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Chapter Text

Chapter One: Into the Ashes

She felt the world around her bend, perspective being distorted the more she pushed against it. With greater effort, more light began to seep through, fractals and colours dancing around her like thin beams of hope, driving her further on. At a final, lung searing effort, she broke through, ripping reality around her and falling forward onto hard cobblestone. 

Finwe pulled herself up to her knees, leaning onto her elbows and taking in the moment. 

She had finally done it. 

Winded slightly from the fall, though she didn’t know how far she had actually fallen, she righted herself and took her first breath of freedom in. 

It was not pleasant. 

Opening her green eyes, the world around her was in chaos. Flames ate away at wooden buildings, stone walls had been shattered and rubble lay at their bases. Turning her head to the right, she saw what appeared to be a chopping block with corpses around it. This was not entirely unusual as corpses were usually found near chopping blocks, but most of the time they don’t include the executioner under a flaming rock. 

Standing slowly, she aligned her senses more sharply to the surroundings and the screams and shouts of orders became apparent, mixed with the sound of stone being forced together at speeds that defied explanation. Turning skyward, the swirls of the clouds in a fiery dome sat above her. 

The tower before her, or what was left of it, seemed to be the focal point of this tumult and atop it, a large, black dragon dug it’s claws into the stone, staring right at her. 

A man’s voice called out behind her. Finwe didn’t hear what he had said, but turning from the murderous gaze, she ran and then sprinted to a door being kept open by a blond, bearded figure. As she passed the threshold, she heard wings beat from the tower. 

The interior was taken up mostly by the injured, blood spattering nearly every surface in sight and Finwe averted her eyes where she could. There was chatter and Nordic voices around her as she found the only space available, slowly climbing the stairs. 

Dragons? Finwe thought to herself. Just what was needed. She was also trying to figure out where she was and sadly a huge winged lizard didn’t narrow it down. 

There was no time to think further as bodies bustled past her, one turning back to exclaim they were moving up the tower. Finwe pulled herself back from the edges of her thoughts and moved her legs, following behind the group of blue-garbed Nords. 

As she rounded the curve of the tower, the wall burst inwards above her to the roar of the dragon, the stone crushing those ahead. Leaving a parting gift of flame, the dragon launched back and into the sky once more. 

Finwe could not see any way past the rubble now halting her ascent, but the dragon may have provided another exit. The hole in the tower faced towards a wooden building, just one storey below her current standing. Deciding that death in a cracking and crumbling tower seemed less than ideal, she gauged the distance, took a few steps and launched herself toward what remained of the thatched roof. 

Finwe could certainly have aimed better. 

She had anticipated rolling or sliding along her side, breaking the inevitable fall at least a little. What happened in reality was that the beam holding what remained of the roof up gave way, breaking her fall ever so slightly, and ended with her hitting the first floor of the building with more speed than most falling people would advise. Finwe attempted to roll to break the fall, distributing the pain evenly over her shoulders and back. 

Taking a second, she tried to get a grasp of where the dragon was. She could see it’s shadow gliding past and around the tower at the centre, but it was still high above based on this. 

Ignoring the pain where she could, she made her way to the edge of the collapsed floor and eased herself down with as much grace as possible to the ground floor. Seeing outside, an older man and young boy were huddled in some bushes behind much less of a house than she was in. Spotting another soldier, this one with red and brown leather armour, she ran in as few bounds as her long legs could and slid to a halt a few metres from the elderly figure. 

The soldier turned back and joined them in the short shrubbery, the loss on his face seamlessly replaced by a steeled expression. 

“Gunnar, take care of the boy. I…” he trailed off, seeing Finwe for the first time, unsure how to continue. Nodding to Gunnar, he turned and shouted back, “with me if you want to live!”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar”, came Gunnar’s response. 

Finwe gave them a solemn look and drove on, catching up with this Hadvar and heading towards what used to be an alleyway between buildings. 

“Stay close to the wall!” Hadvar barked over his shoulder. 

Finwe obliged him and was glad she did, the curled talons of the dragon landing above her on the stone as it unleashed another torrent of fire ahead of them. Hadvar, who had a line of sight on the intended target, looked upwards instead at the neck of the beast raining fire down from the sky. 

Once it had departed for another victim, Hadvar nodded to Finwe and they pushed on once more, this time through freshly burning ruins among the odour of burned flesh. 

Breaking out into a courtyard, a number of soldiers and battlemages surrounded a man with more ornately decorated armour than the rest, holding him back towards a large wooden gate. 

“Hadvar!” the man exclaimed, straining his head above crowd in front of him, “into the keep soldier, we’re leaving!” 

Hadvar turned from his trajectory towards what was undoubtedly his superior officer and went left. 

“With me, this way”, he said as he checked to see Finwe still at his heel. She had no intention of dying this soon and strained every muscle trying to keep up. 

The dragon seemed to be becoming more frustrated, with arrows arcing across the orange and greyed sky without much impact. It dove and swooped numerous times, attempting to grab soldiers on the walls like an enormous bird of prey. 

The cries from those successfully launched into the air were difficult to listen to, as Finwe felt for them and such a death. She would do all she could to not fall in the same manner. 

Reaching the far end of the main keep, Hadvar opened the door, more with a shoulder than hands, and ushered Finwe through it as quickly as she could. He wasn’t keen on letting any of the soldiers in blue, the ones left alive making their way over the wall from where Finwe had materialised, and shut the door firmly, raising the large iron bolt at the top to secure it. 

Finwe collapsed onto the floor and breathed for the first time in what felt like years. 

********************************

Finwe sat herself against the dank wall of the keep. Leaning her torso into her knees, she pushed her dark hair behind both of her pointed ears and held her face for a moment. She tried to process what had just happened. It felt so surreal, yet here she was, in the flesh, covered in soot and dirt, but very much here and alive. 

She tried to wipe some of the grime from her golden skin, but instead left dark circles around her eyes. Taking the collar of her vest in her hands, she wiped down her long nose and tried to rid herself of the accumulated ash. As she stood, the vest gripped itself to the wall and reluctantly followed. It pulled tightly to her slender frame, but did not hide the well toned muscles around her shoulders and arms. 

She looked with a little apprehension towards Hadvar, still panting, with a hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“Where did you come from?” he asked, swallowing between breaths, unsure if he wanted an answer to the question. 

Finwe weighed this in her mind, her angled eyes looking away from. There were several answers that she could give, none of which would be false as such, but that could easily illicit a more negative response than she liked. 

Clearly this process of thought was a little slower than needed and Hadvar decided to alter his enquiry. 

“Are you with the Thalmor?”

Ah, thought Finwe, now on more familiar ground. 

It was probably still not the answer that he was looking for. 

“No. I’m not with the Thalmor.” 

“Are you going to explain where you came from?”

“Probably not at this point.” Finwe was at least going to be honest with him. 

Hadvar sighed, seeming to accept that he wasn’t going to have an answer and that gave him a little peace for the time being. 

“Can you handle a weapon?” Hadvar asked, looking around the room. There were several beds backed against the wall, chests at their feet that he began to sift through. 

“I’ll be fine, preferably not anything too big for the moment though”, Finwe said as she followed suit in checking for anything useful. 

She found a rack on the opposite side of the room and a couple of swords, neither looking in the best kept condition. Below them a chest lay open with a leather cuirass among a few other less than useful items. Finwe pulled it up and found there was a lower part as well, fashioned like a skirt similar to that which Hadvar wore. She slipped the top part over her vest and pulled the skirt up to her waist, opting to keep her trousers and boots that she already wore. They were a dark brown, probably darker thanks to the ashes now staining her legs, and ripped in places, but they held a few personal effects in the pockets which she was reluctant to part with. 

Pulling a sword off the wall, she gave it a few twirls as she rolled her wrist over and felt that it would suffice for the moment. 

Turning to Hadvar, who now stood nearer to her ready and waiting to open the grate that acted as a door, which he did at her nod. 

They made their way to a similarly grated entrance, which lead to a large circular chamber. Beyond the opening, Finwe could hear a couple of tired voices speaking. 

“Stormcloaks,” Hadvar whispered to her, “maybe we can reason with them”. 

Unfortunately, he was more optimistic than the Stormcloaks. 

At the lowering of the grate, they turned and upon seeing them, rose slowly and raised their large weapons, ready to swing. 

The one that came towards Finwe was bearded and swung his warhammer low, looking to sweep her legs from under her. She kept her distance as he grew in frustration, attacking more wildly and with less control with each rotation of the weapon. Just after he had swept past her once more, she lunged forward, piercing the flesh of his shoulder with the rusted iron blade. 

Pulling away again, she held back as he leant on the hammer with his left hand. 

“We can end this here, there’s no more need to fight,” pleaded Finwe, “lay down your arms and we can both walk away with our lives”. 

Just as the Nord decided that his philosophy of ‘death or glory’ would be upheld, Hadvar chose the result for him as he plunged his sword through the Nord’s chest. 

Finwe sighed, seeing that Hadvar had dealt with the Nord woman in a similar fashion, leaving her slowly bleeding on the floor. 

“Let me get the door”, said Hadvar, a grim look of sorrow on his face. Opening the barred door, he gestured Finwe to follow. 

As they hit the bottom of the stairs, a roar from above was followed by a stomach churning crack and part of the hallway collapsed ahead of their path, sending dust towards them as they rounded the corner. Once the floor had ceased shaking from the impact, they found their footing and turned to a door which led to a pantry. It was stocked with meat and herbs hanging from hooks on the walls near to an open fire. 

Hadvar had been the most alert one in the room, as two Stormcloaks who had been sifting through barrels were taken by surprise. The first had no chance at all, the second would have had a chance if he hadn’t been so static to the attack. Needless to say, Hadvar made short work them. 

“Look around, grab anything useful,” he said, wiping his sword on the back of the fallen Stormcloak. 

Content with a couple of small potions in her pocket, Finwe once again followed on. 

Making their way down the stairs, a scuffle had broken out below as more Stormcloaks had gotten this far into the keep. Hadvar rushed in to aide his colleagues as Finwe slowed to a walk. 

As the screams and shouts faded, she realised the fight had been ended in an instant, the crackle of lightning echoing in the hallways. 

She rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs to find an older man in a hood arguing with Hadvar. They talked on as one of the fresh bodies in blue lay convulsing in the floor, sparks resonating thought their corpse like a disjointed instrument. 

Finwe realised they were in a torture chamber and decided to stay out of the conversation, looking around the room. She found a corner that stocked some weapons, so she took a peak and was relieved to find a thick shield, made of wood and iron. Feeling the weight on her left arm, she was comforted to finally have something to put between herself and anyone trying to put something sharp inside her. 

“Are you coming?” Hadvar asked from across the room. They had clearly come to a conclusion and what appeared to be the torturer’s assistant, a wide balding man, was waiting with Hadvar at the way onwards. 

After a short walk, they came to a more open chamber, with water leaking in from a variety of cracks and streams. Hadvar held them up and turned to face them. 

“There’s about five or six of them from what I can tell, but having a look they have a couple on the far side of the room. Can you make it to them if we draw the rest towards us?’ He asked, looking at Finwe. 

Nodding, she straightened up as they prepared to rush into the room. 

Finwe made it to the first small stone bridge to the left with ease and surveyed the room as she slowed to a jog. Around five soldiers had seen and ignored her, going right for Hadvar and the assistant near the entrance they had used. She saw the two others and was dismayed to see that they were readying arrows while the fight began in earnest. 

The sounds of metal on shields and bodies hitting the floor spurred her on, once again up to a sprint and she made it to the far side of the room. 

Not slowing for a second, she ran through the nearest archer with her sword and held him there, feeling the warm blood gushing onto her hand. 

The second had just loosed his arrow and nocked another, trying to find an angle on Finwe as she waned under the weight of the now limp body. As she dropped it to the ground, she raised her shield and kept her body as small as she could behind it. Inching closer, she watched the archer’s eyes and waited for a chance. 

A couple of seconds passed and she got what she was looking for. 

The archer had looked away for a millisecond too long, checking on the progress of the fight to his left. In that moment, Finwe had closed the gap and was within striking distance. He panicked, releasing the grip on his arrow and leaning back in fear. The arrow sailed well over Finwe’s head, and she made contact as her shield went into the ribs of the archer. He crumpled like a ball of paper and she wasted no time in striking him in the head with the hilt of her sword, leaving an imprint in his comrades blood. 

Panting, she quickly turned back to the other side of the room, to see just Hadvar and one Stormcloak standing. Hadvar looked uncomfortable, his current enemy looked tired as her arms hung low with the weight of her axes. She raised one and swung from above, which Hadvar blocked and as she tried to swing from the left with the other, he parried it away before kicking her low in the gut. She folded forwards and Hadvar finished her off with one weighty thrust of his sword. 

Taking a second to steady himself, he hurried over to Finwe and past her, blood dripping indiscriminately from his body. 

He led her into a corridor and lifted a lever on the floor, dropping the bridge and revealing the way out. It was only as he turned to her again that she saw the arrow protruding from his side. Hadvar gave a wry smile and they pushed on. 

She felt for him and returned the smile. There wasn’t anything she could do, but if they made it out of this place, they could find a healer capable of dealing with the arrow. It was just a case of staying strong until then. 

The timing had been just enough, as they crossed into a more open and natural cavern, the stone above the bridge collapsed and sent the wood which they had crossed below in a swift downpour of splinters. 

“Damn, no going back that way,” he offered in a pained look. 

They had no option but to press on. 

The next room that they came to from following along a stream consisted of frostbite spiders, ranging from those about the size of a dog, to a couple that would have been mistaken for livestock at a distance, if they had half the number of legs. 

Finwe and Hadvar sliced through them like knives through rather large insects. 

Finding the stream again, they calmly walked along for a short time, coming to an abandoned cart. Hadvar had spotted ahead what had led to the cart’s current home. 

“Hold up, there’s a bear just ahead, you see her?” He asked in hushed tones. “In the state I’m in, I’d rather not tangle with her, let’s try and sneak past. You take the lead and I’ll follow.”

Finwe agreed and they slowly began to stalk across the cavern. They made it most of the way when Hadvar failed to see a small pile of bones below him. 

At the crunch, the bear stirred and groggily rose to see two humanoid figures crouched in front of it. This wasn’t entirely unusual, as the bear had brought some into this very cave it called home. It was just odd that there were a couple here of their own accord. 

Finwe swallowed. 

“Go, run!” Hadvar exclaimed as he burst into a light sprint. Finwe followed suit as quickly as she could, overtaking the Imperial soldier. As is often the case when being chased by something, you only need to ensure that you are not the slowest thing being chased. 

This was currently Hadvar, and the bear was closing in. 

Finwe slowed and turned in time to see this, and against her better judgement, retreated towards the very beast that she was trying to escape. As she raised her sword, the claws of the bear slashed across the leg of Hadvar, sending him sprawling to the ground. 

Finwe rushed past him and the point of her sword met the face of the animal at full speed. It cried out in pain and as Finwe twisted her sword, it went limp, collapsing under its own weight. 

Finwe dropped her sword and turned to the now much paler Hadvar. He had propped himself against the wall of the cave, the colour draining from his face with each passing moment, staining the earth around him. 

“I’m sorry,” Finwe started, “I don’t know a spell to help you, I can’t stop the bleeding”. 

“It’s fine,” groaned Hadvar, “I think the arrow would have done enough in the end.

“Listen, head down the valley, follow the river and you’ll come to a small village. My uncle is the blacksmith there, he’ll help you out.” 

Finwe nodded, trying to find a way to stop the bleeding from his leg. As she rushed, she couldn’t find the exact point that was letting so much of the blood go and she stained her hands in the bright red while rummaging to quell the flow. 

Finwe looked up in one last desperate attempt for Hadvar to help her, but she saw that he had already drifted off into unconsciousness, his eyes staring well past her into some unknown distance. 

***********************

The cold breeze had hit her like a brick through a shop window as she exited the cave. 

The freshness of the air a welcome relief from the ash and smoke filled plume that she had plunged herself into on arrival. She would have to make sure to grab the name of the place, she hadn’t been aware of anyone who mentioned it and she would at least need some sort of story to make sense of what had happened. A vague enough starting point would keep things simple. 

The valley below was lush with wild flowers and old forgotten stumps. The native flora grew in abundance with the occasional rustle of foliage to indicate that the fauna was also doing just fine. A path, not so well trodden but enough lack of tall grass to point the way, led her down before she came to a cobbled road. 

The view was stark, with grey mountains capped in snow leaning back towards a silvery sky and woods that wove down the hill seemed to be less touched by the whiteness the further from the cave she went. The sound of chaos was still ringing in her ears and the calmness of the valley was almost disorientating. 

She tried to focus herself back to the present. 

The breeze the rolled down the hill behind her brought with it a smell of smouldering wood and she risked a glance behind. She could see the columns rising in thick clouds of death and held herself for a second, looking for any sign of movement. When there was none, she turned and once again headed down the road. 

Finwe considered herself lucky to have made it from the top of the hill to where she was now. It was the unlikely timing and the help of a few poor souls that kept her on the path that led out of the cave in the end. Some would consider it dumb luck, but Finwe preferred to think that these people helped her for a good reason. 

Following this road for most of what remained in the afternoon and into the night brought her to a fork in the road. She lacked any knowledge of the land and so, with one vague instruction embedded, she chose to keep heading down the hill in the direction that had been signposted for Riverwood and Whiterun. 

It was comfortably morning by the time she came to the base of the valley and found the river that had been suggested. The sun was making it’s grand entrance to the day, lifted past the mountains to the east as though on an invisible string. A vast lake stretched out to the west, dotted with small camps and structures along the shore, with a few small islands that she could make out towards the centre. 

The mountains ahead of her to the north had several large stone arches built upon the highest peak, as though carved from the stone itself. She didn’t know what they were for, but judging by the few stones that she could see closer through the trees, it must have been old enough to shed a few pieces here and there over the years. The place gave off an intimidating feel, as though both protector and tyrant to the land below. 

She halted and washed herself of as much blood as possible. It was difficult to get it all, but she did the best she could without a sight of her face and went tough on her hands, trying to get as much of the dried red from beneath her fingernails. Finwe made the conscious effort to drink the cold, crisp water that she washed herself with. It had been some time since she had tasted anything so fresh and tried to enjoy it as best as she could. She also took the time to rest her legs at this stop. Even if her head called out for sleep, she knew that she must continue or risk being dinner for some beast out on the road. 

She followed the road to the east and she was thankfully untroubled in the remainder of this walk. There were a few sounds of animals trotting though the forest that lined the landscape like fat under the skin of the road. She paid them no mind. If anything was to attack the tiredness would either mean she was too slow to react or she would blindly stab at anything before checking its intentions. As her feet dragged on, she was happy to not resort to anymore exertion aside from keeping her legs moving. 

It was night by the time that Finwe made it into the small village, which was called Riverwood. The air was light and carried the scent of timber and sawdust in this calm bubble of homes. She was thankful for a spot of civilisation that wasn’t burnt to a crisp after the last couple of days. 

Secunda, the smaller of the lunar siblings that wandered the sky, had begun to rise over the shorter peaks to the north-west. The journey had been draining, with no food, just a vague sense of direction driving her on, she had been lucky to get as far as she did through the night before. 

Along the main stretch of rough cobblestone, there was the occasional person enjoying what would likely be a fleeting warm evening in the late summer. Finwe spotted the glow of a forge slowly cooling at the end of the day and checked closer, hoping to catch anyone clearing things up. 

She was disappointed, but saw that the forge was at the back of a house and decided to chance her luck once more for the day. 

Knocking on the door, she heard the sliding of a chair and waited. As the door opened inwards, a large bearded man stood before her. He was not much shorter than her and his sleeves were rolled up to expose some impressive forearms. 

“Aye, can I help you this evening?” He asked, a little apprehensive upon seeing her face. 

“I’m sorry. Hadvar said that you could help me out”, said Finwe. 

“And how do you know him?” He raised an eyebrow at the name. 

“He helped me”, she began, unsure how to broach the subject and the way they had parted. “Did you happen to see a dragon heading this way?”

His eyes widened and he pulled himself halfway out the door, keeping one hand on the edge of it and pulling it close to his back. 

“I… I think I did. I’d hoped I was wrong about it, about what I saw. Where did it come from?” 

Finwe tried to give the direction she had come from in order to explain. 

“Ah that would be Helgen, not too far from here. Gods, first the war and now this”. He gave a somber look. “Where is Hadvar now then?”

Finwe took a sharp breath. 

“I’m sorry, he didn’t make it in the end. He directed me here, to the blacksmith, told me that you could help”.

The blacksmith looked downtrodden. Finwe could hear a woman talking from inside and the laughter of a child, no doubt family to inform of this news. 

“Do you know of anywhere that I can stay the night? I’m sorry to ask so much of you while bringing news like this”, said Finwe, the tiredness fully taking over her as she leant on her left arm, hand placed flat against the wood of his home. 

“Give me a second”, he said, nodding and returning inside. When he came back to Finwe, he held a small pouch. “Here is some coin, it should get you a room at the inn up the road. They won’t ask too many questions so don’t worry. Come and give me a hand tomorrow, that’s all I ask in return. There’s enough labour here to go around that you can feed yourself for a few days”. 

Finwe nodded, both in agreement and then thanks, before letting him back inside his home. 

The inn was not far from his house, with just a short walk before coming to the steps that led to the raised, wooden walkway at the door. 

Inside it was warm and the smells of hot food and stale drink filled the air. It all became much of a blur as once she enquired about a room, she fell into the bed as fast as she could and was asleep before anyone could knock to ask if she wanted some dinner. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Measured

The walk from Riverwood to Whiterun was pleasant in the rising sunlight of dawn. The wildlife gave her a wide berth beside the river, scarpering as her footsteps sounded in the quiet morning. Finwe glimpsed rabbits, deer and foxes  as she ventured along the main road that flowed down to a steep and rocky waterfall. She camped the first evening nearby, trying to keep a mental note of which way the road had wound beside the river.

Finwe had no intention of proving Faendal’s tales to be false, but she did not see anything resembling a ghost all night. However, there could be a couple of lost souls alienated in the shadows of the thinning forest, she thought. The crippled bend of the hill combined with the woodland ebbing away seemed to her like a elderly man trying his best to avoid the passing of time.

She enjoyed watching the salmon try to make their way back upstream as she wound her way down the hill the next day and out of the more forested part of the hold. 

Seeing Whiterun in the distance for the first time was quite a spectacle. The landscape opened to vast plains and tundra, with mountain ranges dotting the horizon to cup the plains in a bowl with pointed teeth. 

The city itself sat upon a lonely hill with farms surrounding the walls from the south. The river continued along the base of the mountain range and followed it to the east, a road faintly visible leading in the same direction. At the top of the hill, a great palace rising up like a golden gem took most of the light and cast a shadow down to the rest of the city. 

It was mid afternoon of the third day by the time that she made it down the hill and following the signs, turned left and made her way past some of the farms and even a meadery. The last of the lavender lined the side of the road here, clearly planted by the meadery owner to help with the local bees. It just about left a pleasant smell at this time of year, but was quickly fading with the seasons. 

When she came to one of the farmsteads closest to the city her interest was caught by a large humanoid figure. It was three, maybe four times the size of her, swinging a large club toward the ground. Finwe picked up her pace a little. She couldn’t see what it was swinging at, but was slightly hesitant to take something of this size on her own. Maybe she would be able to distract it and pull it away from the farm to cause as little damage as possible. As it turned out, this was not needed. 

The giant was surrounded by a group of warriors, two of them rotating around the legs of the giant and another hanging back, carefully aiming with a bow. As an arrow was loosed, the giant cried out in pain, it’s club now frantically gouging at the trampled earth. One of the warriors, a large Nord man, had sized up his target and swung a longsword horizontally. It sliced the leg of the giant and severed what was probably several muscles in a leg of that size and under the weight of its own body, it fell to one knee. 

With its attention on the man, a Nord woman worked her way behind the now stationary giant and thrust her sword deep into its chest. With a final, sad cry, it slowly fell forward, taking the now impaled sword with it and left the ground shaking as it made contact. 

The two closest to the giant congratulated each other loudly, while the archer looked on and saw Finwe watching in awe. Attaching her bow to her back, she proudly strutted over to Finwe. 

“Well that’s taken care of, no thanks for you,” she said boldly. 

“Not sure that you needed any assistance.” 

Finwe replied. “Based on the result I was right.”

“Certainly not. But a true warrior would have relished the opportunity to take on a giant. That's why I'm here with my Shield-Brothers.”

Finwe looked at her slightly puzzled at the term. 

“I’m sorry, a Shield-Brother?”

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors,” she explained. “We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.”

Finwe’s interest had been piqued. It would be difficult to make her way as a mercenary in a new land on her own, but as part of a guild she would have some stability and more opportunities. This would be less of an issue if there would be a group that she could fit into without too many questions being raised. When Finwe asked who she should speak to 

regarding joining the guild, the warrior explained. 

"Not for me to say. You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. 

“If you go to him, good luck."

With that, the group of Companions left Finwe by the farm. She had this to consider, as she would no doubt have to stop in the city, even if she decided to move on. In the end, it wouldn’t hurt to at least speak with this Kodlak and perhaps ask some more questions, even if she didn’t end up joining. 

Finwe made her mind up, so she started off once again and soon was below the city. She passed the stables below the main gate after a short walk. There were a couple of tents in a small camp just outside the city. As Finwe walked by, she saw they were owned by a group of Khajiit and they spoke in hushed tones about the rumours of a dragon attack. Finwe nodded politely as she passed and one returned the gesture. 

Rounding the final corner ascending up to the main gate, the guards were a little sceptical of letting anyone unknown into the city, citing the dragon as a reason. Finwe explained that she had been instructed to speak with the leader of the companions, whether or not she would do so immediately. 

Letting her know that it was an honourable path if so, they relented and granted her entry. 

***

As the sun began to set behind her, Finwe crossed the threshold and the gates closed behind her, the wood reverberating under its own weight. The wide street was busy with people, either heading home or heading out for the evening. She was surprised to see how wide the road was, with room for carts and people to sidle past each other without any trouble. A small bridge took her over a stream that flowed down the hill to her right and she saw that it took the water to the wall of the city. She had no idea of the purpose of this, but enjoyed the sound of the stream nonetheless. 

As she went by, a blacksmith was clearing away her workstation and Finwe followed the stream of traffic heading further into the city. She felt it better to find somewhere to stay for the evening and to head to Jorrvaskr, the Companions’ mead hall, in the morning. 

After a slow walk taking in the smell and sound of civilisation, she came to a market that surrounded an old well. Most of the traders were gone, with a few still packing up for the night. Finwe thought she would have to see if there was anything interesting for sale the next day, maybe a nice sweet treat to congratulate myself for the journey she thought. She also saw where most people on their way out from their homes had been heading; a tavern called The Bannered Mare. 

She entered the tavern and was greeted by a quiet bustle of people as the inn was still filling up early into the evening. Finwe wanted to be as discreet as she could before settling anywhere and enquired about a room and food for the night. The innkeeper, a Nord woman, took her coin and pointed her up a flight of stairs at the back of the tavern, saying that she would get someone to bring some food up to her if she preferred. 

Thanking her, Finwe found the room and was surprised to see it lead onto a small balcony overlooking the locals gathering around a fire pit, warming themselves with both heat and liquor. She decided to eat her meal at a low table with a view, and even spotted one of the warriors she saw from earlier, the woman who had dealt the killing blow. She had dark hair tied in an short braid at the back and looked a little cleaner than before, though she wasn’t sure if it was paint or dirt that had been removed from her face. This warrior was accompanied by a Dunmer, with brilliant red hair similarly tied at the crown of his skull, who led them to a small corner table where they began to roll a set of dice. 

The evening proved to be slightly entertaining, with a couple of tussles and plenty of cheer, which warmed her. Finwe hadn’t seen scenes like this in some time and enjoyed the chance to watch, even without participating. The smell of alcohol rose to meet her as night progressed, a wild assortment of flavours that both intrigued and concerned her for the poor souls choosing to drink them. She felt like an agent, not exactly stalking her mark, but waiting in the rafters above as she listened to half-audible conversations from the shadows. It amused her to consider the drama and gossip that could be unfolding beneath her without any prior knowledge of the people involved. 

Retiring to her bed for the night, she let the hum of conversations below lull her into sleep. 

***

She rose later in the morning than she had anticipated. 

The trip from Riverwood had left her legs sore and they would prefer to have remained in bed. Finwe gave them little respite aside from leaving them up while she ate her warm breakfast. Eventually, she eased herself back into her armour and left the inn. 

Finwe felt she should take in the the surroundings before heading to Jorrvaskr. After all, if she was to live here, it would be appropriate to get a feel for the city. 

The market was lively and it was a relief to be away from the noise once she walked on. She found a more residential area that was also home to a couple of temples, dedicated to Arkay and Kynareth, or Kyne, as she had heard both names used by locals. 

The temple to Kynareth was placed just next to a great tree surrounded with benches. It looked not quite dead but certainly dormant, as the tree bared few leaves even at this time of year. In truth, there didn’t appear to be much difference in colour between the tree and the benches. This made them look rather more alive, or the tree more dead depending on your inclination. 

The palace at the top of the hill was to her left and now not far away. A long stone staircase flowed up to the peak of the hill, as water ran down beside it to two pools beside the steps. These looked to be the source that fed into smaller streams through the city. The minuscule rivers encircled the tree and went on towards the well in the market down the hill, gurgling all the way along. 

Behind the tree, Finwe found herself at the steps up to a large hall with shields lining the outside, no doubt the home of this warrior group. The shape of the roof resembled that of a longship, upturned and constructed as part of the hall. This raised numerous questions for Finwe, as if it was a ship, how exactly did it arrive here with no links to the sea? The river certainly wasn’t large enough to accommodate a boat of this size. Putting these questions to one side, Finwe entered the mead hall. 

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. 

The Nords had a reputation for rowdy groups drinking and swinging fists at each other and their enemies alike, turning down a fight being seen as something of a social misdemeanour. The hall of Jorrvaskr was doing its best to uphold these historic traditions it seemed. 

There were a few people eating at the large table that surrounded the fire pit in the centre of the hall. They in turn were watching the Dunmer she had seen the night before brawling with a different Nord woman. She looked to the untrained eye to be comfortably winning, but Finwe could see him smoothly avoiding blows and looking for a chance to land a decisive punch. 

As she was about to look further for someone to ask about their leader, the man who had been on the farm the day before appeared to her side. 

He was much broader up close, with arms thicker than some peoples legs. His black hair hung in a loose mop past the layer of stubble on his cheeks and chin, with bright blue eyes surrounded by what looked like paint. 

“Ah, sorry,” he said to the slightly startled Finwe. “I recognised you and could see you looking a little lost. Are you going to speak with Kodlak?”

Finwe nodded. 

“If you head down the stairs at the back there,” he pointed behind him, “go all the way to the end of the hall. His room is at the back there. Good luck.” 

He smiled as he left her, joining the growing crowd around the fight. Finwe didn’t know what to think of the spectacle, though she could get behind letting out your anger in this controlled space. 

The air below was cooler and Finwe removed her helm once there to get a better look at everything; Finwe had always been taught it was more polite when meeting someone with status to do so. The walls toward the back of the hall were decorated with a red banner sporting what looked like a large battleaxe. It bore an anguished face and was a little unsettling at a first glance. 

As she approached the door, she noticed a desk with stacks of books and papers piled up. Finwe knocked lightly on the door and heard from inside: “Leave it to me.”

Entering the room, the two men at the table turned at the sound of her knock. One had dark hair, cut around his ears, while the other was much older, with long, light grey hair and a few braids woven into its length. 

“Can we help you?” said the older man, looking her up and down with the eyes of a man who had done this many times to many young warriors. 

“I’m interested in joining The Companions and was told to speak with Kodlak Whitemane. Without being rude, I assume you are who I’m looking for?” Finwe asked, gesturing to his hair. 

“Would you now?” he asked, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Here let me get a better look at you.” He took a longer moment to get an idea for her potential. “Hmm… yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” 

“Master, you’re not truly considering accepting her?” the younger man asked. 

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” replied Kodlak, looking sideways at him. “Last I checked we had some empty beds here in Jorrvaskr. Aside from that a first is always interesting.”

“A first?” Finwe asked. 

“Indeed,” said Kodlak, “while you won’t be the first elf in our halls, Athis will hold that honour, you would be the first Altmer to be taken into our guild. Of course, provided you still wish to join us?” 

Finwe began to speak and paused for a moment. 

“It’s fine, we are proud Nords here, but it’s long past time we opened ourselves properly to the people of this land, no matter their background.”

Finwe sensed a kindness and wisdom, along with a generous helping of experience, had made him a well respected man in this corner of the world. She could see he was trying his best to dissuade some preconceptions about the Nords in her presence, but she felt that it was more genuine than just an empty gesture. 

“How are you in battle, girl?” Kodlak asked, changing the subject. 

“I have seen battle and can handle myself,” she said, “but there is always room to learn from more experienced warriors.”

“A measured answer, one perhaps beyond your years. Vilkas here will test your arm,” and turning to Vilkas he said, “Take her out to the yard, make sure she can swing that sword.”

With a gruff nod, Vilkas beckoned Finwe to follow him and they walked up the stairs to the main hall. As they went past the table and the still brawling warriors, they exited the mead hall at the back. 

As she came out, the courtyard opened to a more spacious area with targets and dummies filled with hay lining the outer wall. She could see so far into the distance and up, to the imposing mountain on the other side of the river. It was one side of the valley she stayed within during her time in Riverwood, but from this perspective it bore a new sense of grandeur in her mind. The clouds visibly circled the very peak, with snow visible most of the way down the side, giving her a much greater sense of just how tall it was. 

"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this.” said Vilkas, dragging her back from her appreciation. She realised her walk had slowed to a stop in awe. “Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it."

She accepted his invitation. Finwe took out her sword and stood opposite Vilkas, raising her own shield slightly to mimic his positioning. She kept it simple and swung first from her right, then her left, aiming for his metallic shield. The reverberations were a little jarring as it was the first time she properly used her new weapon, but was happy with the outcome. 

“Not bad.” He smiled back at her. “Next time won’t be so easy.” 

“That’s all?” Finwe a little surprised that this was the extent of the trial. 

“For now, yes.” Vilkas said, placing his shield next to the weapons rack under the awning. “We can’t have any new whelps hurting themselves too soon. 

“The most important thing for a newcomer is that you are strong enough to handle the weapon you choose. In your case, you seem more than capable compared to some we’ve seen over the years.”

Finwe felt a tad of pride. It wasn’t enough to show openly, but she was glad she hadn’t lost all her ability to fight. A question then formed from Vilkas’ statement:

“How bad are the new ones you get then?”

Vilkas laughed. “Ah they’re not that bad.” He reconsidered for a second. “Usually at least. Torvar, big bearded one, isn’t the most technically gifted whelp we have, but if he hits you it’ll leave your arm sore for a week. Athis, who I’m sure you saw on your way in, doesn’t tend to hit hard with that sword of his, but he’s nimble enough to tire you out and jab you with the point.” 

Smiling, he took her back inside and showed her downstairs to the sleeping quarters. It was a large room, more like a dormitory at a school she thought, with beds lining the walls each with enough space to store personal effects and clothes. 

“You look like one to travel lightly so I think there will be space for what you have. Pick a bed and it’s yours, pretty sure that one in the corner is free at the moment.” He pointed to the far-right corner, a bed with a small bedside table next to the head. “Aside from that, rest for now, we’ll sort you out with jobs as we have them. It’s mostly going to be labour and helping the farms prepare for winter, but once there’s a suitable job for you we will come and get you.” 

Vilkas left Finwe to get settled in and she inspected the bed. The frame had been here for a while, she wasn’t going to guess how long, but looked sturdy enough. Taking her armour off, she placed it on the floor, with no storage in sight for it at present. She opted to keep the contents of her pockets on her for now and decided she would have a better look around. 

She could see that the space was small, with most beds having some personnel effects placed nearby. The narrow gaps between beds made her reconsider how easy it would be to sleep, but hoped that she had been fortunate in picking a quieter corner for the nights. She was introduced to Tilma, who took care of the housekeeping and cooking in the hall, whom Finwe towered above but tried to ignore the difference in height when speaking with respect to her. Finwe assumed that she had seen a number of large warriors in here time here, getting the impression that size mattered little when it came to being in her kitchen. 

Vilkas was kind enough to lay out the city briefly to her as he gave a rough tour. He explained that the merchants kept mostly to the Plain’s District while the homes of most residents and where Jorrvaskr sat were in the Wind’s District. Finally, the Cloud District, that housed the Jarl’s palace. The single building took up the entire district, including the space beneath it, where the city’s dungeons had their place. 

“I saw the blacksmith’s shop on the way into the city; is that the only place to get supplies for smithing?” Finwe asked Vilkas as they rounded the well in the centre of the market. “It doesn’t look like anyone else has anything here in the market.”

“You can always try in Beletnor’s store, he keeps plenty of things that everyone finds useful. But I’d speak with our smith, Eorlund, as well if you need things. He could probably show you how to work different metals as well, if you ask.” 

“Good to know, thanks.” Finwe would probably take him up on that at some point. She was more than happy to try and learn a better way of working, maybe even imparting some knowledge for elven techniques to him if he wasn’t aware of them. 

“I get the impression that you’ll spend some time with him?” Vilkas asked as they ascended the steps leading off from the market. 

“I’ll see how much time we have. I’m sure you and… Farkas?” she asked, hesitating to remember the names she had been given. 

“My brother, yes.”

“Well, the two of you will keep me busy, I’m sure of it.”

Vilkas gave a small chuckle, as though remembering his own time as a whelp that had just joined the Companions. “I’m sure we will keep you on your toes. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Self-taught

The next few weeks kept Finwe out of breath.

Much like her time spent in Riverwood, she chopped a lot of firewood for the coming winter and lugged rough sacks of the stuff to be sold in the general store. She had been happy to run a few basic errands for the more established members of the Companions, but was drawn to the enormous forge that sat just above the mead hall. 

It was a glorious thing, with a wide, glowing basin that kept the surrounding station much warmer as the temperature crept down towards the end of the year. This was however outshone by the giant carving of a hawk that resided over the forge. It seemed to have been there before even the companions made this place their home, according to the legends given by the other warriors. 

Finwe was always happy to lend a hand to the blacksmith, Eorlund, when she could. He had seen at least fifty winters, with thick white hair and a beard that he kept tidily knotted to avoid it getting burnt. He proudly walked around his forge, arms bare and muscled from years of honing his craft. She had seen numerous weapons kept in peak condition by his hands and even the jewellery that he made, sold by his wife on her market stall. She was hesitant to ask about using the forge right away, happy to sharpen her sword while he toiled away instead. 

There was a blacksmith shop further down in the city, one that she had passed on her way in, that was smaller place. If she asked, she was sure she could always help there as well. 

Aside from the work, they made regular time to spar and train. Farkas, the larger brother of Vilkas, was in charge of keeping the whelps busy around Jorrvaskr and ensured they kept in shape for a fight. He had been kind, as shown by offering directions to Kodlak when she first arrived, and had been keen to continue that when they trained. This was not to say that he was unfair to the others, if anything he encouraged Njada, the Nord often in a hide cap, and Ria, the dark haired one, to go a little harder on Finwe and really test her shield-arm. She appreciated this and felt herself improving as the days went by. 

Finwe also made time to speak with Kodlak when she could. She sensed that he had much still to give in advice and knowledge in his old age and she was determined to try and learn what she could from him. The more difficult aspect of this was that he kept rather busy with various tasks, mostly deciding how best to utilise the warriors at his disposal and responding to letters. There weren’t as many jobs requiring people to leave Whiterun as they headed towards the end of the year, so many of the warriors were close at hand. 

As a solution, she decided to try and catch him at the end of a week, usually on Sundas afternoons when he was more relaxed. This had turned out very well, and while the talks had started a little slow, he was patient and willing to answer her questions. After a few weeks, they had agreed to alternate and one would bring a bottle of drink to share, even if Finwe did not drink too much. 

It was towards the end of Sun’s Dusk that Finwe finally asked him a question she had been curious about for a little while. 

“So why did you join The Companions?”

“Like many of us here, it doesn’t start with a happy tale seeking glory,” said Kodlak, taking a sip of a cherry mead that Finwe had brought along. 

“I was a young man, much scrawnier than you likely imagine. I wasn’t always built as well as I am. I had lost family not long before and with it, my place in this world. I wandered for a long time, seeking out jobs as a mercenary where I could to make ends meet.”

“Did you travel much? Did you ever leave Skyrim?”

“I did, yes. It was after a time in The Reach to the west that I decided to see new lands. So I set out and made my way through some parts of Cyrodiil and found myself in Hammerfell. I don’t miss the wildlife, but I must say I would enjoy another year or two in warmer weather.” He took another sip and savoured the flavour, reminiscing over dry summers in the Illiac Bay. 

“Any particular fights with the animals you remember?”

“Hmm let me think.” He twirled his finger in his beard, trying to recall. “I think the most interesting would have been when travelling across the Alik’r, which is most of the work out there. We had set out from Sentinal to Gilane in the south and the client had insisted we take the most direct route in the middle of summer, against the advice of almost everyone he spoke to. So, we went out into the middle of the desert.”

“Surely only a fool would do that. Was it your employer that suggested it?”

“It was, child. But some men cannot be reasoned with and others will be convinced with gold. 

“Anyway, it had been a few days and we were tired, hot and fed up with the clients complaints of going just a little too slowly. Our company’s mage at the time, Kamika, had done her best to keep us cool with as much frost magic as she could manage each day. Eventually though, the client wanted most of that for himself. I think the argument drew the attention of some dunerippers, nasty things with armoured backs that lie and wait in the sand. They caught us off guard and were trying to pick us off one by one.”

Finwe had put her drink down, not that much was being drunk, and was listening intently. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, aged but soft despite the trials that life had put him through. 

“Some of the less experienced there were trying to ward them back by just swinging weapons into the sand like a child digging their own grave. I watched, waited and saw that they were more interested in the camels carrying the goods than smaller men. I got myself in front of one of them and could see it panicking, so waited until it began to run away, directly at me. Then it was just a case of not being trampled by one animal and then getting my sword deep enough to get one of the dunerippers. After that, our company’s leader made sure that our client would be paying a bit more for our services.”

“You must have made a decent name for yourself out there with actions like that.”

“I’m not sure if I did, but I clearly did enough to draw the attention of some. It was a petty noble that hired me as a bodyguard not long after that. The man could barely lift a finger let alone a sword. 

“My predecessor here, Askar, found me there and brought me back to Skyrim. It did not take much convincing to join The Companions at that time. I have been much happier bringing glory to this family here than I would have ever been earning coin from someone who thought themselves above the common man.” 

“So there were no regrets there?” Finwe asked, leaning in closer. 

Kodlak thought for a second before he answered, twirling the liquid in his cup as he did so. “Perhaps a few people I would liked to have been kinder to, some I should have hit a little harder, but I can’t say there are many from Hammerfell I feel too much about. My home is here and I am glad to help my family.” 

Finwe was impressed by his commitment to this band of warriors. It was clear it meant everything in the world to him and guiding the next generation was a task full of pride. 

“But what about you, child? It’s more difficult for me to tell how old you are than it is for you to guess my age. I have yet to hear tale of your travels in making it here.” He leaned a little closer to her.

He had been probing for a few weeks, and Finwe knew that he wasn’t doing so harshly. He just wanted a better understanding of those under this roof. She was still holding herself back though, giving little snippets that she felt comfortable enough to share. She wanted to be more open, but was unsure of what they would believe and what would worry them. 

“I haven’t travelled all that much I’m afraid, but I’m not sure whether I am older or younger than you think,” she said with a slight smile. “I was born and raised in Firsthold and I think I had a good upbringing. We are all schooled in using magic to some degree, but I never felt I needed it that much. Once they started letting us wield weapons, I knew I would enjoy more physical activities.”

“So you can use spells?” asked Kodlak, this being the first he had heard of this. “I imagine they would come in useful, but not sure how you can go about using them with both hands full.”

“No, I can’t use many spells, so won’t be incorporating them into any style of fighting. I can still use a few healing spells, but it still takes a lot of focus and they are only useful for healing myself.” 

Kodlak sat back and thought for a moment. 

“Is there any way you could loosen the grip with your shield arm and cast a spell? You would have to practice it, and it would be more effective if your enemy was unaware, but might be useful in a prolonged fight.” 

Finwe considered this. She hadn’t had to use any magic in some time, but she knew she could use a simple spell if required. Education clung onto her tighter than she had ever wanted, but maybe she would be able to find some use for it. “I will think about it. I would mostly use it after a fight if I needed, but perhaps I could expand my repertoire.” It would take some time alongside rebuilding her strength, but this could be a valuable way forward for her. “Oh one favour if you could, Harbinger?” Kodlak nodded. “Could you keep this talk of magic to yourself for now? I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea while I am still a whelp here.”

“I think I can manage a small favour for this. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you if the magic doesn’t work as well as you’d hope.” he said with a laugh. 

Finwe thanked Kodlak with a smile and had a little more of her mead. 

***

The winter was drawing in quickly by the time that Farkas opted to spar her himself. The other whelps got to watch and see how Finwe fared against a stronger opponent. He wielded a large greatsword, it’s length roughly the same as either of them laid out on the floor. Finwe had watched him spar with both Skjor, another member of Kodlak’s Circle, and Vilkas. She admired the technique he possessed as well as the strength that singled him out as one of the finest warriors in the guild. 

“I’ll try not to go too easy,” said Farkas, loosening his shoulders. “I don’t want to give the other whelps too much hope that they’ll be beating me anytime soon.”

“I appreciate that,” Finwe responded courteously. She was already warm from trying to catch Athis out as he danced around her. She had gotten close on a couple of occasions, but never enough to force him to surrender. 

They nodded in unison and began to circle each other slowly. The point of Farkas’ sword aimed at Finwe’s right shoulder. She had been circling to her right, trying to force him into going for her left where she could employ her shield more effectively. Instead he made a dart forward and Finwe responded, going backwards and again to her right to force the side she wanted. Farkas had the considerable advantage in his reach; being able to move as fast as he did also helped. 

He again went forward, this time committing to the offensive and thrusting the sword once more to her right side. She didn’t have the time to move away, instead anchoring her left foot to the floor and rotating, moving her sword arm back and keeping her shield at the front. To her surprise, he saw this and opted to strike her shield with not so much as a flick of his wrists. 

It rang out, the vibrations being more than she had expected at such a distance. She continued the momentum she had started and spun herself round, bringing her sword low and attempting to strike upwards at him while narrowing the gap between them. He had anticipated the move and drawing the blade back, raised his hands while pointing it at the ground. He parried the strike and held it for a second, letting her retreat first. 

She had the impression that he could have easily moved her sword aside and taken her out while barely exerting himself. It was evident that he was enjoying this opportunity, but that he would give her the chance to prove herself. 

This carried on for some time, Finwe mostly defending but trying to make the most of gaps he presented. There was not such a difference in skill between them. She had slowly worked away the rust that formed over her martial abilities, but only reinforced how physically weak she was compared to him. Despite the similarity in height, he looked twice as thick in every dimension. 

She had not had the time to practice casting a healing spell during a spar since her conversation with Kodlak, though she wasn’t sure it would make much difference. It was simply a case of how quickly she waned due to his repeated strikes onto her shield. 

Eventually, she tired, having worked herself well without giving away too much, and they sat upon the rocky outcrop above the training yard, watching the rest of the whelps. She chose to avoid speaking too much with anyone up until this point as it made things easier, but they had slowly been warming to her and trying to include her in drinking and other games around the fire pit. As it happened, Farkas decided they were sufficiently alone to try and ease her out of her seclusion a little more. 

“You’re smart when it comes to this,” Farkas said, drinking from a water skin. “You took a measure of me and kept me at bay for the most part.”

“I think you did most of that,” Finwe remarked. “I just made sure not to let you catch me off guard in front of them,” gesturing below. She exhaled at the thought of being dealt one too many a blow in front of them. 

He chuckled in response. “I wouldn’t have done that to you, I know what it’s like with a crowd watching. Been there a few times with Skjor.” 

Finwe hissed through her teeth. 

“Nah it’s not… malicious,” Farkas said, taking a second to find the right word. “He only wants the best for you and when it comes down to it, he’s fought in wars and knows how to stay alive.”

Finwe took this in. It made sense with how stern he could be, but understanding where he was coming from put a different perspective on his style of teaching. She felt happier knowing that it was Farkas doing that for her rather than Skjor. 

“What happens with jobs over the winter?” Finwe asked, “I don’t see us spending lots of time out in the snow when it’s not required.”

“No, it gets much quieter over the next couple of months,” Farkas explained. “You’ll get a little bit more free time, but it’s mostly going to be inside, unless you’re willing to give Eorlund a hand out here.”

“Think I’ll give my first winter in Skyrim some time inside rather than braving the cold.”

“First winter?” asked Farkas, eyebrow raised in surprise. Finwe nodded in response. “I wasn’t sure, but it makes sense. Where did you get your sword though? The markings on the guard look Nordic.”

“I made it myself,” she said, offering him a better look at the blade. “I spent a couple of months in Riverwood when I first arrived and made it along with the armour. The guard was a little help from Alvor, the blacksmith there.”

Farkas inspected it closer, admiring the edge and the engraving. “It’s pretty good, though perhaps rushed slightly? You look like you know your way around a forge.” 

“It had been a while, but yes rushed and yes, I know what I’m doing.” Finwe smiled at her handiwork, glad that someone had noticed the details. 

The sound of clashing steel from below filled the silence for a time as they sat. Farkas handed her sword back to Finwe. 

“So how’d you come here then? To Skyrim I mean.”

Finwe had been expecting this question eventually. Even Kodlak had tried, but she was still reluctant to share. “It’s complicated.”

“I won’t pry then.” He thought longer for a moment and asked what many had likely been thinking. “Were you with the Thalmor?”

“No, and I don’t think you’ll be the last to ask me that.” 

“Think we’re all happy to believe what you tell us, but I do worry there are those in Skyrim and even here in Whiterun that won’t believe you.” 

“I appreciate that.” She gave him a small smile and returned to looking over the landscape to the east. It was hard to be alone in a foreign land, but for now they were making her feel very welcome. There had been a few distrustful looks here and there when walking through the city, but she wasn’t really bothered by them. Strangers could think what they liked of her, as long as those in the Companions stood by her, she was happy to remain. 

The reason she took the decision to avoid conversation was that there were questions that either she couldn’t answer or would be unwilling to. How she came to Skyrim being the most obvious, but there was a large amount of information she had no idea of. She had been meaning to try and find more books for a while, and perhaps spending more time inside for the winter would be useful. 

“Farkas, are there any books in Jorrvaskr? I could do with something to read if we’re going to be out of the cold.” 

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got loads downstairs. You can go and grab them, providing you put them back. If you know what you’re looking for then ask Vilkas. I’m sure he’d help you out.”

She stood, stretching her tired muscles and thanked him, before going back inside to the warm and placing her sword on the rack as she went by. Vilkas wasn’t in the main hall, so she ventured below to the living quarters. She found him just as she had when she first arrived, with Kodlak, sorting through various papers and books. 

“Ah Finwe, good to see you.” Kodlak said, greeting her with a smile. “How can we help today?”

“I was told to ask Vilkas for some help.” Kodlak looked up at Vilkas, who seemed surprised at this. 

“What exactly did you need help with?” Vilkas asked her. “Is my brother’s training not to your liking?”

“No, he’s more than useful for that,” she said. “He suggested I ask you for some books.” 

“Right then,” he said, standing and ushering her over to the cases that lined the walls of Kodlak’s study. “Was there something in particular that you need?”

“Mostly looking for historical texts. I’m not especially fussy, but third and fourth era would be preferable if you have a few.” Vilkas took this in and selected a few tomes from the shelves. 

“This one is a rough outline of the events of the Third Era,” he handed her one and then placed another on top of it, “and that is a summary of the Oblivion Crisis. I think we have some Morrowind and Black Marsh history here as well,” he said reaching for a few more books. 

Finwe walked out of the study with a large stack that went up to her chin, held firmly by her long arms beneath it. She thanked them, went straight back to her bed and placed them down carefully. Taking the first two she had been given, Finwe headed up the stairs to sit near the fire. 

***

The next week had been a lot of information to take in. There were numerous accounts of various events that culminated in great change in the empire and beyond. She had even had to check multiple sources where she could from Kodlak’s collection, limited though it was. She read about the rise of the Septim dynasty, the notable events of their reign, culminating in an eventful life of Uriel VII and his eventual assassination. She had spoken to Vilkas more on these and discussed what he could. While he read plenty and studied, he was by no means a scholar. Finwe had even asked Kodlak and later Skjor about the more recent troubles with the rise of the Stormcloak rebellion. 

Both explained that they had lost those they knew in this civil war, either in battle or simply by siding with Ulfric. They said that they understood the perspective of religion, but there was only so far that could reasonably be taken before you can be considered a tyrant. Kodlak said that his duel with the late High King, Torygg, was nothing more than a statement to the other Jarls and people of Skyrim. He would crown himself king if he could. 

“If he truly valued the faith in Skyrim, he would take after Ysmir Wulfarth and drag us back to worshipping Shor, rather than a long dead emperor,” was the quote she remembered most clearly from Skjor, who had rolled his one working eye when she asked for more details. 

Go find more books or train was his response. 

Possibly the most destructive events of the last few hundred years had happened in Morrowind, with the disappearance of the Tribunal gods and then, early in the Fourth Era, the eruption of Red Mountain. Many refugees had fled the island of Vvardenfell and Morrowind as a whole, which in the years since had given Ulfric more fuel to add to his pyre, whipping up hatred for not just the Thalmor, but reigniting old feelings towards the Dunmer. Finwe considered asking Athis for his perspective on these events, but felt it might come across as insensitive. 

Needless to say, Skyrim was a divided province of multiple influences. 

Vilkas found her late one evening. The dining table had long been cleared by Tilma, the housekeeper, and Finwe was half slumped against the wood, eyes dropping and one hand sleepily turning the pages. He had seen her a few times after dinner, but only realising now how late she had been keeping herself up in the dim light. 

“Are you alright? Looking like you should be in bed at this hour.” 

Finwe startled at the question. “Yes, perhaps,” she said, rubbing her green eyes with long fingers. “You’ve been out?”

“Went out for a walk - was talked into a drink at the Mare,” he explained. “Didn’t mean to wake you, just surprised to see anyone in here at this hour.” 

“Sorry about that,” said Finwe. “I am allowed to be in here, right?”

“Yes, yes of course,” laughed Vilkas. “I think as long as you’re not making too much of a mess for Tilma, then you’re fine to stay up far too late as you wish.” He took a longer look at the books on the table now, seeing that some would not have come from Kodlak’s shelves. 

“You’ve been busy finding other things to read. Where did you get these ones?” he asked, indicating to a pile that mostly concerned the early Fourth Era. 

“Well, Kodlak suggested I go and talk to the court wizard, Farengar, as he would have more. So I did.” She shrugged. “He’s an odd one, all this talk of dragons has him bouncing from page to page and he wasn’t much for talking when I went up there. Just told me to take what I wanted, as long as I brought them back at some point.” 

“Well, at least he was helpful?” Vilkas said uncertainly. 

With Finwe turning down the offer of a drink, Vilkas left her in the hall and stumbled back to his room, shaking his head. He didn’t quite understand why she would deny herself of sleep just to read a little history. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Melting

The walk back to Whiterun was slow. If they were fortunate with the weather on the way out, they certainly found the other side of the coin this time. Having stopped in for a night in Riverwood, Finwe made the time to speak with the trader in the general store. The Dunmer thief’s journal mentioned stealing the claw from this shop and the owner, a native of Cyrodiil named Lucan, was more than pleased to see his trinket returned. Vilkas had been more surprised than that to see Finwe bringing a hefty pouch of coin out of the shop for her troubles.

The snow had been consistent on this side of the valley for a few days and the road was now trickier to traverse as a result, especially when going down the hill beside the river. Thankfully, aside from a few slips and curses, they made it back to Whiterun in one piece.

Farkas greeted them both as they trudged up the steps to Jorrvaskr and made sure to get them a warm meal from Tilma. Vilkas set about mingling and speaking with the other Companions, a mug of mead in one hand as he told them of their trip.

Finwe had asked him to remain silent on the details of her experience however. The last few months had provided her with plenty she wished to stay quiet about.

I have been accumulating secrets faster than a spy sleeping with an Altmer noble she thought to herself.

She ate her meal, a casserole with beef and potatoes, and then spent the next few hours gradually warming her bones by the roaring fire of the mead hall. It was going to be some time before she volunteered to travel that far at this time of year.

When she had warmed herself into a slight sweat, she sought out Kodlak and asked to speak with him alone.

“Of course, child. What can I help with?” he asked her, shooing Skjor from his chambers. She appreciated his efforts at making her as comfortable as possible.

“When we were in the barrow, something strange happened.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He chuckled with a closed mouth, conscious to not make too much noise. “Vilkas thought you might seek out my advice and, while you melted the snow from your hair, he let me know what to expect.”

Finwe’s usual complexion of pale honey became closer to amber as the blood rushed to her cheeks. She wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment or anger, but she certainly felt something.

“He meant no harm by it and didn’t go into too many details, just that something happened with an old wall?” Kodlak placed a couple of books back on the shelves of his study with no rush for Finwe to explain things to him. He was sure that she would share what she felt comfortable to and as it didn’t relate to her time before arriving in Skyrim, she was more likely to be open. He assumed there would be details omitted, but that was better than leaving everything to be guessed at.

“I am not sure what to say about it, or how to explain.” Finwe slumped herself into a chair, releasing the small bun of hair tied at the crown of her head. “We found this central chamber, a cavern that had had been mostly untouched in centuries, maybe longer. This was clearly an important place as the chamber entombed a single draugr on a plateau of stone and on that, a large round wall with what must have been words carved into it.” She stopped for a moment, remembering what Vilkas had said inside the barrow. “He called it - the chamber before this cavern - a Hall of Stories, so maybe the wall itself told a tale of the person buried there.”

“What did the wall look like? What were the markings like to look at?”

“It bore a huge face, though not of man or mer. The words were like grooves and indentations carved into the stone, but each one was larger than my hand.”

“I think I have something similar here,” said Kodlak, returning to the bookcase and pulling out a green volume after a moment of searching. “This is a text on the ancient Nords and their customs regarding the dragons. They worshiped the beasts, along with interpretations of the Imperial Divines, with the dragons as the heads of their pantheon. Did any of the markings look similar to this?” He asked her, showing a page which showed a body of text, baring a likeness to what she had seen.

“Yes! These look exactly like what we saw.”

“Then I can only assume that those buried on that mountain were a part of the cult that lived here in the Merethic and into the early First Era. They were eventually driven from these lands, but they were so prolific that their cities still remain in some part. In fact, the masonry in the Hall of the Dead here in Whiterun bares a resemblance to many of these places, or so I’m told.”

“What language did they speak then? If it’s written down like this, surely it sounds nothing like Tamrielic or any Elven language?”

“I don’t know. That might be something you’d need to figure out for yourself.” Kodlak closed the book and sat for a moment, waiting for Finwe to speak. When she didn’t, he said, “You were going to explain what happened in there?”

“Ah, of course,” she said. “Well, it started as we entered the cavern. It was dull at first, but as we got closer the noise grew louder, filling my head.”

“What was it?”

“Chanting I think, in some unknown tongue. Then, as we were up on the platform, a word on the wall began to glow, drawing me in. I couldn’t help myself but get closer and see it. It filled me up, like I deep down know what it is, but I can’t express it to you.” She tried again to find what it was, like it was a motion rather than a word on a page.

“I don’t think I can be any more help on that. There’s a chance that Farengar might have something, but if not, then outside of Whiterun is likely to be your best bet.”

Finwe sat still, trying to summon the word to her once again. Admitting defeat on this occasion, she thanked Kodlak for the help and left, seeking out her bed to relax. There were a few books that she could read, but instead she simply sat. She had come so far and for magical forces to be interfering, just as she began to settle slightly, was concerning.

She pulled out a small, wax seal from her pocket. It was yellow in colour and still whole, as though it had been removed with a razor. She compared it to the coin Vilkas had fished out of the tomb for her, seeing the similarity in the size. She would have to make sure not to pick out one over the other, as the coin’s weight provided a more satisfying trinket to fiddle with.

“What’s that you’ve got?”

Finwe startled, sliding the seal behind the coin. Ria had surprised her while lost in thought. “Sorry, you appeared from nowhere. Here, it’s from the barrow Vilkas and I went to,” she said, handing the coin for Ria to see closer.

“Just the one for your troubles in there? Bit of a shame there wasn’t more.”

“There was, at least a bit more,” Finwe explained. “I wasn’t sure it would be polite to take it, so Vilkas gave that one to me.”

“A souvenir then,” she said, holding it up to the candlelight. “I guess that’s a nice way to mark your first job well done. May it bring many more to your pockets.” Ria said as she smiled and handed the coin back to Finwe. “Some of us were going to go down to the inn, would you like to come?”

Finwe almost said yes, but she was tired from their trip. “Another time, I would just like to rest for this evening.”

Ria nodded. She was cheerful enough and Finwe could see she just wanted to get to know everyone in the hall, but Finwe was still reluctant to spend that much time with anyone. She offered good luck to Ria as she left, hoping she would be able to best one of the other whelps in some games.

***

Finwe was glad that the days were getting longer. The frost in the morning was starting to last less and with this, the emergence of a few spring flowers braving the cold. She was frustrated that Farengar had been unable to help any more with the barrow and the words, citing similar sources and not really knowing what the words actually were. He prided himself on his research, but it seemed as though he didn’t have very much to go on.

Her mood was lifted while spending more time outside, leaving the books and reading to her evenings. She had taken on some commissions for armour from a couple of the other whelps, more for her own practice than their coin, and they had been pleased with the outcomes. Njada had been the most simple, wanting something more heavy duty than Athis and Ria. She could work with leather and hides without difficulty, but she was always best with a hammer in hand and metal on the anvil.

The one thing that Farengar had been helpful with during this time was restoration magic. Finwe had experimented more with her healing while shielding and found that continuously casting was impractical, as well as loud. The wizard had sold her a spell, or more accurately allowed her to purchase, given his stinginess with regard to trade. This one had taken a little bit to get her head around, but Farangar had used a metaphor regarding urine that immediately put her off. Instead she had imagined the magicka flowing like the streams throughout Whiterun. Usually it just flowed on as she used it, the same speed throughout her muscles as it mended bruises. This one was like holding the flow, letting it build and containing as much energy as she could, then releasing like a torrent through her body for a burst of healing. She had found this useful, but while she used it after a session of sparring, she was still unwilling to use it during any training for fear of judgement.

Kodlak had tried to ease her concerns on this, saying that he could let Vilkas and Farkas know beforehand. He even said that if anyone questioned her over it that they would have to speak with him about it. Finwe thanked him for the intention, but she would wait a little longer before doing anything. The spiral in her mind started with this line of questioning, how she knew magic, and ended with those she trusted coercing her into spilling secrets she was not ready for them to hear.

Of course, none of that would happen while Kodlak remained Harbinger. She was worried for not just her own safety on the matter, but those that would associate with her. It was like an inky shadow on her shoulder, threatening to grow larger if she opened her mouth and stain everything around her.

Aside from this concern, the sparring was improving quickly now. Torvar and Njada were struggling to match her, not that Torvar did much than occasionally hit her shield as hard as he could. Ria had surprised Finwe and become a worthy partner to train with. It was not evenly matched, but Finwe could see her improving steadily against her which was encouraging. Athis was as skilful as ever, but Finwe had been catching him out more as the days went by, leaving him more flustered than his demeanour gave away. He too had been enjoying the challenge that Finwe was presenting, vowing to get quicker than any of the circle could eventually catch.

As a result of her progression, Skjor had taken her aside more and tried to impart a little wisdom in certain aspects or scenarios that he had previously found himself in. She tried her best to absorb this, but his lessons came across a little dull compared to a jovial session with one of the twins. Finwe thought he was too much like a stern teacher; a little cold and expressionless when explaining and perhaps going on a little too long without any practical application. Not to say that his lessons were not useful, but it took her longer to grasp what he meant by correcting her footwork when they paused for minutes at a time for him to adjust the slightest of things.

She had still a long way to go to matching Vilkas and Farkas, but still enjoyed the fatigue that it brought from sparring them. It was almost as good as watching the pair of them spar each other, joking and throwing tame insults to try and gain the upper hand.

Aela cast a lone figure outside of meals, mostly training her eye with the bow and with no one to instruct at that, she was weirdly aloof during the day. She warmed up considerably with a drink as Finwe had noted, even relaxing the usually stony face of Skjor when they spoke.

Ria had been persistent with offering to take Finwe out of Jorrvaskr and to a tavern with the rest of them, though she had not crossed a line to rudeness with doing so. Finwe began to feel more guilty as the attempts went by. She had much more energy in the evenings now that she was accustomed to the labour. The snow was all but gone when Finwe relented and agreed to tag along for the evening.

“Athis! You owe me thirty septims you fool!” Ria shouted across the dining table. Athis’ eyes narrowed into ruby slits at the realisation that he would likely be paying for the drinks that evening.

“You were certain I would break then?” Finwe asked Ria.

“Of course! I can see that you’re not one to dislike us, you just took some time to settle in. And now, thanks to you, Athis is going to try and win that gold back somehow, so watch out.” She gave Finwe a bump on her arm in jest.

“Just promise me I can choose how much of that I drink, even if I’m not the one paying?”

“I won’t force anything on you,” Ria said tilting her head in thought. “Can’t say the same for Torvar, who will likely want to test your ability to hold your liquor. I think he’s been getting bored of us saying no because we always end up regretting it the next day.” They stood and gathering Athis along the way, walked down to the Bannered Mare, enjoying the last of the springtime sun.

“Does Torvar ever regret it the next day?” Finwe asked.

“He says he doesn’t, but I believe he is still drunk, most of the time,” Athis answered.

As they entered the tavern, Ria suggested that she and Finwe would find a table near the back while Athis got the first round. Finding a more secluded area, which Finwe was grateful for, they sat and waited for Athis to find them. It was still early enough to get a decent seat as the inn slowly began to fill.

“Do you know when you’ll be doing your trial?” Ria asked Finwe.

“My trial? I didn’t realise there was one.”

“Everyone does one. It’s normally something important that they will save up, then it has more meaning.” Athis returned with the drinks and sat beside Ria, spinning a coin on the table.

“What did you have to do then? Either of you.” Finwe asked, taking a small sip to taste the mead. She was pleasantly surprised that she liked this one, the citrus notes pleasant on her palette.

“We both found a couple of small fragments of Wuuthraad, the axe that Ysgramor used.”

“The one on the banners?” Finwe asked.

“The very same,” said Athis. “It’s been shattered for some time, but they like finding the pieces as having it whole would be an important sign, like rebuilding the strength.”

“At least you got to find yours somewhere a little warmer,” Ria said to Athis. “I had to trek all the way to The Reach while it snowed last winter and it wasn’t fun.”

Athis leant back, relaxing in the nostalgia of his trial. “Ah, The Rift in summer. Wandering through the ash forests, triumphant with our collection.” Ria kicked him under the table and drank from her mug. Athis rubbed his shin and did the same, pulling the candle that was on the table closer and lighting it with a small flame, nurtured in his hand before extinguishing it.

Finwe looked to Ria, expecting a reaction, but found none for Athis.

“What’s that weird look for?” she asked Finwe, confused at what was happening.

“He just lit that with magic! I thought Nords weren’t all that fond of it.”

“Oh! No they’re mostly fine with things like that. A few party tricks never hurt.”

“It also comes in handy in a fight,” said Athis. “Of course, I’m still trying to get better with my sword, but it doesn’t hurt to surprise a bandit who thinks they are going to win with a little fire.” He had an amused look on his face.

Finwe placed her face in her hands and leant forward, her elbows on the table in despair and her hair closing like curtains around her knuckles. “I have been fretting this entire time over nothing,” she said, muffled in her palms. “There has been no point to me doing that.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Ria asked, laughing at Finwe.

“I know a little bit of magic and was going to try and use it while sparring to practice, but haven’t because I was concerned how others would react.”

“In all fairness, I don’t think that Farkas would let you throw fire, even at Athis.”

“No, I’m not great at that. I’ve been learning some healing spells to prolong a fight, using it with my left hand,” Finwe explained, raising her right and casting a weak restoration spell and lighting the table in a golden glow.

“Damn, I knew I should have bet on you being able to cast spells,” said Athis, mulling over his lost gold.

It was then that the three of them spotted Farkas entering the inn, unsure about how to manoeuvre his larger frame through the mass of people waiting to get a drink.

Ria shouted across the bar and waved him over to them. “Here, Athis is buying. Cough up and Farkas can get the drinks.” Athis nearly choked on his ale and slowly counted out enough for another four mugs before handing it to Farkas. On his return a few minutes later, he sat himself next to Finwe and shared the drinks out.

“We were just talking about sparring,” Ria said, eyeing Finwe. “She had some ideas for your next session.”

“Ah I see,” Farkas said, rubbing the rough stubble across his wide jaw. “You want me to wield twogreatswords the next time then?” The table murmured with laughter at his joke.

“I would be happy to see that some time, but no, it wasn’t about you,” said Ria. “Go on, explain.” She said, looking at Finwe again.

“I… um… would like to try something a little different.” It was clear that she was still holding back. “I want to try and heal myself while sparring, casting a spell mid-fight and continuing for longer than I might be able to otherwise.”

“Yeah that would probably work.” Finwe was surprised at his candidness on the matter. “Do you want to have Torvar hit you a few times to see how it works or would you rather actually fight?”

“I think I’ll pass on giving Torvar a free pass, thank you.”

“Then we’ll give it a try soon. Cheers to that.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Boundaries

Vilkas and Farkas watched on, the session going well and without any distraction. Farkas had insisted that his brother come and watch this one, which wasn’t unusual, but when said with such vigour it certainly raised a few questions. Farkas looked like a gleeful little child being taken to see what treats lay in wait at the market, nudging his brother to look closer.

Finwe was sparring with Ria, which was not that strange. They had formed a good training partnership, testing each other well enough in recent weeks.

There must be something he’s not telling me thought Vilkas. He hadn’t seen much that would suggest there was anything odd going on.

Instead of looking at the spar as a whole, he watched more closely. Normally, Finwe would be trying to counter Ria with the shield, bashing her and then trying to open up for a strike of her own. The difference here was that Finwe, with her left side towards them, was focusing heavily on blocking everything with her shield. She appeared to be tiring, seeing the telltale sign of a warriors shield-arm dropping slightly, but it then reaffirmed itself and Finwe continued with a newfound sense of vigour.

“How long have they been at this?” Vilkas asked. He could see that Ria was beginning to tire from repetitive attacks on the elf.

“This is her third session,” said Farkas.

“What do you mean, third?”

“Look, over there. They got tired, so now it’s Ria’s turn.” He pointed over to Athis and Torvar, both sweaty and massaging their sword-arms.

“She’s been going the entire time?” Vilkas was now more confused than he had been when he first saw them. Right he thought, time to see what’s really happening here then.

“Ria!” he barked. “Take a break.” Both Finwe and Ria herself looked surprised, more so when Vilkas went to the rack and pulled out just a sword. He went past Ria and then faced a fresh looking Finwe, brow frowned as he looked her up and down more closely. She simply appeared fresh, a little warm in the sun, but otherwise ready to continue.

Vilkas wasted no time and made quick, consecutive strikes at Finwe’s shield. She dropped her previous tactic of blocking everything and danced back, much more wary of Vilkas than she had been the others. She knew that Vilkas would not hit quite as hard as Farkas, but then no one she had ever seen could. The few strikes that did make contact with the shield left her arm shaking as her muscles strained against the force. She went on the offensive, trying to find Vilkas in a compromising state without a shield and with a similar reach with the sword. She misjudged slightly and overshot, going off balance. Vilkas took the opportunity and slammed the hilt of his sword into her upper arm, before she backed away again.

She had been waiting for that moment. Ria had done her best, but it had mostly been dulling the ache in her arm than anything else. This one actually hurt though. She released the magicka she had held, feeling the cool glow over her arm and stretching her shoulder, happy with the result.

“What was that?!” Vilkas asked, lowering his weapon just slightly.

“What was what?” Finwe asked back, smiling as she attacked again, being parried away by Vilkas.

“That noise? Like a wind chime in a light breeze, what was it?” He spun and swung his blade past her once more.

“Nothing,” Finwe smiled back at him, a renewed determination as she pressed him again, trying to use the distraction this had caused to her benefit.

Vilkas was watching her more closely now, analysing each of her movements, but he didn’t see anything.

Finwe had practiced it with Athis and she could wait and hold the spell until she attacked, then if she took a hit she would use it, or let it dissipate if she was unscathed.

He switched up and let her come to him and she obliged, trying to force her way through his more limited defence. This worked for a few attempts, but he suddenly changed his footwork and began to move with ease, staying just far enough away and never stopping, like a dancer at a breton ball. She had to push just a bit further to reach him every time and he could see the frustration begin to build. Eventually, she tired and went for one large stretch too many before he sidestepped and tripped her trailing leg, sending her forward into a heap.

Just before she was about to release the spell she had held for a good half a minute, he pointed his sword at her hand and asked “Now what do we have here?” He could see the glow more clearly, even as she let it go and relinquished control over the spell.

“Just a little trick I’ve been working on,” she said sitting up. “Farkas agreed it would be interesting to try today and as you can see,” she gestured at the other whelps, “it works quite effectively.”

“Hmm, indeed.” He let her go from his accusatory look and helped her to her feet. “I suppose that if you can use it while holding a shield, it will still be of a benefit to your fighting. Kodlak already knew about it I suppose?”

Finwe nodded, getting herself a drink from the water skin on the table.

“The old man really is moving things forward then. Never thought I’d see the day one of our own is using a little magic.”

“Magic you say?”

All those under the awning turned to see an older man in fine robes standing in the doorway.

“Vignar, I haven’t see you around as much lately. You remember Finwe, she joined us last autumn?” Vilkas asked him.

The old nord Vilkas addressed had darker skin than most; his long hair, while grey, was a deeper shade than Kodlak’s. Finwe thought he looked as though he spent his days basking in the sun like a lizard.

“Indeed I do, boy. It seems that we’re letting just about anyone in these days. Kodlak seems to losing his touch a little.”

At this comment, Farkas stood, still far enough away from Vignar to not be towering over him.

“And to think, a High Elf using magic. Whatever next will they try and send into our city?”

“Vignar, we have respect for you, but if you don’t stop now I’ll break your nose and have Finwe heal it herself.” Farkas said with a snarl in his voice.

“I actually can’t heal anyone else at the moment,” Finwe clarified for the group.

“She actually can’t heal you at the moment,” he said, looking back at Vignar and considering his next words carefully. “So that just means you’ll be having more pain for that than you otherwise would.”

Vignar let out a low chuckle. “Of course, only able to look after itself, just as one would expect from an infiltrator.”

Vilkas had moved to his brother’s side and now had his arm across Farkas’ chest, letting Vignar turn and leave them in the courtyard.

“Easy now. We don’t want something over him being like that,” he said, trying to calm Farkas. The other whelps, feeling a little out of place, filed out and back into Jorrvaskr.

“So, what’s his issue?” Finwe asked the twins.

“You know how we’re meant to refrain from politics?” Farkas asked rhetorically, “well Vignar sees himself as exempt as he is no longer formally a companion. He uses that influence along with his wealth to support the Stormcloaks.” He sat, having calmed slightly since his outburst.

“Was there really any need to do that though? I came here expecting such talk from people. I promise I can handle myself with this.”

“I’m sure you can, but we stick up for our own here,” said Farkas. “Kodlak would have been kinder, but I felt better getting the point across. Maybe you should look into healing others just in case he tries that again?” Finwe agreed and laughed at him for being riled up at this, though she couldn’t help but be grateful.

Farkas left them to clear his head. Vilkas suggested he go and talk to Kodlak about it and he asked Finwe more about the magic use while he had the chance, sitting down with her under the roof. He was curious if it was something that they could use more, though he couldn’t see himself learning it at this point. “I’m aware of healing yourself as you go, but you do seem to have more energy in you after casting the spell. I’ve not see that before.”

“I’m not sure how it works, but I’ve always been able to do that. I guess it just rejuvenates me as well as healing wounds.”

“So there’s no toll to using it then? You have more energy and are healed?”

“Not entirely,” she hesitated. “It’s a lot of mental effort to use it, like solving a puzzle as fast as you can.”

“Ah I think I get it now. Effort, but just not physical in nature.”

“Pretty much. If I cast too many spells it gets a lot harder to focus and then it becomes dangerous.” She looked out towards the mountains and sighed. “I remember, back when we were taught to use magic, they had us use as much as we could every day so that we could stretch how long we could effectively cast. In reality, that just meant that we knew how long it was before we started to struggle to think.”

“That doesn’t sound like the nicest of educations.” Vilkas gave her a concerned look while trying to get her attention back to the present.

“In hindsight it wasn’t,” she agreed with him. “It wasn’t all like that, I promise. I think the teacher I had just enjoyed power over us rather than teaching.

“Some people are just like that.”

***

The warmer weather had come a little early this year and people had been making the most of it. Finwe spent more time in the evenings with the other companions, either just relaxing or at the tavern nursing a drink. She was grateful to have them for company and didn’t feel like she was intruding. They had even taken to calling out who would get to have the spare drinks that Finwe often left half finished. On the occasion she was talked into trying ale, Torvar exclaimed his joy at the chance for a free drink when she almost spat the first sip out.

“You actually drink this for fun?” she asked, taking a swig of Ria’s mead to wash the flavour away.

“I can’t exactly get something like Sujamma here in Whiterun,” said Athis, shrugging at the question. “I would prefer that or anything else, but wine leaves me with a headache and I don’t take to mead as much, so ale it is.”

“I’m not sure you can really say that about someone’s drink of choice when you will often choose juice over anything else,” Ria said to Finwe, swilling her drink in the mug as she asked it.

“I just think if they figured a way to make nicer tasting drinks then I would drink them!” Finwe exclaimed. She just had a sweeter tooth than most and preferred to enjoy something for its taste rather than alcoholic content.

Torvar, who had been silently drinking as fast as he could, finished the rejected ale and stood to get more. As he did, Finwe spotted a hooded figure sitting at a table in the corner. They didn’t appear familiar to her and Finwe had actually been out more recently.

“Who’s that?” she asked aloud, nodding towards the person. The two at the table turned to see and both were as clueless.

“If I had to guess, a mage perhaps?” said Athis. “Those look like robes more than anything else, and I can’t see anything suggesting a weapon.”

“You could go and ask?” suggested Ria. “No harm in that, but the whole table looks odd now that I look closer.”

Finwe agreed, the air around the table had a slight haze to it, like a faint cloud had decided that a drink to finish the evening was suitable. She stood and tentatively walked over to the figure, trying to see what was going on. None of the other patrons seemed bothered by this person, almost ignoring them entirely.

“Evening?” Finwe asked, unsure how to open a conversation with this stranger.

She got no response, let alone any movement. They were reading a book, but she couldn’t make out anything. Instead she chose to sit down opposite them.

The world suddenly became much quieter around her, the light dimmer, save for a candle on the table. The hooded figure now raised their face up to see who had sat down.

“Can I help you at all?” she asked.

Finwe could now see that she was an elf, bosmer in fact, with large brown eyes which seemed both tired and mildly annoyed that they had been taken from the book below. “We were just wondering…” Finwe began, looking back towards where she had come from, but stopped when she realised that the inn looked different. It was as though she was inside a glass bowl, upturned and placed above them over the corner of the room. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s an illusion,” said the bosmer. “I am keeping the sounds and smells out while I read, though as you can see,” she looked Finwe up and down, “I can’t stop anyone from entering if they choose. A little bit of calm in this loud place.”

“That’s very impressive,” Finwe said, getting a closer look at the liminal barrier that effectively kept them apart from the world. “There’s only one other mage I know of in the city and he is not one to come out to the tavern.”

“A recluse then?” she asked.

“No, just kept busy by the Jarl, or so I assume.”

“A shame. You can’t learn everything without getting out into the world and exploring.”

“Is that what you’re doing then, travelling?”

“On my way somewhere at the moment. I’ve stopped in at the behest of my father and will be leaving in the morning again. He was particular that I try and spend time in the cities to keep out of the conflict.”

“Where are you headed?” Finwe asked. She returned her attention to the bosmer mage.

“Winterhold. I’m enrolling at the college there.” She had now closed her book, realising she wouldn’t be reading much with Finwe in front of her.

“I see, this place has some renown then?”

“Since the fall of the mages guild, yes. There aren’t too many places equipped for an education and apparently the best is covered in frost and devoid of much life. A ‘suitable place to hone your focus without distraction’ I’ve been told,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Then I wish you luck and hope the weather keeps you in good spirits while it lasts through the summer.”

“I’m not sure that Winterhold has summers.” At this, the Bosmer stood, releasing the illusion around them and letting the noise back in.

As she left, Finwe called out. “Wait! What’s your name? Should we meet again.”

“Sina.”

“Finwe.”

She watched Sina head up the stairs to the upper part of the inn, where she had once gone herself. She then went back to the rest of the whelps to see that their food had arrived, which she tucked into immediately.

“So who was it?” Ria asked her with a skewer of meat in both hands.

“A mage, or student, I’m not sure which is more accurate. Staying over while heading to the college she said.”

“Oh she is it? Did you get her name then?” Athis asked, causing Ria to laugh.

“I’m sorry?” Finwe asked, a little more flustered than her usually calm demeanour.

“What he means is ‘we see you looking at the women in the taverns’ so thought you might actually try talking to one some time,” Ria explained.

Ah. “I feel like I’ve been caught out,” said Finwe.

“I wouldn’t say that, just that you have taken some time to get used to living here and there’s plenty that we notice but leave you be.”

“Like what?” Finwe asked, now very conscious of every little thing that she did during the day.

“The things you fiddle with for one,” said Athis. “The coin you’ve had for a little bit, but Ria said there was a wax seal or something that you also carry everywhere with you.”

“I saw it when you showed me the coin,” explained Ria, looking a little sheepish at the mention of this. “I’m sorry if you’re shy about things, but we only mean the best and wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Now that she was feeling on the spot, Finwe thought about her options, none being overly pleasant. She went with the one that would appease both parties as equally as she could.

“It’s okay. It’s something I’ve had for a while now and it’s a little reminder of the past. I’m not going to say everything, but I do appreciate the two of you giving me some space.” She chose to not include Torvar in this, not because she disliked him, but because his attention was now on seeking out a woman in the tavern that would put up with his antics for one night.

They sat in silence for some time, seeing people come and go nearby, trying to spot any of the other Companions that might have decided to have a drink.

When none came, Ria asked, “So, women then?” as she looked right at Finwe.

“Mostly.” Finwe said as she curled her personality into as small a ball as she could manage.

“Well you have that in common with Athis then.” At this, Finwe unfurled a little and raised an eyebrow.

“I simply don’t think anyone should confine themselves to the absolute,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve joined a famed nord guild of warriors, who’s to say what I do with my life.”

“And you, Ria? Surely there must be something interesting there if you’re spending time with the open mind of Athis here.” Finwe smiled at her, narrowing her eyes as she did in anticipation.

“Either, I suppose. I think who they are matters more to me than what they look like, regardless of man or woman.”

“Well I’m glad I have you around to agree on things like this. Perhaps we should set about setting Athis up with someone?” Finwe joked.

“We have time to find someone suitable,” said Ria, turning to Athis and seeing him try and avoid the subject by leaning away and drinking slowly.

“Do people from within the Companions often seek each other romantically?” Finwe asked, curious about how they acted towards such activities.

“It’s not frowned upon per se,” Ria told her. “But it doesn’t really happen. Not the easiest thing in this line of work, risks involved and all.”

“Tell that to Aela and Skjor,” Athis said under his breath.

“They’re just rumours!” Ria shoved him lightly. Athis gave both her and Finwe a look that suggested they could keep thinking that, regardless of facts.

“So if you do, it will be sneaking about late at night then?” Finwe asked them.

Athis, swallowing his mouthful, said, “If like them, you can go out on hunts together, I think you can avoid that for the most part. It won’t stop the rumours though.”

“Well it’s good to know that if I plan on anything I should avoid being in Jorrvaskr,” said Finwe.

“I’d say Whiterun entirely,” Ria remarked. “Especially if you care about it being known to everyone you see down at the market.”

“So don’t follow Torvar’s example then?” Finwe asked, watching the nord’s attempts at flirting while leaning on the bar and flexing an arm.

“He’s just not subtle, like a horker rolling on its back with the amount of noise he makes sometimes,” Athis said while clearing his plate.

“I can hear his snoring from my little corner at night,” Finwe said with a grimace.

“Try having the bed next to the guar,” Athis replied.

“Maybe you should have talked to the mage then, Athis. She could have taught you that spell to block out the noise,” Ria suggested.

“Perhaps,” said Athis, standing up. He had finished his meal and could see that both Ria and Finwe were not far behind. “Let’s go for a walk, we can leave Torvar to stumble in later on.”

Ria and Finwe agreed, glad to stretch their legs after a meal.

The three of them walked through the now quiet market, seeing a few people that had decided to also get some air in the evening. They wandered for a bit, with no real direction, before settling on looking over the city wall behind Jorrvaskr.

The moons were still just rising, Masser currently dissected by the Throat of the World and casting the eastern land in a pale glow. They could almost make out Valtheim towers in the distance, along the river and following the road into Eastmarch. Finwe also looked down to the farms and houses that dotted the landscape outside the city, with dull lights visible in the windows of some. They looked very peaceful out there, with plenty of space to use as you pleased, provided you had enough gold.

She took out the seal from her left pocket, feeling the ridges of the pattern marked on it.

“Can I take a closer look?” Ria asked her, sidling closer to Finwe along the wall.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Finwe held it up so that the moonlight was directly on its face.

“An eagle, right?”

“It is.” The sigil would be one familiar to any since the end of The Great War, that of the Aldmeri Dominion. Finwe held it for a few more seconds before returning to rolling it over in her fingers.

“You’ve had it a long time then?”

“It’s been a while, yes.”

“How come the wax hasn’t melted?”

Finwe hadn’t previously considered it. That’s just how it always was to her, slightly misshapen along the edge from where it was poured in a bright yellow tint. “I assume they put something in the wax to keep it solid. That or it’s magic I don’t know about.”

Ria pursed her lips slightly before speaking. “Look, you know that we trust you,” she motioned over her shoulder to Athis who was staring up at the stars, “but you need to make sure that people like Vignar don’t see that.” She glanced to the seal in Finwe’s hand. “I’m sure Kodlak will back you as long as you’re here, but if enough people come knocking, even he will struggle to answer their questions.”

“I know.” Finwe replaced the seal in her pocket. “It stays here all the time, so unless someone is actively going through my things or decides to try and pickpocket me, there won’t be any issues with it.”

“Besides,” said Athis from along the wall, “I’m kept awake a lot and have a knife under my pillow, so if anyone does try anything, I’m sure we can help.”

“Good to know Torvar is helping me without knowing it.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: Watchtower

The following few days were pleasant, even with the rain that had arrived. It lashed down for a day and then eased, a distant thunder rumbling from the western plains. Finwe had kept mostly inside and even taken time to help with some paperwork at Kodlak’s request. It was calm work and she enjoyed the change, trying to go for short walks only when the rain held for a time.

She had been relaxing in bed one afternoon, twirling the seal in her fingers, when commotion outside the whelps quarters grabbed her attention. When she poked her head through the door, she saw Farkas go past and she shouted out to him.

“What’s going on? Why all the noise?”

“There’s something happening at the watchtower. Go to the west wall, in the Winds District. We’re heading there to take a look now so catch up quickly.” At the instruction, she got her boots on as quickly as she could and left Jorrvaskr.

She passed panicking civilians as she jogged by, looking for any sign of the other Companions. What was happening out there? she thought to herself, going as quickly as she could. When she reached the outer wall, she spotted Farkas’ head and made her way through a small crowd that had formed, each person eying for a view over the stone.

“What is it then?” she asked him. He didn’t say anything, choosing instead to point into the distance.

The watchtower sat like a lone pillar on the plains, half a days walk from the city. It was only that the land was so flat in this hold that you could make out what was happening. Part of the tower seemed to be damaged, with a glow of fire and rising smoke the most obvious signs of trouble.

“What’s happened? Has the war made it here already?”

“I don’t think so,” said Vilkas, appearing from behind his larger brother. “If it was soldiers, we’d be able to at least see them gathering near the tower, if not closer.”

“Why would they try and burn the stone if it was?” Farkas asked them.

“They wouldn’t.”

***

Later that evening, with the thought of trouble not far from the city, the mead hall was quiet. There was a low muttering as the Companions ate, but nothing more than a whisper by some. Finwe had been trying to think of what it could be, given the damage done, as Ria ate in almost silence next to her. The only outcome that made sense, given her experience was a grim one to think of.

It must have been a dragon.

A few of the Companions that she had spent time with were aware of the trouble at Helgen in the summer. Finwe told Kodlak and Vilkas that she had been there, chalking it up to being in the wrong place at the wrong time in her travels. No one was aware of all the details.

A guard came into the hall, looking around and speaking to Aela who had been walking by. The guard then continued toward the table and stopped in front of Finwe.

“I’ve been told to ask you to come up to Dragonsreach, as soon as you can. Please bring Vilkas with you.” They turned sharply and left as briskly as they had arrived. Finwe put her cutlery down and slowly rose, looking across the table at Vilkas sat to one side of the room. She motioned to him and he understood, leaving his food behind as she had done.

“Did they say what this was about?” he asked her as they made their way up the grand stone steps.

“No, but I think you can guess.”

“Aye, but I hope I’m wrong. From what you told me, it won’t be good.”

They arrived and were hurried inside in the low light of the evening to the low light of a candlelit entrance. As she saw when they were last here, the Jarl was absent once again and they were directed to Farangar’s study. There, they found the mage talking with Irileth, the Jarl’s housecarl.

“Nice to see you both, though I wish this was under better circumstances.” They nodded politely. “Irileth here will explain.”

The dunmer woman looked like she had been pulled out of bed and donned her armour hastily on a day off, her hair tied up to mask the messiness.

“One of the guards at the watchtower made it back here not too long ago. The Jarl is busy thinking about plans going forward, but from what the man who made it back told us, it was a dragon that attacked them.” She paused, watching their expressions at the news.

Finwe looked worried, she knew what damage something like that could cause if it got close enough to the city. She also knew how ineffective the soldiers had been at Helgen in taking the dragon down. Vilkas made no outward expression, but she knew that inside he would be worried as well.

“As the both of you have helped Farengar before, he asked for you personally.” The mage gave them a wide, genuine grin that implied he thought this was a favour he was doing for them. “We are sending a detachment, led by me, out there first thing in the morning. I would like both of you with me, as you have proven capable already. I will see you at dawn, meet us by the main gate.”

With that, she left them and Farengar sat down at his desk. He didn’t look in the mood to chat, so they also left him alone.

“Well this is all wonderful news,” Finwe said aloud as they walked back down towards the rest of the city. There was a bitter taste on her tongue, one she associated with fear. “I wish I had made it more clear I was keen to avoid the dragons to people.”

“In fairness,” Vilkas said with slight hesitation, “you have made as few people as possible aware of your previous encounter. If anything, that’s on you.”

Finwe pursed her lips, not in agreement, but a refusal to acknowledge this fact. “I wonder whether Kodlak might advise against this endeavour,” she said.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

The pair walked quickly and returned to Jorrvaskr where they immediately sought out Kodlak for his opinion.

“I think any able bodied person, if willing, should help where they can,” he told them. “I assume that this will be considered another job for the Jarl and will pay you both adequately, like the last one. Just… come back alive, please.” He looked pained as he asked this of them, aware that it was not an easy thing to ask of anyone. “If you don’t, then may Shor guide you.”

***

Vilkas woke her early the next morning and they helped each other get their armour on. Neither had been fully prepared for this, but at least they were well equipped for the day.

Irileth met them by the main gate, having just sent the band of nervous looking guards out of the city. She greeted them with as much cheer as she could manage, which turned out to be very little, and walked with them silently down the last of the hill to the plains themselves.

The sun cast its golden light over the fields and farms alike, a welcome break from the rain that they had recently. The ground was still damp from the downpours, the grass slick with moisture.

They came to a slight rise where the guards had rested, waiting for Irileth to catch up to them. She used this point to survey the tower, not far from the perch. She instructed them all to spread out and begin searching carefully along the way, as they weren’t yet sure where the danger would be coming from.

Finwe and Vilkas followed the instructions and trotted ahead of the slower moving regiment. There were patches nearer the tower that were dark and black with soot, ash mixing with the water and forming a slurry of foul smelling liquid. Aside from this, there were chunks of stone sprayed about, getting gradually larger as they approached the watchtower. The door had been locked shut and even Vilkas’ shoulder made no impact to the old wood.

“Anyone inside?” Finwe said as loudly as she could, knocking the hilt of her sword on the wood. They heard nothing and presumed that either those inside hadn’t made it, or they were so terrified that even a friendly voice was now seen as hostile. They looked back to the guards, slowly circling the eastern side of the tower, looking for signs of life. Irileth had placed herself on top of a large piece of the tower, protruding from the grass, to survey the area better.

Finwe saw her looking over the landscape, only to begin shouting as she leapt to the ground and rallied her men around her.

“What’s happening?” Finwe shouted across the plains to her.

“Get down! Dragon from the south!” Irileth warned them.

On cue, a loud roar came from the mountains. Finwe made her way around the tower to get a better look and saw the beast, head down and barrelling towards the tower, eager for a fresh meal.

“Archers!” Irileth commanded loudly. Finwe now realised how useless she would be in the situation, without any range to her abilities.

There was a quiet, breathless silence that gradually broke with the sound of the heavy wings beating, growing louder and louder as it got closer to them. Vilkas pulled Finwe back and into a more covered part, the steps up to the entrance providing the necessary protection for the moment. Seeing the chunks of the tower scattered about made her hesitant to how safe they would be, but she thought it was still better than out in the open.

The ground then shook with the creature landing not far from the tower, smelling the air and peering over the plains, trying to find its prey. The dragon was not the one that Finwe had seen before, as she would remember that stare for as long as she lived. This one was brown in colour, less jagged, with short horns protruding above its eyes. It’s underside and wings were a lighter beige colour, with claws at the end of the wings that acted as arms on the ground.

A few earth-trembling steps later, Irileth once again called out. “Loose!”

The archers stationed at various positions released the strain and sent the arrows towards the dragon. Most seemed to bounce from the scales with a sounds reminiscent of a die hitting a wooden table. One or two were lucky enough to lodge themselves between gaps and caused the dragon to growl in pain.

In retaliation, it rose again into the air, holding itself above the ground and sending a torrent of fire out in a wide arc towards the guards. Without a direct line of sight, the screams of a couple of men indicated to Finwe that some had been caught. The dragon, revelling in the suffering, took flight and rounded the tower, paying no mind to either Companion currently pressed against the outer wall.

“What do we do with this? We can’t just run at it,” asked Finwe to Vilkas, now a shade paler than his usually placid complexion.

“We need to get it on the ground,” he said. “As long as it is flying, we can’t help. I don’t fancy trying to draw its attention either.”

Considering how best to achieve this, Finwe watched as another volley of arrows headed at the dragon. It swerved to avoid them, tucking its wings as it spun and then extending them, reestablishing its height over the men. Another burst of flame, this time without success, and it carried on away from them, readying a dive towards the most compact group.

As it turned, a crackle of lightning burst forth and caught it on one of its wings. The beast shrieked at the pain, lost its balance and landed heavily some distance from the regiment. Finwe could see Irileth, standing with her left arm raised, a dull blue glow emanating from it. She released the spell and again struck the dragon to a cry of pain.

“Come on,” said Vilkas, dragging Finwe up and running across the plains to where Irileth had taken cover. They kept their eyes ahead on the dragon as it shook off the shock and raised its head once again, gauging its distance from them.

They slid to a stop behind the stone and gathered Irileth’s attention. “How many more of those have you got?” asked Finwe, panting heavily from the sprint. “If we can keep it on the ground then we can take our chance to get closer.”

“Maybe two or three more, I reckon,” she replied. “Any ideas after that?”

“Maybe the archers need to aim for something softer,” Vilkas suggested. “The scales are tougher than steel by my bet. Doubt the wings are as solid to move like that.”

“Sounds good,” Irileth said while taking a look over the cover. “Next time it’s in the air, we go for the wings. I’ll help as I can while keeping this lot in line. Just get some swings in when you have the chance and we can take it.”

The dragon was making its way closer, head swivelling back and forth as it tried to shower them in fire from the ground. At the disappointment, it roared once more and rose up, flying around them and waiting for its moment to strike. It decided to hover above them and just as it looked to unleash its breath, another volley of arrows took flight, aiming for the wings. Some missed in the movement of the dragon’s outstretched arms, but most struck true, puncturing and leaving holes in the leathery skin. It wobbled in the air at the pain and weakened wings, adjusting and flying away slightly, flinging hot, red blood to the ground. Just as it banked to the left, Irileth let out another arc of lightning and struck it square in the back.

The dragon seized up and couldn’t react to this, the wings too damaged to change direction, and it fell from the sky and slid to a stop near the entrance to the watchtower.

Finwe and Vilkas saw their chance and ran back the way they had come, making sure to keep away from its head for the time being. The dragon continued to twitch and shake as the sparks ran through its body, causing its tail to sweep the uncovered earth like an oversized snake. They each took to one side, flanking the downed dragon, and sliced at its hind legs. The dragon cried out once again, pulling itself up on its wings and twisting its neck around to face Finwe on its left. She saw the eyes widen at the sight of her and sensed the danger, so ducked below the left wing and pierced into its shoulder with her sword, drawing gouts of blood from the wound. As she moved on quickly, the dragon snapped under its wing at where she had momentarily been, only for her to reappear behind its head. She wasn’t quick enough to surprise it and raised her shield high as it snaked its jaw back towards her and snapped at her. She retaliated and hit back, striking its nose with her shield. She then thrust upwards and sunk her blade into the underside of its jaw, retracting it and stepping back as it swung its horned head wildly at her.

As she did, she could see Vilkas had cleaved away at its wing and left a large slice through the skin, rendering it useless for flight. He had then gone to climb up its back, using the scales and spikes as footing, to sit at the base of its neck. While it twisted and flailed at Finwe, he swung his sword in a great arc with enough strength to cut past the scales and into the flesh. The dragon let out the most horrific of noises yet, a scream so desperate that Finwe almost felt for the creature as it tried to fight.

She knew that ending this as quickly as possible would be a merciful thing.

At one final attempt to preserve its life, the dragon tried to rock and twist its neck to dislodge Vilkas, but to no avail. His legs wrapped tightly around it and the scales helped to hold him in place as he wound up for another swing. As he did, Finwe went right for the dragons head and as she thrust her sword into the side of its face, just below the eye, and Vilkas swung to the opposite side of its neck.

In one final sound, it gurgled and what sounded like a strained whimper, the dragon slumped to the ground, lifeless as the eye she could see rolled back into its head.

Finwe stood motionless, breathing heavily and staring into the distance. The sweat trickled down her face beneath her helm, reaching the point of her chin.

They had actually done it.

She half expected the dragon to rise up once more, biting back at her in defiance of this victory, but instead it remained as it was. Vilkas slid down the now leaking neck and slowly circled the head, keeping his sword ready as he came to meet Finwe.

“It’s dead?” he asked her, trying to be as certain as he could.

“Yes,” she said, “it’s dead.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, lowering his sword. “You seem a little out of it.”

“I just didn’t think we would… no could kill it, like it should still be alive.”

As she finished speaking, a low rumble came from the corpse and they both backed up side by side.

“What’s happening?” Vilkas looked worried as he kept moving. The dragon was starting to give off a large amount of heat from all over its body and it began to crack and flake from within. Finwe had stopped moving, as though her legs would not allow her to escape this fate.

Suddenly, the skin of the dragon burst and revealed the warmth from within. The scales continued to float in an amber glow as the heat coalesced into a stream of white energy that gave off steam like dew on a warm summer morning. The flow of energy twisted and found Finwe, almost smiling as she stepped towards it in a similar trance to one Vilkas had already seen, and it passed through and into her.

Finwe saw so much in such a short space of time, as memories of an era long ago flowed into her and nearly took her beyond what she was capable of understanding. She could see the land below her, people and livestock as pinpricks on a vast sheet which flowed like a river beneath her. She saw words that previously meant nothing that now had their place and she was speaking them to an old friend.

It was so wonderful, beautiful and horrible all at once.

As the energy around her faded, she lost her footing beneath her and stumbled forward, landing on her knees and palms, holding herself as she eased her hurried breath. She felt like she was about to eject her breakfast. Looking up, the dragon was nothing more than bone and a few stubborn scales that clung onto sinew in defiance.

“Finwe?” asked Vilkas, cautiously placing his hand on her back. “Are you alright?”

Finwe sat up on her knees and removed her helm so she could feel the cool breeze on her face. “I’m not sure,” she said while trying to find the words that she had just seen and heard in her mind. “There was so much it… I saw so much.”

“What did you see?”

“It must have been long ago, but I think it was this dragon’s life. There were other dragons as well. And flying! I could feel it as though on my own skin!”

“How is that even possible?” Vilkas helped her back to her feet. She was still a little unsteady and she held his shoulder for support as the remaining guards ran over to meet them near the dragon’s body.

“You… you’re dragonborn!” one exclaimed in a breathless awe.

***

A couple of terrified men were found in the tower who had bunkered themselves inside, refusing to leave after the last one to make a run for it had been grabbed and carried off to the mountains. It took a lot of coaxing from their fellow guards to get them out and back towards the city.

They marched slowly back to Whiterun, Irileth keeping closer to Finwe than she had on the way out to the watchtower. Finwe paid no mind to Irileth, as any sensible person would be cautious of someone who appeared to have just caused a corpse to spontaneously combust and ingest the inferno that had erupted from it. She wasn’t really in the mood for chatting, but Vilkas got her talking enough about the dragon to at least ease some of the silence they carried.

Finwe tried to keep up with him, but her mind was still racing amidst new thoughts and words. She felt numb to the people around her, trying to focus her thoughts on simply moving and getting herself back to Whiterun.

It was almost evening by the time that they made it back to the city, with guards lining the walls in delight at their return and the news that a dragon had been killed spread through the city quickly after that. They did not yet know all the details, but Finwe was certain it wouldn’t take long for any of the men with them to talk about it over a drink.

Suddenly, what sounded like a crack of lightning bursting behind them rang through the air. Everyone looked up, startled by the sound, but found no clouds to explain the noise. Instead, a thunderous chorus filled their ears as a single word shook the very earth beneath their feet.

“DOVAHKIIN!”

The silence that followed was almost as ear splitting as the voices that had just called out to the world in a grand fashion. The people of Whiterun slowly began to chatter once again, filling the void that had been left by the strange voices. Finwe and the others had paused in their ascent to the winds district, but were quickly pushed on by an inpatient dunmer housecarl. Irileth kept behind them as they walked up the hill to Dragonsreach to deliver the news directly to the jarl, the sun bathing it in a glow as it neared the horizon. It looked as if nothing had happened and this was simply another pleasant evening to be spent in the city, but Finwe assumed that after the events of the day, that would not be the case.

Opening the grand doors to Dragonsreach, Irileth took the lead and told Finwe to wait for a moment. She informed Vilkas he was free to return to Jorrvaskr as he pleased.

“Do you want me here?” he asked Finwe. This would be the first time she was speaking with the Jarl and he wanted to make sure she would be able to handle things.

“Go, I’ll be fine here,” she said as she reassured him. She had dealt with nobility before, one more couldn’t hurt her. Vilkas left her with a half smile and Irileth called on her again to follow her. She trod carefully to one side of the large fire pit between the dining tables, the wood creaking as her armour weighed upon it. She saw the steward, Proventus, and nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“Good, you’re finally here. The Jarl has been waiting for you.” Proventus opened an arm to direct her up the few steps towards the throne where a man sat, speaking with another. Finwe took a few steps forward, removing her helm and brushing the dark strands of hair behind her pointed ears.

Jarl Balgruuf was not old, but had clearly seen some years behind those eyes, with a few wrinkles evident of time spent fighting. His blond hair was matched by the beard, both reaching his shoulders in length and colour. He wore the most finely embroidered clothes Finwe had seen since coming to Skyrim, with deep blues and reds mixed with golden details. This was matched by the circlet that sat above his brow, with sapphires and rubies encrusted into the frame. He leant forward on his bare arms, ending the conversation with the other man, and encouraged her to come closer.

“So… Finwe, I have been told. What happened at the watchtower?”

This wasn’t the question she had been anticipating first. “It was destroyed, but we managed to kill the dragon that was attacking.”

“I knew I could count on Irileth!” He looked over to her and raised a fist in recognition of her deed. “But there must be more to it than that.”

“Turns out I may be ‘Dragonborn’.”

“And what would you know of the Dragonborn?”

“That’s just what the men called me.” Finwe shuffled on her feet nervously.

“Not just the men.” Balgruuf sat up again in his throne. “The Greybeards seem to think the same thing.”

“Sorry, who?” Finwe gave him a puzzled look.

“The Greybeards,” he reiterated. “Masters of The Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion on The Throat of the World. You can just make out their monastery from here in the city, built into the side of the mountain. They say The Dragonborn is uniquely gifted with The Voice, using it to create a Thu’um, or shout, in a powerful magic that our ancestors used in bygone wars.”

“The thundering sound that you heard on your way back here,” said the man with whom Balgruuf had been speaking to, “that was The Greybeards summoning you. The last time this would have happened was when Tiber Septim was still Talos of Atmora.” He puffed his large chest in pride at the name of the former emperor.

Finwe had read about him and his deeds over the past few months in detail since settling here. She restrained herself from discussing him, for both those actions that she condemned and a certain heretical discussion surrounding who he really was.

“Indeed,” continued Balgruuf, “as Hrongar says, it has been some time since this has happened. You should make haste to see them, they are not ones to be ignored here, regardless of your heritage.

“I wish you well, Dragonborn.”

With that, Balgruuf stood and took to the stairs at the right of the throne, followed like puppies by Hrongar and Proventus. Irileth made the effort to walk Finwe to the main door and let her back into the city.

***

Upon her return to Jorrvaskr, there was a quiet around the table as she downed the few steps before the roaring fire. A small group clung to Vilkas as he ate while being peppered with questions. He remained silent, refusing to answer any of them and he looked up as she came into the hall, putting his spoon down in his bowl.

She walked past and headed down into the living quarters, opting not to eat for the moment. Vilkas stood and followed her, leaving a disappointed set of whelps along with his dinner.

Finwe stripped herself of her armour as quickly as she could and sat bent over on the edge of her bed, trying to process the last day in silence. This was interrupted by a knock on the open door.

Vilkas came into the room and encouraged her to get up. “Let’s go have a talk with Kodlak. He shouldn’t be too busy right now.”

Finwe reluctantly agreed and dragged her feet up and out, slowly walking down the hallway with Vilkas. They found Kodlak in his study, as usual, with Farkas, less than usual, rearranging furniture and books to give him more room for people to spend time in the space.

“Kodlak, she’s here,” Vilkas announced to the room.

“Good. Farkas, we will finish this later,” Kodlak sat himself down at the table.

“He can stay, if he wants. I don’t mind really,” Finwe said, also taking her seat. She avoided eye contact with all the others in the room, staring straight at the wood of the old table.

Farkas shrugged and put down the books, leaning against the wall.

“So, what happened out there?” Kodlak asked, looking first at Finwe, then at Vilkas in case she didn’t answer immediately.

Finwe thought about her words carefully. She wanted to explain as simply as she could to them, but there was so much still rolling around her head like a bag of marbles. “We killed the dragon, that much I’m sure you know.”

“I think the entire city is aware of that, child. Besides, Farkas was watching from the walls the entire afternoon and let me know when he came back.”

Finwe looked up to Farkas who once again shrugged. “Someone has to make sure Vilkas doesn’t die like an idiot” he explained.

Finwe gave him a smirk at the explanation. “Well,” she continued, “when it died, I sort of… took part of it in. I saw so much that it’s hard to convey, but there are things I understand now that I did not before.”

“Like?” Asked Kodlak, encouraging her to keep going.

“The word from the wall, in Bleak Falls Barrow. I understand what it means and I think what it does if I say it aloud. From what the men were saying on the way back, to Balgruuf talking of the Voice, I think I would hurt someone if I used this in the wrong place.”

“The Voice?” asked Vilkas. “These are tales of Nords from the first empire, the wars with the Dunmer in Morrowind. Are they saying you have the ability to do that?”

“I’m not sure it matters what they’re saying at this point. I think I can, and the Greybeards think it too.”

They sat in silence for a moment, unsure of who should continue.

Kodlak then broke the silence,“Well this throws my plans for you a little askew.”

“Your plans?” Finwe asked him, one eyebrow raised.

“Indeed. Given how Farkas tells me you are sparring and conducting yourself, I had been looking for an opportunity for your trial to take place. This, however, will have to take the priority for the moment.”

“Should I leave soon then?”

“Give yourself a few days to rest, you have just killed a dragon,” said Kodlak, a kind smile on his face. “But you should try and leave soon while the weather remains calm.”

“Should one of us go with her?” Vilkas asked Kodlak, unsure how Finwe would respond.

“You ask because you would like to help, or because you would like to visit High Hrothgar?” Kodlak looked at him, trying to discern his motives for such a trip.

“I would be happy for some company, as well as showing me the way,” Finwe said as she leant forward, her leg bouncing repeatedly beneath the table. Her worry at what was to come was palpable as she picked at her fingers with force. “Don’t go out of your way though. If there are things to do here, then stay.”

She looked to Kodlak, seeing if he would come up with some reason for Vilkas to stay.

He didn’t.

“If that’s settled, take a day to rest and then pack some provisions. Speak with Tilma and explain, I’m sure she will have something for the two of you. In the meantime, Farkas will help me plan and prepare your trial for when you return. He will be the one watching you for that, so it is best he knows ahead of time.

“Stay safe, both of you.”

With that, Vilkas got Finwe off her feet and walked her back to the whelps quarters, depositing her on her bed like a sack of cabbages. She laid down rather limply, limbs sprayed about without too much care. Vilkas decided to give her the space and wished her a good night, telling her to get some food soon if she wanted it.

Finwe wasn’t really in the mood to eat. She hadn’t felt like eating since they were at the watchtower. She felt full, but in ways that wouldn’t make sense if she tried to tell anyone about it. It was as though her skin was made of fine glass, with the fluid within at the brim and the pressure pushing outwards in all directions. She eventually pulled herself into a position that didn’t leave her spine twisted like a rope and propped her head and shoulders up on the back of the bed. She wanted to melt away into the sheets and exist like a puddle for a while, occasionally checking that no one was paying her too much attention.

At this moment, Athis chose to speak up from his bed across the room. “You don’t have to say anything, but you could at least pick yourself up a bit.” He flung his legs over the side of his bed and walked over to her, standing next to her bed and looking her up and down.

At a flick of his wrist, Finwe obliged and pulled her feet towards her so that he could sit with her.

“So”, he began, tentatively finding the right way to start. “What did they say?”

Finwe gave him a look that tried to convey as little feeling behind her eyes as she could, but looked more like a doe pleading with a hunter.

“You talked to the Jarl?” Athis asked her. Finwe nodded, staring past him to the wall of the room. “And what was said?”

Finwe cleared her throat, realising she was beginning to thirst for fluid. “They were talking about the Greybeards. Ancient Nords, I think Tiber Septim was mentioned as well.” She remembered more than she let on, but assumed that Athis already could tell that.

“So Dragon related stuff then.” Again, she silently nodded. “Do you want me to tell Ria as well, or would you rather talk to her yourself?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it with anyone.” Her chest tightened at those words, but it was true. She didn’t want to have to speak with anyone about it, let alone the friends that she had made in the short time she had spent in Jorrvaskr. She wanted it forgotten, nonexistent so that everything could go on as before.

She looked at Athis, expecting him to just be looking ahead, but he was looking right at her, concern full on his face. “Why are you afraid of this?” he said, turning his body and crossing his legs on the bed. His skin looked almost like ebony in the dim light.

“Because I feel out of place.” She let out a long exhale. “I feel like all my choices, spending time with you all, have been taken away just as I was comfortable.” She pulled out the coin and the seal from her pocket, sliding them over each other in her fingers and slowly twirling them. She closed her eyes and continued this, focusing on the feel of the cool metal and the firm wax.

“I can’t lie to you, things will be different now,” Athis said while placing a hand on her upright knee. “But we will still be here to talk to, to spend time with. I think we’ll just have to address you properly from now on.”

She let out a small smile as she opened her eyes, seeing him rise and leave her in peace on the bed.

What she don’t expect was Ria to enter the room in a wave of energy.

***

Finwe wasn’t in the mood to leave Jorrvaskr and if she had been given the choice, she would have wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in her bed all evening. Instead, the decision had been made by Ria to drag her out for food and she wasn’t in the mood to take ‘no’ for an answer.

Athis had been hesitant, but Ria reasoned it would be better to get her something to eat and drink so that she could at least distract herself for one night.

They had managed to get her down to The Bannered Mare a little late in the evening, with the doors overflowing and tables taken up by more than the usual drinkers found inside; those regulars had been confined to a few stools around the fire pit, much to their displeasure.

There was a sudden hush when Finwe followed Ria and Athis into the inn, with more than a few heads turning to see her. Finwe almost froze with the amount of attention on her, but there were several cheers let out as Ria grabbed her around her shoulders and manoeuvred her to an empty table at the back of the tavern. It sat within a small booth against the back wall, enclosed on either side.

When she gathered her senses, Finwe was also surprised to see Farkas sat with drinks already poured, along with a cask of mead sitting on the table. “Uh, what’s this and where did you get the coin for it?” she asked him as the three of them joined him at the table.

“This is mead,” he said, passing a mug to Finwe. “The sweetest one that Hulda had in the cellar, especially for you. As for the gold,” he reached into his pocket, producing a pouch of coins, “I convinced Vilkas to get this.”

Finwe was a little taken aback by the gesture. She has also been paid by the Jarl, so it felt a little much that she wasn’t getting this, but was convinced to remain quiet on the matter.

“In that case, cheers to Vilkas for this,” Finwe raised her mug and took a long sip. The mead was much sweeter than others she had tasted, audibly expressing her pleasure while the others drank. “What’s in this one?” she asked.

“Hulda said it was some sort of syrup as well as the honey. Can’t remember what though,” Farkas explained.

“Well I think I’ll be asking for it when I can from now on.”

The drank in relative silence for a bit, the weight of events and avoiding the topic for as long as possible bearing over them. Eventually, Farkas took the mantle in a rather nonchalant way given the question. “So you’re the Dragonborn then? Like all the old emperors?”

Finwe took a sharp breath in. It had been on her mind since the comparison with Tiber Septim by Hrongar earlier in the evening, one that she didn’t want to acknowledge. “In a way, I suppose.”

“You don’t strike me as the religious type. Is this going to convince you to start praying more regularly?” Ria asked, only half joking. “Blessing from Akatosh as it is, seems weird not to when they were all blessed by him for generations.”

Finwe offered a small smile. “I think if I was staying true to my roots, I’d be making small shrine to Auri-El instead, but I’m sure I’ve fallen from his favour.” It was a surprise how saddened those words made her, but it was likely the truth.

“So that’s a ‘no’ on Akatosh then?” Ria suggested, fishing for an answer.

“It’s a no.”

“Could always choose some Daedra or other,” Farkas pointed out. “Plenty that aren’t all bad.”

“The Reclamations would be a good start,” said Athis, a look of superiority on his face. “Though I can’t say that everything they represent would be what you need.”

“I don’t have anything against them, but I’m not sure some of Mephala or Boethiah’s teachings are suitable.”

The three others sat and continued trying to think of gods that would be a good fit for Finwe. Finwe sat and thought about what she wanted to eat for the evening as she tried to drown out the noise.

“What about Kyne? There’s the temple here in the city as well so points for convenience,” said Ria.

“Wife of Shor, right?” Finwe asked, remembering a line from a book.

“Widow would probably be more accurate,” Athis remarked. For a Dunmer, he clearly educated himself on Nord customs.

“Maybe.” Finwe placed her mug on the table and tried to summarise her thoughts. “I think I’m just not one to be public about these things. If I’m going to start worshipping anything it will probably be a brief prayer offered in times of need.”

“We’ll have to see how long they let you get away with that. Probably some official Dragonborn business to do, especially here in Skyrim,” Farkas said.

“It would be nice to avoid that for a time,” Finwe said, thinking of strict temple visits as a child and the excruciating boredom that came with them.

“You’ve just killed a dragon for the Jarl, I think that’s about as official as it gets here,” Athis said with a concern in his voice. “Once you’ve started, can you even stop?”

“Other Jarls will be lining up for your services in no time,” Ria said with a shake of her head.

This was beginning to sound more and more like a nightmare. She had made a small life for herself here, one that had its comforts and camaraderie among the jobs. The anxiety and thought of servicing noblemen rose in her like a kettle being poured into a pot containing a frog.

She was the frog in this situation.

“Hey, are you alright?” Farkas asked Finwe from opposite her. Her complexion had paled while the thoughts had been running through her head.

“It’s…” she started, “it’s a lot to take in is all. I didn’t expect, let alone want, this kind of attention. Apparently I’m just not destined for a quiet life.”

They halted their questions after she explained, trying to lighten the mood and getting some food brought to the table.

Finwe felt slightly eased by this, but it didn’t quell the feeling of being pulled toward something on invisible strings, the idea of being carted out for public appearances like a toy kept in good condition. She knew that they meant no harm by it, with something as momentous as this making her the first in over two centuries. People were bound to get wrapped up in the excitement, but she just wanted to carry on as normal, no people prying into her life before this moment.

She left them a little early in the evening, citing the exhaustion of the past few days, and made her way alone to Jorrvaskr, happy to have the time to herself once there again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: High Hrothgar

Finwe and Vilkas had been on the road for a few days in warm weather, the sun rarely breaking in the springtime afternoons. The flowers were in full bloom, especially when they had made it past the falls at Valtheim Towers to the east of Whiterun. Looking at the maps, Finwe assumed it was quicker to go south past Helgen to get to Ivarstead, but she has been advised otherwise by everyone she asked.

“The signposts will say otherwise, but everyone knows a quicker way going east,” Farkas had told her before they left.

She reluctantly chose to trust the local knowledge.

They had packed plenty of dried food, mostly meats and fruits to last until they got to the town at the base of the mountain. Vilkas had dressed lighter than Finwe, though they both carried furs along with bedrolls for the colder stretches. Finwe was just happy to be able to wear a vest and not feel as though she would freeze her arms off.

The road beside the river took them through the valley for a few days. It felt like little progress was being made aside from the signs reassuring her they were headed in the right direction. After setting off on the fourth day, Vilkas had warned her it would be a long one for her knees as they started to climb out of the valley, but the first hour had given her no complaints at all.

It was then that he veered off the cobbled road, spotting a cairn with a strip of cloth held between the stones blowing in the cool breeze.

“This is the climb?” Finwe asked Vilkas. She could see up the trodden path as it immediately began to wind and twist between the trees. The base of each pine was at least a foot higher than the last and it looked a daunting task for the day. She was beginning to wonder if they could take a different route.

“It will be best if we get going,” Vilkas said. Your long legs should be good at this sort of climb.”

“I think it’s more likely I will be on all fours clambering up this slope than walking it by midday.”

This description made Vilkas chuckle more than she anticipated. “You get used to it, I promise. But I have been up here on all fours before.”

They made slow progress up the side of the valley, with plenty of stops over the course of a couple of days before it levelled out a little near the top. There was plenty of wildlife encountered along the trail, most of it steering clear of them with Vilkas in front. They had considered trying to hunt for a fresher meal on the last evening, but their tired legs disagreed with that profusely.

Finwe and Vilkas came to what appeared to be an old ruin, the stones outlining what she presumed was once a building. There was a rusted door that still clung on its hinges to one of the stones and Finwe had wanted to make camp there for the evening.

Vilkas immediately shut her down. “Absolutely not. I’ve been along this path a few times and I’ve always been told by the locals to avoid this place. It doesn’t stop me coming past it during the day, but it gives me a chill thinking about it at night. We’ll keep going till we’re down at the river.”

It was well into the seventh day that they finally crested the hill and saw the small town of Ivarstead. A bridge led out of the village and directly to the mountain over the river that flowed down into the valley. It reminded her of Riverwood, with the mill aside the river; here they had a small farm on the edge of town which a few people were still working when they arrived.

Their packs, along with tired faces, set them up as pilgrims in the eyes of the residents and Finwe was more than happy to keep to that story when they settled at the local inn for the night. Vilkas decided, against Finwe’s wishes, that they should start the climb as soon as they could the next day, to which she closed the door to her room in his face and collapsed into bed to keep her sore feet off the ground.

***

It didn’t take long before the cold really began to set in on the way up the mountain.

Finwe had slightly overdressed herself for this, especially while the sun was on them early in the day, but she would rather risk being a little too warm on the climb than too cold. Farkas had gotten it into her head that freezing on the mountain before meeting The Greybeards would be a silly way to go.

She was surprised at the state of the path up the side of the mountain, fully expecting it to be similar to the recent days with a very narrow trail lined by just the steps taken by others. It was, however, a wide path set with well-worn steps all the way. There were occasional stone tablets set aside from the path, where other pilgrims and travellers were seen praying and meditating in peace. It was beginning to dawn on her that this was a very spiritual place for the nords and that many respected those who would make the trip all the way to the monastery. Finwe had not meant to cause any disrespect by her nonchalance to the trek, but she simply didn’t have the same connection to the land as they did. Vilkas tried to explain that many set it aside as something to do before they died, even if many never followed through. She was also told that Jarl Balgruuf himself had made the trip many years ago, something he took very seriously and was probably why he had seemed so stern after the monks summoned her.

They made camp rather early on the first day, as they had begun to get much colder once the sun left them in the afternoon to grace the west side of the mountain with its light. The second day was much brighter as the clouds cleared early in the morning and left the snow a blistering white. Vilkas advised that she cover as much skin as possible, as the light was known to burn those that let it warm them.

They made camp underneath a stone overhang, one that provided shelter as a light snow fell into the evening, coating the ground with a fresh layer of powder.

“What are you expecting when they meet you?” Vilkas asked Finwe as they ate.

“I don’t know anything about them, nor they about me, so I don’t think I could know what to expect.”

“Aside from being Dragonborn, of course.”

“They seem to think so. Certainly made the whole province aware of that.” Finwe sighed and shrunk inward slightly at the thought of everyone aware of who she was.

“Do you think you can do it? Shout I mean.”

Finwe sat still for a moment. She hadn’t given it much thought on the way here, but she knew the answer right away. “I’m certain I can, but that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Why are you afraid?” Vilkas was concerned that someone with this strength would be so hesitant to accept such a gift.

“Because I have a strong feeling that whatever is going on with the dragons, I’m involved in. I feel like I have been placed down strategically like a piece on a board, ready to do the bidding of some omniscient master that I can’t scream back to, let alone harm in any way that matters.”

Vilkas sat in silence, listening to the whimpering crackle of the makeshift fire they had made. He didn’t consider the dragons in all this, apart from when they had killed one at the watchtower. Finwe had clearly put a lot more thought into this than anyone had given her credit for.

Finwe then stood, taking a few steps out into the fresh snow and took a number of deep breaths. She tried to calm herself from the rising panic that she had been keeping at bay. She wasn’t sure why it was here she had ended up, in Skyrim, at the return of the dragons. The picture ahead was starting to become less clouded, even if she didn’t know why.

“If you’re going to watch, come a bit closer then,” she called back to the overhang, gesturing for Vilkas to join her in the cold.

He came and while holding his arms close to his chest said, “You’re going to try and do it?”

“Yes.”

“Then try and aim for something that will cause as little damage as possible, we don’t want an avalanche going down the mountain.”

Finwe nodded and took her surroundings in more. There was a slight rise before them, to a small peak, and then the path back the way they came. Finally, she saw one of the ancient tablets that dotted the path up to High Hrothgar. She went closer and inspected it further than the others they had passed. It was certainly built long ago, but she could see it was much more recent in style than the old ruins left by the ancient nords. It had an arched design that lead to a point above the centre, below which was the etched tablet that displayed the words.

“Can you read this?” Finwe asked to Vilkas, who came closer to have a look.

He took a moment to translate, making sure to not miss anything as he wiped the tablet with his hand. “Aye, it says,

“Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world.

“Proving for all that their Voice too was strong.

“Although their sacrifices were many-fold.”

“Alduin?” Finwe asked.

“The World-Eater,” Vilkas clarified. “You’ve probably read about him to some extent. My ancestors would have revered him, similar to Akatosh, but I don’t know if they even differ.”

Finwe had made her mind up and took a few steps back, Vilkas following suit and giving her a little space. She focused herself, closing her eyes and imagining the word as it bubbled up in her chest like an effervescent drink. She opened her eyes and calmly said,

“FUS.”

There was a force that left her lips like a wave, pushing the air in front away and parting the snow in a trench. The force hit the tablet, billowing the snow behind it into a cloud of dust, while the stone remained unmoved. The moonlight sparkled in the cloud, creating a glimmering mist that lit up both the evening and Finwe’s spirits. The sound of the word then echoed back to her from the surrounding peaks. It was eerie to hear her own voice in such a way; the power behind it, even at such a calm pronunciation, was startling.

“Well that certainly looks useful,” said Vilkas from a distance, moving back towards their fire. When Finwe rejoined him he said, “I think that will make sparring the other whelps a little tricky.”

Finwe looked back out to the evening, still unsure what was accumulating before her, but content that she could protect herself.

***

The morning proved more blustery than the previous day and made for difficult conditions as they had the last stretch of the climb in their sights. The snow of the night before, coupled with the stronger wind, had left many of the old stone steps slick with ice and they avoided them, preferring to tread along the side of the path. Their furs, which had started as various shades of brown, were now mostly white as they pushed on through what felt like a cloud billowing directly above them.

Finwe almost felt silly for bringing her sword as it was getting in the way of her legs more and more. She had been expecting some trouble, at least with wildlife, but aside from Vilkas managing to scare off a few wolves here and there, they had been left well enough alone. She wanted to ask how he had done that, but decided it just came with being a nord. In hindsight, she wished she had that ability when she was younger, dealing with larger insects at home.

It was past midday when they rounded a bend in the path and Finwe laid her eyes on High Hrothgar for the first time.

It was smaller at the front than she had been expecting, with stairs that led up to the entrance either side of a tall pillar. The stone looked like that which the tablets had been made from, dark and polished in the wind over generations. She could see that one part hung delicately over the edge to their left, something she had been very clear to Vilkas that she would avoid stepping towards unless given a very good reason. They slowly, on tired legs, finally climbed the last of the seven thousand steps and ascended the staircase before pulling open the steel doors.

The air inside was warm and humid, like a calm day on the shores of Auridon. She shed her furs and pack, carrying them low to the ground as they slowly looked around the entrance for any sight of a monk.

Luckily, they found one kneeling beside a wall. Finwe cleared her throat, trying to get his attention, but was worried to see that there was no response. She started towards the monk, less cautious than her footing normally was, but was stopped when a voice spoke from behind her.

“So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of an age.” The voice was that of an old man, robbed in dark grey and sporting a beard of similar tint. He descended the few steps to their left and bowed to greet them.

“I’m simply answering your summons,” Finwe replied, returning the bow as he had done.

“We will see if you truly have the gift,” he said with an inquisitive look. “Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.” He straightened himself and prepared.

Finwe gave a look towards Vilkas, unsure if this was the polite thing to do. He gave a small shrug and looked back to the monk.

She calmed herself and focused her breath more sharply before facing the Greybeard directly.

“FUS.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but much like the night before, she felt the pressure of the air released and it flowed over him like an enveloping wave.

He smiled and nodded back at her.

“That could have been slightly firmer, as you will not hurt us, I promise. But, it is you, Dragonborn. Welcome to High Hrothgar.” He spread his arms wide at the greeting. “My name is Master Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards. Let us get you and your companion settled, then we will discuss things further.”

The monk that had ignored her earlier entrance rose and with Arngeir, helped show them to a small chamber with a couple of spare beds for them to use while they stayed. They were brought a small meal and otherwise left alone for the evening, Finwe happy to just rest her tired legs before the Greybeards began to instruct her in using her thu’um in the morning.

“Are you less nervous now that we’re here and you’ve spoken to them?” Vilkas asked her, placing his plate down on the small bedside table.

“A little, perhaps,” Finwe said between mouthfuls. “They have a calming presence here, one that I didn’t expect, but one I appreciate.” She told the truth, as was her inclination, and she was much calmer than the last weeks had left her since the battle at the watchtower. The walk had kept her mind off it for a time, but the closer they got to the top of the mountain, the more the unease has risen like a loaf inside her.

“That’s good to hear then,” Vilkas said, stretching various muscles while sat on the bed. “I only hope that whatever this teaching is, it comes naturally to you.”

“If learning the only word I know at the moment is anything to go by, I don’t see this being difficult,” Finwe said with a helping of apprehension in her voice.

***

They both slept well and would have slept longer, had one of the monks not wordlessly entered and woken them.

Vilkas wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he took to walking around the monastery and in the courtyard. He spoke with Arngeir early in the day, who explained he was welcome to sit and read some of the books they had dotted about, provided he left them where he found them.

Finwe, after a small meal to start the day, was shown the first word by the monks. This one, as Arngeir explained, would amplify the one she already knew when used together. She could feel the increasing power behind it, but Arngeir was still trying to get her to fully vocalise the words to get their fullest effect.

“It is known as a Shout for a reason,” he had said to her to little avail.

They spent the afternoon outside in the spacious courtyard behind the monastery. She imagined that had they located it anywhere else, it would be a lovely place for a garden, brimming with bees that would bumble from bloom to bloom in the spring sunshine. As it happened, this was the top of the tallest mountain on the continent and had less life than a graveyard on its grounds.

Arngeir, along with the almost ever-silent Master Borri, had shown her a new word that was wildlydifferent from the first she had learnt. Arngeir had called the first “Unrelenting Force”; a power to push at others, while this new one he called “Whirlwind Sprint”. She had taken in the words much like that in Bleak Falls Barrow, but these had been much more levelled. Neither left her in a trance as she could fully focus on them without any impairment.

The new word was exciting to use as when she did, like Borri before her, she felt her legs strain and launch her some distance. The first time she had used it, she landed a few metres from the edge of the mountain and needed a second to regain her usual composure.

She had seen Vilkas watching on from across the courtyard when this was going on; she was slowly getting used to the sensation the movement brought and she could more effectively launch herself from a starting point. Vilkas was impressed that even from a distance, she was beginning to grow more confident in using these new words.

With Arngeir letting her rest for the remainder of the day, Vilkas had convinced her to try and spend some time with him outside, taking in the view below to the rest of Skyrim. Finwe reminded him that she was far less willing to get as close to the edge than he was and agreeing, they sat atop the lone tower that marked the courtyard.

“Seems to be going well then?”

“It’s a lot easier than it looks, which I understand is strange to say.”

“Aye, you can say that. Reckon any draugr that you have to deal with will have a harder time from now on.” He could see that she was still not comfortable with everything that was happening; that it would likely take her some time to process it completely, but he would still try to raise her spirits where he could. “Is it like using your spells? Is it draining at all?” he asked her.

“My throat is a little dry from the cold and being told to shout louder all afternoon,” Finwe said before swallowing and creasing her nose at the discomfort, “but otherwise I feel fine. I think this magic is different somehow.”

“Well that’s reassuring then, no downside to this one then.”

“The words felt different too. From them I mean.”

“From the Greybeards?” he asked.

“Uh huh. There was no confusion, no haziness that came with learning them like the first. They explained that they were sharing their knowledge with me, an understanding of the words, so that I could use them.”

“Does that mean that we’re going to be hiking up this mountain every time you’ve found a new word?” Vilkas was happy to walk to get around, but the thought of never ending journeys made his knees ache purely at the association.

“Well, that’s the other part of this,” Finwe said as she shifted uncomfortably. “They said that it is knowledge and understanding that allows me to Shout, but I can obtain that by absorbing the souls of the dead dragons.”

This sentence hung in the air, the cold breeze freezing it in the ice like space between them.

“So that means…”

“That I really did see portions of that dragon’s life. I consumed it.”

They sat under the implication of this for a while, Vilkas not having the words to form questions and Finwe still coming to terms with how she killed the dragon.

It was one thing to have seen snippets of a life lived long ago, but it was another to have taken that into her being in its entirety. She wondered if she would be changed by it, whether there was a limit to how much she could remain as herself if other souls began to accumulate within her. The fullness from that day at the tower had subsided with time, but the knowledge that remained could prove to be useful if she found other walls that contained these words.

Vilkas eventually chose to move on, trying to change the subject. “So what now then? What’s the next lesson they have for you?”

“They have one more word to teach me, but they have asked me to retrieve a horn first.”

Vilkas chuckled at the task ahead of her. “Old ruin then?”

“Old ruin.” Finwe nodded.

“Do you want to leave or stay a bit longer? I don’t mind either way.”

“Let’s stay for a couple of days, rest our legs, and I can practice these Shouts a bit more. No harm in that.”

Vilkas agreed, happy to give his legs less strain for a few days at least. They sat in each other’s silence, enjoying the aurora that danced in greens across the darkening night sky.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Ahead

As they had been gone for nearly a month in total, the plants were taking full advantage of the rain and sunshine in the spring when they returned to Whiterun. There were fresh patches of flowers that Finwe had not yet seen, mostly lining the road outside and then in the city itself; it added a liveliness and shades she hadn’t expected. Many shops in and around the market, especially the apothecary’s, were covered in colour as the remainder of the rain slowly dripped from roof to leaf.

Jorrvaskr was the same as ever, the shields looking a little worn with the weather, but no doubt they would be repainted at the first opportunity. The Gildergreen still looked lifeless in the afternoon breeze, no leaves to catch the rain or sun. Finwe wondered if the old thing would ever recapture the spark that some of the more elderly people had told her about.

Aela was the first to see Vilkas and Finwe make their way back up the steps and greeted them amicably. Finwe still wasn’t sure what Aela thought of her, let alone what she felt about the Dragonborn issue, but the feeling was that Aela had other priorities and gave very little care for anything she didn’t want to. Perhaps if Finwe proved herself more, then Aela might take notice, but she wasn’t too concerned about trying to force anything.

As they rounded the hall, they were surprised to find Kodlak enjoying a little of the light in the afternoon as he watched Skjor taking a sparring session with the other whelps.

“Welcome back,” he said to them as they dropped their packs heavily and sat with him. “I hope the journey was not too strenuous?”

“It will be a few days with my feet up, but was otherwise good, thank you,” Finwe replied.

“You’d be impressed with what she can do,” Vilkas said to Kodlak. “She can move like a arrow if she wants to.”

Kodlak raised an eyebrow at her just as Skjor berated Njada behind them.

“Keep that shield up! You’ll be losing more than a few teeth if you can’t!”

“So, what is next on the Dragonborn’s agenda then?” Kodlak asked, trying to dodge interrupting Skjor’s teaching methods.

“Well, they’ve asked me to retrieve something, much like the job Farengar gave me not too long ago. They called it the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, their founder.”

“Ah yes, I’ve read tales of his legend”, Kodlak remarked. “If I recall, he is buried somewhere not too far out to the west of here?”

“Ustengrav is where they have directed me.” Finwe had been thinking of the place for a large portion of the way back. It was one thing to be heading into an old ruin; it was another to be going to the resting place of one of the Thu’um’s most powerful users in ancient times. The thought of dealing with more draugr that reeked of decay was also not a pleasant thought.

“Well, this is a decent outcome then. At least from my perspective,” Kodlak turned his attention fully to her. “As you recall, I said that you would be having your trial when you returned and that Farkas would be with you for that. The place that you’ll be going is a burial mound call Dustman’s Cairn, which I believe is a days walk or so from Ustengrav.”

“Wouldn’t that take the route directly through Labarynthian?” Vilkas asked him. “Surely you’re not going to send them through that troll-ridden city?”

“I will give Finwe the final decision on that, as well as whether Farkas will even accompany her that far,” Kodlak explained to them, clasping his hands together on the wooden table. “All he is required to do is watch her through recovering the fragment of Wuuthrad that we have been informed about. The Dragonborn duties lie with her alone, but I will not halt anyone that wishes to be of help.”

Finwe was reassured by this. She hadn’t been concerned about being alone for some time, Athis and Ria had made sure to that, but she was glad to be given the choice to an extent. She was still filled with unease over it all, but this gave her a sense of autonomy that helped drain away that feeling as though she was a slowly leaking waterskin.

There was one thought that clung in this moment though. “What’s the issue with Labarynthian then?”

“It’s the largest of the ruins here in Skyrim, at least Nord made,” said Vilkas. “The issue is that it has gained a reputation for those seeking a shortcut through the mountains into Hjaalmarch and not seeing the other side.”

Kodlak wouldn’t suggest this lightly Finwe thought. The most likely explanation was that time had become a concern and this was worrying him. “Could I not go around the mountains? Not to say we would be unable to fight our way through, but surely it matters more that we get there safely?”

“I would not seek to worry you,” Kodlak started while leaning closer, trying to remain unheard outside of their conversation, “but I’ve seen reports that seem to indicate that dragon attacks are becoming more common. Nothing as bold as threatening a city like the last one, but it is still our duty to help where we can.”

“So you would agree…” Finwe began.

“That yours is a fate linked to their return? I’d bet my blade on it.” Kodlak leant back and resumed watching over some of the whelps, Torvar being put through his paces by Ria. It seemed that in Finwe’s absence, she had been giving the others plenty of grief during these sessions.

“Take your time resting, there is nothing worse than venturing out when you are not ready. But it bears keeping in mind,” Kodlak finished before turning fully back to help Skjor.

The dread in her gut was returning now and Finwe wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground. At least the worms would have a nice meal.

***

After a full day in her bed, Finwe was coerced out of the whelp’s quarters by Ria, who had found a bottle of juice from Cyrodiil. She explained that a caravan had visited outside the city and everyone managed to find something they liked, so Ria had also got Finwe a little something while she was away.

“You know, I traded them my mothers ring for that,” Ria said with a smirk as Finwe took the cork off and poured the yellow liquid into a mug.

“This is all you managed to get for it?” Finwe asked sarcastically. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I think they have taken you for a fool and been right about that.” Athis and Farkas, either side of them, laughed loudly at this.

Ria let out a quiet chuckle. “At least the Greybeards didn’t affect your sense of humour then.”

“I think they’d struggle with that. Did you know that only one of them talks?”

“That sounds like you could sleep well there. No risk of being woken by drunken singing,” Ria said as she looked across the table at Torvar and Njada, currently trying to out drink each other.

“Vilkas was more than courteous when sharing a room and it was almost silent the rest of the time.”

The meal that Tilma had prepared was well enjoyed as they ate through it, though Finwe could see that Athis was aching to ask her a question. She nudged him while her mouth was full to encourage him to speak up.

“So you can fully Shout then?” he asked, massaging the stubble on his chin.

“Yes, I can. They taught me to move across a room in an instant, as well as push people to their knees with just words.”

“Did they say how this works?”

Finwe thought back to Arngeir explaining this at the top of the mountain. “He said that the words are all from the dragon language, Dovahzuul, and that it’s…” she tried to find the exact words he had used, but to no avail. “It’s like your soul fuels the force. He put it more neatly to me.”

“It all sounds rather fantastical,” Athis said, giving her a reassuring look. “No doubt your trial will go smoothly if you can do that.”

“I certainly hope so”, Finwe said as she looked across Ria to Farkas, who was obliviously enjoying his dinner. She did wonder whether he would agree to travel with her to Ustengrav, especially when there was no need for it. He had continued to be helpful, but she knew there must be a limit to how far he was willing to go.

After they had eaten, Ria, Athis and Finwe sat themselves by the Skyforge, basking like Khajiit in the warm glow of the cooling coals. She enjoyed sitting up here, even when not helping out or watching others spar, but she had found a greater love for the lights in the sky. She hadn’t paid them much attention, but since visiting the quiet corner of the world that was High Hrothgar, she found the green strands rather more enticing.

“We don’t have anything like this where I’m from,” she told them. “It might be the only thing that would convince me to live here where it’s a bit colder than in the south.”

“So the hospitality isn’t working for you then?” Ria asked her.

“I don’t think you can call offering to punch a stranger hospitality”, Athis said before Finwe could respond. “Doesn’t work for everyone.”

“I find the present company more than compelling”, Finwe said, “but I do agree, that isn’t the best choice for everyone you meet.

“What about you, Athis? What would convince you to live here rather than elsewhere?”

He thought for a moment, looking around him for inspiration. “I’d say the weather, though you might think that silly of me, but it certainly beats ash raining all the time. Clear skies are a rather nice part of living here.”

The elves turned in unison to Ria like owls spotting a rodent.

“What?” she asked them, looking like a nervous mouse.

“Well…” Finwe started before Athis took over.

“What would convince you to live elsewhere?”

“I don’t think I’d want to, I really like it here.”

“But you’ve never lived outside of Skyrim, like us”, said Finwe. “In fact, you’ve never lived outside of Whiterun! Have a think, stories you’ve heard or even food would be reason enough for anyone”.

Ria sat and thought hard for a few minutes, which prompted Athis to lie down and stare directly at the night sky. Finwe began to fiddle with the coin in her pocket, the cool metal contesting her hands warmed by the coals. “I think High Rock is the only place that has any real appeal”, she said with a slightly defeated look. “I’ve read stories about the nobles there and knightly orders, that would be exciting. I think”.

“Anywhere in particular there?” Athis asked her.

“Daggerfall, I suppose? It’s its own corner of the world and you’d see plenty of travellers near the sea”.

“I can agree with that”, Finwe said. “I miss the coast a lot, hopefully I might be able to live there again one day.”

“You could always visit Solitude? That has a lovely port and would satisfy the need”, Ria suggested.

“A lovely thought”, Finwe said, “but I would like to live somewhere that I can’t see ice on the water”.

***

The next few days saw Finwe mostly relaxed, but otherwise tried to walk around and get her legs used to moving once again. She found that this was always the hardest part; convincing her body that it needed to do something or the walking and fighting would be even more painful.

Her stroll through the market was pleasant, she even found a hairpin with one of the merchants that she could repay Ria’s kindness with. It wasn’t too fancy, but nice enough that she hoped it would be appreciated. Finwe had noticed just that morning that her own hair was beginning to brush against her shoulders.

I’ll be asking Ria to cut it before I leave again she thought.

After walking through the rest of the Plains district, as she didn’t see anything else interesting, she went out of the main gate on the chance that there was a caravan visiting.

Instead she found Farkas sitting on a collapsed part of the wall, looking out to the fields and farms below.

“Anything catching your eye?” Finwe asked as she walked up to join him.

“Started out looking at the watchtower”, he said. “Been watching the farms for a little bit now.”

Finwe nodded along, taking a look out to the sun basked south, watching the farms with him. She could see people in the fields as they worked up a sweat and saw some cattle being coerced into a greener field than the one vacated. Only the sound of the streams flowing out of the city and down the hill lay between them, the bustle of foot traffic held back by the walls and gate. It wasn’t often that there was a peace around Whiterun; there were nearly always traders coming and going, not forgetting the residents bringing plenty of noise as usual.

Farkas decided to speak first. “I’m not sure what I would have done, if that dragon had been successful.”

Finwe considered for a moment. She imagined a deranged man, hair streaming around his face as he rushed out to try and take down the dragon that had attacked. But what if it had escaped before then? “Would you have chased it down?” Finwe asked him.

“To the ends of the earth.”

There was the matter of the question she needed to ask him, but she was unsure whether now would be the best time. She knew that Vilkas would also do anything to avenge his brother, should it be needed. They were close like that.

“Look, about Ustengrav,” she started. “You don’t have to come with me. I’d rather not make it more hassle than you need.”

“I still haven’t decided,” he replied. “I’m torn between just getting the job done for your trial and a chance at going down in songs.” Finwe gave him a strange look at this mention of music. “You’re the Dragonborn. As long as you don’t die, you’ll end up in songs. I’m sure of it.” He gave her as reassuring a look as he could.

“So you’re weighing up the risks?”

“Well, one risk really.” He turned and now sat straddling the wall like a horse that was far too small for him. “I’ve only been up near Labarynthian once, when me and Vilkas we younger. All the signs were saying no, but we were curious and wanted to get a look. We tried to sneak our way up the steps, there’s a big drop on the Morthal side of the mountain, and we didn’t even make it halfway before some trolls spotted us and let their friends know.”

“So you’re expecting a similar welcoming for me?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Finwe laughed at the thought of Farkas, fully armoured and trying to sneak up on some trolls. She thought it was hard enough for her to be stealthy, but Farkas was her height and probably twice the weight.

“Well, we can only wait and see, just let me know ahead of time. I’d like to know whether to have nightmares about trolls for just me or both of us.”

She clapped him on the shoulder and left him staring out onto the tundra. Hopefully they would have little trouble dealing with the upcoming trip, but that wasn’t for her to know. For the first time since coming to Skyrim, she offered a small prayer for their success.