elder-dragon-reposes

[elder-dragon-reposes]

We love you too.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

If it keeps her happy and safe she is.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

We just get you someone to help out. It's part of the "safe" portion of my statement.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Have I tried to stop you from being a pilot? Just be safe.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Kynadora- The Wheel Turns Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Kynadora goes to Whiterun following the path to discovering what is behind the Dragon Crisis.

Author's Note: I'd really like to thank my beta readers (including the lovely @nerevar-quote-and-star) again! I hope you enjoy reading!

ao3 link

Tag List:

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for future updates!

For a place currently embroiled in a Civil War and facing the threat of dragons returning and razing villages to the ground,  her walk from Riverwood to Whiterun was rather peaceful. No bandits, wolves, or skirmishes like she’d been expecting from what she’d heard of Skyrim’s roads and had experienced thus far.  The strangest thing she’d seen in the past day it’d taken to get her from the mill town was four couriers in rapid succession, all following different clairvoyance spells to various locations.

Honestly, she should’ve expected something when she got closer to the outskirts of Whiterun. A giant wrecking a farm while a group of people tried to bring him down this close to the city had been a rather big shock, especially since she’d walked past a few guards who seemed to be following their regular routines and allowing this group to take it down. Whatever stops those guards from joining the fray doesn’t stop her from dropping her pack to the ground and pulling her sword from her sheath. 

The problem with fighting giants was that they were so much larger than you. One had to stay out of their far wider reach while staying close enough to bring them down. Normally, she’d prepare a spell to try and keep further away but between the group of people she didn’t know already in close combat, and the fact that they were battling on farmland that could take damage from any spells, Kynadora didn’t want to start throwing magicka around. Luckily, one of the group seemed to be an archer, so someone was doing damage from further away which seemed to distract the giant from noticing her coming up behind it. She slashes its waist and joins the other two close-combat fighters trying to bring it down. 

It takes the three of them a bit, but soon they deliver strikes at the giant’s lower half without disrupting each other too much. Two warriors go in to strike as one moves out. She does her best to dodge as the giant brings its club down as well, keeping up with the two others as she does so. 

Soon, an opportunity opens up for Kynadora to bring the giant down to their level. On a downward swing away from her, he’d put all his weight onto one leg and hadn’t done anything to guard it. The dark-haired man seems to pick up on her plan and guides the giant slightly forward with a well-timed dodge, which allows her to introduce her blade directly to the giant’s knee. She aims it just so that it goes behind the kneecap, and pulls back. 

As the giant loses balance, she allows her blade to follow with it and the dark-haired man takes the opportunity to slice open the giant’s neck as it comes down, killing it. It comes down with a loud thud and she takes a moment to breathe. As she rests her hands on her knees, she looks up and catches the eyes of the two close combat warriors she’d worked with. She smiles and waves, the dark-haired man returning it while the dark-haired woman sends a glare in return. Oh. Well, at least one person was happy with her. 

She returns to her full height and jumps at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. Right. The archer had been behind her. She turns slowly to face the red-haired woman, wiping some of the blood that had sprayed across her face off with her glove. 

There’s a curious look on the woman’s face as if she’s looking for something in Kynadora, she seems to find it in her eyes but does not linger there long. “You handle yourself well.” Her hand drops from her shoulder. “You could make for a decent Shield-Sister.” Kynadora hears an exasperated noise from behind her, but the woman in front of her does not seem bothered. 

“Thank you,” she says, breath still catching up with her. “I just thought you all would appreciate some help.”

“Admirable.” There’s a smirk in her voice, but her face does not betray it. “You should come to speak with Kodlak Whitemane. 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.”

Kynadora’s brows furrow. “I’m sorry, but go to him for what? And where?”

“An outsider then. To join the Companions. In Jorrvaskr.” Wait what? The Companions? Her father had told her stories. According to him, one of her ancestors had served among their ranks. And here she was. Having taken a giant down with a group of them. The woman laughs. “You should come and speak with him. Perhaps I’ll even invite you to hunt with me.” She extends her hand, face settling into a slight smile. “My name is Aela.” Kynadora shakes her hand. “The two behind you are Farkas and Ria.”

“Very kind to meet all of you. My name is Kynadora,” she said. 

Aela’s eyes return to Kynadora’s. “I’ll keep an eye out for you then, Kynadora.” Aela drops her hand and steps around the corpse of the giant. “Come along then, you two. We need to get back.”

Kynadora watches as Ria follows after Aela, but Farkas steps around the corpse onto her side. “Here. Figured you might need some help.” He grabs the giant’s leg up, which allows her to pull the blade from where it had stayed stuck in its knee. “There you go. I do hope you come to Jorrvaskr.” And like that, he’s gone. Kynadora wipes her blade down, steps over the body, and begins her trek to the city gates. 

Just from what she can see, the Hold of Whiterun is beautiful. The rolling hills distract her, dragging her eyes to the horizon to the West. She walks up the path to the front gates and glances at the sky. There’s something different about the skies here than those back in Skingrad. She can’t quite put her finger on why though. The blue of the sky? The brightness of the fluffy clouds? It’s all beautiful. Her feet drag her closer to the gates as she takes in the beauty of Skyrim that surrounds her. 

“Halt!” The guard stationed at the gate pulls her out of her daze. “City’s closed with the dragons about. Official business only.”

She finds her voice, the one her uncle had taught her to use when conducting official business. “I’m here to speak with the Jarl. Riverwood calls for his aid.”

He whispers, “Riverwood’s in danger, too?” He heads to open the door. “You better go on in. You’ll find the Jarl at Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill.” 

“Thank you, sir!” she shouts over her shoulder as he closes the gate behind her once more. 

She finds herself surrounded by the noise and smell of a busy city. At first, as she walks past, an argument and the smell of the blacksmith’s forge overtake everything else, but as she walks further, the aromas of the marketplace take over everything. No matter how this goes, she hopes to be able to find dinner at the inn here later. The smells coming out of the door as it opens and closes with customers going in and out as part of the lunch rush are mesmerizing. But Kyndaora had eaten the last of the food that Gerdur had pushed into her hands on the bridge near town and wouldn’t need to eat for a good few hours. 

Distracted and trying to remain small enough to get through the crowded market, Kynadora finds herself pushed toward a gentleman leaning up against a pillar in front of the general store. The crowd had pushed her away from her goal, but trying to push her way past now might just do the same once more. She turns to the man and sends him a polite smile. 

“Well met, traveler.” He shifts slightly on the pillar, opening up space for her to tuck herself into the porch next to him. “What brings you to Whiterun?”

Kynadora swallows and manages to raise her voice enough that he can hear her over the crowd. Wasn’t that a question? Deciding against telling this stranger everything that had occurred over the last few days, she instead uses her normal explanation for travel. “I’m here to help, in any way someone may need. I’m a healer by trade.”

The blond man’s eyes widen. “Truly? By Shor, this city could use more like you.” He claps her over the shoulder and returns her smile. “Best head up to Dragonsreach, then, and see the Jarl. He’s Lord of Whiterun, and can set you on the path.” He seems to think for a moment. “A healer though, the Temple of Kynareth may have use of your services as well. I know they’ve been busy with the injured and sick lately.”

“Coincidentally, I was on my way to Dragonsreach with a message.” Her new acquaintance laughs. “Do you know a way to get through the crowd better?”

“Aye, you can follow behind the inn and make your way to the next district. Shouldn’t be too busy now, and you can find the Temple there near the path further up to Dragonsreach.”

She thanks him and waves as she follows the path around that he’d recommended. As she enters the next district, she quickly finds herself distracted once more. There’s something wrong with the tree in the middle of the small area she’s in. It’s dead, which feels strange. And not just that it is dead, but the fact that it has been allowed to die and rot in the middle of the city. Her left hand goes to the tree, and it feels like a connection has been cut. Strange. What was it about this tree that felt so wrong?

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” A woman’s voice brings her out of her concentration on the tree.

“Yes.” Kynadora turns to the woman, hand still on the tree. “Can I ask what happened? And what tree is this?”

“Ah. I thought you were perhaps a pilgrim.” The woman–no, Priestess–walks around to a bench and takes a seat. “This is the GIldergreen.” Wait. This was the GIldergreen? How? How did it die? When did it die? The Priestess continues on a short history lesson of the tree, but Kynadora knows it well. It’d been one of her father’s favorite stories when she was a child. He’d wanted to see it, wanted to bring her here. But it was dead. And that was wrong. Some piece of her felt sick with the knowledge, but Kynadora wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was that a childhood dream lay dead with the tree.

“Is there a way to revive the tree?” She had to fix it. She was a healer, and she knew that there had to be something to help the Gildergreen. Even if this Priestess didn’t. Kynadora would find it. 

The Priestess seems relieved by her response. “I’ve thought about that.” Good. It was always nice to know where to start. “Trees like this never really die. They only slumber.  Perhaps with some of the sap from the parent tree, we could wake up its child. But even if you could get to the Eldergleam, you couldn’t tap it. Not with any normal metal.” 

This felt like a bad idea. Like a really bad idea. But it was what the Priestess had. “Where can I find a weapon that will work, then?” Or would she need to find out herself?

“Eldergleam is older than metal, from a time before men or elves.” Kyndaora picks up on the Priestess’s nervousness. Her voice betrayed the fact that she knew this was a bad idea. “To even affect it, you have to tap into the old magic. You’ll have to deal with the hagravens.” Hagravens? What would they have to do with this? It only made doubt crawl into her spine more. “I’ve heard about a weapon they’ve made for sacrificing spriggans.” Ah, there it was. Exactly why this was a bad idea. “It’s called Nettlebane. The hags terrify me, or I would have gone after it myself.” But why not ask a guard? Or even why let the GIldergleam get this bad in the first place?

“I’ll retrieve the blade for you.” Even though it felt like a foolish plan. Kynadora would get the blade. But she’d also try and come up with something better while getting it. 

“Your spirit is strong. Kynareth’s winds will guide your path. It’s held in a hagraven nest called Orphan Rock.” The Priestess disappeared after that, having gotten her wish. Kyndaora sent a prayer up to Kyne for guidance. She stayed a moment later before returning to the path to Dragonsreach, left hand still tingling. 

The castle had looked magnificent from every other point in her journey thus far, but seeing it up close was another thing entirely. As the doors are pulled open for her, she finds herself staring agape. She wouldn't call it more beautiful than Castle Skingrad, but it feels so different. And the dragon skull sitting above the throne catches her eyes immediately. It was a good reminder for her. It was possible to kill a dragon, proof sitting right there. They could figure it all out. She steels herself, fixing her posture and setting her face into an acceptable court smile. Just like her Uncle taught her. 

The Jarl and his advisors are already in a back-and-forth over what Kynadora can only assume is how to best address the dragon threat when she arrives near his throne. Ask for aid for Riverwood. Offer your help in figuring out the dragon threat. Easy. She waits a while, but no one seems to notice her presence. She manages to catch a guard's eye, and he nods at her. He walks to the dark elf warrior standing near the Jarl and points over at Kynadora. The woman’s hand goes to her sword and she walks down a few steps towards her. 

“What’s the meaning of this interruption?” Her voice is hard, but not cruel. “Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving any visitors.”

“Gerdur and Alvor sent me. Riverwood is in danger.” One step completed. 

The woman sighs, “As Housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers to the Jarl or his people. So, you have my attention. Explain yourself.”

“A dragon destroyed Helgen. I was there, and I want to offer my services in trying to fight the problem.” 

The housecarl seems pleased for a moment. “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak with you personally. Approach.” Kynadora nods at her and takes a few steps up to the throne. Not close enough to draw alarm, but close enough to speak with the Jarl and make her case. 

The Jarl’s eyes meet hers for a moment before he drags them away to his housecarl. “So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?”

Breathe. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself. You’ve no allies here yet. “Yes. The dragon destroyed Helgen. Gerdur and Alvor both call for aid to be sent to Riverwood in case the village is its next target. Last I saw it though, it was headed in this direction.” Breathe. Don’t draw attention to yourself. 

“By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” His attention was now entirely on his housecarl–Irileth–and one of the other advisors. “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?” These walls wouldn’t be enough. Kynadora wasn’t sure that anything would be. Not with the storm it had called down from the skies. 

Irileth takes the chance to advocate her side. “My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once.” Yes, please. She’d promised Gerdur. “It’s in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains…” 

“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!” How? If news of Helgen wasn’t already all over Skyrim, it would be by the time the other Jarl noticed an increase of guards in Riverwood. “He’ll assume we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him! We should not–”

The Jarl slams his hand down into his throne. “Enough! I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!” He turns to his housecarl. “Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.” Thank the gods. She nods at him and disappears down the stairs and through the door. His other advisor excuses himself and heads up further into the castle. The Jarl sighs and rubs his hand over his face. 

His eyes bring themselves back to her, and he relaxes slightly. “Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative.” Not really, but she knew better than to interrupt and correct him as he spoke. “You’ve done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it.” He hands her a sack of gold, and Kynadora stashes it into her pack. Normally she’d turn gold down for something like this, but she needed to finish refreshing her supplies after Helgen. Potions had broken, and healing potions of that level wouldn’t be cheap to replace. “There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.” He stands and offers her his arm. “Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons.”

“Thank you, my Jarl. I was hoping to offer my assistance with addressing the dragon crisis. I’m at your service.” For Haming and for anyone else who’d already lost family to this. The Jarl nods, and they’re off down the stairs and into a side room. 

Balgruuf shouts, gaining the court wizard's attention from the book he was currently entranced by. “Farengar! I think I’ve found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details.” The Jarl then dropped her arm and left the room, likely off to try and bolster the city’s resources. 

The wizard gives her a cursory glance, and gestures to the chair opposite of him at his desk. She takes the seat. “So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons.” He marks the page he’d been on and closes the tome. “Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.” 

Of course. It made sense, Skyrim had been the seat of the Dragon Cult, but much of that would be in ruins. “Alright. Where am I going and how does this tablet relate to the dragons?” 

His brows furrow, before relaxing and his face expands into excitement. “Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker–” She liked to think so at least. “Perhaps even a scholar? You see, when these stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities.” She’d have thought the same if she’d not felt the heat of the flames on her skin and seen the destruction firsthand. “One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside their experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons–where they had gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?”

“Makes sense. What did you learn?” she questions. 

He smiles. “I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow.” Now, that was luck. “A “Dragonstone” said to contain a map of dragon burial sites.” He takes a deep breath. “Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet, no doubt in the main chamber, and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”

She agrees and shakes his hand. “Do you mind answering a few more questions for me? I just want to make sure I know as much as I can.”

The court wizard acquiesces to her request and answers all of her questions to the best of his abilities. They pass a few theories back and forth, not realizing how late it was until dinner began to be served. She left him then, but he promised her some books upon her return to help her own research. 

And so, Kynadora left the castle to get on the road. On her way to Riverwood, she ran into the detachment of guards that Irileth had sent, who promised to help point her in the direction of the ruins when they reached Riverwood, especially as it would be safer to travel in a group.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Kynadora- The Wheel Turns Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Follow Julia and co as they continue their escape from Helgen's destruction.

Author's Note: I want to thank my beta readers again, and I hope everyone enjoys my take on Helgen Keep.

ao3 link

Tag List:

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future updates!

The closing of the door doesn’t help quell the adrenaline running through her. There’s still too much to do. The keep may hold up better than the other buildings in Helgen, but if the legends were true, then there’s no telling what damage a dragon might cause if this attack went on any longer. They needed to keep moving. And fast. There had to be another exit. Julia didn’t know of any keep that didn’t have a hidden exit. Not necessarily designed for escaping dragons, but in the case of an attack. Helgen couldn’t be any different. 

Okay. First steps. Let go of Ralof. Why she’s still holding onto his shoulder, Kyne would only know. Put down Haming. See if anyone needs healing. Heal them. Then, keep moving. After that? Julia had no idea. But they had to survive Helgen. 

Her hand drops from Ralof’s shoulder and her attention turns entirely to Haming. His head was still tucked into her shoulder, and his fingers must be aching from the grip he had on her. His breathing had gotten better since she tried to put him down outside. She felt bad letting him down, but there was no way she could check him for injuries with him curled into her the way he was.

She jiggles her shoulder a bit to get his attention and her heart shatters at his face. The only places not covered in the soot of his burning hometown were where tears cut tracks downwards. He was too young for all this. But he was alive. “I need to let you down, little one.” His grip on her tightens. “I’m not going to leave you, I just need to make sure everyone’s alright. I’m a healer. And then you can hold my hand. Is that alright?”

A moment. He nods. She lets him down as gently as she can and watches for any major injuries he may have. She can’t see anything except for a small cut on his left hand. She heals it quickly and turns her attention to the adults in the room. Gunnar had been favoring one foot this entire time, and she hadn’t gotten a good look at either Ralof or Hadvar before ushering them both into the building. 

Gunnar first. Then to deal with the two soldiers before they jump at each other and scare Haming more. “Alright, Gunnar. Let me take a look at that leg before we go any further. Do you want to sit on one of the beds? Get the weight off it while I address the wound?” He acquiesces, sitting down on the bed and putting the injured leg on the footlocker in front of it. 

“It’s not too bad, miss, there are other things to worry about.” Julia watches Ralof and Hadvar from the corner of her eyes. While they’d first gone to opposite sides of the room, they were slowly making their way over to each other. Damn.

It’s a deep wound. Even with the use of a spell, it’ll scar harshly. The fact that Gunnar had been walking around as well as he had on it was a miracle, and Julia couldn’t imagine him getting far with Haming had they split up. “I’d really rather we all move forward the best we can if it’s all the same to you.” He laughs, and Julia finishes mending his skin together under skilled hands. 

On to the next problem then. Or well, maybe she could intervene before it became a problem.

She meets them in the middle of the room just as they come together. A hand on each of their shoulders, and she hopes that she’s calmed enough to keep them from trying to continue the Civil War in this room. “Are you both alright? Any injuries I can help with?” It’s enough of a distraction.

Ralof’s brows furl. “No. No, Julia, I’m okay.” Hadvar nods. His eyes haven’t left Ralof’s. 

Julia’s voice gets quieter, hopefully enough that Haming won’t hear her. “There is a boy here who has lost his home. His family. To a dragon, of all things! He’s scared and you two going at each other won’t help that. Let’s get him to safety before you two try to kill each other.” She breathes out softly. “If that’s alright with the both of you? We need to spread word of the dragon.”

Ralof nods first, but Hadvar’s returning one doesn’t come too much later. It’s a start. “Alright then. Let’s try and get a move on. Get to safety as fast as possible.” Julia turns, facing the door they’d all entered through. Her left-hand goes to the chain around her neck, and her heart drops. It’s not there. No. Someone must have removed them from her neck while she was unconscious. Or they fell off somewhere out there.

Her breathing quickens once more, but she’s pulled out of the wheres and whys by Hadvar. “Haming!” She whips her head to them, her heart stopping for a moment before breaking again. A sword. The boy’s going for a sword. It’s longer than his arm. She can mourn her lost connection later. 

She hurries to him and gets to his level, looking him in the eyes. He looks resolute in his features, but his eyes show just how scared he is. “Hey now, why do you need this?” 

“So I can help.” Julia nods. She knows what it’s like to want to help.

“You don’t need to help with this. Hadvar, Ralof, Gunnar, and I will keep us safe. Keep you safe.” He seems to want to speak up, but after a long moment, he finally relents. His hands don’t relax around the handle of the blade though. “I do need help with something though,” Julia says.” Do you think you can help me?”

“Yes! I can help!” Julia wipes away some of the soot from his face, her gloves are rough but she hopes it is comforting.

“I need someone to help me by looking for supplies for us. Like potions and food. Do you think you can do that?” Haming nods, and his grip relaxes. Julia slips the sword out of his hands and returns it to its place on the weapons rack. His hand loops into hers and she rubs the back of it, returning to her standing height. Onwards they go.

Ralof whispers in her ear as they go through the door that will lead them further into the keep. “That was rather impressive, I thought we would fight the boy on it more.” Julia nods and lets go of the breath she’d been holding. Hadvar nods at her as well. If she can keep them focused on the boy, she can keep them away from the war, for now. 

A short hallway and a door reveal another problem as well as more bodies. These aren’t from the dragon though. Unless he shrunk. Could dragons shrink? Julia couldn’t remember any of her father’s stories involving that. But no. These bodies were likely left due to the ongoing conflict that didn’t involve the massive beast flying through Helgen’s skies. 

She’d check them for life, but the blood surrounding all of them gave her pause. And the stillness of them. She tucks Haming’s hand into Gunnar’s and takes a deep breath. If they were alive she had to help them. One by one, she checks for breathing and a pulse, Gunnar and Haming were never too far from her as she did. But no luck. All dead. 

The presence of the bodies did add another worry to her list of many. What would happen if they ran into other survivors? Would the scene they had just come across repeat? If they ran into Stormcloaks would they try to kill Hadvar? Would any Imperials demand her and Ralof’s deaths? Would Ralof and Hadvar be seen as traitors for simply being in the same group? Killed by their own brothers and sisters in arms? Haming could be hurt in any ensuing conflict. 

But other survivors would mean that others made it out of the dragon’s ire. And more survivors would always be the better option. Even if it leads to an awkward situation. Julia believes they could figure it out. Especially with a child there. She couldn’t imagine either side willingly wanting to harm a child who’d just lost everything. The Thalmor might be a little different, but she was pretty sure that she’d seen them leave before the execution ever began. In any way, they’d have to go through her first. 

Haming grips her hand tighter when she returns to his side. “I’m sorry. They’re all dead.” Both Hadvar and Ralof look like they want to say something, but no words come out. 

“Come on, then. We need to keep going.” 

And so onwards they go. A hallway blocked by debris pushes them into a storeroom that houses supplies and more bodies. The bodies barely seem to register to Haming before he’s off grabbing potions and food safe for travel off the shelves. Gunnar helps him put them all into a sack as Julia once more checks the bodies for signs of life. Ralof’s face falls even more as she shakes her head at the Stormcloaks that litter the floor while Hadvar’s expression remains unreadable. Mourning will have to come another day for them both. The collapsed ceiling proves they’re on borrowed time before everything comes down around them. 

Julia manages to convince them all to drink from one of the waterskins Haming found and then they’re on their way once more, deeper and deeper into the keep. “I’ll admit, I’m not sure where we’re going. I’ve never spent much time here.” Hadvar’s words show he agrees though. There has to be something. Some way out for their small group. It’s just a matter of finding it. 

More stairs. Down down down into the lower levels of the keep. Hopefully closer to their destination of out, of away. Haming’s hold has loosened on her, but she still rubs soothing circles into the back of his hand. 

They smell the torturer’s chambers before they turn down the last flight of stairs into the room.

She’d expected a prison. Expected cells. But for the torturer to have been first and not tucked away from any visitors? It felt wrong. And when they finally enter and see the bodies strewn about, Julia is no longer surprised. The smell, though. Even as a healer, she’d never smelt anything quite like it. She hopes that she never will again. 

She checks the bodies each but pushes Gunnar to take Haming from the room as fast as he can. They’ll meet them there soon. But she has to check. There’s no hope for the man locked in the cage. He’d been there too long and seemed to have died as a result of his interaction with the torturer here. Not a good way to go. Hadvar looks uncomfortable and remains close to the exit that Haming and Gunnar had gone through. But he doesn’t leave. 

It’s only after she’s checked the final body for signs of life that she sees it in the corner. Her pack. She rushes to it, checking the pockets. It’s in the last pocket that she finds it. A silver chain. Two rings. A pendant. An amulet. She hasn’t lost them. Both the chain and the worn leather go over her neck before she can even think to do it. She feels the stress roll off her in a way and blinks away tears. She wouldn’t have forgiven herself if she lost them, lost the connection. But it’s here. Safe.

“Julia? Are you alright?” Ralof’s voice brings her back. 

“Yes! Yes. Sorry, I found my pack. They must’ve brought it here when we arrived.” Ralof nods and she returns to standing. Her eyes trace around the room once more in case of any supplies. She doubted it, but there might be something here. Her eyes land on a table. A plain book with the insignia of the Empire embedded into the leather cover. It felt important in a way. She shoves it into her pack before slinging it over her shoulder and following Ralof out. A room she never wanted to return to behind them. Her sword returns to her belt. 

Haming returns to her side as soon as the three of them catch up to the boy and Gunnar. His hand slips into hers, but he’s curling into her once more. It makes walking a little more difficult going forward, but she’s not going to push him away. Not after everything. She just hopes the worst is behind them.

“Are you okay?” Haming’s small voice pulls Julia’s attention from the path in front of them and onto him fully once more.

“As okay as I can be. Are you okay? We can stop and rest if you want to. This has been a lot.” They really couldn’t, but if the boy needed rest, he would get rest. She could probably carry him again if need be. But her muscles still ached from earlier. She’d do it to keep him safe though. 

His face remains emotionless. “No. I’m, I’m okay. Okay as I can be.” Julia ruffles his hair.

“Alright then. You just let me know if that changes, okay?” She catches Ralof staring, a look she isn’t quite sure how to describe passes over his face before he shakes it off. 

Their little group continues, moving further into the keep. Eventually, the stone walls of the building give way to the rough stone of a cave. For a moment, Julia hopes to hear voices then curses her optimism as they see the large cavern.

Blood everywhere. She won't need to check any of these bodies for life. While the cold room meant that decay had yet to set into the corpses and the smell of rot had yet to seep into the walls, the scene was horrific enough. Bodies, mutilated beyond true recognition. They were strewn around the room, some headless with others carved completely open with their vital organs strung out on the floor like party streamers next to them. But it's the select few missing both heads and organs that are the worst. They no longer resemble anything mortal, anything that once was alive. And the blood. Its scent was everywhere, stinging Julia's nose and sending her stomach rolling. She is all at once revolted and heartbroken by the scene in front of her. 

Her empty hand goes to cover Haming’s eyes. His own covers her hand on his face and he’s shaking again. 

“By the Gods.” 

“This . . . this couldn’t have been either side.” No. No, it couldn’t have. Corpses dressed in the uniforms of both sides have been desecrated. Or killed mercilessly. Gunnar shakes his head at it all. Hadvar’s hand goes to his sword, and Ralof readies his axe.

Julia gags and lifts Haming once more, tucking his head into her shoulder. “Don’t look until I say it’s okay.” Haming nods. She won’t let him see more of this. She doesn’t want to see more of this, but carrying him will be safer for the both of them. 

They move through the room, and the two soldiers take point. Everyone’s eyes search corners for whoever, whatever, did this, but find nothing. It’s as they move through that Julia sees where the heads have been put. For most of them at least, the number still isn’t enough for the amount of bodies left behind. The ones left behind had been laid in a line near the exit of the large room.

They come to a drawbridge that had been pulled down, blood shining on the lever that controls the mechanism, and cross further into the cave. The blood trail is no more, and once they move down the steps into the cave, Julia feels comfortable enough to let Haming down. She wants to be able to at least throw a spell if they come across their fellow survivor. And she hopes that there are survivors beyond them. And that they’d kept moving instead of staying behind to prey on more stragglers. 

Haming’s face is pale, so she makes him drink more water as they walk. She knows why he looks paler, she probably looked the same. But she wants him healthy as possible. Color soon returns to his face as they walk. No one seems to be able to find something to say, though Gunnar opens his mouth at one point to try and that means more to her than anything. 

As they move through the cave, signs of more potential survivors show themselves. No more blood trails, for which she is thankful. Hadvar stops at a letter left behind with the Imperial seal. He reads it but does not share its contents. Understandable. And good. Others have seen the horrors, and others made it out. The more souls that make it out, the better. 

They can tell that whoever handled the spiders was the same person who’d made themselves known in the cave. Haming and her walk faster through that room. 

The dead bear is really what gives Julia hope that others made it out. Beyond the stranger at least. While it’s dead, it doesn’t seem to have been brought down maliciously. And its guts haven’t been ripped out. It’s a good sign. Which feels worse in a way. 

“Good thing we didn’t have to sneak past that. I don’t know if we’d have been able to stay quiet enough.” Ah. Ralof is the one to finally break the silence. Good. 

Hadvar scoffs. “We could’ve handled it.” 

“Yes, but would you have wanted to after all this?” 

“Good point.” Hadvar’s face seems lighter now. Ralof’s too. 

“And hey! It means that others got out. Just, in front of us,” Haming pipes up. 

“Also a good point. Well done, Haming.” She ruffles his hair again, and the boy relaxes. Good.

The exit to the cave comes quickly after that, the dead bear seeming to give everyone the push to keep going at a faster pace. The light is nearly blinding as they exit through, but the Skyrim air feels refreshing. And then the sound comes again. And the dragon flies over. 

Julia pulls Haming down and covers his body with her own, pushing them as close to the ground as she can. Ralof and Hadvar both ready their stances for a fight and Gunnar joins her shielding Haming. She throws up a ward, hoping that it’d be enough to protect them from any fire that may rain from above. 

“Wait!” Ralof’s voice pulls her attention back to the sky and she sees what he does. “There he goes.”

Hadvar breathes out a sigh of relief. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time.” Julia drops her ward and lets Haming up. He clutches at her, fear clear on his soot-stained face but they disappear as the dragon shrinks across the sky. She sends a silent prayer for those who resided wherever it went next. “But I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back.”

Julia nods, “Alright, where’s best to head from here?”

“Well, I know where the boy’s grandfather lives and can get him there safely,” Gunnar says, trying to catch his breath.

“We should probably split up here. Safer that way. And I know Froki. He lives in the opposite direction than I was planning on.” Hadvar wouldn’t look at her.

Ralof nods and meets Julia’s eyes. “My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood. She’d help us out. I’m assuming that Hadvar will want to head that way too. His uncle is the blacksmith.”

“That was my plan.”

Her eyes turn to Haming. He needs to be safe, and she needs to let more people know what happened to Helgen. He looks up at her, and she sees the realization in his eyes too. She doesn’t want to leave him, but she doesn’t know where to take him like Gunnar does. She doesn’t know Skyrim well enough. And what would happen when she found his grandfather? It’s not like he would let her stay, so they would need to say goodbye eventually. Here might be the best time. She’d do her best to help others with the dragons, and he’d be safe.

Julia brings herself down to look Haming in the eyes on his level. “I need to go with Hadvar and Ralof.” Haming nods. “And Gunnar is going to take you to your grandfather.” He nods again, but tears prick at his eyes. They threaten to fall from hers as well. “They’ll make sure you’re safe though, okay? And I will do my best to ensure this doesn’t happen again.” 

“Promise?”

“Yeah, Haming. I promise.”

He nods. And his voice gets quiet again. “Will you write to me?”

Julia’s heart shatters. “Yes! Yes. Once you get to your grandfather's, and if he’s okay with it, you can write me anytime and I’ll respond. Okay?” It was more than she’d ever gotten from the village she’d left when she was his age. “Just, use my middle name instead. That’ll be safer. Can you remember to do that? To write to Kynadora Lastblood?” 

“I can do that!”

“Alright. Then I will write back as soon as I receive your letter. You go be safe now, okay?”

“You too, Julia.” She nods. She can’t promise that though. At least not now. 

He smiles for the first time since she’s lifted him, and something in her stitches itself back together. They all walk together to the road and separate at the junction, Julia watches Haming and Gunnar walk away until they crest a hill, disappearing from her sight. 

As they turn towards their path, Julia’s eyes catch on a signpost, pointing them towards Riverwood. A hawk sits on it. Likely looking for little prey to catch and eat. She feels bad for disturbing the poor thing when they draw closer and it takes off somewhere else. 

Hadvar taps her shoulder, “It’ll be around two days before we arrive in Riverwood. Shouldn’t be too bad of a walk though.”

“Alright. Let’s get going then.” Julia’s voice is sure, far more than she feels. 

They travel silently down the road for a bit before Ralof points to the mountains across from them. “See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow.” He sighs, as if remembering a different time, before continuing, “I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place. I guess you get used to it.” 

“When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing.” Hadvar’s face scrunches. “I admit, I still don’t much like the look of it.” 

Julia laughs, “Well, there’s something you two can agree on, then! That and our need to get to Riverwood.”

Ralof looks to Hadvar. “I suppose.” Hadvar nods. 

Right. That was awkward. Think. “There were a few Ayleid ruins near Skingrad. Once, my uncle took me to Kvatch and we had to pass by a massive one. I was afraid that necromancers or zombies would come and attack the carriage. Later, some researchers passed through on their way to study the ruin and I talked to one about it. Never understood it.”

“What happened to them?” 

“They were killed. Necromancers.”

Ralof tilts his head back and forth. “Well. Little you wasn’t too far off, then, were you?” 

“I suppose not. It was an unfortunate incident, though. Didn’t take too long for the ruins to be cleared out after that.”

“Soldiers?”

Julia shook her head. “No. A mercenary hired by one of the families. A few of the guards went with them though.” 

The other two leave that hanging in the air, and the trio continues down the path. The stone is solid beneath her feet, and the need to get to Riverwood pushes any tiredness away from completely taking over her limbs. 

It’s Hadvar who stops them next at the foot of a platform with three stone pillars on it. “These are the Guardian Stones,” he explains to Julia, “three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape. Go ahead, see for yourself.” 

Julia walks up to the platform and looks at each of them. Thief. Mage. Warrior. Were the thirteen stones all the birth signs? If they were, she didn’t see hers here. So what might help the most going forward? While Baura had ensured that Julia could sneak around, it was never what she was best at. She could see how a blessing that might help with her sword work would help, but ultimately she walked up to the mage stone. She was a healer. Anything that could help her with her alchemy or restoration would be appreciated. She approached it and rested her hand gently on the front of the stone. She was entranced as the lights danced around and shot off into the sky. She didn’t feel any different, but blessings like this often appeared in the most unlikely of ways. 

“Mage, eh? Well, to each their own. It’s not for me to judge.” Julia turns back to Hadvar as the words leave his mouth.

“She’s a healer, Hadvar. Mage makes sense. Come on, Julia. We should keep going.” Julia laughs and follows after the two of them, shaking her head. 

Conversation flows easily between the three after that. Which is nice, she couldn’t imagine this journey with Helgen looming over them without a slight reprieve. They jump through topics ranging from more about Skingrad and Riverwood to healing to Helgen itself. 

When night falls, the three of them all shove themselves into Julia’s tent. None of them sleep much, but the few hours they manage help to push them through the next day and into the next night. The next day manages to remain much the same as the day before. They sleep again, and Hadvar tells her that they should reach Riverwood around nightfall. 

It isn’t until they get closer to Riverwood that anything major changes. Ralof sees a figure approaching them before either Julia or Hadvar does. Once she sees them though, it’s clear what they are. Bandit. Strange that it’s only one, but they are near a forest. Any number of them could pop out at them. They let him approach and he smiles once he gets close enough. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? A Stormcloak, an Imperial soldier, and a . . .” He looked directly at her and furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, what are you?” He shakes himself out of his confusion and settles his features. “Doesn’t matter. You have money. Rob ‘em, boys!”

Julia sends a shock spell to his chest that down him before either Hadvar or Ralof have their weapons drawn and before the rest of the bandits descend from their right. She pulls her own sword, and between the three of them, the rest of the group is finished off quickly. 

She raises a hand to heal a blow to Ralof’s upper arm. “Is this a big problem around here?”

Hadvar tilts his head back and forth. “Sometimes? It’s gotten worse since the beginning of the war.” 

“Right now the Jarl’s men have more problems than bandits on the road.” Ralof rolls his shoulder when she’s done. “Jarl Balgruuf hasn’t publicly declared for either side.” 

“It’ll be worse in a bit, you know. With the dragon.” Dragons? Was it possible that more would follow the one in Helgen?

“Yeah. Let’s hope it doesn’t get too bad.”

They continue on again, and as Hadvar predicted, they arrive in Riverwood as night falls. When the gates come into view, Hadvar turns to her and Ralof. “It’s probably best that I leave you here. Too many questions otherwise.” He looks Julia in her eyes as he continues. “Listen, as far as I’m concerned you’ve already earned your pardon, but until we can get that confirmed by General Tullius, it may be best for you to stay out of sight. But, thank you. I don’t know if I’d have made it out without you.” Julia smiles and waves at him, and Hadvar walks to the gates. 

Julia turns to Ralof, “It might be best for me to start introducing myself as Kynadora moving forward. Avoid using the name currently associated with an execution and all.”

He laughs. “That’s fair. Just remember, this isn’t Stormcloak territory either. If we’re ahead of the news from Helgen, we should be fine as long as we don’t do anything stupid.” They walk forward to the gates. “If we run into any Imperials beside Hadvar, just let me do the talking, alright?” Julia nods. “And it looks like nobody here knows what happened yet. Come on. Gerdur’s probably working at her lumber mill.”

Ralof knows the path well as he leads them across a small bridge to the mill. She clocks who Gerdur is even before Ralof calls out to her. She holds back a bit, allowing the siblings to reunite. She waves when Gerdur meets her eyes. 

“Are you hurt? What’s happened? And who’s this? One of your comrades?”

Ralof laughs. “Not a comrade, but a friend.” Ralof rests his hand on her shoulder and guides her over to his sister. “I owe her my life.” Julia screws up her face at that but doesn’t argue. Arguing over the semantics of who saved who could come later when they were out of the public eye. “Is there somewhere we can talk? There’s no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials.” 

“Helgen? Has something happened?” Gerdur’s demeanor changes immediately from that of a concerned sister to something akin to a commanding officer. “You’re right. Follow me.” Gerdur grabs both of them by the hand and leads them through the mill yard back towards the town. “Hod! Finish up and come home. I need your help with something.”

Julia hears Hod see them and agree to get home quickly but does not see him herself. She does see the very excited boy running up to his uncle. “Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you truly know Ulfric Stormcloak?” Julia smiles and waves at the boy when he finally registers her as part of the group that Gerdur is leading by hand. “Who’s this?”

“Hush, Frodnar. This is no time for your games. Go and watch the South Road while I get your uncle and his friend settled. Come find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming.”

“Aw, Mama, I wanna stay and talk with Uncle Ralof!”

“Look at you, almost a grown man! Won’t be very long before you’ll be joining the fight yourself.” Julia hopes that the war is over long before any child can join in. But Ralof’s words are enough to get Frodnar running off to watch the road like his mother asked. Gerdur leads them into a pretty house at the edge of the town, closing the door behind them with a soft thud. She ushers the two of them into chairs by the fire, shoving two tankards of water at them.

“Now Ralof, what’s going on? You two look pretty done in.” An understatement, but yeah. 

Ralof sighs, settling into the chair and downing the tankard of water. “Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing, which is where they must have gotten a bit lost and grabbed our friend here. It was like they knew exactly where we’d be,” he frowns, shaking his head. “That was a few days ago, now.” He takes in a large breath, tracing the rim of the tankard. “We stopped in Helgen a bit later, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.”

Julia sees real fear light in Gerdur’s eyes. She was close to losing her brother. Would Hadvar have been the one to deliver the news? Would anyone have delivered the news? “The cowards.”

“They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would’ve seen the truth then.” It certainly would’ve martyred the Jarl. “But then, out of nowhere, a dragon attacked!”

“You don’t mean a real, live–”

“I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there!” Ralof said. Julia still couldn’t believe it, and she’d been there. On her knees waiting for the axe to fall. “As strange as it sounds, we’d be dead if not for the dragon.” But so many more perished because of it. “In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?”

“Nobody else has come up the South Road today, as far as I know.” Ah, so Hadvar had managed to sneak in without anyone noticing. 

Ralof meets Julia’s eyes and nods. “Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but–”

“Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials.” Gerdur turns to face Julia. “Any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Stay as long as you need. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know. How about we get you into the bath while Ralof and I talk and I make some dinner for the both of you?”

That all sounded fantastic. “Yes! Thank you so much for all your help, Gerdur. I promise to be out of your hair quickly.”

“Don’t worry about it, can I ask your name though?”

Right. Ralof hadn’t introduced her. “Julia. But if any guards come asking around, maybe use Kynadora?”

“Of course. Now, let's get some of that soot off of you.”

Gerdur helps her fill up the bath and seems impressed by her use of a flames spell to heat the water faster. Julia scrubs at her skin as much as she can, but she doubts that the ashes of Helgen will ever truly feel gone. It is nice to wash through her hair when she pulls it down from her braided bun. The water is filthy when she rises and dries off. After she drains it, she throws on one of her nightgowns and a dressing gown on top of it. Her armor would need a good cleaning before she felt comfortable enough to pull it back on. 

She returns up the stairs to Ralof finishing off his meal, and her own sitting on the table next to him. “I can do what I did to heat the water faster?” she offers, thinking he’d want a bath now, too.

“That’d be much appreciated, friend.”

After she helps him, she returns to the table and sits with Gerdur as she devours the meal that was set down for her. Apple cabbage stew never tasted this wonderful before. “It’s really good. Thank you for all of your help today, Gerdur.”

“I should be thanking you. It’s a good thing my brother found you in all that chaos.”

“Well, I doubt that I would have gotten out without his help either. I had a pretty bad head wound when we arrived in Helgen, and I doubt that I would’ve been able to move out of the courtyard fast enough without his help.”

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I have to ask if you’d be willing to do something for me though.”

“Of course! How can I help you?”

“It’s really for all of us here in Riverwood. The Jarl needs to know that there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless,” Gerdur looks over to her sleeping son. “We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you’ll do that for me, I’ll be in your debt.”

“Don’t even worry about a debt, Gerdur. I’d be happy to help! I made a promise to try and help with this crisis anyhow, I’ll just consider this to be my first step to fulfilling it.”

Ralof returns to the table as Julia uses the last of her bread to sop up the remnants of the stew, wearing what must be an extra pair of his brother-in-law's sleep clothes, exhaustion clear on his face. They all sit and talk a bit more, Hod asking questions about the dragon and Gerdur asking about Julia’s magic and life as a healer. During a stall in the conversation, a knock comes from the door. Gerdur looks at her and Ralof and motions for them to sit behind the counter in their home as she rises to answer the door. They hear a short back and forth that Julia can’t quite make the words out to before Gerdur allows the figure to enter. 

“You two can come out. This is Alvor, our blacksmith. He wanted to speak with Julia and has promised not to make any trouble.” Julia rises from the ground, facing the taller man. 

“Hi.”

“Hello. My nephew, Hadvar, mentioned you might be here. And that you might help me out with something?”

“I might be able to, yes. Can I ask what you need?”

“The Jarl needs to know–”

Gerdur interrupts him, “That there’s a dragon on the loose? Alvor, I’ve already asked this of her.”

“You did?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“No, no I should’ve known.” The blacksmith sighs, “I’m sorry to have bothered all of you.”

“It’s alright. Did Hadvar want to tag along? I wasn’t planning on leaving until the morning.”

Alvor’s expression drops from neutral, “I’m sorry, lass. He’s already back on the road to Solitude.”

“Oh,” Ralof beats her to a sound of disappointment. 

Alvor seems surprised for a moment, but then not at all. “Well. I’ll let you all back to your evening then. Thank you.” After he leaves, Hod pulls out two extra cots for them and places them near the fire. It’s far more comfortable than the cold floor, and so Julia falls into a restless sleep quicker than normal. 

When she wakes, Gerdur already has breakfast on the table. “Hod can do without me for one morning. Even if he has to drag Sven out from wherever he might have slept last night off.”

“I appreciate it. You didn’t need to do this.”

“Like I said, I’m happy to help. Especially since you’re paying this town back tenfold.”

Julia looks to the empty cot next to hers, and Gerdur’s face drops in her periphery. “He already left, didn’t he?”

“He did. I’m sorry, I told him to wait or to even go with you, but he was adamant on returning to Windhelm as fast as he could.”

Disappointing. Julia wouldn’t admit it aloud, but when Gerdur had made her request, she’d hoped that Ralof and Hadvar might join her. Maybe help her to figure out where the dragon had come from. But the war came first apparently. “It’s okay. Expected it a bit.” Or not at all. But it’s fine.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course!” Julia would be an open book for the kind woman–well, she would be as open as she could without mentioning anything that might bring more trouble to them later. 

“You’re from Cyrodiil, right?”

Julia furrows her brows. Not a question she expected. “I am. I spent most of my years in Skingrad.”

Gerdur averts her gaze for a moment, looking to the door. “Are you going to fight with them?”

“I am not.” Gerdur nods, and they continue as if the exchange didn’t happen. Julia understands. Helping the enemy, even if they saved your brother, would be upsetting. 

After breakfast, Gerdur points her towards the local general store to replenish her supplies but not before packing her enough food for the walk to Whiterun. She also supplies a letter to hand off to the Jarl if it became necessary. 

At the store, she agrees to head to Bleak Falls Barrow to reclaim the owner’s stolen claw in return for more direct instructions to Whiterun. She pays for a new map and journal while replenishing her potions supply and exits. As she does, Alvor meets her eyes from across the street. She nods, and he returns the gesture. The woman sweeping the front of the house doesn’t seem happy with the exchange, but the girl sitting on the stoop waves. Julia smiles at her. 

It isn’t until she crosses the bridge that the sadness sits in. It feels wrong to be embarking on this quest without Hadvar and Ralof, but they’d made their decision. And so onward she goes.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

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[elder-dragon-reposes]

Kynadora- The Wheel Turns, Chapter 1

Summary: Julia Kynadora Lastblood had only intended to come to Skyrim as a healer and help whoever she could. Instead, she finds herself front and center in the Dragon Crisis and being drawn into the Civil War. Between that and trying to find her place in Skyrim while still managing to do what she came to Skyrim for originally, the internal turmoil she’s been struggling with since her childhood becoming worse shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Being Dragonborn certainly is though.

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've been working on getting this out for a bit now and Chapter 1 is now ready to post. I'd really like to thank @nerevar-quote-and-star for all the support as well as for acting as a beta reader for me!

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The first thing that her mind can register is the sounds of nature and the roll of a cart along a bumpy stone road. One hard bump along the road shoots pain through her head and shoulders, forcing her eyes open, and yet not a sound of pain out of her. The pain subsided slightly, but she could still feel her head throb and her eyes still took a moment to go from still seeing black to seeing only in a fuzzy haze, to finally allowing her to see the world around her enough to make out the details of the world around her. The first thing her eyes truly notice is the landscape around her, mountains and snow, and nothing familiar to her. The second thing is the blond man sitting on the cart before her. His focus is somewhere off in the distance, and his attention doesn’t shift until another bump of the cart causes her to hiss in pain. 

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” She nods, which her body registers as a mistake for her as soon as she follows through with the motion. Her head throbs in pain again harshly, before slowly easing off into something more manageable. It gives her the confidence to finally pull herself up into a sitting position so that the harsh bumps of the road don’t dig into her neck and bother her injury. Injuries? She’s not quite sure of what exactly is wrong with her yet. “You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

It was too much information all at once. Imperial ambush? Thief? The blond man’s armor wasn’t the type that just any bandit would wear. Or just any mercenary. And as she looked around, others in the carts in front of them wore similar garb. Why would the Imperials have ambushed them? And how did she get in the middle of it? She tried to focus on the questions, looking for the answers in her mind, but the memories surrounding the event weren’t coming to her. But it was causing more hurt. The blond’s eyes softened, a concern dancing across his features and she wished that it didn’t hurt a bit more than the physical pain dancing around her. 

“Damn, you Stormcloaks.” She knew that name. How? Wait. Stormcloaks. The Civil War that had broken out in Skyrim months ago. The thing that she’d sworn to her uncle that she would avoid to the best of her abilities. That she of course had already gotten caught up in. 

Wait. Where was she? She’d been heading towards a town, tiredness had been seeping into her bones and she’d been excited to finally be in Skyrim. Then noises of distress, and she’d gone to help and the world had gone dark. Her attention drifts from the conversation and onto the world around them. Things looked familiar and yet not. She didn’t know Skyrim well enough to try and even attempt to figure out where she was. 

A gentle wind pushes through and her shoulders settle in a way. She’d still done it. Even if she had no idea where she was right now. She’d crossed the border into Skyrim. This was still it, the place that she’d wanted to see since she was a child and her father had told her stories that had been passed to him from his father. She was the first of her line to be in Skyrim since her great-grandfather had left for Cyrodiil. It was still more beautiful than she’d expected it to be, and she’d been expecting so much. 

Her study and focus on the landscape rolling past them was interrupted by the man sitting on the left side of the blond calling out to her, dragging her attention back to the people sharing the cart with her. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.” That was true enough. She’d never done anything herself to warrant being arrested, no matter what the Empire and the Thalmor said about her family history. And she’d never left Cyrodiil until now. So it wasn’t even possible for her to be a Stormcloak, or really any other manner of criminal in Skyrim. 

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” Unfortunately, also true. After all, the fact that she was also currently a prisoner of the Empire would be why she couldn’t heal her head wound, and whatever else was wrong with her, the binds blocked magicka to try and circumvent any potential escapees. Or property damage. After all, a mage who doesn’t know anything beyond flames is just as dangerous as a mage who knows many spells beyond conjuring fire. Sometimes more if they couldn’t control the flames beyond conjuring them up. From what she could tell though, she seemed to still have her armor on. Her hood was missing and so was her pack and sword, but the rest of her armor seemed to still be attached to her. 

As the dark-haired man was about to respond, the soldier driving the cart turned around and smacked the wood of the cart. “Shut up back there!” He turned back to the road, and the two men looked at one another before choosing to look away completely. Her own eyes drifted to the blond and then to the landscape around her. 

The dark-haired man was ultimately the one to break the silence once more after their shared moment of silence. “And what’s wrong with him?” Her brows furrow and she turns her head as far as it will go without another shot of pain to her right. Finally noticing the man who had been sitting there this whole time and whose eyes had been on her for who knew how long. He was gagged and wearing a level of finery that no one else she’d seen was. He wasn’t a normal prisoner, and a hint of danger settled in her chest. 

“Watch your tongue!” The blond man’s temper pulled her attention away from the gagged man, a shock as he had been nothing but calm in the minutes she’d been lucid enough to take note of what was around her. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.” Her heart dropped. He really wasn’t a normal prisoner. This wasn’t a normal group of prisoners being transported Stuhn knows where. The dark-haired man seemed to be catching up to her thoughts as his next words registered in her pounding skull. Where were they taking them? Once more the conversation in the cart stalled. The blond mentioned Sovngarde, and all her focus went there for a moment. Had she earned a place there? Earned the ability to see her father again? Or would she join her mother in Aetherius, with the rest of her Imperial ancestors?

This time, it’s the blond who drags her out of her thoughts. He speaks softly once more, the anger he’d held before having dissipated. “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?” 

“Why do you care?” The thief’s hands were shaking, and when she looked down at her own for a moment she saw that her own were as well. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and her head hurt more from the accidental clenching and grinding of her jaw joining the head wound. 

The blonde looks ahead for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing down the path of discussion he wished to. “A Nord’s last thoughts-” his eyes drift to her and he seems to correct himself, “anyone’s last thoughts should be of home.” He was right of course. She thought of many things. Of the castle and shops of Skingrad that she’d grown up in and around. Of rolling hills and smiling faces that she’d left behind. And of the little home in Rivercrest that she’d grown up in. The home that no longer existed, but lived on in memories. She wished that she might have seen the town once more before now though. 

The thief’s own eyes glazed over for a moment, his focus far away from this cart and the road beneath it. Likely on what he had left behind for this potential fate too. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.” She heard of that village. She wasn’t sure where, but she’d heard of it. A song perhaps? One her father had sung? The blond nods and his attention turns back to her. 

“And you?” His eyes are tired and for a moment she’s not quite sure how to answer him when the answer feels so large to such a small question. 

She thinks of kind smiles once more. Of graves that had yet to be dug when she was taken from Rivercrest. Of open arms and strawberry treats. Of friends that she may never see again. She hopes that Baura will not blame herself for whatever may occur at the end of the road that they are all on. And that her uncle wouldn’t cause too much trouble for those responsible. Her voice is rough as she speaks, like when she would get sick as a child. “Skingrad. This is my first time in Skyrim if you’ll believe it.” The soldier driving makes a noise. Of realization or recognition, she couldn’t be sure. The Jarl sitting next to her made one of clear frustration, which drew her eyes back to him. He looked away when they finally landed back on him. 

“Oh. What brought you to Skyrim then?” The blond was good at this. Calming people down and distracting them from their situation. She’d had to do the same for some of her patients and appreciated being on the other side of it for right now.

“I’m a healer. I needed to be out of Cyrodiil for some time, and Skyrim seemed like as good as any place to start helping.” The blond nodded and the man next to her made another muffled noise from behind his gag. She couldn’t decipher what it meant this time though. “And you? Where are you from?”

He seemed to be surprised at the question as if he hadn’t expected another of his cart mates to ask him anything in return. “Riverwood. It’s a small logging town not far from here.” She nods and tries her best to smile reassuringly at him. When this ended, she swore to find her way to Riverwood and find his family. Tell them of his kindness in the face of an upcoming execution. If she herself was not killed as well, that is. 

The conversation stalled once more and with it came the view of a walled town covered in the banners of the Empire. From the view at the top of the hill, she could see homes and what appeared to be a keep. Likely a town that was being used as a command post by the military. It was a good spot, especially since she couldn’t imagine that it was too far from the Pale Pass. At least not if she’d gotten her geographical bearings right. It was especially hard to tell since she wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been out. Hours? Days? It was hard to tell. 

As they passed through the entrance, a soldier shouted out to General Tullius that the headsman was ready and waiting. She’d met him once before now. Her uncle had been called to the Imperial City for some business or another, and he’d been at the gathering. From her view of his back, it didn’t seem that he’d changed that much. She’d spoken to him about something that seemed important at the time but had been ushered away from him by her uncle shortly after. 

The thief begins praying to the Imperial Divines, and she can’t stop herself from sending her own prayers off. She focuses on Kyne and Stuhn. Her action drew the attention of both the blond man and the Jarl. It made sense. She doubted that they’d run into many Imperials that worshiped the Old Nord pantheon. 

It isn’t until the blond mentions the Thalmor that she notices them over by Tullius. A chill runs down her spine, and she tries to control her breathing. Her eyes slam back down to her hands, sending a shock of pain through the area of her head most near them. For a moment she looks to her right and notices that the Jarl’s position now nearly matches hers. 

“This is Helgen.” Her attention is drawn away from her panic, anxiety crawling up her throat, at the sound of his voice once more. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” His distraction works. It gives her more questions though. Was that girl here? Would she watch him lose his head? “Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.” He laughs bitterly. “Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” She wondered what that was like. Even before the killing of her parents, Imperial soldiers and walls had never equaled safety for her. She imagined that that was likely due to how her father had been the one truly caring for Rivercrest though, and not some strange commentary on the failure of the Empire and its soldiers. After all, she’d never really interacted with or seen many before Skingrad. Even though her interactions there didn’t necessarily prove very helpful in giving her a positive view of them. 

She turns as much as she can to get a look at the town. At the very least before this ends, she wants to know the town as well as she can. She watches as a father orders his son inside their home, not wanting him to see the death that the soldiers he seemed fascinated by would be dealing with his own eyes just yet. She respected it. The boy seemed far too young to watch an execution, no matter how his family may feel one way or the other about the Civil War. Death wasn’t something that you could ignore once you’d been confronted with it. And it was hard to forget the memory of the first death, the first body, that you saw. 

The carts all come to a stop and she releases a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. Her heart drops, and nausea rises in her stomach. “Why are they stopping?” The thief’s voice is quiet, and she doubted that she would’ve heard it had it not been for being in such close quarters with him. 

“Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” She prays silently as they begin to stand and move to the edge of the cart. She ignores the exchange between the blond and the thief as she does so, focused on keeping her feet straight. Standing had caused darkness to cloud her vision once more, the wound once more rearing its ugly head. As she made it to the edge, she lost her balance and slipped clumsily off of the cart causing her leg to catch wrong on the cobblestone ground. The soldier who had been driving the cart helped her to her feet, and she walked it off, continuing to where the soldiers were grouping them. 

As she walks, who she assumes is the Captain gives them instructions to step to the block when they hear their name. What was she going to do when they didn’t call it though? Would they finally realize that she didn’t belong here in this group? Or would she be sent to the block anyhow? While wrong, and technically against Imperial law, she didn’t imagine that it would matter much to them. She didn’t trust the Empire to do the “right thing” here. Its citizens didn’t matter quite as much as it pretended that they did. 

Darkness clouds her vision once more as she comes to a stop, and she has to put more weight on one leg over the other to prevent her legs from buckling underneath her. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” The Jarl stalks off to the block, making more muffled sounds from behind the gag. 

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” The blond’s voice is sure in this. The Empire could say a lot of things about the Stormcloaks, but the idea that they weren’t loyal to him would be a complete lie. 

The soldier holding the list continues, “Ralof of Riverwood.” The blond walks off to the block with that and a look to the list maker. Or Ralof. Ralof walks off to the block. He was sure in his steps, and she couldn’t help but admire him for his confidence, even as he walked to his death. 

As the soldier moves on, a look thrown at Ralof’s back, the thief –Lokir– bolts upon his name being called. “Halt!” calls the Captain, but he keeps going. She calls for the archers, and he is downed nearly as quickly as he took off running. “Anyone else feel like running?” The Baura that lives in her mind says yes. 

“Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?” She wasn’t on the list. She was expecting this, but something about it still felt strange. The fact that they’d just loaded her up with the rest of the prisoners, though she’d had her armor donned. And it certainly didn’t look like the Stormcloak’s armor or the Empire’s armor. 

She remembers her uncle’s words. Hold your head high and look them in the eye when you introduce yourself. You have reason to be proud of your name. Your heritage. “Julia Lastblood. Of Skingrad.” If the soldier could look more confused, he likely would. She’d gotten many weird looks over the years as an Imperial with Nord’s surname.

He turns, “Captain, what do we do? She’s not on the list?” Here it was. A moment of truth for the place she’d lived all her life. Would she be sent to the block? Killed mercilessly like her parents? Or be spared

“Forget the list. She goes to the block.” Disappointed, but not surprised. Julia had known that this was a possibility from the very beginning, but the venom in the Captain’s voice drove the dagger of betrayal deeper into her heart. 

The soldier seems surprised though, then disappointed that he will have to follow those orders. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Skingrad.” Hopefully, they would go to Rivercrest after. She liked the idea of being buried next to her parents, even if she would only see one of them in the afterlife. Whichever one she was going to.

As she walks to the block, she prays under her breath. All of the gods her father taught her to worship, from Kyne and the Hearth gods to the Dead ones and even to Alduin. Praying that the world’s end would come far in the future, in the hopes that her family that she had left behind would have long lives after her. She stands by the other prisoners and meets Ralof’s eyes. There is anger there that she hopes will disappear before his head is removed. 

Tullius addresses the leader of the rebellion, trying and succeeding at making himself look taller while he does so. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Stormcloak grunts in protest, but the gag does not let him get out whatever words would be his last. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.” Julia would laugh if it weren’t for the circumstances. She’d been born after the Great War, and Cyrodiil had never been peaceful in her lifetime. Besides, they may as well be declaring Ulfric a martyr themselves. 

Whatever Stormcloak was going to grunt in response was interrupted by a sound coming from the mountains above them. A screech. It felt wrong in a way. Like something had broken. Had torn. “What was that?” The soldier’s words echoed her thoughts. What kind of creature could sound like that? It had to be large. She didn’t know enough of the creatures in Skyrim to make a guess though. 

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” Tullius’ voice brings her eyes back down from the mountains, and back to the Headsman’s block. Back to her execution, and not the mystery that was above them. 

The Captain calls for the Priestess to begin her prayer, and Julia prays soundlessly once more. For herself? For those she loves? She’s not quite sure anymore. One of the Stormcloaks walks forward, interrupting both prayers. “For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with.” She could respect that. They hadn’t been allowed their complete last rites, though she doubted that they would be executed twice if one of them had prayed to Talos. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” She knew that she was likely not included in that sentiment, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Could she?

After the headsman’s axe falls, some of the bystanders made their thoughts known; there were those calling him traitor, and those like Ralof that called him fearless. “Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!” The renegade? The renegade? Julia doubted that anyone had ever referred to her as such, and it distracted her from the situation for a moment. It is interrupted once more though. The sound comes from the mountainside once more. But closer. It was louder. Whatever was making that sound was coming closer to Helgen. The soldier once more draws attention to it, but the Captain calls her forward. 

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.” She moves forward, and Ralof once more meets her eyes. As she lowers herself down, her vision darkens once more. The leg she’d landed on ached as well. Neither pain would last much longer though. She closes her eyes as she sets her head on the block, and tries to empty her mind of every thought that was running through it. 

Before the axe could fall and connect with her neck, the execution falls into chaos. A large, black creature lands on the tower that looms above her. It seemingly called down a storm of fire and meteors from the heavens, hitting the ground and the people around them. One of them hits the headsman, and another lands next to the block, causing it to rise and knock her on the head. She rolls off of it and regrets the movement. Her head screams in pain and it takes her a moment to orient herself. 

“Hey, you! Julia! Get up! Come one, the gods won’t give us another chance!” Ralof was suddenly by her side, leading her into another tower across from the one that the dragon had landed on. Her ears ring, and it makes it hard to hear the chaos around them as they rush in, Stormcloak closing the heavy door behind them. “Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?” 

“Legends don’t burn down villages. We need to move, now!” As they discuss the plans moving forward, one of the soldiers comes up and cuts the binds holding Julia’s hands. As the binds break and fall to the ground, she can feel her Magicka regenerate and flood her body. Thanking the soldier, her hands raised to her head, and she cast a simple healing spell on the source of her head wound. As the spell worked itself, the world stopped spinning around her and the ringing in her ears halted. She blinked and looked around the entrance room of the tower that they’d entered. 

Her eyes landed on two of the soldiers lying injured on the ground and she made her way over to them. As they argued about the next steps, Julia could help here. Her bag had been taken, so she didn’t have any healing potions she could supply, but she could use her magic to help them get back on their feet for the time being. 

The same soldier that had cut her binds came up to her with scavenged bandages and other supplies, and assisted her in applying them to the injured. It would be nice not to have to drain her Magicka completely while trying to help, especially since they may need to throw spells at the thing flying around the skies. The dragon? It was a terrifying thought. Julia pushed it to the back of her mind, she could follow that thought process later when everyone was out of immediate danger. 

Almost as if she’d summoned the thing, the ground shook and they could hear another one of the spine-chilling sounds coming from what felt like every direction. Ralof looked around the tower, panic clear on his face. Even after his outburst earlier, it was the least calm that she’d seen him through this whole ordeal. His eyes landed on her for a moment and his brows furled as he took in what she was doing. 

His attention went to the stairs and several emotions crossed his face. “Up through the tower! Let’s go! This way, Julia! Move!” The soldier and her helped the injured to their feet and began making their way up the stairs. Before they reached them though, her place was taken by one of their fellow Stormcloaks and she made her way to Ralof’s side. 

“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!” Ralof and her rushed forward up the stairs to try and help, but they were interrupted by something crashing through the wall. The rocks that came down crushed the soldier, and the dragon’s face came into the tower through the hole that it’d created. 

Julia could barely hear Ralof over the sound of outside and the dragon seemed to speak, and then fire rained from its mouth. “Get back!” She threw up a ward just in time, shielding them as best she could, but they could still feel the heat coming from the fire it spat. It flew off nearly as quickly as it came. Ralof looked at her and a small smile came to his face. “Thank you.”

She claps his shoulder, returning his smile. “Of course.” They made their way to the hole in the wall, looking down at the town surrounding the foot of the tower and the destruction that had been waged on top of it. She turns to Ralof for whatever step he felt was best to take next. 

“See the inn on the other side?” She could, it would be quite a drop, but they could make it. “Jump through the roof and keep going!” Julia turned to Ralof and shook her head. She wasn’t just going to leave them. Not when they’d helped her. “Go! We’ll follow you when we can!” He nearly pushed her through the hole in the stone wall, but she jumped before he could. 

She rolls as she hits the floor of the top floor and looks back up at the tower. Fire and smoke obscure her view of where she has jumped from, and she waits for the next person to come crashing through into the building next to her. They do not come, and the ground shakes the building in a way that demands her to keep going. They’ll follow when they can. Ralof promised. The least she can do is try to make sure that the path is safe for them too. 

Julia climbs down the building through the large hole in the floor and exits it out the hole in the siding of the building. She takes in her surroundings, the destruction of Helgen had been hard and fast even with soldiers trying to kill the thing flying through the air and raining fire and meteors and other hell down on them from the heavens. A screech coming from the sky pushes her forward through the destruction. 

As the smoke grows thicker and thicker, she can only hope that she’s moving forward and not back towards the tower that she’d jumped from. Can only hope that she won’t come across the dragon as it swoops through the town raining down destruction. 

“Haming! Haming!” Voices flicker louder and louder as she moves ever closer, and the scene that unfolds from the smoke as she does makes her heart stop in her chest. The child she’d seen earlier speaking with his father was standing over what she could only assume was his father, clearly frozen in fear. The dragon’s shadow comes overhead, and Julia acts before she can even think to, running for the child and grabbing him into her arms in just enough time for the beast to land in front of them. 

Her eyes meet the dragon’s, and a shiver runs down her spine. The red of its eyes feeling like death had come for them all. And it might have. She runs with the boy, crying now into her neck, throwing up another ward just in time for the dragon to throw more fire at them. Arms grab her, pulling her behind a destroyed building, and she drops the ward once the dragon takes off again. 

“Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want it to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy.” She nearly drops the boy as he shakes. 

“No! I wanna stay with you!” The boy, Haming her mind supplies, clutches her shoulders tighter in a way that she can’t be good for his hands pushing into the metal of her armor. 

“It might be best for us to stay together. At least until we can find somewhere safer.” The man who’d been crouched in the corner, Gunnar nods and gets up to follow along. 

The list maker sighs, looking at the three of them, and turns to look where the dragon has left behind. “Alright. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense. You can figure out where best to go after that.” Julia nods and pats the poor boy on the back. She focuses on shielding his face from the corpse of his father as they pass. He’d seen enough of it for his lifetime. Aetherius knows that she had at his age. 

Their little group follows after the soldier, taking cover by a wall as the dragon descends again, raining more fire at them. “Quickly! Follow me!” They duck through another destroyed building and come out to where most of the Imperial soldiers must have been firing arrows and spells at the thing as it flew through Helgen. Ahead of them, near the front and center of the fighting is General Tullius. 

“Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving!” For a moment his eyes meet hers and then go to the child she’s carrying and the man following after them. He nods her in that direction too, as if she is one of his soldiers to command and not a woman he’d almost executed mere minutes ago. She follows the command though, following Hadvar through the rubble and into the courtyard of the Keep, eyes scanning for any of the Stormcloaks she’d seen before, hoping that any one of them would appear. And almost as if a prayer had been answered, Ralof appears from the other side.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” The venom in Hadvar’s voice is clear, adding only to what is a small amount of context of their relationship that she can only assume would fill in pages of a book. 

Her friend is quick to return that venom though, “We’re escaping Hadvar! You’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof’s brows furl at her arms holding Haming and over her shoulder where Gunnar is standing. 

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Wait, what does Hadvar mean by that? Splitting up now would mean death for them. She adjusts Haming in her grip, shoving his weight entirely onto one arm. 

“Julia, come on! Into the keep!” They’re both insane. Or stupid. Or both. 

“With me, prisoner! Let’s go! Come on! We need to get inside!” 

“Are you both insane?” Julia’s voice comes out far stronger than she’d thought it would, given the circumstances. “The dragon currently circling above us circumvents the damned war. Get in the keep!” 

She heads for the door to the left of the building that Hadvar had been heading towards, grabbing Ralof’s shoulder with her open hand on the way there. Ralof looks at her confusedly as he opens the door for her, allowing himself to be pushed inside what she can only hope is a safe harbor.  She hears Gunnar chuckle slightly, smoke inhalation making it rougher, and he pushes Hadvar in behind them.

Julia can only hope that getting them to work together becomes easier from here as she hears the large door shut loudly behind them.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

@nerevar-quote-and-star

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Reblog if you think public libraries are important and should be maintained.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

The Very First Night (Spent In Your Arms)

Pairing: Kynadora/Miraak, Pre-Relationship

Summary: A night at Candlehearth Hall has the potential to change everything, but will it?

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46654078

Notes: Thank you to everyone that helped convince me to post this! Let me know if anyone wants to be added to a tag list!

She was going to kill him, and the worst part of it was that he doubted that she was even trying to. This was just her. The small smiles and touches, the way she looked at him to get his opinion about a decision before she made it. But by Aetherius itself did they make his heart flutter when she interacted with him like that. And he sees it with other people, the way that she seems to influence everyone she meets in some life-altering way, and the eyes which follow after her in the same way that he imagines his do. 

Which is exactly why this set of pajamas would actually be what kills him. Not a dragon, not Mora, not anything else. The barely knee-length shift that she is currently wearing to sleep next to him. For the first time. In a completely platonic fashion. May one of the gods choose to strike him down now so that he doesn’t have to accidentally wake up sleeping next to her and confess to something he knows that she would never accept. 

“I can hear you thinking Miraak.” He hopes not. He really, truly hopes that she cannot hear his thoughts at this moment. The wall of blankets and clothes he built wasn’t enough. Would never be enough to make both this moment and the morning less awkward. Less like his heart would beat out from beneath the skin of his chest. 

“Oh, really Little Dovah? What am I thinking of then?” She chuckles and from the sounds that follow flops over onto her back. He held back a gasp as her knee appeared, the material slipping down due to her position. She had too much power over him. She could ask him for anything and the only question he would have for her was about any time constraints. 

“Hmm… clearly you’re thinking about that stew we had for dinner.” Good. She can’t read minds. Yet, a part of his mind supplies. He doesn’t like that part of his mind. That part of his mind is giving him very bad ideas that he should not act out on at this moment in time. Like how nice it would be to lean over the wall he built between them and kiss her. Or just touch her. Her hands were soft. Her lips and skin had to be too. 

No. “Not quite, try again?” She flops more, and then her hand comes over the wall. She invades his side. And grabs his hand. And then pulls it towards her side. This is dangerous. He built the wall to avoid this. But he’s not taking it back now. She can have it as long as she wants it, longer if she’ll allow it. 

A giggle, her voice is soft and something he can only describe as sleepy. Good. She’s never gotten enough sleep as long as he’s known her. “Is it some kind of secret knowledge? Something you’re hiding?” Fuck she’s good. His Little Dovah is dangerous. But her voice is tired. And he can use that.

“Maybe. If you sleep now I’ll tell you about it sometime.” Never. He will never tell her about it. She wouldn’t accept it anyhow, and this way- he can keep her here. Keep her next to him. Touching him. Laughing at him. Shining those flame-blue eyes at him. 

She drops his hand and he almost dies. It lands fairly dramatically on the soft satin that is her slip and he’s almost certain that it’s her stomach, and it takes all of his self-control to pull his hand back over the wall and back to his side. And not further up to rest on her neck or her arms. Fuck he wants her to touch him more. “Fine, you can keep your secrets for now.” Her leg disappears next as she flops back on her side and he only now realizes he’d been staring at it the whole time. 

“Goodnight Little Dovah.” He could get used to saying that, here in her bed. And not at dinner when they say their goodnights. Maybe, maybe, if they both sleep better than they have in most of their lives she’ll agree to do this again. But that’s dangerous, a far smarter side of his brain supplies. She laughs again. 

“Goodnight Miraak.” The magelight spell she cast is dropped, and he is left in the dark. Listening to her breathing as it evens out. Once she is letting out little sounds, so soft, that indicate she’s asleep, he finally closes his eyes and far faster than he has in centuries, falls asleep. 

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Light is shining through the small window and sounds are beginning to come from the upstairs of the inn when Miraak awakens. He’s not used to that, and the pillow he’s on is far softer and more comfortable than he remembers it being. He moves slightly, adjusting to try and begin getting ready for the day when he realizes her arm is around his head. And that his pillow is no pillow. 

His head is on her chest. Fuck. This is what he was trying to avoid. This is a bad idea. His eyes open and look around. The soft light is enough to take in the surroundings and his heart rate picks up when he looks at their legs. At his arms. Her arms. Their legs are entangled. Under the sheets, he can’t quite tell where his legs begin and her legs end. His arms are wrapped around her, and he can’t help but take in just how soft this all feels. It’s almost too much, makes him want to scream. But he can’t. She’s still sleeping. He can hear her heart’s beat from where his head rests and it’s… steady. Lulling him to just go back to sleep. To forget this. He wants to listen, eyes drooping back closed. It can just be a problem for later.

And then she stirs, one of her hands moving from his shoulder and into his hair. She scratches his head, and if he were a cat he was certain he would purr. She adjusts one of her legs, her ankle rubbing against one of his calves and he lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

Her voice is quiet and still sleepy. For a moment he isn’t sure she spoke at all. But she does, “Go back to sleep ‘Raak.” He can do that. Will do that. He falls back under the spell of sleep with her heart under his head, not noticing the sleepy smile that had been plastered on her face. 

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When Kynadora awakens, it's far later in the morning than she is used to. They’re still entangled, legs and arms wrapped around each other and Miraak has returned to his back. The wall is gone, and it seems that both had migrated to the middle of the bed sometime in the night. The sun is shining through the window and she’s surprised that the noise from outside didn’t wake them earlier. Candlehearth Hall had been full of noise last night, and it appeared that it would be full of noise tonight as well. 

She adjusts her head, looking up at his still-sleeping face. She fights the urge to move her hand from his chest to cup his face, the soft smile present on his face making it even harder. His breathing is still steady, and Kynadora could probably fall back to sleep now but she’s far more well-rested than she remembers ever being. And today has to start eventually. Maybe they can not talk about this. And just continue it. Sleep had been rare and hard for her since childhood, but here she was. Well-rested and having slept through the night. 

She’s memorized his face at this point, but this is a version of it that she is not yet used to. There is none of that worry or stress that decorates it on a normal day, no lines on his face from glaring at the world. Part of her misses those eyes on her. They always feel like they’re on her, following after her in a way that causes her face to redden when she catches him watching. His breathing is steady, and if it were not for the fact that they will need to pull themselves from this bed eventually, she would allow those steady breaths to lull her back to sleep. Her heart picks up its pace when he shifts, arms pulling her tighter to his chest. He’s soft and strong and he probably could envelop her in his robes and his arms if he wanted. She wants him to. 

As if he can read that she is thinking of him, Miraak finally stirs, his eyebrows coming together and eyes squeezing tighter. The calmness from his face drops and she wishes she could call it back. Keep him in this place of safety and quiet forever. But that’s just not possible for them. His breathing changes and Kynadora is met with the dark brown of his eyes. They’re an almost inky black, and they are still sleepy-soft. He’s not awake yet, and a plan formulates. The gears of her mind turn, and it might be in a rather dangerous fashion. But she doesn’t think she could survive without waking up like this again. 

“Good morning Miraak.” She has to work quickly. If they don’t talk about it then there can’t be an agreement to find separate beds. So she just won’t. She begins to untangle herself from him, careful not to jostle him too much.

“Good morning?” He sounds confused, still lost to sleep in a way. She’s out from under the covers and adjusts to finish crawling out of bed. Due to her rush, she slips slightly. Her hand catches on Miraak’s thigh and the sharp intake of breath and the way his whole body tenses shocks her so thoroughly she vows never to do it again. Even if it was an accident. She hears him curse under his breath and nearly runs out of the room to change into her day clothes. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Miraak has only just woken and has already gone through more emotions than he did during most of his stay in Apocrypha. And he isn’t quite sure what emotion he’s on right now. Right now his brain was still stuck on the fact that she’d just touched his thigh. Fuck. And then she’d nearly teleported from the room and the bed. Well, at least she didn’t mention the position that they’d woken up in. Again. Memories of the point in the night when he’d awoken come running back.  At least he hadn’t said anything damning. Hadn’t confessed anything that could ruin them, ruin her. His Little Dovah had not mentioned it, and he took that to mean that everything was fine. She’d never avoided speaking if she was uncomfortable before, and he doubted that she would avoid it this time.  Maybe if they continued to not talk about it, they could do it again. Miraak pulled himself out of bed and went to change into his traveling clothes. The road ahead of them was still long, and the bed was cooling. 

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Sun's Dawn - Does your OC have a love interest? What is their relationship like?

First Seed - Does your OC have any enemies or rivals? How did these rivalries start?

Frost Fall - Where is your OC's primary residence? What city is there favourite?

FOR WHATEVER OC OF YOUR CHOOSING :)))

Sun's Dawn

Kynadora’s love interest is Miraak. He and she are a slow burn, and most of their relationship can be defined as a tall, stoic, and strong warrior being brought to his knees by the gentleness he receives from the chronically tired but kind Kynadora.  That is after they get over the main story of the Dragonborn DLC. Baura’s love interest is Brynjolf. By the time we run into the Thieves Guild when Kynadora is tracking down Esbern, they are already together. They get together shortly after Baura returns with Karliah to the Guild, but before Baura, Brynjolf, and Karliah become Nightingales. Lasinia is part of what I will refer to as the Dawnguard Polycule. It includes her, Florentius Baenius, Gunmar, and Sorine Jurard. They all really just want to make each other happy and do so very well. It does however slightly confuse Isran.

First Seed

I’ve already answered this ask for Kynadora, which should be under the ask meme tag. Baura, as part of the Thieves Guild, has a main enemy in the City Guards of Skyrim. Much of the time however if Kynadora or Lasinia (upon their reunions) have enemies they are counted among Baura’s. Them and anyone else who dares to cross her guild. So the Thalmor are part of the list of her enemies twice for what happened to Kynadora and Etienne. The Silver-Bloods of Markarth are also people she tends to anger or rob if possible due to the events of the Forsworn Conspiracy, though she chose to kill Madanach and escape alone. As a follower of Meridia, Lasinia has a distaste for anything undead. Which is what drew her to the Dawnguard originally. She is less likely to go out of her way to fight against her sister and Kynadora’s enemies, but that doesn’t mean that she makes their jobs easier for them either. Harkon’s court is her primary enemy throughout the game, but she does have an interesting rivalry with Janus Hassildor. He is on her “no-kill list”, but that doesn’t mean that they get along at the best of times. She does however respect him for what he has done with his vampirism, especially in comparison to other undead.

Frost Fall

Kynadora owns a lot of properties throughout Skyrim. Her favorites have to be Riftweald Manor, a gift from Baura and the Guild for when she is in Riften, and Myrwatch which I have slightly moved the location of. It is closer to the true middle point between the Throat of the World, Solitude, and Windhelm and makes traveling, especially in the post-game much easier. Her favorite cities are Riften and Solitude but she does quite enjoy spending time in Helgen once she is done with rebuilding it. Windhelm and Whiterun would be higher on the list, but she isn’t as able to escape certain titles and responsibilities as she can in the other three. Baura loves Riften, where she owns two houses. She owns Honeyside as well as Shadowfoot Sanctum. The Sanctum is more of a residence for her to use when she needs to lay low in Riften for a bit longer. Honeyside has her true heart. She is also a Thane of Riften. Lasinia spends much of her time in Fort Dawnguard, but her favorite city is actually Morthal. She owns Windstad Manor there and is a Thane.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Rains Hand and Suns Height for Kynadora please ☺️💙

Rain's Hand

Yes! Kynadora uses magic quite frequently, especially in combat. Her mother had studied with the Mage’s Guild at the Arcane University and while her father was more focused on her martial training, her mother ensured she could use magic to get out of a mess as well. This only became more important to Count Hassildor when he took her under his wing. Her primary focus is in the schools of Destruction and Restoration, though she has some skill in each of the other schools as well. The one that causes her the most difficulty is enchanting, however, and that’s why she doesn’t tend to use enchanted items. Her favorite Destruction spell is Wall of Storms in the base game, but with some of the Creation Club added it’s the Elemental Blast. Her favorite Restoration spells are Grand Healing and Heal Other.

Sun's Height

Kynadora’s favorite shops tend to be the ones in which she has befriended the owners. The one she stops by most to buy new items would be Angeline’s Aromatics, as she regularly likes to check in on her, but also likes to make sure that she is stocked up on Healing and Magicka potions. That’s also what she buys the most of, but she also regularly restocks her lockpicks. Her favorite thing to buy though would be anything sweet from the taverns or any other food vendors. This can include pies, rolls, or candies though it’s easiest for her to keep candy on hand.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Hello friend! Can I get Morning Star for Dora? ❤️

Morning Star

The first thing I gave to Kynadora was a general idea of her. And she has changed a lot. The name itself was a gift from our lovely @nerevar-quote-and-star that she helped me come up with when I told her the general vibes of Kynadora. She was originally meant to be a Nightblade though but has become a lot closer to a Battlemage as time has gone on. Mostly what was important was her connection to Kyne, being half Nord, and being descended from the Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Hey 💕✨ I have three for the TES month ask meme! One for this month, one for your birthday, and one for mine!

First Seed - Does your OC have any enemies or rivals? How did these rivalries start?

Hearthfire - Does your OC have a family (blood or found)? Who are they closest to?

Evening Star - When is your OC's birthday?

All for Kynadora — except the last one is for everyone. We need ALL the birthdays for MAXIMUM party fun! 🥳💖

First Seed

No rivalries, Kynadora is a rather chill character and so anything like that would be one-sided. Elenwen and the Thalmor are definitely her biggest enemies throughout the game and before though. Alduin is an enemy as well, but not on the same level. Harkon wasn’t really her enemy, at least in her mind, he was Serana’s. She very much sees herself as more of a sidekick during the events of Dawnguard. And for the Dragonborn DLC, she makes sure that Hermaus Mora can not come after her and her loved ones. Which includes Miraak eventually. The Thalmor on the other hand very much solidifies that idea of “what do you do when the monster of your childhood follows you into your adulthood” for her. She feared the Thalmor and what they could do as a child, and she fears their power and influence as an adult.

Hearthfire

Yes, Kynadora’s blood family was killed by the Thalmor when she was twelve. Her father had been a Blade (and the main character of Elder Scrolls: Blades) that was eventually found and killed and her mother wasn’t going to let her husband go alone. Her mother had been an Imperial and her father was a Nord. After that, she was sent to Skingraad where the Count (still Janus Hassildor) helped raise her. There, she befriended Baura and her older sister Lasinia. The three of them definitely become her family, and her adventures in Skyrim just bring her more members.

Evening Star

Baura: Born in Evening Star on the 26th, Under the Thief

Lasinia: Born in Last Seed on the 4th, Under the Warrior

Kynadora: Born in Hearthfire on the 5th, Under the Lady

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Elder Scrolls Month Asks

Here are some months themed asks for your OCs :)

Morning Star - What was the first thing you gave your OC? Name, backstory, design, etc

Sun's Dawn - Does your OC have a love interest? What is their relationship like?

First Seed - Does your OC have any enemies or rivals? How did these rivalries start?

Rain's Hand - Can your OC use magic? If so what Schools?

Second Seed - Is your OC an alchemist? What do they excel at making?

Mid Year - Does your OC have a favourite celebration? Do they celebrate holidays?

Sun's Height - What is your OC's favourite shop, in any of the games; what do they buy the most of?

Last Seed - What weapon does your OC use? Who taught them how to use it?

Hearthfire - Does your OC have a family (blood or found)? Who are they closest to?

Frost Fall - Where is your OC's primary residence? What city is there favourite?

Sun's Dusk - Is your OC religious? If so, who do they follow?

Evening Star - When is your OC's birthday?

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Protector

ao3

Author's Note: Dedicated to my dear friend @elder-dragon-reposes 💖

Summary: The Dragonborn is worn thin, but Odahviing will protect her.

(Dovahzuul translations at the bottom)

#######

When she captured him, the first thing he understood about the Dovahkiin was that she was calm. As the joorre of Hofkahsejun yelled and scurried around like rats, she stood against the storm of fire and chaos, watching and waiting. Her crystalline eyes reflected the disorder with clever, quiet cunning. When she spoke, her mortal voice carried all the weight of power found in the Strong Voices of Dov far older than him. Her presence demanded fealty. Castrated before her, Odahviing did not find it difficult to relinquish his service to Alduin Thuri.

He did not pledge himself to her then, but he would.

After her defeat of Alduin in Sovngarde, Odahviing was not often far from her side. Clever and crafty as the Dovahkiin was, Odahviing knew the joorre in her would get her into trouble. Someone needed to teach her the ways of the Dov. Kaan knew the Old One would only teach her of the delicacy of her Thu’um and not the weight of it. Concerning the ways of the Dov, the Dovahkiin needed a more versatile teacher, one who could instruct her in all their ways.

And someone to protect her.

The Dovahkiin, Lee Air Uh, grew used to Odahviing’s companionship quickly after her return from Sovngarde. Though she defeated Alduin Thuri (and by right became the Judsedov, though she did not understand this), she was eager to reach her full strength as Dovahkiin. Odahviing found himself essential to this journey, guiding Lee Air Uh to the depths of the old thanedoms and temples. With the downfall of Alduin’s tyranny, the Dovahkiin erased the remnants of his worshippers, the priests who Shouted only by blessing of the masks given to them. The Dovahkiin did not need a mask to crown her over the old order.

Odahviing did not understand the significance of the Stormcrown, but when the Dovahkiin issued the winds of Strunbel with her Thu’um, Odahviing understood the power to command the storm was seen as sacred to the joorre. This pleased him.

It did not please him when she began to throw herself from his back in midflight.

The chaos of battle raged below and the winds of Strunbel churned above as he circled the field, a distant spectator to the bloodshed. She was nestled in the hollow of his neck, slotted between the juncture of his wings and spine as if she were meant to fit there.

His only warning had been her cry of Meyzzii before the slight weight of her vanished from his back. Odahviing had wheeled around to find the Meykiir plummeting into the swelling blood tide below. He dove after her. After the battle, in the quiet of painful victory, she assured him it was all a part of her plan. Odahviing did not think falling was much of a plan. Lee Air Uh had laughed.

Hers was a pleasing laugh, light and full as the sun on a cloudless winter morning. She didn’t laugh when pursuing the Strunkodaav’s war across Keizaal. No, she was always tired. There was no love lost between Odahviing and the would-be Jun who used the Dovahkiin to further his mey joor paar. Odahviing could not, would not understand why his Dovthurjud bowed to the joor jun, the Strunkodaav. What he saw was a mortal man, a usurper of the Thu’um, using the Dovahkiin to his own ends. To the Strunkodaav, Lee Air Uh was nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. She was not the Judsedov. She was nothing more to the mey joor than a means to an end. Crafty and clever as she was, the Dovahkiin did not see this. No, she followed the Strunkodaav at her own peril.

It saddened and sickened Odahviing. Unfortunately, he did not think clawing his way into the hofkahsejun, consuming the joorre inside, and building a hoard for the Dovahkiin would please her. Naturally, Odahviing kept this to himself.

He held his silence as the dark shadows grew under eyes, a pale blue that soon lost its crystalline sparkle. Once smoldering red hair grew out brown and unkempt. The Dovahkiin was wearing thin as the durkein wore on. Watching this, fury smoldered in Odahviing. For all that the Dovahkiin overcame Alduin and his tyranny, the ambitions of the Strunkodaav would be her doom.

There came a morning over a year after the Dovahkiin returned from Sovngarde and Odahviing pledged himself to her that he did not see her. The latest in a long series of such mornings. The sun shone bright and clear over Keizaal, its light still and golden across the snowy peaks of the Jerstrunmah. Odahviing rose from the ruins of Skuldafn, desolate and empty since the Dovahkiin’s storm tore through it in pursuit of Alduin. She laughed when he bemoaned the desolation of a perfectly good fane. “Make it yours, then,” she said, a smile tugging at her face. Smiles were curiously joor expressions, but from the Dovahkiin, Odahviing thought it charming.

He did not tell her this.

On that morning he took flight from Skuldafn, Odahviing glided on the north wind high above Keizaal. It had been some days since the Dovahkiin had summoned him, and this worried him. The last time Odahviing had seen her, she told him they were preparing for the siege of Solitude. She stood before him and asked if he would still go with her into battle, something she did every time she knew a fight was coming. “Geh, Ysmir,” he said. This was his usual answer. Unusually, this time, the Dovahkiin didn’t thank him. Instead, she came forward and pressed herself into the side of his head, her arms spread as far around him as they could go.

“You,” she said, voice soft against the warm scales of his cheek, “are a better friend than I deserve.”

Odahviing hadn’t seen her since.

Circling the snowcapped peaks above the Strunkodaav’s city, Odahviing watched the joorre below scurry at the sight of him. Even after all the time he spent in the company of the Dovahkiin, the people of Keizaal still feared the sight of a Dovah wheeling overhead. It was shameful.

It was not long before she came out. Odahviing saw her look up from under a curtain of curling brown hair before turning toward the city gates. Odahviing waited for her to reach the great bridge before he landed on the outskirts. He did not wait long as she hurried toward him, her hands fisted in the skirts of a heavy gown. Nearby, a guard hovered, his hand fluttering near the weapon at his side.

“Ysmir,” he greeted once she was near enough, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and breathless. Woefully mortal and withdrawn. Odahviing waited for her to continue, but the Dovahkiin remained silent, her Voice silenced.

Ruffling his wings, Odahviing peered closer at his Dovthurjud. Exhaustion rolled off her soul like the tides of the sea into the shore. Something was wrong. “How go the plans for fonaar?”

Lee Air Uh squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness around them prominent. “The battle is over, Odahviing. We’ve won.”

The crimson Dovah nearly reared back, but one look at the Dovahkiin told him she was too fragile for any sudden reaction. Why did she not summon him? Did something happen that prevented her from calling him?

As if reading his mind, the Dovahkiin bowed her head. “Ulfric did not think it necessary. We had the Empire routed from the moment I shattered the city gates. It was more politics than battle.” Her mouth fell open then, as if there was something on the tip of her tongue she couldn’t quite get out.

“Fly with me, Ysmir,” Odahviing said.

Her smile was gentle as she nodded. Relief relaxed her shoulders and she rounded to his shoulder where she usually climbed onto his back.

“My lady, is this entirely wise?” For the first time, Odahviing acknowledged the guard who stood not far away. The joor had followed Lee Air Uh across the bridge. “The Jarl is still concerned for your safety.”

Her arms around Odahviing’s neck, the Dovahkiin’s familiar weight settled into place. Slight, and yet Odahviing felt as if something missing had returned to him. “The Jarl needn’t worry,” she said, crisp as snowfall. “No one can protect me better than Odahviing.”

Dov didn’t smile, but Odahviing gave his most self-satisfied attempt at the doubt on the guardsman’s face.

Taking flight, Odahviing glided away from the city. He still had questions for the Dovahkiin, but she was Judsedov and her protection outweighed his curiosity. He turned on the wind toward Skuldafn, high in the clouds and far away from whatever mey paar now threatened the Dovahkiin. She was strong and her zii formed of hard ice and cold, but even Strong Voices needed rest and protection.

Odahviing would see that his Dovthurjud was protected.

·•★•·

Translations:

Dovah/dov – dragon/dragons

Dovahkiin – Dragonborn

Dovthurjud – High Queen Over the Dragons (lit. Dragons’ Overlord Queen)

Durkein – Accursed war

Fonaar – Battle charge

Geh -- yes

Hofkahsejun – palace (nonspecific)

Jerstrunmah – Velothi Mountains (lit. Eastern Mountain/s)

Joor/Joorre – mortal/mortals

Kaan – Kyne/Kynareth

Keizaal – Skyrim

Judsedov – Queen of Dragons

Jun – king

Mey – fool/foolish

Meykiir – foolish girl

Meyzzii – Become Ethereal Shout (lit. Become Spirit)

Paar – ambition/desire

Strunbel – Storm Call Shout (lit. Storm Summon)

Strunkodaav – Storm Bear (Ulfric)

Thu’um – Voice, dragon shout

Thuri – overlord

Zii – living spirit/soul