe that he had been there almost two days, ready to bed down a third time after the meal. He gave the thick, light yellowish liquid a stir with his hunting knife, using it as a makeshift spoon because why would any of them carry an actual spoon in their packs? Perhaps on Allie, the Harbinger maybe, maybe had a spoon. Farkas said he had everything in there.

     

    Try it in a stew today, Erik thought to himself as he continued stirring. See how that goes. He scrutinized the bubbling milky liquid, with its clumps of clam-like chaurus meat, and made a sour face. Looks like you took a piss in milk is what it looks like. Or shit! That looks like something else entirely! Shor’s Balls! A whole pot of it. Your hand sure has been busy, Erik Talon-Hand!  He laughed aloud at his lewdness and immediately stiffened up at the unintended noise, lifting his head from his lunch, breakfast, whatever, to survey the area for any sign of anything reacting to his stupidity. His eyes strained in the blackness, his ears on high alert. Nobody heard him laugh, thank Talos and Erik resumed his stirring, staring blankly into what was beyond Raldbthar. Is it done yet? Why are you askin’, you have no idea. Why don’t you piss in it?

     

    “Erik?”

     

    The Nord jumped in shock at the sound, dropping the knife into the Dwemer pot he scrounged from the area, near a Falmer camp. Fuck. Not even thinking, he reached in with his left hand to grab for the knife and in his mind he cursed a thousand times the death of his enemies and Sovngarde’s glory when the hot liquid burned. Shor’s Big Hairy Balls! He yanked the hand out rapidly and the pot almost fell over. He pushed it back quickly with his right hand only to feel the sting of heat against his good hand. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! A feeble chortle came from the bedroll against the wall across the campfire and Erik closed his eyes, turning bright red.

     

    Old Mer saw the whole thing.

     

    Erik grinned when the Old Mer erupted in a fit of coughing after that chortle. See, Talos is punishing you for laughing at me, Old Mary. Let’s watch you cook and see if it goes any better. Oh, aye, I’ve already seen your cooking. Venison so charred black and hard, you can launch the fucker with a trebuchet and probably kill a dragon with it. You don’t need to kill Alduin, just cook for the bastard! But funning around morphed almost immediately into real relief, joy, and Erik quelled the pressure of emotion in his chest with a deep breath, forgetting the pain in his hands. He’s awake, he smiled.  Erik shook off the excess stew from his left hand, wiped it hastily on his leather trousers, and crossed quickly to the bedroll. He knelt, bending to retrieve a waterskin lying nearby. He brought it to the old Mer’s lips, using his left hand best he could to prop the Elf’s head up. It was clumsy ‘cause he couldn’t open his fingers and fuck, you now got stew all over his hair. The Harbinger helped, raising his head the rest of the way. He drank slowly, but soundly and Erik nodded. That was a good sign. When he had his fill, Erik was relieved to see a pale hand gently push the skin from his lips. It was a little sluggish, but the movement was coordinated. Erik lowered the head back onto the bedroll, wincing that the chaurus stew was now getting sticky. Gross.

     

    The Elf closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, as if testing to see if his lungs were working properly. He still sounded a little congested to Erik, but the face and body were no longer assailed by uncontrollable spasms. The high fever had broken hours ago, before Erik bedded down for the second time. His color was better too, some blood returning to the tips of his pointed ears, though the dark circles under his eyes remained. He had one Oblivion of a bruise near the left corner of his mouth, all purple and green against his nearly white skin. That’s where you punched him. Damn that Witch Elf’s magicks. The Mer released a big sigh and opened his eyes, turning his head to meet Erik’s gaze. The eyes looked sleepy, but not glazed or foggy from fever, the pupils larger than usual, trying to adjust to the dim light.

     

    “Let me have a go at sitting up.” He stated hoarsely, carefully bending a leg at the knee. The joint cracked, but he moved it with success.

     

    “Need help?” Erik asked.

     

    The red-orange eyes snapped. “Did I help you?”

     

    “No, you didn’t.”  

     

    “That is right. I ask no more of you than I ask of myself.” The Mer then, with some effort, turned to his side and then pushed up with his tender shield-arm, gritting his teeth. The numerous sounds that a far-older body makes in its struggle to move made Erik uncomfortable and he almost reached out when the Mer paused after getting himself onto one elbow, all the color draining from his face. He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, the color returned and he finished pushing himself up to a seated position on the bedroll, his back leaning against the Dwemer wall. He rested his elbows on his raised knees and rubbed his forehead, catching his breath.

     

    “I feel like two mammoths played catch with me and then sat on me.” He grumbled. “Fucking Bosmer. That was some strong shit he used.” He looked around, squinting at the campfire’s glare like it bothered his eyes. He didn’t seem to see the bodies, but it did take some time to fully adjust to Blackreach’s darkness.

     

    Three Falmer and the chaurus. What he had killed, when he was alone. Now their bodies protected them, forming a scent-barrier between their camp against the front wall of Raldbthar and what lay beyond. And in the chaurus’ case, it sustained them. The Harbinger continued rubbing his forehead, bending his head and he stopped when he spotted his crotch, clothed in his thick trousers that formed the base of his armor. His armor was resting nearby, freshly cleaned, thanks to a nearby stream, and then oiled.  The many things you accomplish when you are waiting for something to do, Erik thought. The Elf’s features screwed in confusion. “That woman washed my trousers, my underbreeches? I remember the poison made me lose my function. Blasted, that must have been disgusting.” He smirked, nodding, and Erik felt that awful feeling creep into his stomach.  “Flowers and Bardic verse are pretty and all, boy, but real love is when your woman washes the very shit from your breeches!” He looked up and Erik saw the laugh lines wrinkle. “Where is she anyway? Ha!  Probably fetching wood and sneaking a hunt on the side, because she certainly cannot cook and won’t eat the shit we need to eat here. Got you on that, eh lad? Or considering what she just did, probably taking a bath. I would too—Erik?” Ysmir’s beard, change your face, he’s noticing! “You look like somebody punched you in the gut. Is everything alright?”

     

    What words can you say? Think, think, think! “Harbinger.” Erik took a deep breath, hating that his voice sounded far more tired than he thought. That’s because you haven’t been talking much lately, just thinking, a ton of thinking while you were surviving alone here. Learning what your hand can do even though you can’t move your fingers. About the “what ifs” if the Harbinger succumbed to his injuries. About what would you say to the world if you had emerged from Blackreach without a Dragonborn, with only that stupid glowing shard in his pack to show for his lifetime of legacy.  And you were thinking about this very moment when you’d have to tell him, remembering how she was with him at the end. Dammit, his nostrils flared and he could feel wetness build in the corners of his eyes again. It wasn’t fair. Erik felt those dragon eyes on him, staring, waiting. Erik fiddled with the lacing of the waterskin as he knelt, withdrawing from their intense probe. He could feel his shoulders stoop.

     

    “Erik, where is Serana?” The Harbinger repeated his question, the tone of his voice lower.

     

    “She had to go back up. I didn’t know how. She told me to wait with you. Watch you, while she and Katria went up.”

     

    “Know how what?”

     

    “The attunement sphere. I don’t know how to work it. She went up! And the sphere…” His voice cracked.  Look him in the eye, dammit. You look your Harbinger in the fucking eye and you tell him what she did for the both of them. How brave she was. She deserved a warrior’s respect. Erik’s eyes left the waterskin’s lacing and met his Harbinger’s, clearing his throat and straightening his back. “She went up, Harbinger, to seal the door, so that Son of a Bitch wouldn’t follow us. There were loud explosions from upstairs, fireballs and lightning. As the stairwell collapsed, I saw the sphere roll away from it, undamaged, locking us in Blackreach. And locking her out. Then the Falmer came and I fought them.”

     

    An eternity seemed to pass for Erik while the Altmer processed the information, the dragon eyes looking right past him, into the faraway.

     

    “I see.” He finally spoke, far calmer than Erik expected, looking like he was deep in thought, but not particularly upset.  Erik didn’t understand. I’ve just told you that Serana is dead and all you can say is ‘I see’?   

     

    “Don’t you remember what happened? Her pushing the arrow out? Helping you?” Erik replied, really surprised at the Mer’s reaction. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning in disapproval.  “I’ve just told you…”

     

    “I know what you have just told me.” The Harbinger interrupted, meeting Erik’s glare. “I remember full-well what happened. Her last words to me. She kissed me, Erik, upon the lips and said. ‘Well-earned, my brave Star-Knight. Now sleep and dream of your Winter Moon. She waits for you among the showers of pink blossoms…’ That is what she last said to me. Believe me, boy, I remember.” The brow lowered and there was a teasing sadness behind the Mer’s eyes, only to be buried quickly, resuming his calm demeanor. “So you saw the light of fire and lightning coming from the stairwell? Is that correct? What else did you see?”

     

    “Gods, aren’t you upset?” Erik asked, shaking his head in disbelief, unable to understand the behavior. “She’s gone. And here you are asking me questions like a magister.”

     

    “Just now, I saw your eyes mist, Erik, your posture slump. And then you changed, straightening your back and you spoke of what she did with great admiration, giving her respect in accordance with Nord tradition. Why would I be any different? Because she shared my bed? Because I love her?” The Mer frowned. “Bloody Oblivion, Erik. All the more reason to give her the respect she deserves and not act in a way that is beneath both of us.”

     

    “Was. Was beneath.”  Erik corrected. The silver-white eyebrows shot up.

     

    “Where is the body?” He seemed to challenge, the Elven nostrils flaring now.

     

    “Dammit! In Raldbthar! Where do you think?” Erik snapped.

     

    “Did you see her?” The Altmer asked.

     

    “No, she told me to wait with you. Told you, we are locked in.” Erik said, looking away. “I’m sorry I snapped. It was disrespectful, Harbinger, but I…she, I, we felt so helpless.”

     

    “So did I.” He said softly. The Mer then tilted his head to the side. “Then you do not know for sure.”

     

    “I saw the flashes of lightning and fire reflected in the stairwell. I know what I saw.” Erik swallowed hard. “Nobody could have survived that, not being what she is.”

     

    “I do not discredit what you saw, son, but what you saw was evidence of a battle before the stairwell collapsed and the attunement sphere rolled away from it. Which means, she was able to seal the door. Did you hear anything after the stairwell collapsed? Did Katria appear again?”

     

    Erik thought for a moment. “I’ve not seen Katria since. No, I didn’t hear anything after that. That means the fighting stopped.”

     

    “That means nothing of the sort. It means the stairwell collapsed because she sealed the door. If I know her, she continued fighting. And…” His tone darkened. “If I know him, so did he. Until Katria chooses to appear, we will not know any more than that.”

     

    Erik dropped his jaw in shock. “Huh? You knew him? The other Altmer?”

     

    “For your safety, I will not reveal his name. You have bent to their magicks already.” He saw Erik’s remorse and quickly changed his expression. “He is nearly my age, Erik. Very few can resist magicks that practiced anymore. Do not feel shame. I am sorry I could not defend you from that. He took me by surprise.”

     

    “He wasn’t wearing their robes, but he was Thalmor, wasn’t he?” Erik, asked, furrowing his brow.

     

    “Robes?” The old Elf chuckled aloud. “You think the Thalmor got where they have gotten in Tamriel by running around in only black and gold? The Empire has no idea, Skyrim has no idea what they are capable of. Aye, he is Thalmor. Lad, I’ve a price on my head from Alinor that would sustain a small village. An old price.”

     

    “How old?”

     

    “Over one hundred years.”

     

    I’m twenty-one, Erik said to himself, doing the mental math. Were my great-grandparents alive? No, they weren’t. “What did you do?” he asked after some thought.

     

    The Mer sighed, closing his eyes and Erik finally saw the emotion that he had been waiting for manifest; the wetness accumulate around the lined corners. He seemed to fight it, but the tears won in the end, steaking his dirty cheeks and his voice was thick when he spoke next. “You are determined to make an old Mer, cry, eh? Is that what you wanted? To see me mourn? Does it make me more like Men? Yes, I feel her absence greatly.” He admitted sadly and Erik regretting pushing him, regretted being sore at him, though he still found it odd he didn’t say death. ‘Absence’ was the word he used instead. “You asked me what my crime was. Nothing, save loving my homeland like I love anything when I finally make the commitment to love.” Erik saw the jaw clench and the Mer’s eyes opened, the red-orange crackling like the campfire. “So, he finally summoned the courage to collect my head. He has improved tremendously since I interacted with him last. Learned from his mistakes. Serana had a tough fight ahead of her but she is also strong, and deep down, he is afraid of her kind. If she channeled that…”

     

    “You actually think she’s still alive?” Erik asked, dumbfounded. No, there is no way you can think that, Harbinger.

     

    “The point is that we do not know for sure. Until I see evidence that suggests otherwise, or Katria appears and confirms, is it not better to have that hope, to use it to get out of here, then to fall into despair? To fall into despair does her more harm if she is alive and perhaps injured or captured, and it does disservice to her memory if she is indeed dead.” He pounded his fist to his thigh, clearing his throat, clearing his face of grief. “I love her too much for that.” The last words were practically snarled through the emotion and Erik decided to leave him alone to his musings. An awkward silence then followed. The dragon eyes settled on the flames of the campfire and he just sat on his bed roll like a statue, the face returning to the typical “Altmer” expression. Unreadable, the eyes seeing things far beyond the campfire, beyond the walls of Blackreach.

     

    Love? He said ‘love’, not ‘loved’. Shor’s Bones! He really did believe she was alive and Erik suddenly felt a wave of intense pity for his Harbinger. Denial.  His da said he went through a period of that when his ma died, talking to her as if she was there, refusing to visit her cairn. Not accepting, at first. Gru and Dec always said that love blinded, but Gru had never been with a woman and Dec with so many. They never let themselves get past the tits and arse, never experienced the deep feelings like the Harbinger did and now—Erik stopped, realizing something. That now he did, thinking of Lareyne. Erik could hear what they would have said in his mind. If the fucker believes and it gets him through his struggles, then let the fool believe. Deal with the shitstorm later. Erik didn’t know where he fell in with this thinking. He wanted to trust like the Harbinger did, to believe.  There was something very beautiful about that kind of blind faith, but he knew what he saw. There was just no way. She was dead, sacrificing herself for the Dragonborn she truly loved. He’d have to tell Vilkas, beat it into the idiot that she wasn’t at all what he had made her out to be. Later, though, later. Just be there for your Shield-Brother when he finally does understand. Ysmir’s Beard, if it had been Lareyne. She would have gone up too. Erik put away the waterskin and wearily stood to check the pot. Don’t think about this now. He’s right in that respect. Don’t give in to despair. We need to get out of here because shit, Grulmar is with Decimus and… Lareyne.  If Grulmar did this to the Dragonborn, the person destined to save us from Alduin, the Bastard doesn’t care about anyone.  Erik felt his face grow hot with anger. Just get out of here, Erik Talon-Hand, live through this so you can make the little shit pay.

     

    Erik distracted himself from the intensity of his exchange with the Harbinger and stood over the pot, eyeing it like an enemy. An enemy you can actually destroy. Your hunting knife is in there. You dropped it. You need that knife, Erik. He nearly spilled the pot again when the Elf suddenly pushed up with his hand and started standing. He forgot the stew, his knife, and rushed towards the Harbinger to help, only for the old Mer to put up a hand to halt him in his tracks.

     

    “I have this. If I do not start moving, Erik, we will really be in trouble.” More cracks and grunts but dammit, the Mer that only the day before was unable to move was now standing. He wavered as if he was dizzy, but he shook it off, taking a few stiff steps away from the campfire towards the stairs of the ruin that led to Blackreach. Erik could see his profile as he pondered the pot. The strength had returned to his features. To Oblivion with it! Let him use the denial. If it gets him through this, you’ll help him deal with the loss later. Erik let out a gust of air and eyed the pot again. Humor? The Harbinger often used humor to ease the pain felt by a Shield-Sibling.

     

    “Well, blast it, Harbinger, looks like we’re having stew seasoned with steel, because I’m not sure how to get it out without burning my hands… uh, again.” Erik sighed, reaching for two tankards. “And, I didn’t find a spoon.”

     

    “Hmph. With Allie.” The Mer rumbled. Erik knew it!  Horse was a walking Belethor’s. “As for the stew? Seasoning can only help.” The Altmer quipped, but the eyes were already probing the cavern, getting his bearings. Erik scooped the stew into the tankard, careful not to burn his hands. No plates, no bowls, no utensils. It was as rough as it got. Erik walked over and handed the Mer one.

     

    “You think you can hold down food?”

     

    The Mer took the tankard, but his eyes were still scanning. “Your definition of food is rather broad, Erik, but yes.” He sipped and frowned, clearing his throat. “Definitely not Tilma’s cooking. But fortunately for the both of us not mine either.”

     

    Erik made a sour face, while he returned to scoop up some stew for himself. “Harbinger, I don’t even think Tilma could make chaurus taste good.”

     

    The Mer nodded in agreement and gestured with his head towards the carcasses while he took another sip. “I noticed your work over there. You did well.”

     

    They were side by side now, both scanning the fluorescent mushroom darkness, sipping their meal. “I didn’t want to kill them, but—“

     

    “I understand, lad. There is nothing you could have done, but Ruth!” A dragon’s curse and Erik saw the admiration in the Harbinger’s eyes. “I am impressed, yet not surprised. Using them as a scent-barrier was particularly clever. Bought us precious time.”

     

    “They are beginning to stink though.”

     

    “Aye, we cannot stay here much longer. The odor of death will eventually overwhelm and attract. I am guessing it is late into the seventh?”

     

    Erik’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

     

    “When you are two hundred and forty-four years old, you only need your beard to tell time. Can you not feel your face?” He scratched his own beard. “Auri-El’s bow, I feel it in mine. At this rate, I will be like Master Tolfdir, or a Greybeard. She fancies my beard, but even she has her limits. I am long due for a trim.” He paused from his eating, though it was more like drinking, noticing Erik’s uncomfortable wince. Another frown marred his features.  “What? Why did you flinch?”

     

    It was Erik’s turn to frown. Why are you doing this to yourself, Shield-Brother? “Because it hurts seeing you like this. I just told you what happened and you are still treating it as if she’s standing right next to us, about to bring the wood in for the fire. She isn’t here. You have to face the possibility—“

     

    “So, because she is not here, because she may be dead, I am suddenly forbidden to speak of her? This what you do when you care about someone and they die or are missing or in pain? Pack them away and forget about them? Run away when the emotions are too strong, too hurtful? This is what Grulmar and Decimus have been teaching you, eh? Ah, youngling, they are my friends, and I respect their opinions and their choices in life, but I do not agree with that philosophy. Aye, you are sheltered from hurt and pain. You are safe and free to pursue your pleasures, so to speak, but… ultimately, it is so utterly empty. Joy, my son, has no lasting impact, nor does it truly satisfy, unless there is pain to compare it to.”

     

    “I don’t like to see you hurting.” Erik whispered. A warm rumble of a chuckle from the Mer and his bear paw of a hand fell on his shoulder, giving him a him a sound pat and a wee shake.

     

    “That is sweet of you, Shield-brother, but pain is a part of life. Means you are alive. Look at your hand.” Erik’s eyes found his left hand while he listened to the Elf, noticing the spots of reddened skin where the stew burned. It didn’t hurt as much as the right hand did, but the left hand’s burns were worse. “Look at the agony you went through when you did not know what your future held.  You, of all people, should have a bit more understanding of it now. Are you not stronger for your suffering?” The Altmer probed, making his own sour face while his jaws worked hard to chew a piece of chaurus meat.

     

    Erik nodded, swirling his tankard. “Aye, Harbinger, I am stronger.”

     

    “Verily, you are. It is like the shit food we are eating.” A gruff laugh escaped his lips after he deliberately downed the rest of his stew in one big gulp and coughed. “Gah! That which doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” He showed Erik the empty tankard. “There a stream where I can wash this so I can have a proper tea?”

     

    “Follow me, but carefully.” Erik nodded.  

     

    Erik led the Harbinger to a small stream to the right of the ruins, hidden away from the Falmer. The Harbinger squatted by the stream’s bank, still a bit stiff, but moving more and more like himself with every passing moment. He washed the tankard, eyeing the direction of the stream. Funny, he didn’t dump the dirty waste water into the stream, but on the ground nearby. He actually didn’t have the tankard come in contact with the water at all. And Erik realized a mistake of his as he watched the water move. All this time, he’d been dropping waste in the water. The water flowed, carrying food, waste, and dirt on its journey. Past Falmer camps…

     

    “They gotta know there’s a camp at the ruins.” Erik whispered. “I didn’t do that. When I cleaned, I dumped into the stream.”

     

    “I know, I had noticed that my armor was cleaned and freshly oiled. Do not fret. You could not have known. For now, they only think it is their brethren making camp after a good hunt, what you did with the bodies, very clever.  But they will figure it out soon enough. And…” He bent his head and Erik saw it, that smirk he used when he was about to fun someone. “Do not expect a marriage proposal.”

     

    “Ysmir’s Beard no! What happens in Blackreach stays in Blackreach.” Erik grinned. “Including who’s washed your underbreeches.” He then kicked a pebble towards the water. “I just couldn’t have you lying in your filth. Didn’t sit right by me, Harbinger.”

     

    The Old Mer nodded. “Understood and appreciated. We should head back to camp and begin packing up.”

     

    “Pack up?” Erik questioned, his face scrunching in confusion.

     

    As they walked back to camp, the old Mer continued. “Aye, pack up. I do not suggest we camp at the ruins tonight, but move.” He stopped and turned back around, his eyes narrowing as he pointed ahead. “North, northeast of our location is the small Dwemer building where Calcelmo, Serana, and I camped after we cleared the Alftand Cathedral before we started our search for Mzark and the Elderscroll. The final resting place of Sinderion, the alchemist. Before we embarked, we set it up as a sort of base should Calcelmo ever express an interest in returning to conduct research. Should have the supplies we need to continue, mostly dried goods. We can then head east of that and find the Dwemer lift where our Shield-Siblings, Gods willing, are expecting us.”

     

    Erik looked back towards Raldbthar and then noticed it. The massive ruins were carved and built into the very rock face. “We are at the southern border, aren’t we?”

     

    “Exactly, my boy, and our friends are North. Good, good, you are not letting the darkness fool or frighten you. The lack of sun, moon, and stars. Blackreach is not hard to navigate, if you know where you are coming from.” The Elf replied, giving Erik another pat on the shoulder as they reached camp.

     


     

     

    “Harbinger?” Erik whispered.

     

    “Hmm?” His eyes fluttered open, the geometric pattern of a faint Dwemer lamp casting the Mer’s face in odd shadows.

     

    “Were you asleep?”

     

    “No, just resting. Healing…” He let his voice trail off and he sighed. Erik didn’t see any magicks coming from the Mer, but like with the enchantments on the shield he still carried on his back, he took the Altmer’s word for it.

     

    “You hungry? Fish is about done.”

     

    Fish. Why in Shor’s Hall did you not search through the Old Mer’s pack? He searched through his own and Serana’s, but he avoided the Harbinger’s pack like it was infected with Ataxia. It was a mage’s pack, that’s why, and nobody fucks with a mage’s things. Serana was—is. Is, Erik said in his mind, reminding himself. Serana is a mage too, but her pack was organized like a warrior’s should be. Only the bare necessities—save a comb for her hair that he assumed the Harbinger made for her, and a beautiful black soul gem, the likes of which he had never seen before.  The potions were even more organized than Gru’s. If that was possible. Stop thinking about Gru, you are going to kill him when this is finished.

     

    The Harbinger’s pack, however, was something else entirely. Looked like a bloody hot mess to Erik with all its unopened letters, journal, charcoal, and things stuffed inside, but dammit, whenever the Mer needed something, he found it faster than Grulmar could grab something shiny! And when they passed a small pool near a rock outcropping, sure enough, that pack flew right open and what did the Mer find almost immediately? Fishing line and hooks. All this time, past two days, we could have been eating fish instead of that Gods-awful chaurus if you had just had the pair to search the old Mer’s pack, Erik Talon-Hand.  And at that little pool, he learned fishing the old Dusken way from the Harbinger. Poor Mer’s fishing, he claimed with a twinkle in his eye, no money for a pole as a youngling. The Mer baited it with a bit of chaurus meat and at first, Erik thought the Mer would cut himself with the line, but no, he didn’t, teasing the fish with his bait. Some time later, he was rewarded with two fat cave salmon, their eyes covered in a membrane like the Falmer’s eyes were, not needing them for seeing anymore.

     

    “I can eat some.”

     

    “You feeling better?” Erik asked, slicing a piece of fish. It steamed his knife when he cut into the light salmon flesh, flaking, and Erik felt his stomach scream in happiness.

     

    “Tired, but I am certain the fever broke again.” The Elf shifted position and regarded Erik. “That was unexpected. My apologies for slowing you down.”

     

    Ah, fuck, here we go again.

     

    “Harbinger, no offense, but do you even realize that you’re blaming yourself again?”

     

    “I did get sick again.” He countered stubbornly. “Putting you at risk.”

     

    “Yes, but you found this building. Falmer would have found us if we stayed out in the open. I was the idiot that made us need to move from Raldbthar in the first place, making you travel before your strength was back. I was the one who let your shit flow right into their camps.” Erik argued back. He scooted over to where the Harbinger had reclined, wrapped in his bearskin in an attempt to ward off the chills from his fever, and offered the Mer some meat. “Here. We’re gonna do this proper this time and you’re going to rest up before we head out.” The old Mer eyed him, letting Erik know he was pushing it a bit, but Erik didn’t care. “Be good and eat and rest up, or I’ll tell Tilma on you. And…” Erik lowered his brow, doing his best to imitate his Harbinger. “And you know what that means? No. Fucking. Pie.”

     

    The guffaw echoed in the chamber. “You are strong-arming me with Tilma’s pie?”

     

    “I can make it worse for you.”

     

    “How?”

     

    “I can strong arm you with Serana’s honey. Don’t think for an instant that I won’t give her a full report of your bad behavior when we find her.” Erik chided. He even pointed with the fish for good measure as he spoke, sending little bits of it all over the place.

     

    Another guffaw but the eyes were moved. I don’t believe this will happen, old Mer, but you do, and that’s all that matters. I will keep my promise to her as a Companion in the tradition of Ysgramor. The Dragonborn will survive. “Well then,” he said softly, “I cannot be without my honey. Hand me the fish before I have to pick up pieces of it off the floor with all your infernal shaking.”

     

    “Let me know if it’s overcooked. I got a bit of salt left if you want some.”

     

    He took a careful bite and Erik nodded when a tired smile lit up the Mer’s fever-stressed features. He then abandoned his refined Altmer custom and spoke with his mouth full. Nobody was here that would care. “You should journey to Markarth and teach the cook at the Silverblood Inn how to cook fish proper. You’ve a good instinct for it, lad, and I know my fish. Cannot cook them, but I eat them.” 

     

    “Great, because I’m starved.”

     

    “I know, I may be sick, but I am not deaf. I think all of Blackreach knows Erik Talon-hand is hungry.” The Altmer leaned closer to Erik, who had by then settled next to the Mer to enjoy his meal. “We may not be as safe in this building as we think…” Erik shoved the Mer with his bad shoulder and the two laughed and groaned at their aches and pains, both old and new.

     

    Truth be told, they were fucking lucky, Erik thought while they ate. The Harbinger found this abandoned building before he could go no further, needing Erik to practically drag him the rest of the way. He didn’t twitch like he did before, but the fever returned, forcing them to go inside. He left the Mer just inside the entrance, hidden, while he explored the corridors and rooms of the ruin on his own, Sos kiin drawn. Nothing, lucky by Shor’s bones. No constructs, no Falmer.  Only a good deal of Dwemer weapons and armor scattered about, curious piles of a strange ash on beds and in chairs, and bags of Dwemer coin. The Northern balcony had locked chests, but those were for the Harbinger to sort out later with his singing and a well-turned lockpick. When he was sure it was safe, he helped the Mer to a room south of the T-junction that divided the space that had seven beds arranged around a central lamp.

     

    Too much, too fast, the Mer grumbled as he shivered by the campfire Erik made, suffering all over again. Digging through Serana’s pack, they found a potion. A red one, but fucked if they knew what it was and they were both too tired to work through her labeling. They took the chance and the potion made the Elf extremely sleepy, causing him to doze for a spell while Erik setup camp. He was much better when he woke up, but he had learned his lesson and remained quiet by the campfire, reading a book or perusing his journal, making notes. By the Harbinger’s reckoning once Erik described what he saw, it was a garrison of some type, designed to hold soldiers. Probably assigned to supervise the Falmer mining the Aetherium. To discipline as needed. Aye, they were slowly believing that it was the Falmer themselves who slaved for the precious item. Slavery was nothing new in Tamriel, but Mer enslaving Mer? It left the Harbinger with a foul taste in his mouth, muttering something about a War of the Crag and that the Thalmor should remember this bit of history lest it repeat itself… Did the Altmer keep slaves? Didn’t the Empire ban slavery? Erik wanted to ask, but the look on the Mer’s face silenced him. Not a subject he wanted to discuss.

     

    But Erik still wanted to talk. His two days alone made him chatty and he laughed at himself when while at Raldbthar, he talked to himself. You are boring conversation, Erik. “You think we’ll reach Sinderion’s tomorrow, after we bed down tonight?” The Mer had finished his fish and was working on boiling some water over the campfire. Tea time, Erik grinned to himself.  

     

    “Late tomorrow, perhaps, if we move well and I do not slow you down again.”

     

    Erik rolled his eyes. “Remember, I’ll tell…”

     

    Another booming chortle, not loud, but deep and Erik could almost sense the vibration from the Mer’s chest when he laughed like that. He had a satchel of tea in his hands and he pointed at Erik with that satchel much like how Erik pointed the fish at him. “You just wait until you have your own pot of honey.” The Elf warned with a saucy smirk.

     

    “Maybe I already do.” Erik retorted playfully, crossing his arms over his chest, saying “take that, old fart” with his eyes.

     

    “Oh?” The Harbinger purred slowly, lowering the satchel into his tankard to let it steep. “So, does this walking pot of honey have a name?”

     

    Erik forgot how blunt the Elf could be. No beating around the bush.  In Jorrvaskr, if he was curious about something, he just up and asked. That was just what the Altmer did, but Erik saw the face change a little. He was purring and funning, yes, but there was something hidden behind the eyes that got Erik’s attention. “I think you know by now.” Erik smiled, unable to suppress his blushing while the images of his night with Lareyne flashing before his eyes. “You saw how she kissed me when we said our goodbyes.”

     

    “Aye, I saw. She was feeling sorry for you.” The Mer replied matter-of-factly, adding a generous dollop of honey to sweeten his tea.

     

    He felt a different sort of heat creep to his face and he frowned. “Well, well, maybe she did then, but do you think that my behavior now, killing Falmer and chaurus, saving your arse, warrants pity?”

     

    “No, it does not.” He had a fucking tone. The tone he always sported when the Mer was getting ready to address something he didn’t approve of and Erik began to bristle.

     

    “But…” Erik interrupted. That got a look from the old Mer.

     

    “You had one night with her, right?” He asked casually before returning to his tea.

     

    “We had a connection. One night, yes, but I could tell it meant something to both of us. And then the dragon happened and she saw a side of me I didn’t want her to see. What you did for me, what Serana did for me—“Adding Serana into this was a nice touch, Erik thought—“This changes that. I can show her that I can care for her.” Erik argued. The Elf laughed and took another sip of tea. “Are you mocking me?” He shoved the Mer’s shoulder. This time, he wasn’t playing.

     

    Neither was the Mer.

     

    “Easy, cub.” The brow hooded eyes that began to snap while he drank. “Are you being serious?”

     

    Erik straightened his back and looked his Harbinger right in the eye. “Yes. I love Lareyne.”

     

    Tea flew from the Elf’s mouth and into the campfire, making the embers hiss. He wiped his mouth, still chuckling as he reclined his back against the foot of the Dwemer bed. “That is one spell she’s cast on you, son.”

     

    “There were no magicks.” Erik snarled. “This is serious. Just like you and Serana are and you mock me, laugh at me. I thought you, of all people, would understand.” There was an awkward silence between the two Shield-Brothers and the Elf looked like at first he was going to speak, but nothing came out and he sat in thought for a spell while Erik continued to stew.

     

    “Auri-El’s bow.” The Harbinger said quietly, staring into Erik’s eyes. Something changed in his face and a drawn-out whistle escaped his lips.

     

    “What?” Erik snapped, unable to take it anymore. 

     

    “Easy son. Just thought I had been the only one of those in that upside down ship. She, Lareyne. She was your first?”

     

    It was something a Man never wants another guessing. He wanted to crawl under a rock, the embarrassment all over his face. This was just shit Nord men didn’t discuss. Usually, a whore at one of the brothels in your teens fixed that problem before the jokes would begin, but his da didn’t have much money as he was growing up and… Erik was shy, looking at the maids in Whiterun like any other healthy lad would, but avoiding them.  Lareyne understood him, she was shy too and their night together… it was special. “That is none of your business.” Erik fumed.

     

    “No, it is not.” The Elf said, his voice still quiet and to Erik, a bit sad even. “Erik, I need to say something.”

     

    “I don’t want to hear about how you don’t approve!  You’re not my father!” Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Vilkas was right.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

     

    He immediately regretted saying that, but the Elf didn’t seem phased by it, no hurt face, no immediate ‘sorries’. Instead, he looked Erik right in the eye with a scowl that’d make a cave bear piss itself and reached for his pack. He was mad, because he was taking it out on the bag as he searched through it, pulling at straps harder than he needed to and the Elvish curses were freely flowing, especially that ‘Quelne’ word. Erik guessed that one meant “fuck”.  “You are right, I am not your father.” Ah shit, the tone of his voice was clipped now. “And normally I do not interfere…” He removed from his pack a letter with a broken seal and slammed it into Erik’s chest. “Read it and be lucky I did not shove it up your arse for your insolence.”

     

    Erik let the letter fall to his lap while the Harbinger slammed his pack down next to him and picked up his journal and a sharpened piece of charcoal. The Elf began making markings, still muttering to himself in Elvish. Both were angry, and Erik thought the Harbinger was being hypocritical for his disapproval. He was in love with a vampire. What? He didn’t like Lareyne because she was an Altmer? Was he Xenophobic like all Elves seemed to be and Erik just didn’t see it because there was never a situation that showed his true colors. He loved a vampire and I can’t love who I want to love?  Why is Serana special and Lareyne not… Unless Vilkas was right and he was her thrall.

     

    “The letter is not going to read itself.” The Elf mumbled, his eyes on his journal.

     

    “I don’t need to read it. I don’t need to justify myself to you.” Erik argued, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. “Lareyne and I have a special bond.”

     

    “Neither do I.” The Altmer then turned his head and faced Erik. “But only blind fools hide behind ignorance.”

     

    By now Erik was trembling, ready to punch the Mer. “You calling me a fool?”

     

    “If the boot fits.”

     

    “Don’t make me hit you again!” Erik roared, almost tearing the letter, but the Harbinger saved it from its fate, snatching it from Erik’s grasp.

     

    “Ha! You think you are the only Shield-Brother I have fought with? You are blustering and angry, boy, because deep down you know something isn’t quite right, eh? Eh? It is a typical pattern of behavior when men let their cocks think for them.”

     

    For a moment, blows seemed possible and Erik faced the prospect of a fist fight with the Altmer. He had just recovered from a fever and Erik could throw a punch based on the bruise on the old Mer’s jaw, but… Erik’s features softened. This was the Mer who set your life back on its path. You were going to kill yourself in Windhelm if they had left you. He extended his hand. “Give me the letter, Harbinger.”

     

    The Elf nodded, handed him the letter, and returned to his journal, no longer angry. “I will be working on the jobs for First Seed, but feel free to interrupt my work, son, should you have any questions.”

     

    Erik reclined against the foot of the bed and unfolded the letter, reading. Most of it was beyond him, the regrets expressed by Master Calcelmo at being unable to accompany the Knight-Paladin—funny what Elves called the Harbinger—on this quest for the Aetherium Forge, other things, recommendations and such. Then he saw Lareyne’s name mentioned. Lareyne from Lillandril and Erik couldn’t suppress his smile. What a beautiful name. Like music. Assistant, scholar, mage… yes, yes, Erik nodded as he read, brimming with pride at all her achievements Master Calcelmo listed. Dec was in good hands. She was a strong mage and an expert on the Dwemer. At least three paragraphs were devoted to her many qualities. Elves had to be thorough, Erik guessed, and perhaps Master Calcelmo thought that the Harbinger would need convincing. His lips were moving, absorbing every word written about his special Lareyne. He saw the Harbinger’s eyes dart from his work to stare at him, the left eyebrow going up quizzically, but Erik ignored him. “She is a member of a good family in Lillandril that I have known for many years, Knight-Paladin. In fact, our families have just celebrated a unification of sorts, so to speak. As luck would have it, by the blessing of the Divines, we have learned that my nephew… You remember him, yes? Bright young lad, albeit not as bright as me.” Elves really spoke strangely, Erik smirked. Took them forever to get to the point. “Well, he has been assigned to Lareyne. Their union will be celebrated on the month of Rain’s Hand. Aicantar has spoken of little else in his excitement, and aye, as is typical of a youngling, the work has suffered.  Instead, he has been busy readying himself for the proper rites. I have encouraged him to consult you for advice in hopes that I get my research assistant back! Hopefully the young bride-to-be has already been seeking your counsel, bothered me a little that she was so quiet…”

     

    His voice trailed off and only then did Erik realize that he had read that whole part aloud. His chest hurt really bad, constricting, and he let his head hang. He didn’t want to look to his right, didn’t want to see the expression on the Elf’s face. He’s probably laughing at you, you dumbarse. He took out his humiliation on the letter, crumpling it in his hand into a ball.  Smaller and smaller, small enough to hide it away and forget it.  Until a pale hand out of the corner of his eye reached out and forced his hand open. The hand then proceeded to uncrumple the letter, make it big again, opening it flat upon Erik’s thigh, making him face it. Plain and obvious and Erik stared at it for a long while, rereading the last part a few times, letting the hurt swell in him. Another lesson learned.  “It’s what we use to measure joy...”

     

    “Aye, that it is, son.” The old Elf replied, setting his journal down to regard Erik. “Are you alright?”

     

    “Can I ask why?” His voice cracked and he didn’t care.  

     

    The Elf sighed. “You can, but the answer will be painful.”

     

    Erik straightened his back and wiped the tears with the back of his hand. “Alright. I’m ready.”

     

    “I was hoping that she would have had the decency to be forthwith with you. Usually Altmer are when they do this, when they sow their wild oats before committing to, Xarxes’ arse, sometimes centuries of marriage to one person that they may not like all that much. But perhaps the younger generation lack the manners old farts like me were brought up with, or… could be that you being a Nord had a part in it and she felt she didn’t need to say anything to you. They forget, you are people too. It is not hard for my people, when your people are slaves in Alinor, when all they do is  watch you toil in chains, to think you are little better than an animal.”

     

    “Then why even?” Erik asked, feeling the rage build on his face. “Why even fuck me if I am little better than a dog to her.”

     

    “Because it was perhaps exotic to her and she was away from Calcelmo’s eyes. I do not think she realizes that I know. The letter was sealed.” The brows lowered thoughtfully, but Erik saw a crackle of angry fire from the old Dovah’s eyes. “A mistake on her part. Calcelmo is thorough in everything he does.”

     

    “Why didn’t you say anything if you knew?” Erik asked. “You could have prev—“

     

    “Bloody Oblvion!” The Elf cursed, suddenly throwing up his arms in frustration, causing his journal and charcoal to scatter to the floor and the Dovahkiin then exploded like Red Mountain. “Quelne! Quelne! Quelne! Damned if I do and damned if I don’t! It is the way everything has seemed to be for me over the past year!” He extended one arm forward as if gesturing “Blamed if I do something,” the other hand extended, “and blamed if I don’t! Always something wrong with every decision I make! And when I’m finally happy…” He turned to Erik quickly and pointed at him, shaking his finger soundly at the Nord. “I am tired of it!  In fact, I quit!  I quit being Dragonborn! I quit being Harbinger! I quit! Done! Finished!” He picked up the journal and tossed it hard across the room. “The lot of you can shove First Seed’s jobs up your arses, Ysgramor can piss on his own in his tomb, the Aetherium Forge can stay hidden, and the fucking Jarls can finally do their jobs and bloody figure out how to kill Alduin themselves!”  He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as if finalizing a decision. “I will move.” His eyes darted around. “…here. It is a little dark and the beds are hard, but the fishing is good and I am gone from the lot of you nags.”

     

    Erik’s jaw dropped and he blinked a few times, trying to process everything that erupted from the Harbinger’s mouth. He was still breathing heavily from his outburst, sitting against the foot of the bed like a sulking child, but after a bit, they faced each other and their eyes locked.

     

    Bet the Falmer can hear us crazies laughing from outside. Erik laughed until he had tears in his eyes and so did Ronnie. Aye, Ronnie, a Mer. Just a Mer.  Thrown into circumstances beyond his control and he was just doing his best to keep his head afloat too. Ronnie wiped the tears from his eyes and gave Erik a good slap to the shoulder. “We’re so fucked if all I want to do is go fishing. Can’t even bang my woman, and I do not even know... At least I still have my smokes…”

     

    “You alright, Ronnie?” Erik asked.

     

    “Well Oghma’s tits! Looks like the Civil War is over!” Ronnie exclaimed, his eyebrows straight up.

     

    “Huh?”

     

    “Said the Civil War would be over before you said my name. And… ya said my name, lad. Remember?” The Elf chuckled, still shaking his head at the shock of his outburst. Erik acknowledged that he remembered, but no, he really had no idea what the Elf was talking about at all. “No, I am not alright. I miss my pot of honey and, right now, I hate my life, but it will pass and I will love my life again and I hope…” he sighed heavily and the last words were said heavily. “And I will do my duty. You?” 

     

    “No.” Erik sighed. “I hate women. Exceptin’ yours, of course. And maybe Tilma, Aela, Greir, and Ria, but pretty much everybody else, I hate.”

     

    “The bitches.” Ronnie laughed coarsely, grabbing his pack to retrieve his pipe. “Mark my words, lad, when they got ya by the balls…”

     

    “Feels really good.” Erik smirked.

     

    Another hearty slap to the shoulder and the Elf grinned from knife ear to knife ear. “Aye, it does. You will be right as rain soon, Erik Talon-Hand. I will take first watch.” Erik scooted from his position next to the Elf and started to prepare his bedroll. Ronnie pointed with his pipe across the room. “But be a good cub first and fetch an Old Snow Bear his journal, his weary bones have decided that they wish to remain at the foot of the bed for now…” Erik glanced back and nodded, quickly moving across the room to retrieve it. Ronnie could throw far. He stooped near a bed and pulled it from its tightly wedged position in the grilling of a Dwemer cabinet. Mer threw hard too. He walked back and extended the journal to the Harbinger, Snow Bear, Ronnie, the Dovahkiin. He was all these things, he thought quietly while their eyes locked. And he’s your friend.

     

    “Best get some rest, son. We will reach Sinderion’s on the morrow, and we will finish this.”

     

    Aye, that we will, Old Mer.

     

     

     

Comments

32 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! and 11 others like this.
  • Ebonslayer
    Ebonslayer   ·  March 23, 2018
    Chasing Aetherius: Chapter 9 - It [D]oesn't Always Go As Planned (Needs to be capitalized)
    She [was engaging] a group of Falmer, (Add a space between the 2 words)
    Plain and obvious and Erik stared at it for a long [while],

    In...  more
  • Caladran
    Caladran   ·  August 21, 2017
    What a roller coaster chapter! I swear this was the longest chapter I've
    ever read! The pulling the arrow from Beron was heart wrenching! o:
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Caladran
      Caladran
      Caladran
      What a roller coaster chapter! I swear this was the longest chapter I've
      ever read! The pulling the arrow from Beron was heart wrenching! o:
        ·  August 22, 2017
      Thanks Caladran. Sorry, I'm so late with comments, been really hectic with the move. I wanted to show a softer side of Serana there. 
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Caladran
      Caladran
      Caladran
      What a roller coaster chapter! I swear this was the longest chapter I've
      ever read! The pulling the arrow from Beron was heart wrenching! o:
        ·  August 21, 2017
      Thank you. Lis will be glad to hear that :D
  • Justiciar Thorien
    Justiciar Thorien   ·  March 31, 2017
    The Dominion Trio is still hilarious, and Kitty is the most adorable, but... Holy f***k... Poor Aelberon. Though it seems that even he is now luckier than Serana... This all was quite cruel of Ondolemar.


    Though unlike Phil I'm not goi...  more
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  January 23, 2017
    Finally finished the chapter. Oh bloody hell and Hircine..............
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Finally finished the chapter. Oh bloody hell and Hircine..............
        ·  January 23, 2017
      Lol, yep a lot happens here. 
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  December 28, 2016
    “You have no bloody ears. You dead…”

    I chuckled at this... Classic...


    “Feels really good.” Erik smirked.         Note to self.... Add Erik to watch list........
  • Paws
    Paws   ·  December 27, 2016
    Helluva ride, a very clever chapter. Action packed but not too fast-paced, balance struck perfectly with tender moments and pulse-pounding combat. Poor Erik. Bitch of an Altmer.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  December 23, 2016
    Loved the way the conversation bounced to and fro during the second section. Albee threatening to take back the shield in not so many words. 

    To her, it looked like a place where they harvested and bred their chaurus. Eggs sacs were sca...  more
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Loved the way the conversation bounced to and fro during the second section. Albee threatening to take back the shield in not so many words. 

      To her, it looked like a place where they harvested and bred their chaurus. Eggs sacs were scattered every...  more
        ·  December 23, 2016
      Yes, in US it's one word. Thanks for reading, Sotek. I know you've been busy as of late, so I appreciate it. 


      Yeah, Albee needed help. Keep reading.
  • Gnewna
    Gnewna   ·  December 11, 2016
    Oh, Erik... 


    *kicks Kahleron in the kneecaps*
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Gnewna
      Gnewna
      Gnewna
      Oh, Erik... 


      *kicks Kahleron in the kneecaps*
        ·  December 11, 2016
      Everybody kick Kahleron in the kneecaps!  :D
      • Gnewna
        Gnewna
        The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        Everybody kick Kahleron in the kneecaps!  :D
          ·  December 11, 2016
        Or maybe somewhere more delicate... (Both? Both. Both is good.)
    • Karver the Lorc
      Karver the Lorc
      Gnewna
      Gnewna
      Gnewna
      Oh, Erik... 


      *kicks Kahleron in the kneecaps*
        ·  December 11, 2016
      :D That´s a serious tantrum right there. 


      Good to see you catching up, Gnewna. You like Kahleron? You are old aquintances after all :D
      • Gnewna
        Gnewna
        Karver the Lorc
        Karver the Lorc
        Karver the Lorc
        :D That´s a serious tantrum right there. 


        Good to see you catching up, Gnewna. You like Kahleron? You are old aquintances after all :D
          ·  December 11, 2016
        Oh yes, very fond of him, we're like THAT *mimics extreme closeness by crossing two fingers, somehow managing to make it look as though one finger is strangulating the other...*
        • Karver the Lorc
          Karver the Lorc
          Gnewna
          Gnewna
          Gnewna
          Oh yes, very fond of him, we're like THAT *mimics extreme closeness by crossing two fingers, somehow managing to make it look as though one finger is strangulating the other...*
            ·  December 11, 2016
          xD You´re killing me xD


          Btw, didn´t you skip two Chapters since you read the last time? Or just forgot to leave a like? 
          • Gnewna
            Gnewna
            Karver the Lorc
            Karver the Lorc
            Karver the Lorc
            xD You´re killing me xD


            Btw, didn´t you skip two Chapters since you read the last time? Or just forgot to leave a like? 
              ·  December 11, 2016
            Ah, that's why Lisette was asking if I'd missed them! I think I read them when I was poorly in bed and there's no wifi upstairs so I had loaded the pages before I went up, and then couldn't like, and then forgot to, whoops!
            • Karver the Lorc
              Karver the Lorc
              Gnewna
              Gnewna
              Gnewna
              Ah, that's why Lisette was asking if I'd missed them! I think I read them when I was poorly in bed and there's no wifi upstairs so I had loaded the pages before I went up, and then couldn't like, and then forgot to, whoops!
                ·  December 11, 2016
              Hahaha. I was just wondering if you´re up to date. I sometimes skip Chapters...don´t tell anyone xD
              • Gnewna
                Gnewna
                Karver the Lorc
                Karver the Lorc
                Karver the Lorc
                Hahaha. I was just wondering if you´re up to date. I sometimes skip Chapters...don´t tell anyone xD
                  ·  December 11, 2016
                Your secret's safe with me!
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  December 10, 2016
    Awwwwoooo
    I just wanted to let both you Lissette and Karver know that I'm not ignoring your post. I was looking forwards to reading this Friday but now due to things, I won't be able to until Saturday.
    I'll get on it asap.
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Sotek
      Awwwwoooo
      I just wanted to let both you Lissette and Karver know that I'm not ignoring your post. I was looking forwards to reading this Friday but now due to things, I won't be able to until Saturday.
      I'll get on it asap.
        ·  December 11, 2016
      Don't sweat it Sotek, it's a long chapter.  :)
  • Teineeva
    Teineeva   ·  December 7, 2016
    Well that certainly was one hell of a ride... ^:)^
    • The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Teineeva
      Teineeva
      Teineeva
      Well that certainly was one hell of a ride... ^:)^
        ·  December 7, 2016
      Thanks, Teineeva. Sorry for the length. I know a bit hard to handle. Lol, I promise Straag Rod chapters will not ever be this long!