Uhhhhh....now he's got it..hopefully he will stand up against Erich! But what also worries me is that Thyna hasn't come back! What on Nirn is keeping her?

More please?

Well well, It appears that you've been busy in my absence from the forum. But I've finally read through everything and I must say that this story is definately one of the best I've read so far on the forum, and one of the reasons I've started to write and update on my stories as well.

so UPDATE SOON...pleeeease *gives the cutes puppydog face imaginable*

There will be and will stop by early just for you

A couple of Jona's for you as well

Thanks, everyone. Welcome back Tellie- you have been missed!

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As the enraged hunter raced toward me, I tightened my grip on the straps of my shield and crouched slightly. It was hard to stand in place- instinct screamed at me to run, to move- either away from Erich or toward him- it did not matter which, so long as I did something. But instinct was wrong. If I moved, I would have to concentrate on my footing, on the locations of people and objects in the hall, on a myriad of things other than controlling my breathing and watching Erich’s eyes. I held my mace low and close to my side, and it seemed as if I had all the time in the world- time to see how the firelight reflected on the edge of the silver blade that was poised to spill my blood, time to be grateful that Athynae was somewhere safe, time to regret the fact that I had still not really told her how much I loved her…. And then the sword began to swing in a deadly arc and the time for thought was past.

As he swung I saw Erich turn his wrist, so it was that the flat, rather than the edge of the sword that he aimed at the outside of my left knee. I recalled Brynjolfr’s warning, and knew it to be true- “He’ll want to hurt ye if he can….” I twitched my shield down slightly, blocking the sword, which rang like a great bell. The force of the blow caused me to stagger a bit, but it also gave the Nord a painful shiver, and I saw him wince as the energy of clashing metal was transferred up his arm. He recovered and stepped back, wanting to gain distance and space in which to use his longer reach. I could not afford to allow him that space, nor could I hope to win a drawn-out duel. Therefore, holding my shield high, I stepped after him, pressing him back, trying to prevent him from getting set. He feinted a thrust at my eyes and I pulled my head to the side. The break gave Erich a chance to position his feet and he drew back in preparation for another swing. Again, I crouched, watching his eyes and the angle of his shoulder to gauge his target. Fortunately, I guessed right, and before he could strike at my head, I thrust upward with my legs, putting all their power behind my shield and slamming it into his face. I distinctly heard the crunch as his nose broke, and I followed with a quick thrust of my mace to his ribs. But Erich was no stranger to close-quarters fighting- he grabbed my right wrist with his free hand and brought the pommel of his sword down in a numbing blow to my left shoulder. I twisted free of his grip and we broke apart, staring at each other and waiting for the next steps in this mortal dance. Blood dripped from the Nord’s broken nose and flattened lips, and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

Above our labored breathing came the voice of Skjoldr, Chieftain of Thirsk:

“Blows have been exchanged and blood has been shed. Will you call truce and agree that honor is satisfied? Athlain? How say you?”

Never taking my eyes from Erich’s face, I replied: “I have drawn first blood and am willing to hold my honor avenged.”

Skjoldr spoke again: “Erich, what say you? Will you admit your fault and end this fight?”

Erich spat a glob of blood on the floor and wheezed, “I will end the fight when I see this thief dead upon the ground. I will break his bones and unstring his limbs. I will…”

Skjoldr interrupted, “Enough. You can make your boasts after the fight is done- if you are still able. Very well. To the death or until either man yields.”

The last phrase was a hollow formality- Erich would never yield- and if I did, he would kill me anyway. The dishonor would mean little to him and even less to me, as I would be dead.

The hunter’s blue eyes pierced me and he opened his ruined mouth in a horrible grin. “I will flay your hide and nail it to the wall,” he grated.

I did not respond, but chewed on the marshmerrow I had put in my mouth when I heard the commotion upstairs. It was not as effective as a potion, but I could feel the pain in my shoulder easing as the juice trickled down my throat. What I planned was going to be difficult- I wanted to trap a man who had spent his life stalking and killing some of the most cunning animals in the world. I let my shield drop just a fraction, and then hitched it back up, as if feeling the weight. And I let my eyes flicker, as if seeking some form of cover. I wanted to look weak and doubtful- and I succeeded. Even though I had thought I was ready, Erich’s attack was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Rather than using the broad swings he had previously attempted, he lunged, driving the point of his sword straight for my right leg, away from my shield side. I moved just enough so that the tip struck the outside of my leg rather than the inside, where the great artery lay. Struck- and penetrated. It felt as though someone had pressed a hot coal against my thigh and held it there. But that was what I had wanted. I turned to my left to trap the blade against the plates of my greaves and swung my mace with the same motion, slamming it into Erich’s elbow. He lost his grip on the hilt of the sword, and I whipped the mace upward, smashing it into his unprotected chin. As he staggered back, I set myself and swung with all my strength at the side of his head. The Nord fell silently, sliding down to lie in a shapeless heap, looking suddenly much smaller than the monster I had confronted seconds before.

I dropped my mace and pulled the sword from my leg with a gasp. I could feel blood running down inside my greaves and pooling in my boot. Weakness washed over me, and I went to my knees. As my vision blurred, I fumbled a potion from my belt pouch and hastily drained the contents. The pain in my leg settled to a dull ache, and I was at last able to look to where Skjoldr sat. The chieftain stood and gestured to some of the other Skaal, saying,

“Carry the body outside and put it in the storeroom. We will lay him in the barrow and do the rites at sunrise. Erich was an uneasy companion, but he was also our clan-brother.”

He sat back down on his intricately-carved throne and looked at me over steepled fingers. I forced myself to my feet, silently preparing to face Skjoldr’s judgment. And now it comes, I thought. I had violated guest-right and killed a hunter of the clan. If I was fortunate, their leader would simply withdraw his hospitality and banish me. Or… he was effectively the sole ruler of this domain. The loss of a hunter could mean hardship or even death for some of his people. He could do with me as he wished. He lowered his hands to the armrests of the throne and spoke. Though his voice was quiet, it carried throughout the hall.

“Athlain Treyson, you have shed the blood and taken the life of a hunter of the Skaal.”

He paused and then continued, “Hear now my judgment. You were challenged and you defended yourself in a trial of arms, as is the right of any man. By killing Erich, you removed a stain from the honor of the Clan. Whatever he once possessed is now yours by right and custom. How say you?”

I managed not to gape in surprise- this was not an outcome I had foreseen. But Skjoldr was waiting for my response, so I cleared my throat and answered firmly:

“Let Erich’s arms and armor be interred with him, so that the evil he did is forever finished. Let his other possessions be divided amongst the Skaal, to each according to their need.”

I winced as my leg reminded me of my recent wound, and I added,

“As for me, I have had all from him that I want.”

That got a laugh and then Skjoldr nodded his approval and clapped his hands once. “So shall it be! The victor has spoken. Now let’s celebrate.”

Cheers rang around the hall and someone pressed a drink into my hands. Blood loss had made me thirsty enough that I did not care what was in the tankard- I swallowed half of it in a gulp. A gentle hand tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Athynae looking at me with a mixture of amusement, concern, and… something I could not decipher. She smiled and said,

“I leave for a few days, and you turn into a brawling, drunken, animal-hide wearing….”

That was as far as she got before I crushed her to my chest in a hug that set off another round of cheers from the assembled Skaal. They could make all the jokes they wanted at my expense- it would be worth it. When I released Athynae at last, she caught her breath and stepped back a little. I looked at her and then looked again and blurted,

“What in the name of the Nine happened to your hair?”

Good update. I liked the fight scene. I also liked the ending, even though it should be done you manage to end with a hook to draw the reader to the next part.

Great stuff, as I've said this story is better than some I've bought.

Wonderful fighting scene! I only wish I could produce something remotely like it! And so Miss Sarethi has eturned...just in time as it seems, and about her hair? Well it makes me wonder....

My youngest daughter always has messed with her hair...everything from dying it blue or red to shave it off completely...wonder what Thyna has done???

And I agree with Olen, this story is far better than a lot of books I've bought during the years

Doggietreats to our favourite Dachshund!

Athynae’s eyes developed a dangerous light, and I momentarily feared that she would finish what Erich had started. And it would be too bad for Brynjolfr- there would likely not be enough of my borrowed armor left for him to salvage when she was finished. I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and waited. When the expected explosion did not come, I raised my head slightly, and opened my eyes just enough to peer at her. Athynae was… smiling? This was quite beyond my understanding. I knew as only someone cursed with not just one, but two sisters can know, a fundamental truth:

If you do not notice that she has changed something about her appearance, you are doomed. If you do notice, any change is, by definition, “wonderful.” But here you must also tread lightly; too fulsome praise will inevitably lead to the fatal question- “So you’re saying you didn’t like how I looked before?” It will only get worse from there.

So I looked at that smile, and I shivered. And, though it was far too late for wisdom now, I wisely said nothing more, waiting for her to give me some sign beyond that mysterious smile. What I got was more confusion- Athynae reached a gentle hand to touch my cheek and said,

“How could I do anything but love you, when you are always so perfectly yourself?”

My heart stuttered in my chest and I felt a terror even greater than I had experienced facing Erich’s mad charge. She had said the words! I could face a blade in the hands of an enemy with confidence- I had done so before. But this was completely outside of my experience. In the silence of my own mind I had admitted that I loved her- but that was far different from telling someone else- especially Athynae herself.
As I sought desperately for the right words, she was already moving on. Her face grew serious and she said quietly,

“We need to talk.”

Have four words ever been so freighted with doom? But I was already lost, had been lost since the night of the party when I had looked into her luminous eyes and seen that the only future worth considering was one that had Athynae in it. So I simply nodded my head and hobbled after her toward the stairs to the second floor. When we reached the gallery, Athynae paused just long enough to retrieve and unload a light crossbow that lay on the floor. She made no comment, but I glanced over the railing and saw that a person standing in that spot could fire at any point in the great hall. She opened the door to her room and took in the unmade bed and my few possessions scattered about. She said nothing, only reached a hand to touch the pillow and then looked at me. The silence stretched, and a slow smile again crossed her face. I inadvertently broke the spell when I shifted slightly, trying to ease my leg. Athynae helped me to sit on a bench and stopped as if to compose her thoughts. Finally she said,

“A great deal has happened, and I want to be sure you know as much as possible before you go racing off in typical Athlain-fashion.”

She waited, as if to be sure that I was paying attention and I decided it was time to seize the initiative. But there were so many things I wanted to say, so it all came out in a garbled rush:

“I was worried about you when you didn’t come back for so long. And then Erich showed up. But the smith helped me- and I need to remember to thank him. I guess you saw the fight. It’s a good thing Father has so many Nords as friends. Is Mirisa safe? Did you take her to the fort? Did anyone there ask about me? I- Athynae, I’m sorry I was so rude to you when we got here. You are….”

I ran down to a stop, watching as her shoulders began to shake. What had I done now? Was she about to cry again? If so, I would almost prefer that she hit me. But no, she pointed a finger at me and started laughing. When she had caught her breath, she asked:

“Which healing potion did you take? The one in the green bottle? And I bet you used some marshmerrow, too. No wonder you’re babbling. That combination has some odd side-effects.”

Side-effect or not, there was one thing I had to say. I reached up to take Athynae’s hands and prayed that my voice would not break.

“I love you, too. Even before you saved me from the skooma, I loved you. I was just too stupid to know it. If Erich had killed me before I got the chance to tell you that, I never would have forgiven myself. Even if that doesn’t make any sense, I don’t care. As far as I can tell, love isn’t supposed to make sense.”

Athynae’s eyes, already huge, seemed to grow even larger, large enough for me to fall into them forever. She squeezed my hands and whispered,

“We will talk about that, when there is time.”

But then she straightened and continued in a more business-like tone:

“Mirisa is well; I took her to the fort and then on to Ebonheart. She needs some time to- think about things. While we were in Ebonheart, I investigated Carnius Magius and found out some interesting information.”

She brushed a hand through her hair, which was now much shorter and a startling shade of red.

“And I got my hair done. It was Mirisa’s idea. She said I should, ‘Have a hair color that suited my personality.’ I am not entirely certain what that meant. But none of that really matters- there is more important news.”

She sat beside me and stared at me for a moment.

“Fort Frostmoth was attacked while I was in Ebonheart. No one was killed, but several soldiers were hurt and Captain Carius is missing. That Legion Champion from the Imperial City took a bad knock on the head…. Some of the Legionnaires think the Skaal were behind it- there are some pretty strange stories about exactly who or what it was that attacked the fort. So you need to collect your uniform from wherever you left it and get back there before something ugly happens. There is no one in charge, and a veteran trooper named Gaea Artoria is whipping up the others, trying to get them to march on the Skaal village. Saenus is trying to keep things calm, but…. They need an officer, someone they trust. They need you to tell them it wasn’t the Skaal. It’s what you do; you deal with things. Just like you dealt with Erich.”

There were so many things I wanted, now that I was finally healthy again. I wanted to spend time with Athynae, to explore Solstheim together, to find out what happened next with us…. But I had my duty. And if I followed her advice, I could return to the Legion without having to explain myself. I still had Uncle Sweetshare’s peculiar helm, and I could honestly say I had spent time getting to know the Skaal. But what of Athynae?

“You’re right. I will do things just as you say. And- you can come with me.”

She looked away, an almost evasive expression in her eyes.

“I… can’t. Not right now. It’s complicated. Please- just trust me when I tell you it’s better for me to stay here.”

Questions bubbled in my mind, and I struggled against my desire to ask them. But, in the end, I did trust her. I only wished that she trusted me enough to tell me what was wrong.

Athynae's New Look

WOHOO the first comment is mine this time.

As always you managed to deliver an amazing update, with some nice emotional development on the characters, keep i up doggie.

*rattles bag with dog biscuits*

ohhh you couldn't resist, could you? A sweet cliffie..just like that..hmmm I must say I do feel sorry about Athlain ..why on Nirn couldn't she have told him? Whatever there is to tell that is. I wonder what she's up to?

Hopefully we'll get another update...not so far in the future, I'm incredibly curious.

oh and i like Thyna's new hairdo...hehe it suits her, still I wonder....

Yet another wondrous pair of updates, Trey. Action, excitement, plot development and Those Three Words. Athynae even got a new haircut!

Lookin' forward to more!

After the intensity of our earlier words, an awkward silence fell between us. The feelings we had for one another had been given a name now, and we understood that our friendship had changed profoundly, but we were neither of us certain how to proceed. And it was also clear to me that something had happened to Athynae, either at the fort or in Ebonheart- and whatever it was made her pace the small room with manic energy. The space that had felt empty without her began to close in on me, overfull with emotions and with words- spoken and unspoken. I started for the door, and Athynae gave me an apologetic look, but did not cease her endless circuits of the room. My offer to bring her something to eat was met with a vague wave- whether of agreement or dismissal, I could not tell.

Since I could not find any solution to whatever problem occupied Athynae, I turned my thoughts to my Legion duties. It was too late in the day for me to return to Fort Frostmoth, especially since I would be going on foot. An Intervention spell would transport me instantly to the Imperial Cult shrine, but I would arrive out of uniform- which would lead to uncomfortable questions. Of course, if I timed it late enough, I could probably dash out of the fort in the darkness with none the wiser. But… there was something afoot on this island, something that could attack an Imperial Legion fort and disappear without a trace. I remembered Serene’s words from that long-ago night in Ald’ruhn:

“…there are other, darker forces in motion as well. The wind is from the north tonight and it carries a scent of ice. What the signs and portents mean, I cannot say, but my heart tells me that malice is abroad in the world. Best be prepared lest it find you.”

Memories of Serene and her foretelling inevitably brought my mind back to Athynae- not that she was ever far from my thoughts. Perhaps all my reasoning was just a way of rationalizing the fact that I wanted to be near her- for one more night, at least. Once I was back in uniform, back to following orders, my life would no longer be my own. And whatever had brought that haunted look to her eyes, ‘Thyna would have to face without me.

I descended the stairs and allowed myself to be swept along by the Skaal wake for Erich. Recent and painful memories of my skooma problem blunted any desire to drink much mead- I used a trick borrowed from Father- making sure my mug was always relatively full and taking only small sips while I wandered the hall. I noted with interest that Skjoldr followed the same practice- although he was almost alone in his restraint. Besides competitive drinking, the Nords engaged in a contest of story-telling, trying to outdo one another in outrageous tales of the exploits of the unlamented Erich. And if those stories did not reflect to the dead man’s credit- well, he was no longer around to dispute them. As the fires died down and the more enthusiastic revelers fell asleep- or passed out- the stories changed. A gray-bearded fellow named Einar Skaldorson described the Skaal funeral practices- the rituals they performed to prevent necromancy and the beliefs behind them:

“We take the leaves of the holly- and the berries, but only the ripe ones, mind. That shows that the spirit is everlasting, just as the leaves stay green even in the winter. The ripe berries show that the warrior has lived a full span, and has no unfinished business to hold him from the next world. And we add dry, brown leaves of the oak- because even the mightiest of living things must wither and come to an end. Then we set out provisions and protection for the journey- mead, meat, armor and weapons. A few coins and his favorite drinking horn for when he gets to the eternal mead hall- so he can throw the dice and have a swallow whenever he wants. It is best not to be miserly with the grave gifts, unless you want the shade to come looking for what it lacks.”

Here the old man took a healthy drink from his own tankard and added solemnly:

“It has become more important of late to observe the proper ways- there’s already enough uncanny creatures that roam the forests at night. The Wild Hunt has been heard abroad, seeking to course the unwary, driving lone travelers like so many deer. And it is known that there are men that take the shape of beasts, or beasts that walk like men- who can say which?”

Those of us still able to listen moved closer, happy for the warmth of the hearth- and for the nearness of human company as the wind howled under the eaves. Einar waited until one of the other Skaal passed him a fresh tankard, whereupon he continued in a hushed tone:

“I myself was with a hunting party that found what we took to be a poor, naked madman wandering the woods. We brought him back to camp and offered him some of our fare. But he wanted nothing more than raw venison from the deer we had taken. He tore off hunks of the meat and gulped them down, followed by great draughts of water. We went to our blankets with the setting of the sun, and slept deep, though none of us had imbibed to excess. An unknown time passed, and we were roused by a great clamor of growling and snarling. The moons had just come into the sky, and by their light I beheld a horrible scene- the madman was thrashing about on the ground, as if he was having a fit. Then a red light began to glow around him and he started to- change.”

Every eye was on the storyteller now, and I would have thought it an elaborate jest, except that I saw strong men grow pale, and more than one make signs to ward off evil. Meanwhile, the grizzled hunter went on:

“First, he began to sprout hair- or, to call it rightly- fur, all over his body. And then his muscles writhed and rippled, like there was something trying to get loose from under his skin. His fingernails started to grow and his hands turned into claws. And his face- well, it… stretched.”

He drained his tankard and resumed the tale:

“At last, he reared up onto his hind legs, looking like nothing so much as a wolf trying to walk like a man. He threw back that awful head and howled, then stared at us with eyes that were wolf-yellow, but had the understanding of a man. He went for Sigmund first- ripped him open with a swipe from his claws. We all drew our weapons then, but couldn’t seem to harm him- axes, hammers, swords- it made no difference; the wounds just closed right back up, and the bones knitted together as we watched. And in the meantime, he was biting and clawing at us- and our wounds didn’t close. We were losing, though there were five of us, and only one of him. Finally, Anders, our leader, yelled, ‘Silver! Use a silver blade if you have one!’ I drew from my boot the dagger I had from my grandfather, and he from his. ‘Twas this very dagger that I still carry.”

He showed us a beautifully-crafted silver blade, the bone handle shaped like the head of a wolf, and with the look of long years on it.

“And I plunged it up to the hilt in the wolf-man’s chest. Oh, then he set up a howling such as I never hope to hear again! And he raked at me with his claws, but I got my arm up and blocked him from getting at my vitals. Then he sort of- shrank. While we watched, he changed back to his former shape, looking like nothing but any other corpse. Sigmund was dead where he had fallen, and the rest of us not any too spry, but we cut off the wolf-man’s head, and we burned the body. And we put a sprig of what the Imperials call ‘monkshood’ in Sigmund’s mouth before we buried him. We Skaal have a different, older name for the plant.”

The old man stared into the fire for long minutes, and I thought the story was done, but he added a final postscript:

“And though that was over 50 winters ago, I don’t walk the forests in the dark of night, nor in the light of the moons. No man does on Solstheim, not if he is wise. I am the last one of that hunting party, and all I have left is the memory of that night. And this….” He pulled back his left sleeve to show four parallel scars, deep marks left in his flesh by the claws of a beast that walked like a man but had the shape of a wolf.

I already commented at TES, but And give us another update soon

Good stuff. The story was well told and I liked the plant referance, things like that add quite a bit of depth to the story/ world.

And now we have warewolves I'm looking forward to reading the next bit.

OMG......Now I'm scared, werewolves are nothing to play around with. I just hope Athlain and the rest makes it..and I also hope Athynae hasn't got it.....lycanthropy!

jeez...

Let's fetch another round of mead for this fine storyteller!

And no, despite my lupine visage there on the left, I can assure everyone here that I am not, in fact, a werewolf. I beseech you, please, sheathe your silver blades. No, really, nothing to see here.

Ahem. I imagine young Athlain will find the fort's appearance rather startling. Oh, hey, and there' still that scofflaw Carnius Magius! What fun!

As you say canis....(Nocks silver arrow, just in case.)

Actually, of all the monsters in all the tales of all the movies, I love Werewolves the best. Sort of a geek on the lore you might say, so Solstheim had a particular appeal for me.

And to speak of the lore, dear Trey, you have crafted perhaps one of your finest entries here. In my mind, I truly saw the old man sitting in a dim hall reeking of drinking and burning timber reciting this tale to the flickering of the fire.

Good job!

Disturbed by the story, my impulse was to simply curl up in an empty spot in front of the fire, keeping to the company of others. The darkness at the top of the stairs teemed with phantasms- Erich, risen from his temporary bier, his face bloody and his unquiet spirit set upon revenge; yellow-eyed hunters who not only wore the hides of wolf and bear, but who became the creatures they pursued; and over it all some dark, nameless, shapeless dread, an unknown fear that caused Athynae to turn away from me and vanish. It was that last that decided me, that set my feet upon the steps. No terrors, real or imaginary, would keep me from her side. But when I reached her door, it was bolted and there was no answer to my knock. Fear could not stop me- but Athynae could. I, of all people, knew how precious freedom could be- especially the freedom to be left alone. I placed my palm on the closed door and bowed my head, willing her to feel my love and support. And then I turned and went to my own, empty room and its cold bed.

My sleep was not restful- the wolf dream came to me again- the dream of being chased and brought to bay against a wall of ice. There were other dreams, as well- Athynae floating away from me on a piece of ice that grew smaller with every second; sprawled figures in a shadowy room who offered me the forgetfulness of the skooma pipe; Nord warriors who fell before me, only to rise back up again and again. I welcomed the morning light and the knock at my door that pulled me from my troubled slumber- Svenja calling me to breakfast. Although I had no desire for food, I ate my fill. My Legion training had included the concept of “eat whenever you can; you don’t know when there will be another chance.” And it had only taken one of Senior Trooper Carbo’s “little walks around the wilderness” to reinforce the idea that starting a journey with an empty stomach was a very bad idea. I was nearly finished when Athynae appeared on the stairs. It was apparent from the dark places under her eyes that her night had been no more restful than mine. Still, she offered a smile that warmed me more than any mundane fire ever could. I caught her hand in mine as she sat on the bench beside me, but said nothing. The words that usually came so easily to me were nowhere to be found- this silent communion of joined hands would have to do. Of course, it could not last; when Svenja brought a plate to Athynae, she gently shook free from my clasp, showing a spark of her normal humor as she said,

“I like you, too, but I really need both hands to eat.”

That broke the tension enough that we were able to resume our usual teasing banter, as if it was just another day in Ald’ruhn.

But time was not my friend; I could not linger over the meal as if I had neither cares not duties. When I rose to pack, ‘Thyna stood with me and said,

“I mixed some more potions for you last night. I… wasn’t sleeping anyway, and the ingredients won’t keep forever.”

Although I already knew her answer, I had to try once more:

“Are you sure you won’t come with me? You know my sense of direction isn’t that good- and I won’t stop to ask anyone if I get lost.”

She smiled at my joke, but her eyes were still shadowed as she shook her head. She looked at me for a long moment, and then almost whispered:

“Have you ever felt as if someone was watching you? But then, when you turn to see, there’s no one there? Now imagine what it is like to feel as if the watcher is inside your own mind….”

She raised her hands in frustration.

“It’s too hard to explain. I don’t have the words, don’t even know what I want to say!”

Then her expression softened and she reached up to take my face between her hands.

“But I know you. And I know what you must do. You are an Agent of the Imperial Legion, and they need you. And the Skaal need you. And I… I need time to work things out- alone. If you truly love me, don’t try to hold me so close that I smother.”

There was no answer to that except to kiss away the tears on her cheeks and gather up my meager possessions. When everything was packed, I returned to the main hall, where I thanked Svenja for her many kindnesses, and also took formal leave of Skjoldr. The Skaal chieftain gave my hand a warrior’s clasp and said,

“It is sorry I am to see you go, young Athlain. But we all have our responsibilities. And I trust you will be able to keep peace between the Legion and the Skaal. Honor to you for your efforts, and for your honesty. Safe journey to you. If chance or purpose brings you this way again, you may be sure of a warm welcome.”

As for the words Athynae and I exchanged, well, they were only for ourselves, and I will not record them on the page, though they are inscribed upon my heart. But when we kissed goodbye, I felt a flutter of doubt, for her lips tasted of sorrow and farewell. The wind was out of the south, but it brought no warmth, only blowing snow. I set off down the hill, leaving Athynae standing by the doors to the mead hall. Just before I reached the trees, I turned one more time, and she was still there, her red hair a flame against the white snow, a beacon to guide my return. And then the forest closed around me and I was alone.

The journey back to Gandrung Cavern should have been easy enough; the plentiful food at Thirsk, along with Brynjolfr’s torturous training, had returned me to fitness. Physically, I felt better than I had since the day I had boarded the ship at Khuul. But it was not weakness of body that caused my steps to drag, nor even the wind that seemed to always blow in my face, no matter which way I turned. When I had left home, not so many months ago, I had been sure that I wanted a Legion career and a knighthood. And I could still have those things- a promotion was practically assured if I prevented an unnecessary battle between the garrison and the Skaal. And no doubt I would have the support of Severia Gratius, for I carried ‘Uncle Sweetshare’s’ white helm with me. Everything I had believed I wanted was within my grasp- rank, recognition, the respect of other Imperial soldiers- and it tasted like ashes on my tongue. In part it was because it was based on a lie- although I had carried out my mission, and stopped the moon-sugar poisonings, I had let the culprit go free. And then there were the weeks I had spent lost in a skooma haze, caring nothing for my life or my responsibilities. But most of all, I had discovered that there was something- someone- I wanted far more than all the honors the Empire could bestow. And I was getting farther away from her with every step I took.

I almost get the music of the old "Hulk" T.V. Series ending music.

The sad walking away song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMbzSdf0_oQ

During the long trek from Thirsk to Fort Frostmoth, I discovered two things: love can lead one to compose incredibly bad verse- and the depth of one’s love is no guarantee of inspired composition. I clearly recall seeking suitable rhymes for “Athynae,” but most of the rest is mercifully forgotten. It is a fortunate fact that walking in the wind and snow is not conducive to writing, so none of my “poetry” from that day survives. And the world is therefore a better place.

I felt as if I was trapped between two fires- or perhaps “fears” is a better word. Athynae had not given a very detailed description of the fort, only warned me that the damage was “extensive.” And so I feared what I would find when I arrived. The other fear, the one I was leaving behind me, was concern for Athynae herself. I simply could not conceive of any circumstance that would cause her so much agitation- and that she would not discuss with me. As for the homicidal wildlife of Solstheim, I did my best to avoid encounters with them, moving like a ghost through the snow and silence. I also avoided contact with people-my nearly fatal mistake with the reavers had seared an abiding caution into my soul. And too, I felt a desire for solitude, for time to think about what I might do if ever I discharged all of my obligations. Could there then be a future with Athynae? Would she wait for me? The wind had no answers and neither did I.

The smugglers’ cave was much as I had left it- except that the bodies and the stolen goods had been removed. Oddly, my uniform- and the letters I had left with it- still lay in an orderly pile, apparently undisturbed by whoever had scoured the cavern. In fact, the letters were still sealed, a fact which was both a puzzle and a relief. I quickly consigned them to the flames, wishing I could so easily erase the circumstances that had prompted me to write them. And then I took up my Legion armor again. Donning the uniform engendered a feeling it never had before; I could not help but recall Brynjolfr’s remark about “steel corsets,” for at that moment, my armor felt less like a symbol of achievement and more like a prison. But I would never again take it off, until I could do so with my honor intact.

Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.

I shifted my shoulders in an almost reflexive shrug to settle the cuirass, placed the helmet on my head, and marched out of the cave into the failing light of the afternoon.

My first sight of Fort Frostmoth in many weeks was a shock- Athynae had only said there had been an attack. What I saw was that the east curtain wall had been breached in at least two places, with great piles of rubble spilling onto the ground. I entered the main gate and beheld another disturbing sight: the garrison stood about in ones and twos, but no one seemed to be following the orderly routine of a functioning outpost. Instead, men and women gripped their weapons and looked about fearfully, or huddled around the parade ground fires. It reminded me painfully of my initial arrival, when discipline had been almost non-existent. As I considered what I should do, a mass of troopers clustered around me, calling my name and asking for guidance. Attracted by the commotion, Champion Severia Gratius shouldered her way through the crowd and grasped my arms, looking long and hard at my face.

“Athlain! I had feared you were gone, never to return. So, tell me- what news? Did you carry out my orders?”

Her eyes had an almost fevered look, and I quickly opened my pack to remove a slightly battered object from within. She reached for it, practically crowing with delight:

“A white Colovian helm! Then the deed is done! The moon sugar poisoner has been brought to justice. You have done a great service to me, the Legion, and the Empire itself. I know that for a soldier such as you, duty is its own reward, but there was a bounty, so take this gold.”

She handed me a heavy pouch and then drew her sword. Reversing it, she presented the hilt to me.

“And I would also like you to have another reward, a symbol of my personal thanks. This shortsword has served me well and you will find its enchantment will rally others to your cause at need. Please accept it with my gratitude.”

I mutely accepted the sword and the coins, unable to formulate a suitable response. I had no idea of where to begin- should I tell her that Uncle Sweetshare still lived? Explain that a sword, no matter how magical, was of no use to me? Or ask why in the name of all Oblivion, she, a Champion of the Legion, had done nothing to reorganize the fort following the attack? As I struggled with my mixture of guilt and anger, she was already turning away, talking to herself:

“Thank Talos that job is done! If I hurry, I can be packed and ready to take the next ship for Cyrodiil and leave this gods-forsaken rock to the savages. The brass is going to owe me- and I intend to collect.”

Almost shaking with disgust, I sought a familiar face among the scattered soldiers. At last, I spotted Saenus, leaning wearily against the wall outside the ordinary quarters. As I approached, I could see that the youthful trooper I had left behind had been replaced by a man who looked haggard and much older. His eyes were shadowed and his expression was downcast. When he saw me, some of the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders and he straightened up and essayed a salute. I shook my head at him and embraced him roughly. Then I released him and said:

“None of that, now. We’ve been to the wars together, Saenus. What happened here?”

He stared at the tumbled walls and plucked at his lip before replying:

“I don’t know much- no one does. You sent me back and I reported to the Captain; he sent a detail to retrieve the contraband from Gandrung…. After that, things went along pretty regular for several weeks- I was a little worried about you, but the Captain said you were on a special assignment. I knew what that meant- ‘Don’t ask any questions.’”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye before resuming the story:

“Then, a couple of nights ago, we were hit. They came out of nowhere. Horrible creatures, covered in fur, with red eyes and claws like adamantium. The Captain was trying to rally a defense and… things were pretty confused. The creatures disappeared into the dark, and the Captain was nowhere to be found. I’m afraid they took him- or something worse.”

He swallowed hard, visibly struggling to maintain his composure.

“Listen, Athlain. You’ve got to go see Gaea Artoria. She’s really taking the Captain’s disappearance hard- well, we all are- but it has made her a little… unstable. Her answer to most anything has always been to hit it until it stops being a problem. And now she wants to go fight the Nords in the village up north. Talk to her. She knows the Captain trusted you, and she’ll listen to what you have to say. She’s up on the second floor of the quarters, ‘planning a strategy.’ Which basically means she’s trying to talk as many troopers as possible into going to bash some Nords.”

That matched what Athynae had told me, so I made haste to find Gaea Artoria. We were of the same rank, but she had been at Frostmoth longer than I, so this would take careful handling. I found the Legion Agent in the common room of the quarters, looking at a map of the island. A handful of other troopers occupied the room, their expressions a mixture of fear and determination. I made a point of announcing my presence, calling soldiers by name and clapping them on the back or shoulder as I walked past. When I reached the table, I removed my helmet and tucked it under my left elbow, then stood at attention. Gaea growled,

“Oh, cut out the nonsense and siddown.”

As I drew out a chair, she added,

“It’s good to see you. Talos knows we need somebody in this outfit with some brains.”

That got a general laugh and the tension in the room lightened for a moment. Still, I decided it would best serve me to act ignorant for the time being. Glancing around the room, I asked:

“So what’s the story?”

Gaea looked broodingly at the map, then spat some hackle-lo juice into a cup.

“There was an attack...some kind of wolf creatures. I don't know exactly how it all happened. We were outmanned, but the soldiers fought valiantly, especially the Cap'n. When it was over, he was gone. I didn't see him go down, so I assume he was alive- at least when they took him. My guess is that those savages from the Nord village have something to do with this.”

She gave me a look that was at once pleading and defiant.

“You need to find him, Athlain.”

As long as she was talking, she wasn’t doing something irrevocable, like attacking the Skaal. And I needed information, besides. Therefore, I probed:

“Who or what do you think attacked the fort?”

“My guess would have been werewolves. I've seen 'em before. But this was different. I've never known the things to travel in such large numbers, and there were a lot of them in the group that hit us. I've also never heard of werewolves on this island. Who knows?”

She shrugged and added:

“I've heard rumors that the Nords up north can control the beasts, though. Some say they can even turn into them. Whatever they were, I don't want to see them again.”

Now we had reached the most delicate part of the discussion- I had to somehow divert her fury, or at least channel it in a more constructive direction.

“So tell me about these Nords. What are they like- and why do you think they might be behind the attack?”

She spat again and stabbed a finger at a point on the map:

“They're a bunch of savages that live on the northeast tip of the island. The Skaal, they call themselves. Their village is here. A bunch of animal spirit-worshipping freaks...wolves especially. What does that tell you? Even if they didn’t attack us themselves, I bet they know who did. And I'm sure they know what happened to the Captain.”

I nodded, as if what she was saying was perfectly logical. I rubbed my chin, feigning deep thought. At last, I placed both hands on the table and spoke decisively:

“I think you’re right. But if we show up in force, it’ll mean a fight, and that will mean paperwork- reports, official inquiries- that kind of thing. And if the Nords are dead, they can’t tell us who took Captain Carius. What we need is somebody to… investigate.”

Then I sat quietly. She had to think it was her idea. At last Gaea blew out a breath.

“You did some ‘investigating’ for that stuck-up Champion from the mainland, didn’t you? And you got that missionary girl back safe and sound, right? So I think you’re the perfect man for this job.”

She snapped her fingers at one of the troopers and said,

“Nalia, go get that skull from your footlocker and bring it here.”

While we waited, she said,

“The Nords aren’t likely to trust you, so take this skull. Nalia… picked it up… from a Nord barrow. They'll be happy to get it back, since they worship their dead relatives. You should stay with them until you find out what's happened. Get in good with them, earn their trust. And then…”

She drove a dagger into the village marked on the map and left it quivering in the wooden table.

I love how you handled the return to the fort... walking in the wind (that herald of winter, harbinger of doom, barer of souls, etc.), the personalities of the soldiers, conversational manipulation... very fine work, sir.

So the warewolves appear. Nice.

I'm trying to think of some more meaningful comments that just 'I like it' (which goes without saying) but can't really think of what to criticise. The fort was very well portrayed in it's disarray and I enjoyed the conversation between Athlain and Gaea, perhaps a little more would have been nice but equally it would have risked the nice flow your writing has.

Now to the Skaal, I'm interested to see what Athlain makes of them...

Two updates....yay, and I've only been away for a couple of days! Amazing.. Athlain on his way to Skaal, well that will be an adventure ok. Still I really can't understand why Thyna didn't go with him, it would have been most suitable...for her!

But if I know you right my dear treydog, you will provide us with an intriguing explanation to that little mystery.

Oh this story is indeed wonderful!

I passed an uneasy night in the armory, cleaning and repairing my gear. The attack had put everyone on edge, and there were a fair number of “volunteer sentries” manning the walls. Others stayed close to the few troopers who happened to have obtained silver weapons, and more than one, knowing of my abilities with potions, asked me if I had any monkshood. Unfortunately, I did not- the plant was common on the mainland, but unknown on Vvardenfell, and I had not found any on Solstheim, either. I did use the privileges of my rank to requisition a silver dagger from the armory, recalling Einar’s story of werewolves. It bothered me to take advantage of my status, but not enough to stop me from doing so. The silvered blade might save me in a fight, and a darker impulse forced me to admit that I might have a different use for it if I fell to a lycanthropic foe.

With morning came a desire to be on the move again, to visit the Skaal village and learn what I could. But before I could leave, Saenus sought me out and asked me to walk with him. He said nothing until we were in a deserted corner, where he looked me over carefully. At last he smiled and said,

“It’s good to have you back. She said she would find you, but I wasn’t sure.”

I did not have to ask who “she” was- Athynae generally made a strong impression on people.

Saenus continued, “So… you haven’t been to see Carnius Magius, yet? No unfinished business with him?”

I shot a suspicious glance at the trooper, wondering at the intent of his probing questions.

Carefully, I responded: “No, I have not seen him since I got back. Is there a reason for your interest?”

The normally voluble soldier was quiet for so long that I began to think he was not going to answer. At last, he shook himself and looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Sir... I mean, Athlain… we’re friends, right? We cleaned out the smugglers, and you treated me more than fair. I- it’s like this- I haven’t always kept the best company or made the smartest choices. Everybody knows I would rather just ‘go along to get along.’ Or they used to know that. But you showed me that there was a different way, that ‘honor’ is more than just a word.”

He turned to face me squarely,

“And that girl of yours- she’s something special. She showed up here- and I don’t have to tell you, this is a rough bunch. But nobody offered her anything but kind words and respect- and it wasn’t because they were afraid of her- or not just that.”

He smiled at the memory and continued,

“She strode in here and said, ‘I’m looking for one of your officers- his name is Athlain. I’m afraid he’s in trouble, and I’m going to help him.’ And the thing is, no one laughed. The way she said it, we believed her. And I knew you had been doing some work for Carnius- and I also know a little bit more about him than some of the others do.”

He took a deep breath. “The reason Athynae showed up- one of the reasons, anyway- is that I sent her a note. You had told me a lot about her, and when I figured out that Carnius probably got you hooked on skooma… well, I decided someone needed to know- someone who wasn’t official. And so I figured I owed it to you- and to her- to make sure you were squared away.”

He said nothing else, just turned and walked across the parade ground- tall, straight, and proud- the very model of a good soldier.

In truth, I had not really spared a thought for Carnius Magius until Saenus mentioned the name. My mind had been occupied with finding a way to prevent a needless fight between the Legion and the Skaal, with the attack on the fort… and with getting back to Athynae as soon as I could. I looked toward the wing where the East Empire factor had his office, and my hands clenched into fists. But then, with an effort, I opened them and turned away.

“Later,” I thought. “There will be time to deal with you later.”

For now, I had another long walk ahead of me. It need not have been so- if I had thought to ask ‘Thyna for the Mark and Recall amulets, I could have magically transported myself back to Thirsk and then made the short trip to the village further north. But I had not done so, and I rather liked knowing she had them- they were a mystical connection between us. They had come from Father to me and from me to her.

So, even though I had much to think about, I was in a pleasant mood as I left the fort. The day was cold and clear, and I decided to make my way east, to the coast, before turning north. That route would give me a chance to explore part of the island that I had not yet seen- and perhaps find some evidence of Louis Beauchamp’s missing airship. The Breton inventor had sent a rather terse note to Frostmoth, reminding me of our bargain, and I owed it to him to respond- even if what I had to report was negative.

Although my Legion armor made it difficult, I still did my best to avoid the bears and wolves that seemed to cover every square foot of the island. I thought about my natural history lessons, and came to the tentative conclusion that there was something decidedly unnatural about the number of predators on Solstheim. There were no large herds of grazing animals to support them- the only prey species were bristlebacks and horkers, plus some fish. And then I considered my own experiences and added another item to the carnivores’ diet plan- people. But that was still an effect, rather than a cause. The wolves and bears attacked people because there were too many wolves and bears and not enough of their natural food supplies. So- why were there too many predators? I did not know.

In the midst of my contemplation of what was wrong on Solstheim, I came across a sight that was even more bizarre than an over-abundance of creatures that wanted to eat me. Some fifteen feet atop a rock spire was the body of an Argonian. My curiosity, as well as my Legion training, pushed me to investigate more closely. The sides of the rock were sheer, and offered no way to climb up, so I swallowed a levitation potion and floated gently upward until I could examine the corpse. The dead Argonian was quite frozen, and the ice and snow indicated that he had been here for some time. He was not a mage, and had no potion vials or magical scrolls- so how had he managed to get on top of the rock? And what had killed him? Beyond the fatal injuries he had suffered upon striking the rock, his body bore no marks of violence. There were no signs of a freak wave that might have washed him up there, either. Finally, I simply sketched his markings in my notebook on the chance that they might allow me to identify him and then continued on my way. It seemed that the more I learned, the less I knew.

Although I did not want to delay too long, I turned inland at the point opposite where I estimated Thirsk must lie. I reached the mead hall and shook the snow from my boots before stepping inside. I removed my helmet so the Nords could see my face and glanced around for Athynae. She was not in sight, so I climbed the stairs two at a time, waving a cheerful greeting to Svenja as I went. The door to Athynae’s room swung open at my knock, but she was not there and neither was her pack. In fact, the room was empty, save for a folded piece of notepaper propped against the pillow.

For long moments, I did not move. I held on to the slender hope that if I did nothing, perhaps this would not be real. If I did not touch the note, the words it contained would remain unread, would remain an unrealized potential. If I stood there long enough, she would appear behind me, ready with a joke about my blocking the doorway. But the silent minutes passed and no footsteps sounded. The rays of the sun came through the window and moved across the floor, picking out motes of dust that danced in the air. At last, I moved my feet, one and then the other, crossing the short distance to the bed. I reached out a shaking hand to grasp the note and raised it as carefully as I would one of the butterflies that lived in Mother’s garden. Even so, my trembling caused two amulets to fall from the folds of paper, jewels glinting as they tumbled to the floor. I ignored them, unfolding the note to read the words I did not want to see. As I did, a hint of Athynae’s scent wafted upward and I almost turned to look for her. But my eyes scanned the lines of the note and I knew. She was gone.

What can I say, Trey? Just more of the high quality material we've come to expect from you for Athlain.

I was pleasantly surprised to see you talk about the ecologically faulty nature of Solstheim's high predator population. You never seem to lack those mundane observations that make your stories all the more believable.

Lovely update, the plot thickens, Athlain has to deal with the problems at the Fort, then of course he's puzzled about that wretched girl, what she's up to! I can't believe Athynae would do such a thing as just leave! That is really not kind considering she very well knows he loves her....hmm I wonder

So I sit here staring at the screen....hoping for more of this brilliant story!

A letter from Fort Buckmoth, Vvardenfell to Sarethi Manor (a portion):

Serene:

My contact reports that they arrived at Thirsk and appear to be well….
There is one bit of news I feel you should know- Athynae introduced Athlain as her “betrothed.” She is probably not aware of the potential political issues, but I know that you are.

Your friend,

Imsin


A letter from Sarethi Manor, Vvardenfell to Duke Vedam Dren, Ebonheart:

Your Grace:

I am writing to request your assistance in a delicate matter. I would appreciate your approval of the attached formal declaration of betrothal between my daughter Athynae and Athlain, son of Trey and Baria of Indarys Manor. I have enclosed a letter from Trey and Baria granting their permission. However, I would prefer that this arrangement be kept confidential at present. Circumstances (and girlish whims) may change.

Thank you in advance for your kindness and discretion.

Sincerely,

Serene Sarethi



In an office in Ebonheart, one of Duke Vedam Dren’s clerks leaves his desk and his paperwork for a few moments. He is conscientious, as are all of the Duke’s people, but the luncheon he just consumed at the Six Fishes is not sitting well. He considers some strong words for that new serving girl. But before he can complete the thought, his digestive troubles demand his full attention.
He hurries out, leaving the office door open, and a slender girl with mixed Dunmer and Imperial features topped by startling red hair slips inside. She quickly locates the files regarding the East Empire Company’s Raven Rock enterprise- and Carnius Magius, the factor in charge of the venture. What she reads causes her to hiss in triumph. She smiles and puts the files back in order. Turning to leave, she sees a paper lying on the desk, a paper that holds several familiar names. Curiosity comes as naturally to her as breathing- she pauses to read. And as she reads, the triumphant smile fades and her face grows pale:

In re: Athynae S.

Contract of Betrothal- per Serene Sarethi via Duke Vedam Dren

Duke accepts your proposed arrangements in full

Look forward to seeing you, etc., etc.

Oh dear me! What is now this all about? What thoughts whirl around in Thyna's mind? What does she think? This was an appetizer I presume?

Looking sooo much forward for the continuation!

The interludes are very well executed. I very much like first person but by it's nature it limits the reader to a narrow part of the story and, while I've read other things with background and third person bits between chapters I think yours might be the best exectuted (and thats up against some big names). They fit very well and while drawing my attention the the bigger picture are incomplete enough to keep it blurry without seeming in any way artificial or condecending.

Very very good stuff.

My first impulse was to crumple the letter and toss it to the floor, but I could not. First, because it might be the last thing I would have from Athynae’s own hand; second, because of the final words:

I will look for you in Ald’ruhn when the flowers bloom.

For the rest, it read rather like a conversation with Athynae- darting and swooping from one topic to the next- with only a passing nod to conventions of logic, grammar, and punctuation. Under normal circumstances, her thought processes were convoluted; under duress, they were positively labyrinthine. A careful reading brought several points to the fore: she had discovered some useful information regarding Carnius Magius (enclosed); she had also discovered something unexpected (and unnamed) regarding herself and her family; the unnamed discovery placed her in a difficult position related to her honor and her feelings for me; she was sorry for some unspecified sin she had committed against me, and hoped I would forgive her.

What the flood of words did NOT contain was any indication of where she had gone. There was a postscript, informing me that I “must see Brynjolfr before leaving Thirsk.” The word “must” was underlined three times. Moving slowly, I folded the note and tucked it away inside my cuirass, my fingers brushing the scarf that I had wrapped around my throat. Then I stooped to pick up the Mark and Recall amulets; she had suggested a way I might use them to deal with Carnius. I looked around the room, wanting to do nothing so much as throw myself upon the bed in which we each had slept, although never together. But I could not. Honor had compelled Athynae to leave this place; honor pressed upon me to do the same.

I descended the stairs to find Svenja waiting. She looked at me with sadness in her eyes and said,

“She left not long after you. And before you ask, she did not say where she was going or why. It was better if I did not know, she said. That way I would not have to decide whether to tell or keep silent.”

She gave a small smile, “Maybe she let something slip to that writer-fellow- he was interested in what she knew of the Nords and the Skaal. But first, she insisted that I send you to the smith.”

She put a friendly hand on my shoulder and pushed me toward the door:

“So go see Brynjolfr. And when you come back, I will have some mulled cider for you.”

The smith was hard at work when I entered his forge, and he struck the sword he was shaping a few more times before quenching it in a tank of water. Then he stretched his back and nodded to me. He went to a shelf and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle which he brought to the front of the forge.

“She was here,” he said. “And then she left. But she brought me this and watched while I put it together. She said you would have need of it.”

He slowly picked at the cord that tied the bundle, an odd expression on his face.

“My granny had the Sight. And when yer girl handed me this, she got a look as if the telling was upon her. ‘Ye make this, and ye make sure Athlain takes it. Tell him,’ she said, ‘tell him I expect him to stay alive.’”

He looked up with a grin: “If I was ye, I’d do as she says. That ‘un is just as like to follow ye into Oblivion and drag ye back by the scruff a’ the neck.”

Then he pulled away the cloth to reveal a mace. How plain those words look on the page. It was more than a weapon; it was a thing of beauty. The head was dark as a starless night sky, and I realized it was made of ebony. The spikes gleamed in stark contrast, and Brynjolfr pointed to them with pride:

“Silver, they are. That was her idea. I bored holes in the ebony and threaded them; the spikes are threaded, too. The handle is ash; it willna shatter.”

I also detected the glow of magicka on the weapon and reached out my hand to touch it. The spell was one that would transfer an enemy’s life force to me. That would certainly help me obey Athynae’s admonition to stay alive, especially since the spell would cause me no harm if it was reflected. The mace was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and was also worth a king’s ransom. I lifted its Dwemer cousin from the loop at my side and handed it to the smith.

“Keep this safe for me, if you would. I… took it from home, and would like to be able to return it one day.”

Brynjolfr wrapped my old mace in the cloth that had held the new one and stored it behind the forge.

“Aye. It’ll be here when ye call for it.” He cleared his throat and swiped a massive hand across his eyes.
“Now be off wi’ ye, and let a man get on wi’ his work.”

There was no more to say; I returned to the mead hall to pick up my pack and to thank Svenja for all her help. She acknowledged my thanks and gave me some advice, along with the promised cider:

“Before you go, talk to Bereditte Jastal, the writer. He may have information that will be helpful.”

Her blue eyes darkened as she added,

“Be respectful to the Skaal in the village, but don’t beg. They appreciate courtesy, but they despise weakness. And they have little reason to love the Empire.”

This,my dear friend was more than welcome! The tension builds up, slowly and delicate....a true masterpiece it is. And for us, your loyal readers it,s like christmas eve.

So Thyna wants him to stay alive..aye quite understandable, wht I really wonder is how she´ll handle the information she shouldn´t have had..hrmmm.

So sitting here in a very cold place (Norway) eagerly waiting...for more!

Ah I loved Bloodmoon, easily one of the best expansions I've ever played

I never really liked the Skaal... I always played werewolf and wiped them out xD

great story

Everyone seemed to think that I should speak with Bereditte Jastal, the writer who had taken up residence in the mead hall. I decided I would take heed- the consequences of ignoring earlier advice were impressed upon my mind- and some had also left marks upon my flesh. But my reluctance was not a matter of stubbornness- or not only that. First, I wanted to be out and moving- doing something to take my mind from Athynae’s absence. And I admit that I was put off by the fact that his name was clearly Breton in origin- and that he was a writer. But one of the hunters mentioned that Athynae had engaged the author in some serious discussions- which might yield a clue as to her whereabouts. I would willingly face a Daedra lord if it meant having Athynae back; a whole host of Breton scholars should be no more frightening than that.

So I climbed the stairs again, much more slowly- and knocked upon the door to the guest room.

A tenor voice called, “Please come in,” and I did.

The young man who greeted me proved that my surmise had been correct; he bore the triangular face, high forehead, and sandy hair characteristic of his Breton origin. His ink-stained fingers and the lines around his eyes, signs of time spent reading in poor light, revealed his trade as much as the books and papers stacked all around the room. He seemed out of place in the mead hall with his elegant puffed sleeves and scholarly whiskers, but there was a light of determination in his eyes, hinting at a deep well of strength and stubbornness. While I had been assessing the man, he had been scrutinizing me in turn, and a broad smile stretched his features.

“You must be Athlain,” he enthused. “I understand you fought Erich a few days ago. I just wish I had been here to see it- the challenge, the acceptance, the battle itself!”

I thought, but did not say: “And what of the fear, the brutality, and the blood- not to mention the very real chance of dying?”

Meanwhile, the writer was rattling on: “It’s just so exciting, to be out here on the edge of civilization. But I am forgetting my manners. I am Bereditte Jastal, a bookseller by trade.”

He gave a low bow and added, “But my passion is writing. Most recently, I have been chronicling the history of the Nords on Solstheim- the ‘Skaal’ as they call themselves. In fact, I have just completed two scholarly works on the subject: Thirsk, a History and Sovngarde, a Re-examination. I have copies of both, available at a modest price, as well as a few other volumes that might be of interest. Athynae was particularly taken with the The Black Arrow, Volume II and The Posting of the Hunt.”

His spate of words stopped for a few moments and his eyes took on the look that those of the masculine persuasion often assumed when meeting, or recalling, Athynae- a rather stunned fascination. I guiltily stepped on the unkind thought that if the Nords simply allowed Athynae and Ser Jastal to talk, they would have no need of fires to keep the mead hall heated.

With an effort, I brought my thoughts back to my responsibilities, to my mission to the Skaal village. The Breton scholar must have some information about the settlement, so I prompted him:

“What can you tell me of the Nords of Solstheim?”

He drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back, pacing across the floor as he spoke:

“I came to Thirsk all the way from Cyrodiil, by way of Vvardenfell. My father once visited Solstheim, you see, and as a boy I was intrigued by his exciting stories of the Nords. I was particularly fascinated with this very mead hall -- its residents and their adventures, things like that. I arrived here over a year ago, and have been living among the Nords ever since. I've been chronicling their lives, and recently collected enough data to complete my history of Thirsk. It is really quite a place- it may be as much as 500 years old, and was founded by a great warrior named Hrothmund the Red.”

I started at the name. “You mean Hrothmund was real? He actually lived?”

The Breton gave a firm nod. “There can be no doubt. And he was finally brought down by the great wolf and interred in a barrow somewhere west of here.”
He lowered his voice- “They say that the barrow is still guarded by a snow wolf. I don’t know- I have not seen it myself.”

So Hrothmund had existed, and he was buried on Solstheim. Louis Beauchamp had been right about that much, at least. And that meant, in addition to everything else, I still needed to search for the missing airship and for the burial mound.

Meanwhile, Ser Jastal’s darting thoughts had carried him onto another topic, and he again assumed the stance of an academy lecturer:

“Nord traditions regarding life and death and what comes after are another of my areas of interest. They talk of a place called ‘Sovngarde,’ which only the greatest warriors can find. The Nords believe that the god Shor constructed a magnificent fortress where valiant Nord warriors may live forever; feasting, fighting...basically doing everything Nords like to do. The trick is finding the way in. According to legend, the entrance to Sovngarde is hidden, and only those who take up the search may ever find the way in. But according to my research, which I've chronicled in a new book, the way into Sovngarde isn't quite what they thought.”

He stopped for a moment and stared pensively at the ceiling, a frown of concentration on his features.
I seized the opportunity to bring the conversation to a subject that was of more immediate interest, asking-

“You mentioned that Athynae had visited with you…. Would you mind telling me what the two of you discussed?”

The somewhat silly smile came back to his face and he was quiet for several minutes before responding:

“Athynae? Yes, she was interested in any stories I might have heard regarding werewolves, and how to combat them. It is a fascinating topic- and certainly has some basis in the Skaal hunting traditions and their reverence for the spirits of animals. And it may very well be tied in to the legendary Great Hunt, when the Daedra pursue mortal men.”

His eyes shone with scholarly zeal and I wondered if he had any concept of what it felt like to be chased across a winter landscape, knowing that to falter or stumble would mean a horrible death. But his mind had already leapt to a new subject:

“Later, she asked me about the legal implications of marriage contracts, especially the practice of families entering into a contract for a child who was not yet of age. I explained that I am no lawyer, nor even well-versed in the intricacies of Imperial law. However, my reading inclines me to believe that such agreements are binding upon the child, barring some extraordinary circumstance which would allow for voiding the contract.”

Marriage contracts? Why would she be concerned about marriage contracts, of all things? So much so that she would ask a relative stranger? And what did he mean by “extraordinary circumstance”? I spoke the last question aloud and he explained:

“Oh, things like a crippling or disfiguring injury, such as the loss of a limb or eye; proof of moral unsuitability; insanity; disease,” he waved a hand casually, as if those afflictions were of little real consequence.

True to form, I had sought answers and come away with more questions. Perhaps the Skaal village would provide greater enlightenment.

What the??!!....SERENE!!! Come out here now!!

Nice update I liked the scholar, you make him stand well as a character. I particularly liked 'darting thoughts', it worked nicely.

I want to know where ths goes... More?

Do I need to? You're already there, Seth, aren't you? Better you deal with it....


Oh aye, me too! Maybe things aren't what they seem to be? I wonder...werewolves and...marriage contracts? Now I'm utterly curious so I beg of the sweet dachshund to grab a pen or something...ASAP

Werewolves and marriage contracts... this makes me think of some alternate-universe Gilbert and Sullivan show, or something of that ilk.

Note: I have included a link to the Story of Aevar Stone-Singer at the end of this installment. While it is important to understanding much of what will occur in the future, the words are not my words- and it is a longish story. So- it is linked rather than reposted here. T.

My spirit had taken a chill that even the roaring fires of Thirsk could not thaw. Athynae’s absence was a void that nothing could fill- not food, nor drink, nor even the rough friendship of the Skaal. Still, Svenja and Skjoldr did their best- offering me furs to cover my armor and keep out the wind and mulled cider to warm me from the inside. It was no fault of theirs that they did not possess the cure for my affliction, so I thanked them for their many kindnesses and turned my mind to the only thing I had left- duty.

The wind howled and the snow swirled, obscuring the landscape and blotting out my tracks as I plodded northward. It was hard to believe that I had once found the frozen flakes exotic- now they were simply another obstacle to overcome, a hindrance that slowed my steps and weighted my clothing. In fact, it rather reminded me of slipping and sliding through the ash-fall that still covered the slopes of Red Mountain. Swiping the ice from my face, I pressed on- east and north. The only good thing about the weather was that it kept the wild animals- and the wilder humans- away.

Mingled scents of wood-smoke and curing hides alerted me when I was near the village, and I uncovered my head to better listen- and to make sure my face was visible. The wind carried faint sounds to me- an axe striking wood, a door slamming shut, the creak of a windlass. I turned slowly, trying to discern the direction from which they came, and saw dark shapes looming out of the snow. Moving closer, I recognized buildings with the steep roofs and crossed timbers of Nord dwellings. I eased my mace from its loop and then let it drop back- I was not sure what sort of greeting awaited me, but it would not do to appear hostile.

A windbreak of closely-spaced trees blunted the force of the wind and snow- creating a quiet space in which the village sat almost as if it had been plucked out of time and suspended forever between one minute and the next. The illusion was shattered when two burly figures in Nordic mail marched toward me and asked:

“Who be ye? And why do ye trespass here, stranger?”

The words were a standard challenge, no different than one might hear anywhere. But the tone carried a clear message- if I wanted a fight, these warriors would be more than happy to accommodate me. Holding my hands well away from my sides, I answered quietly:

“My name is Athlain, and I have come from Fort Frostmoth, seeking news of my commander. The fort was attacked and he was… taken.”

The Nords glared at me anew and muttered to one another in the language of Skyrim. I knew enough of that tongue to make out several insults, and even threats. At last, the older man shook his head at his companion and turned back to me.

“You will Speak to Tharsten Heart-Fang. He will decide what we should do with ye. Now.”

He stomped off through the snow, not bothering to see if I was following.

My surly guide led me to the doors of the largest building in the village, and pulled them open. We entered and he curtly gestured for me to wait while he went to speak to the leader of the Skaal. I took the opportunity to study the man I guessed must be Tharsten. His hair and beard were the color of steel, but age had not diminished the strength of his limbs. He wore an elaborate suit of Nordic mail and glanced at me keenly as the guard spoke to him.

At last, he waved me closer and asked gruffly:

“You are not of the Skaal- so what do you want here? And what is this I hear about an attack on the Imperial fort?”

I told him as much as I knew about the attack and the creatures behind it- and that some of the troops believed the Skaal had been involved. He snorted his contempt and growled:

“Soldiers...pfah! They cut their trees and dig their holes, and have little to show after a day's toil. They do not respect this land or its creatures, and for that, I find them offensive. But, though I have no love for them, the Skaal would never do such a thing. We prefer to let the Imperials kill themselves slowly. But these creatures that attacked...they were not wolves of this island.”

He sat back in his throne and asked: “Now, have you finished your business here?

I reached into my pack and produced the skull Gaea Artoria had given me. Placing it reverently on a pedestal, I said:

“This is the relic of a Nord warrior. I… we… wanted to return it so that it can be honored properly.”

Tharsten rose and examined the skull carefully, without touching it. At last he looked at me with a bit less hostility.

“You've brought the bones of one of our ancestors? Stupid Imperials. You need to learn to leave things as they are. Still, it is good that you have returned this to the Skaal. Perhaps there is hope for you and your kind. You are welcome here for the moment, but there is much to atone for.”

He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts and continued, pacing back and forth in agitation:

“You Imperials in that fort have brought nothing but harm to these lands. You cut the trees and dig the earth. You are wasteful, lazy, and careless. You have no comprehension of the Oneness of the land. It is this Oneness from which the Skaal derive our strength, and you Imperials have defiled these lands.”

He seated himself again and stated: “The Oneness is what gives the Skaal power! It is the balance of our lands, the trees and the waters, wolf and bear. The Imperials have no respect for this balance, and we pay the price. Through your carelessness, you have upset the natural order, the Oneness of the land. It must be balanced once again, and the All-Maker appeased. I wish for you to make things right, Athlain. You will be the one to restore the power of the Skaal. Then we will return to the matter of your missing captain.”

He was silent for several moments, his eyes fixed on a vision only he could see.

“It is right that you do this, as it is your people who have caused the damage. Speak with Korst Wind-Eye, in the Shaman's Hut. He will give you further instructions. None in the village will harm you, but watch your manners- we have no love for Imperials.”

He waved me away, and I exited the Great Hall, pausing to survey the rest of the village. The eaves of the house just west of where I stood were hung with bundles of herbs, and the door posts were carved with stylized figures of wolf and bear. Those clues seemed to indicate that it was the shaman’s dwelling, so I walked over and knocked on the door. A pleasant voice bade me enter.

The interior of the house was sparsely furnished, with only a few hides on floor and walls, along with a few simple tables and benches. The one unexpected element were the books that filled several shelves. It was a varied collection, and I started a bit as I recognized copies of The Five Far Stars and The Chronicles of Nchuleft. What sort of Nord was this, who read Ashlander poetry and Dwemer history? The subject of my curiosity cleared his throat and said,

“Yes, Cyrodiil? Is there a reason you disturb my studies?”

I left my study of the books and turned to the home’s inhabitant- receiving another surprise. I had expected the shaman to be at least as old as Tharsten, with white hair and a wrinkled countenance. The man I saw was close to my own age, dressed simply in furs and a brown robe, which apparel set off an athletic frame. I flushed a bit as I realized I was staring and stuttered,

“Ah, I … that is… Korst Wind-Eye?”

He nodded and held out his hand in an invitation to continue.

With an effort, I remembered my manners- and my reason for being there.

“Tharsten Heart-Fang has said that I must restore the power of the Skaal before he will tell me what he knows of Captain Falx Carius. Captain Carius has been missing since a band of strange, wolf-like creatures attacked Fort Frostmoth. He- Tharsten, not the Captain- told me to come to you for instructions, so here I am.”

The Nord wise-man greeted my rather breathless explanation with silence and a slightly amused look. Finally he asked an odd question:

“Would you by any chance know a young lady named of Athynae?”

“Yes? I know her rather well, but what does that have to do with the task Tharsten has given me?”

Korst allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth and said dryly, “No reason, really. It was just an idle thought.”

He quickly grew serious and added,

“The land is wounded, and I see that you are heartsick, as well. If you would heal yourself, you must heal the land. How can any person be truly complete if he cannot feel the rhythm of the world around him? If you would earn our trust, you must perform the Ritual of the Gifts.”

He held up a hand to forestall me as I opened my mouth to ask about this ritual.

“It is too much for one not of the Skaal to learn from telling. But I have the story in written form.”

He retrieved a scroll from one of the shelves and added,

"Before you begin the Ritual, I would ask that you go out among the people, speak to them, discover their needs- and help them as you can. The survival of the Clan depends on the honesty and dependability of all. I must test your truth before I place our fate in your hands.”

The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer

Awesome! I finally found where I can get updates on Athlain and Athynae!

Yes, missing our girl 'Thynae. Snow, werewolves, marriage contracts indeed. Nice to find a place to stay updated on A&A.

Ahh so Athlain has to go through all those stone-thingies? my my, not an easy task. Darn it, I think it would have been decent if that red head would have stood by him...but she's one-of-a-kind. Her mother would have put a spell on her if she'd knew!... Believe me ...I know!

Athynae has inspired quite a bit of "poetry" - and that term is relative in this instance.

What with all the excitement, I almost forgot that I need to add the next installment. Fixed now.

Before leaving Korst’s house, I read through the scroll he had given me, retelling the story of Aevar. Though I had never heard the story of the Gifts before, it seemed to awaken something deep inside of me, as though some missing piece had been returned. I had never been especially religious, a trait I knew I shared with Father. But the words of this story came alive in my imagination and I “saw” the events as if acted out on a stage in front of me. I could not help but recall the rumors that the blood of Skyrim ran in Father’s veins- and mine. Korst Wind-Eye looked at me with a smile of satisfaction, as if he had heard and approved of my thoughts.

Intent upon earning the shaman’s respect, I decided to show that I was more than just another arrogant Imperial.

“You are the healer and counselor for your people. Therefore, I ask you: Who among them has need of my assistance?”

Korst’s smile widened, and he said, “Already, you demonstrate wisdom. I believe you might find that two of villagers in particular would benefit from your aid. Speak with young Ingmar and then with Lassnr. Return to me when that is done.”

As I went back outside, I wondered- Ingmar? Certainly it was a common enough Nordic name, but this was a small village. That simplest solution would be to go and see so for myself, so I asked a Skaal guard to direct me to Ingmar’s house. With a grunt and a shrug of irritation, he pointed to the opposite side of the Great Hall and turned back to his survey of the perimeter. In the event, I had no need to go all the way to the dwelling, for a familiar young Nord bounded up to me and gave me a crushing hug. Then he released me and looked around hopefully.

“I heard you had come to visit us! Is Athynae with you? I wanted to show her my house and see if she wanted to hunt with me along the Isild River.”

My own sense of loss was too recent for me to feel any satisfaction when I told the youth that I was alone. And I actually felt somewhat better as I processed the knowledge that Athynae had never been to Ingmar’s house. Whatever else was going on, she had not cast me aside for this man. Of course, the idea was ridiculous on the face of it- what would she want with a mere boy? Albeit one who owned his own home- and who was taller, stronger, and probably better-looking than I…

With an almost physical effort, I stopped those unproductive thoughts and asked Ingmar,

“So, is all well with you? Have you need of… , anything?”

He beamed at me with innocent health and good humor and replied:

“No, I am well-pleased with things. Thanks to Athynae’s help, I passed the ceremony that makes me a man of the Skaal. So now I can join the hunting parties and even marry.”

He reached inside his fur cuirass to show me a bear totem carved from horker ivory and threaded onto a rawhide strip. He banged a friendly hand on my shoulder, nearly driving me to my knees before sprinting off again, calling over his shoulder,

“When you see her again, tell Athynae ‘thank you’!”

The best face I could put on things was that Korst should be satisfied- whatever might have troubled Ingmar had been taken care of by Athynae. And so now the young Nord could go out into the world and try to get himself killed- or married. Perhaps I was more fortunate than I had realized, since only the first option seemed to be open to me.

With a sense of fatalism, I asked directions to Lassnr’s hut, half expecting to find that Athynae had already been to visit him, as well. And she had no doubt waved a shapely hand and made his problems disappear. For once, the Skaal sentry who directed me was more forthcoming, warning me that Lassnr had a peculiar way of speaking.

“Just dinna be taken askew. He be a stout warrior and a good man. He disna mean aught by it; ‘tis just his way.”

Thus prepared, I knocked on the door of a house on the west side of the village. In response, I heard a sort of cough, which I took to be a greeting. When I opened the door, I saw a bare-chested Nord, who wore a wolf hide headdress. He was obviously agitated when I entered his cabin, but it was equally apparent that I was not the cause of his distress. He could not be still, instead walking around the room in quick, frantic circles. When I introduced myself he jerked his head and grunted, “Lassnr,” in response. The effect of his movements and attire was rather like trying to have a conversation with the beast whose hide he wore. Still I was determined to follow the shaman’s instructions, so I asked my question:

“Is there something I can do for you, Lassnr?”

He did not answer, but stopped his circling long enough to pick up a small portrait from the hearth. He handed it to me with a pleading look in his brown eyes and panted, “Tymvaul.” I glanced at the portrait and saw a younger version of the man who had now resumed his loping circuit of the room. Before I could ask any more questions, he darted outside with a series of sharp, wordless exclamations and a glance over his shoulder to see if I was following. When I stepped out the door, he raced around the side of the house, heading east. Again I followed, only to find him pacing back and forth beside a well. The structure was capped by a trapdoor secured with a stout padlock. Lassnr looked from the well to the portrait in my hands and shook his head spasmodically, uttering another series of sharp, wordless yelps. In between, I made out the words “Tymvaul” and “well.”

Trying to piece together the evidence, I asked:

“Tymvaul is your son?” He nodded.

“And you are trying to tell me something about Tymvaul?” He nodded more vigorously, adding another yelp for good measure.

“What are you trying to tell me, Lassnr? That Tymvaul has fallen down the well? Is that it?”

He practically danced with excitement, bounding around and nodding his head affirmatively.

“Then we should get him out. I will be glad to try.”

My words seemed to have an almost magical calming effect on the old man, for the fit that had possessed him suddenly passed. He drew in great gasping breaths and spoke coherently:

“’Tisn’t just a well; it leads to the Rimhull caverns. Ice-caves, and he be lost or trapped. I usually keep it locked- must have forgotten- or perhaps he took my key. Found it on the ground by the well and locked it up afore I kenned he was missing. It was only after he didn’t come home that I recollected he had asked me about the caves. He seemed drawn to the old well, no matter how many times I begged him to stay away. Certain I am that he’s down there, lost and alone.”

AHA! So...you are almost caught up on this site? (Awesome Write!!!!!) I loved this one!

Timmy fell down the well!

Sorry, I never got the chance to say that on the other forum...

Woof! More doggie goodness please!

This was great. A briskly paced story that was fun to read.

I imagine Athlain must be now half expecting to see signs 'Athynae was here' everywhere he goes!

Wonderful and cleverly put!


Even more wonderful and clever!


So, it seems to be off to the ice caves?

Ha, it is great fun to take this trip down the well again.

I did manage to get up to date on your thread on the Beth forum.

I really loved the letters that Athlain sent home that always seemed to backfire against him. Awesome stuff.
And Athynae, who could not smile when she ripped into him when she first turned up on the snowcapped island?

Bring on more doggy treats!!

Another good part. I look forward to more.

I'd try to leave sme better crit but I javen't really got anything to say. The characterisation is great in particular.

Athlain's insecurity when faced with the reality of Athynae's interactions with other men certainly rings true. Isn't it terrible what love can do to a man? Of course, in this case, the object of that affection is definitely worth the heartache.


I had the exact same question when I started to read this.

Isn't it wonderful how well my old doggie-friend pictures Athynae? And athlain...And the interactions between them, even when they are NOT together? Jeez, who knows where that dunmeri-imperial little woman-to-be is right now?

Now if I was her mother.... haha

A wonderful quotation:




Got me smiling...

So glad you could draw the connection between two people known for falling down wells.

"What's that Lassie? Timmy fell down the well and now the water's creeping up from the floods but he's caught beneath a branch and has exactly 42 minutes before he drowns?"

No, wait, sorry.



Well done, few enough people catch the reference.

Lassnr handed me the key and stood by with an expectant look on his face. When I hesitated, he seemed to take it as unspoken criticism, saying:

“I fear I am too old to survive Rimhull. Tymvaul came to us late in life- and then his mother died. There is supposed to be another entrance….” He waved vaguely to the west, toward the Isild River.

But he had misunderstood- it was not Lassnr’s courage that I questioned. At last I asked him:

“Please. Go inside and warm yourself by the fire. When I have word, I will come to you.”

His old eyes searched my face and he gave a wan smile,

“Bring him back to me, Athlain. I hate to think of him lying hurt and alone down there.”

Then he turned and shuffled back to the cabin door. I heard it open and close, leaving me more or less alone beside the old well.

An old well, yes. People got tired of going all the way to the river for water, tired of having to worry about getting eaten by a bear every time they got thirsty. So they dug a well. It was a useful thing, and it was no one’s fault that it was also a deep, yawning hole in the ground.

I fit the key into the lock and raised the door.

A hole that disappeared into an echoing darkness that seemed to breathe cold air…and to smell of a recent grave. And besides, I was an officer of the Legion. I was not supposed to be afraid of the dark- or of holes in the ground, even if they did seem to murmur just below the threshold of hearing.

There was no ladder- and why should there be? This was not a dwelling (or so I hoped). I stared down into the depths and understood how someone might fall in- the darkness seemed to pull at me. And I thought about the dark and about what Senior Trooper Carbo had said.

We do night exercises for a reason, recruit. And it ain’t so we can scare the scrib jelly out of you young “gentlemen.” Fear of the dark is a good thing. We want people to be afraid of the dark. We want them to afraid that YOU might be out there. And you are going to be the scariest thing there is- an Imperial Legion trooper trained by ME. You are going to be the last thing they never saw.

I made sure my equipment was secure and put first one leg and then the other over the stone coping, so that my feet dangled inside the well. And then I took a deep breath and pushed off into the dark. To this day, I cannot explain why I did not make use of a spell to slow my fall…. It simply did not occur to me that there was any other way than to jump in feet first- until I had begun dropping into the cold, by which time it was far too late.

The fall took forever and no time at all, ending with a plunge into icy water that closed over my head. Almost, I gasped in surprise, an action that would have given this story a much different ending. Instead, I clamped my lips and opened my eyes and kicked toward a lighter patch in the gloom. Another change in the quality of the light signaled blessed, breathable air above, and I clawed for the surface. I saw a sloping shelf of ice and pulled myself onto it.

My gasping and splashing should have alerted every creature for miles around, but I did not care. I was cold, I was wet, and I could feel the water that dripped from me turning into ice. I kept moving my feet for fear that my boots would freeze to the floor. I was shaking too badly to even consider casting a spell, so I munched holly berries and dried bristleback meat. The combined flavors were awful, but the alchemical reaction provided a bit of warmth that spread outward from my stomach. All of which meant I was only half-frozen, but had a foul taste in my mouth to make up for it.

So, when the skeleton guardian rounded a bend in the ice cavern, I was in a perfect frame of mind to meet him. I lumbered forward, the ebony and silver mace practically leaping into my hand, and I swung it with all the fury of someone who has just taken an ice-bath. A mace is the perfect weapon for dealing with animated skeletons- it crushes, smashes, shatters. My Legion training and Brynjolfr’s sparring sessions had put strength into my arm. And the mace Athynae had commissioned for me was a thing of beauty- at least if one takes delight in destruction.

Two swings were sufficient to reduce the undead warrior to his component parts, plus a handful of bonemeal. I did not stop to examine the bones, nor to wonder about Tymvaul’s fate. Instead, I stalked down the corridor with a snarl on my frozen lips. One way or another, I was going to get warm again.

The caves of Rimhull were not extensive, nor terribly elaborate- simply tunnels carved through the ice by melt-water and preserved by the flow of warmer air from the outside. I moved forward, keeping the draft in my face and destroying several more skeletons. It was almost a surprise when I at last saw a human figure standing in a small chamber, a figure that at least appeared to be made of flesh and blood. The man turned to me, and I nearly took a step back from his gaze.

The first thing I noticed was the ornate purple robe he wore- a robe that glowed and crackled with eldritch energy. The magicka made my skin prickle and I tightened a suddenly sweaty palm around the haft of my mace. The man’s face was known to me- it had the same structure as the one in the portrait Lassnr had shown me. But instead of the ruddy complexion of a young Nord, the skin was almost the ashen hue of a Dark Elf. And the eyes were pools of darkness, with no light of humanity. It was Tymvaul, and he was alive. But he was far from well.

His eyes bored into me with a burning cold, and he growled:

“Intruder! Who dares to venture so deep into Rimhull and to attack my guardians? The Mantle of Woe is mine, d’you hear? I have claimed the robe and its power!”

He reached his hands up to touch the fabric, as if drawing the essence of its evil magic deeper into himself, then continued in an unnaturally deep voice:

“I could not believe my eyes when I read the old stories. How could it be that an artifact of such power lay so near? It had to be my destiny to take up the Mantle of Woe and to command the dead to walk once more. So I jumped into the well and braved the chill of Rimhull to claim my rightful place as Tymvaul the Dark.”

He paused, and then looked at me with an almost pleading expression.

“It…called to me. Can you understand?”

Indeed I could. Some of the artifacts Father kept in our home seemed to whisper to one another- and to me. He was careful to keep them locked away, as far from our living and sleeping areas as possible. And he had warned me to tell him immediately if I ever had any strange dreams- especially dreams of wielding any of the weapons. And then I touched the bronze and silver horses that decorated my Legion cuirass, and thought that there were all kinds of dreams….

Meanwhile, Tymvaul was speaking again, his voice filled with longing:

“The Mantle strengthens my magical power, but causes the sun to burn me. So I have to stay underground most of the time…. I do miss the sun- and the sound of the wind in the trees- and my father. But the magic! The power it gives me! It fills me until I think I will burst!”

I had feared for the young man’s sanity- and I still did. Worse yet, I feared that I would have to injure or kill him to stop his madness. But his words had given me the clue I needed. Putting away my mace, I infused my voice with every bit of persuasion that I could muster:

“And what of your father? Will you turn your face away from him forevermore? He sent me to find you- he knew that you were still alive…. Take off the robe and put aside the evil it has wrought.”

His face seemed to settle into an expression of wonder and hope.

“Father? He sent you to find me? He still holds me in his heart?”

With convulsive strength, he wrenched open the robe and flung it away from him.

“I only wanted to study magic, free from the rules of the Skaal. Necromancy seemed an easy path to power. Now I see that I was a fool. Take that awful- thing- and destroy it.”

He straightened his shoulders and smiled ruefully. “As for me, I will leave Solstheim and study true magic. Tell my father that his love has saved me. I will return when he can be proud of me. And I would ask one more favor of you. There are some… items in the house that need to be removed. If you can do it without Father knowing, I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

And with that, he turned and disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

I whispered to his retreating back, “I think your father is already proud of you.”